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harrywritingsbyme · 4 years ago

Note

please write a whole smut with bestfriend's dad!harry

Such A Tease

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: I’m sorry it’s a bit late again! But your wishes are my command. This is the first official installment of my new ‘Sneaking Around’ series. The structure of this is just like ‘A Series Of Firsts’, series of ‘random’ blurbs that are all connected. This one will have a little bit more interconnection though. Anyways, it’s a filthyy introduction to some characters🤪...Enjoy🙃

You were never one to sneak around. Nor were you one to be into older men. At least, that was the case until you met Harry. You knew that you shouldn’t have been lusting a man that was substantially older than you, let alone a man who was the father of your best friend. It’s just that neither you nor Harry could help yourselves.

You and Christine were both in your second year of college when you two met and became instant friends. It didn’t take long for you two to become really close and rock solid in your friendship. Once midterms rolled around, the two of you two were inseparable. And the fact that the two of you were from the same place, and lived there all the way up until you both left for college (which wasn’t that far away) solidified the friendship even more. The two of you even joked that the universe really wanted you guys to be friends.

But after meeting Harry though, you were starting to think that the universe had other plans.

She had invited you join her to have dinner at her dads. After knocking down the lame excuse of not wanting to intrude on their father daughter time, she was able to finally convince you to tag along with her. What was the harm in having dinner at her dads house? That was what ran through your mind as you said yes to her. You were expecting to have a nice dinner with her dad, and give him an introduction to the girl who’s been hanging around his daughter. That’s it and nothing more.

To be completely frank and honest, you were expecting to find a middle aged (or close to it) man, who was about average in looks and built, and nice. The only thing you got right was the middle aged and nice part. The rest was the complete opposite of your expectations. When the front door opened, you could’ve sworn that you were met with a god. He was the literal epitome of god loves some of us more than others. You couldn’t believe that he was dad. And even though he was your best friends father, his name followed up by the categorization of dilf was going down in your book. Let’s just say that from the moment you stepped foot into his home, you were salivating; and it wasn’t because of the food. As the time passed, you were paying attention to every word that left his mouth; and every muscle that he involuntarily flexed as he finished getting dinner ready. You even made sure to say little so that he could talk to you more. To make matters worse, Harry was one of the nicest and kindest human beings on the planet. Which meant that your thoughts ranged from him ravishing you to walking down an aisle with him at the end of it. You were a complete mess.

While you were kicking yourself for lusting after your best friends dad (dilf), Harry was doing the same. Harry was kicking himself left and right for lusting after a young woman who was not only young enough to be his daughter, but who was in fact the best friend of his daughter, and therefore a woman he could never have. From the moment he opened the front door, Harry was gone. It was like you were the opposite end of the magnet that was pulling him towards you. Ever since he and Christines mother divorced years ago, Harry had dated and slept with a good (and very healthy) amount of women. In all of that time, he’d never felt the same feeling he got from simply looking at you. He’d gotten close to it a couple times, but he’d never experienced the jolts of electricity that were firing throughout his entire body and the swelling of his heart as he looked and talked to you at this capacity before.

These feelings weren’t the only feelings you and Harry had in common though. The both of you were also hoping and praying that Christine didn’t have to go to the bathroom and leave you two alone together. But that’s exactly what happened.

“M’gonna run upstairs to the bathroom real quick and you two can talk some more. Just no embarrassing stories from when I was a kid.” She announces as she excuses herself from the table, making sure to clearly direct the last part to her father, causing you to let out a small laugh that was filled with nervousness. You were not only nervous at the thought of being left alone with her father, you were nervous at the thought of being alone with the hottest and nicest man in the world; who just so happened to be your best friends dad. After Harry “surrenders” to her request, she leaves you both in the dining room and heads upstairs.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.” You whisper to him from across the table once you two are completely alone.

“And I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.” Harry counters simply, dropping his fork and lifting his head to put the entirety of his attention onto you.

“Well you should stop.” You whisper back, looking up from your plate to find Harry’s piercing green eyes staring right back at you.

“And you should do the same.” Harry replies, as slight smirk rising up onto his face in the process; queuing the floodgates between your legs to burst wide open. What makes the gates fall off their hinges is when you feel his sock clad foot rub up against your ankle. Since Harry was a bit older than you, he could easily read into all of your reactions and body language, allowing him to know exactly what buttons to press and how to press them. “Do you mind helping me clear the table Y/n?” He asks abruptly, flipping the topic of conversation from your attraction to each other to the dishes so that you could cool off a bit. He could see how flustered you were by him in that moment so he wanted to give you a little break.

“I don’t mind Mr. Styles.” You promptly whisper back to him. You were so grateful that the previous conversation was over. He then gives you a little nod and the both of you rise up from the table to collect the nearly empty plates and dishes before bringing them into the kitchen. The two of you then stack them on the counter by the sink before turning to go back into the dining room to collect the rest. Before you could take a good five steps, you’re being pulled back, turned around, and pinned against the kitchen counter. Harry has a hand on your waist and the other is softly nudging your chin up so that you could look at him. And before you know it, after looking into your eyes for confirmation, Harry is lowering his mouth down onto yours. This is what you both had been wanting all night long. You knew that from the outside, his lips were a pretty shade of pink (which is the same shade of pink that may or not paint the head of his cock; you were dying to find out) and they were pillow soft. That was the one of the few things you got right all night long. When his lips met yours, they were the softest and most inviting lips you’d ever felt in your entire life. And the way he was pressed up against you as he kissed you was the best. He was pressed tightly pressed against you and your hands were wound in his hair as your lips moved against each others. The thoughts of how wrong this was were blown out of your minds as soon as your lips touched. As you two continued to kiss, you and Harry began to subtly (not so subtly in actuality) rut against each other. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long. Your kiss, movements, moans and touches were brought to an abrupt and quick halt when the both of you hear the footsteps leading down the stairs. The both of you quickly move into less compromising positions and focus in on gathering and washing the dishes.

Once the dinner is finally over and it’s time for you and Christine to head back home, Harry gives her a big hug and kiss to the cheek and you a more friendly hug to (not be too obvious) and the two of you are on your way. As you two are heading back home, you reach into your coat pockets in search of your phone. As you’re feeling around, you stumble across a small piece of paper. When you pull it out, you try your best to look at it without turning on the light. The only things you can see are an H, a couple numbers, and a semicolon next to a single parenthesis to form a winking face. You were a little bit on the sad side (inside of course; Christine couldn’t find out about anything) because you weren’t leaving with Harry’s number. You already knew that you were going to break into Christines phone to get it, but you were hoping to get it from Harry himself. So knowing that he went out of his way to make sure you had it was really nice.

And from that night on, the rest was history.

You were constantly covering up bruises on your thighs and neck, and taking aspirin to numb the throbbing and sore feeling between your legs from the way Harry relentlessly (and deliciously) pounded his cock into you. You weren’t trying to hide your sex life from Christine. You wanted to share, and tell her about the amazing (if there was even a word to describe it) sex you were having but you couldn’t. And for reasons that were and are beyond understandable. The last thing you were going to tell your best friend is that you were getting dicked down by her father. Or that you were in love with him. That was a completely different story though.

At first, the thought of getting caught terrified you. And only you. Harry was a little scared since his daughter was involved in the grand scheme of things, but his fear was nothing in comparison to yours. In fact, he instigated every situation that heightened the possibility of you two getting caught. One time, he tasked Christine with running to the grocery store to pick something he forgot. It took him less than 30 seconds after you two were completely alone for him to drop what he was doing and pull your pants down. It also took him less than 30 seconds to pull both of you guys’ pants up when he heard her car pulling up into the driveway. As the time went on though, you began to become more comfortable and willing to take risks here and there. You and Harry would always try to sneak some time in whenever you were visiting with Christine. And whenever you and Harry both had some alone or downtime, you’d drive to Harry’s on your own so that you two could spend some time together. Now even though the sex was beyond amazing, you guys’ relationship as a whole grew. The two of you were pretty much in a full fledged relationship (except for the disclosure part of course) and you both were very happy.

Fast forward about six months and everything was beyond perfect. You and Harry’s relationship was great and you two were in your own secret bubble of love and sex. And your best friend/ Harry’s daughter was completely oblivious to it all. Everything was perfect. You and Christine had just finished your sophomore year of college and the two of you were now spending time with your families. You’d been staying with your family for a little and she was doing the same with Harry. After about a week of not seeing each other (you not seeing Christine…and you not seeing Harry) your felt that it was time for some quality time. And believe it or not, Harry and Christine were on the same page. You’d received two text messages, one from Harry and the other from Christine, begging you to come over. Hers had more of a ‘I miss my best friend vibe’ and Harry’s had more of a ‘I miss your pussy and cuddles’ vibe. So you figured that it was time to pay them both a little visit. Christine also mentioned that you should stay over for the weekend. So packed a little bag and you made sure to pack everything you’d need. Some tight and short clothes, no panties (well maybe just one pair since Harry liked ripping them off of you), two pairs of pajamas, and some toiletries. Once you were dressed and packed for the weekend, you hop into your car and you’re on your way to Harry’s home.

Once you arrive, you knock on the door and you’re immediately engulfed in an almost bone crushing hug from your best friend. After a good minuet, you’re finally released from her arms and able to breathe again. She pulls you into the house and as she does, you see Harry rounding the corner into the living room. As soon as you see him, you’re a mess all over again.

“Hey Mr. Styles.” You smile “innocently” to him, giving him a small wave to help your little act out a bit.

“You know you can call me Harry right?” Harry replies with a smirk as he makes his way over to the couch. As he says this, all the times you were screaming his name (and daddy) as he pounded into you. It was so wrong, but it felt so good. He couldn’t wait until you two were able to get some alone time.

“Me and my dad were just about to watch a movie and you’re gonna watch it with us.” She interjects, dragging you over to the free couch.

“Is it the notebook again? Because if it is, then we may need to have an intervention.” You joke, dropping your bag onto the floor and plopping yourself down onto the couch.

“Don’t blame me! He’s the one who got me hooked on it!” Christine replies, pointing her finger in Harry’s direction.

“I would’ve never thought that you were into these types of movies.” You ponder, turning your head towards Harry as you kick your shoes off. That was a big fat lie. You knew that Harry was the sappiest man in the world. Whenever you guys weren’t running the risk of getting caught, after sex, the two of you would cuddle and watch a romcom or romance/drama movie.

“What can I say? I like a good romance.” Harry shrugs, sending you a soft smile. He too was thinking back the romcoms and cuddles you two shared.

“Well lets get it started!” Christine interjects excitedly, pulling both you and Harry from your little moment, and grabbing the remote from the table. You pull the blanket from the back of the couch and throw it over the two of you while she starts the movie.

After about an hour, you were a little restless. You loved spending time with your best friend and you wanted to continue watching the movie with her, but you needed a little break. And the idea you had for this little break may or may not have included Harry.

“I’m gonna take a little trip to the ladies room.” You whisper to Christine as you pull the blanket off of you. When you stand up from the couch, Harry’s eyes leave the tv screen as you walk away. Instead of going straight upstairs, you stand behind the couch you were just sitting on with Christine and you begin “phase one” of your little break.

Instead of just going upstairs and mouthing to him to come with you, you decide to tease him a bit. Get him worked up so that he’d be running to you. While his attention is still on you, you decide to just go for it and lift up your shirt, exposing your bare breasts to him. In an instant, Harry’s eyes widen and his cock stirs in his pants. He couldn’t believe what you were doing. He thought he was the one who was doing the absolute most to live on the edge, but what you were doing right now tied you both for the top spot of the wilder one in the relationship. He constantly makes sure that Christine’s eyes are clued to the tv screen and he’s not being too obvious when it came to being distracted while he took in your teasing. He watched as you squeezed your breasts and tweaked your nipples. You decided to do this for a minuet or two before lifting your skirt a little to give him a peek and ultimately tiptoeing upstairs. This left Harry’s cock completely hard, and his mind completely scrambled as he tried to figure out a plausible reason to step away. After about five minuets, he comes up with a good enough reason to step away and meet you.

“Have t’make a phone call for work. I’ll be right upstairs.” He announces to Christine as he stands from his seat.

“Alright. But can you tell Y/n to hurry up, she’s gonna miss the best parts.” She asks, diverting his attention

“Maybe she’s handling something.” Harry replies, alluding to the possibility of you getting your period. All she does is shrug in response to him, prompting Harry to dash upstairs. As soon as he reaches the top of the stairs, he makes a b-line to the bathroom. Where you were waiting with your panties around your ankles. When he pushes the door open, he’s met with you standing at the counter looking into the mirror. Without saying a single word to you, Harry steps into the bathroom. He closes and locks the door before standing right behind you.

“What’s wrong daddy? Did I make you hard?” You ask sweetly, diverting your attention from your reflection to him.

“Did I say that you could speak?” Harry whispers calmly, lifting his foot to kick your legs apart. “You’re playing a very dangerous game. I’m leaning towards the thought that you want to get caught.” Harry continues, gripping onto your hips and yanking you back so that you fall against the counter and your backside is closer to him.

“Maybe.” You hum, moving your hips a little in his grasp.

“Oh really?” Harry questions, flipping up the bottom of your skirt. “Well now’s the perfect time to see if you want to get caught little girl.” Harry continues on, sending a sharp swat to your ass to make sure that you know who’s in control of this situation. “You could either lay there and moan, whimper, and cry like you do when were all by ourselves, or you could lay there and take it quietly like the good girl you’re supposed to be.” Harry offers, removing a hand from one of your hips shoving down his sweatpants and boxers down all at once. “Your choice.” He whispers finally before lining his cock up with your sopping wet entrance and slowly pushing into you. “Such a tight little hole f’me.” Harry moans as he continues to push into you.

“So big.” You whisper as you feel his cock stretching and filling you. It felt so good to have him inside you again. Once he’s fully inside and you can feel him in the pit of your stomach. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust to his size before slightly pulling out of you, just to slam back in. He then continuously slams into you over and over again, grunting and moaning lowly behind you. His cock was constantly pushing at the deepest part of you. He was going so hard that you could feel his balls slapping against your clit over and over again.

“This what you wanted babygirl? Wanted me t’fuck you hard while your best friend is downstairs waiting for you?” He pants, continuing to fuck into you. He missed being inside you. He missed the feeling of your spongy, warm, and wet walls around his cock as he gave you everything he had. And he couldn’t wait to spend the entirety of the following week with you. He’d be able to be inside of you 24/7. That’s where he always wanted to be.

“Oh my-“ you gasp, feeling his cock dig into your sweet spot. His cock was so good. That was all you could say. The way he masterfully maneuvered his cock in and out of you. He knew exactly how to move and slam into you and make you go numb. He was slamming into you so hard that you could guarantee that your thighs would be sore and bruised. But again, it felt so good. As he continues, Harry yanks you up, keeping the same hard and fast pace from slamming his cock into you.

“Look at yourself baby.” He whispers into your ear, pushing his hand up your tight shirt to cup your breasts in his hands. “A cock crazed little girl getting pounded by daddy. A pretty, moaning, and crying little mess.” Harry chuckles cynically, looking into the mirror to see your worn out yet pleasured face and your watery eyes. He can hear your moans as you get closer and closer to your release. He wraps his thumbs and forefingers around your perky nipples before bending you both down onto the counter. “Feel your walls squeezin’ me baby. Wanna cum for daddy?” Harry pants behind you, feeling his release nearing as well.

“Please daddy.” You whimper. That was all you could say. Your release was coming at full speed and it wasn’t going to slow down. It was hot and tight in the pit of your stomach and you were going to explode.

“Cum with daddy baby.” He groans once more, sending one final, sharp and power filled thrust into you, pinning his cock right against your sweet spot.

At that moment, the both of you let go. Your bottom lip was completely raw at this point, you were trying so hard to hold back your moans the entire time and it was getting harder and harder. It felt so good to cum around him, and to feel him cumming inside of you. You were more than welcoming to the warm and sticky cum painting your walls. As Harry came, he was on the verge of collapse. He was finally emptying himself into you. He let go of everything he had and it was like your walls were milking him for more from the way you were convulsing around him. You were pulsating as you came.

Once you two are done, he pulls out of you and does his pants back up, leaving you slumped over on the counter. Before leaving, the plucks open the mirrored medicine cabinet in front of him and pulls out a bottle of aspirin. He sits it on the counter next to your limp body and just stands behind you to admire the sight. “Might wanna take one, don’t want you to be too sore. Wanna pound into you some more later on.” Harry says nonchalantly. He then brings his hand down to your exposed, sore, and a tiny bit swollen pussy to gather some of his sticky cum that was dripping out. “Might wanna put those panties back on too, don’t want any of m’cum leakin’ out. Want you to be nice and full of it once I empty more of it into you later sweetheart.” Harry continues before bringing his cum covered fingertip to his mouth. He then leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck and unlocks the bathroom door to walk out, leaving you alone to try your best to put yourself back together.

Masterlist

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 3 years ago

Text

Hermitopia AU Masterpost 1 [COMPLETE]

This is a gathering place for the events of the Hermitopia AU, as well as art and writing resulting from it (art and writing listed at the bottom). Please read the AU introduction and rules here before submitting! Feel free to join the discussions on the HCHC discord server!

(Disclaimer/PSA: All points are asks contributed by the community, the mods take no credit for the ideas within them)

If you would like specific credit in the masterpost, please sign within the text of the ask! (A dash and a signature at the end should do.) Asks not signed will be treated as anonymous.

Summary posts:

Not all elements of plot and character will be summarized, but here are a few basic things you may want to be familiar with before submitting an ask! (Unless you are purposely aiming to create an [ALTERNATE] idea for a Hermit)

1 - Starting positions and each Hermit's powers (based on the submissions from Day 1)

Summary post 2 - Interpersonal connections (based on Day 1 and 2 submissions)

Make sure to check out the second masterpost here for more up to date information, including newer art and writing!

Asks:

- (copied ask) [summarized mod comment]

- Hermitopia | Scar was experimented on by Cub. He gained dangerous powers and wings that resemble a dragon’s, but he keeps both hidden. Unless someone makes him angry. He has no idea who gave him his powers. Eventually he and Cub decided that they wanted to control things beyond their corporation, so Scar ran for mayor. (there are things to fill in but im lazy) [Scar assumes he got the powers in an accident during research. He enjoys having them but has no idea that they were intentional.]

- Hermitopia AU team ZIT is a superpowered crime-fighting trio!

- owing to a very particular set of guidelines he put in place, Joe can now copy powers if he sees them in use and can reverse-engineer how those powers are used. needless to say, this is massively overpowered in the right hands.but it got worse. at some point, there was an... incident... on ConCorp grounds, something to do with a mass amount of entities causing time dilation -- and Joe was caught in the thick of it, unable to be rescued for a while.the problem is, he got out by piecing together how the time dilation worked.needless to say, Joe... has a ridiculous powerset. so he chooses largely not to use his powers anymore unless it's absolutely dire or petty enough to shrug off as a random occurrence. nobody needs to know that one of the most powerful Unaffiliated in the city is standing right in front of them... especially not ConCorp.

- doc was a former high ranking employee of concorp before he volunteered for an experiment and it went horribly wrong. since then, the company has tried to erase any evidence of his existence. doc is now seeking revenge for all that the company did to him and is determined to tear it apart

- HI ok follow up asks will be sent later when my thoughts are coherent but concept: cleo has like super messed up healing powers where she can make healing go Too Far. also i pin her as unbound, considering, like, everything - shovel-shuffle

- So, his power was meant to be super-regen, right? except things don't always quite go to plan. Someone volunteered for the powers surgeries and is arguably dead. Etho is a name shared by the many many clones that developed themselves out of the leftovers. They're not quite individuals, not quite a hivemind. Any one of them has no fear of death because the others will continue, but they all act independently around their overarching goal. (which I won't snitch about) - DragonKay

- Bdubs was a hero. Key word? Was. He climbed the ranks through the government, he was a loyal and dutiful member of society, and he used his plant manipulation powers to subdue evil-doers without hurting them. But he’s always been a friendly guy, and he couldn’t help himself—talking to the Unrestrained, especially those in custody, was interesting! ...but it’s a slippery slope to walk, being friendly with the enemy and not sympathizing to their cause. Nobody knows where he is now, but there are rumours of a vigilante with similar abilities, and his three compatriots, two of whom he helped escape from ConCorp... They call themselves the nHo. - slimetek [Bdubs deserted Concorp while helping Doc escape after his experiment went wrong]

- Concorp managed to make a device that allows animals to speak or translate their thoughts into writing. This means that the good old mayor Scar has a certain cat giving some advice on how to run the city.

- Iskall is an assasin/mercenary against their own volition. An accident they'd rather forget almost killed them, and in exchange for their freedom and free will they got to live as a cyborg. Though its hard to forget with the implant that covers their eye and the limb of cool metal hanging at their side - @ghastly-ghostie [Iskall works for Concorp off-books, bound by the debt owed to them for the life saving experimental modifications]

- so I think grians original powers could be like cloning, but something goes wrong and the clones are different people. as a result of the duplication process, some funky magic rocks are made. the clones decide to take most of the funky rocks and run off, leaving grian with one rock that gives him some new abilities and the clones' rocks give him others. also uhh mechanical wings bc yes. so grians plot is him trying to find them while also causing problems on purpose. infinity stones. update to my grian ask from earlier, I had better ideas: the rocks are old like magic things that grian finds before the cloning and ends up collecting, but his clones snatch them - simplyskipper [some of the alternate Grians are aligned with different factions in Hermitopia, while the locations of others are farther or unknown]

- Hermitopia- Impulse has solid-light powers. He has golden crystals implanted in his hands, which he can reflect light through to solidify it into all sorts of shapes. This can be used to make barriers, projectiles, and much more, though more detailed constructs take more time.- @mleemwyvern

- Hermitopia AU Poultry man is a well-known chaotic neutral leaning towards good, as a one of the unrestrained.

- I think Team ZIT should be a little be wild card-y, that's how they act after all! [they are employed by the government for standard crimefighting, but they don't always take Scar's word at its intended meaning and often play a bit on the chaotic side when given instructions]

- [Hermitopia AU] False is an antihero/vigilante type who's specialty is not defined by powers or the such, but just... the absolute skill of being able to dual wield two (more sci-fi era) short swords. Maybe someone upgrades them to be "enchanted" (electrical, fire, etc. something that tech could do well probably). She's willing to be paid-for-hire, but if you go past her moral line she's also willin' to backstab you. -- @cheshire-vex [she's a free agent who sort of drifts between Concorp, the government, and whoever else will pay her on a job-by-job basis]

- Hermitopia impulse has more connections then one may think. He has ties to people pretty much everywhere, for reasons unknown. There is a 100% someone will come and greet him wherever he goes. [the greetings are usually friendly]

- Hermitopia Au! Keralis is a hero who most people wouldn't expect to be too skilled at fighting. His power is similar to hypnosis so he has no need to get very physical. Yeah, that changed when some bastard villain decided to attack his friends shop. [that incident caused his employer Scar to realize his untapped potential for protecting people and assign him to a few more high-stakes jobs]

- Hermittopia!TFC was one of ConCorp’s first experiments and as such his powers are a bit less...refined then the others. He has geokinetic powers, allowing him to psychically control rocks and other earthen materials. He used to be one of the VEX programs top graduates, but has since parted ways with them for unknown reasons and now operates his own plans of keep crime in Hermitopia under control. -lechairpourriedegrianri [he is considered Unaffiliated and both Concorp and the government largely leave him to his own devices, since he is helping to keep the city together]

-Wels doesn't have powers. He does have a super-suit made of fire and heat resistant carbon fibre (like the material used for the space shuttle) and has a built in hologram projector. One time, he used the hologram projector to project an image of himself, which everyone thought was a clone. He didn't have the heart to tell them otherwise. (AKA everyone thinks Wels has powers but he doesn't) -Silverwolf53 [he got the suit in Project VEX]

- To follow up on the Impulse ask- Team ZIT are a space-themed superhero team. Government-aligned, at least for now.Tango has meteor-like powers, he can shoot fire from his hands and feet and often uses this to propel himself at high speeds. Zed has gravity powers! He can increase or decrease the density of any object, to the point of making small black holes. They all have space-themed costumes, and it was probably Zed's idea. - @mleemwyvern

- TFC was the first participant in project VEX

- Grian was an attempted success. It fixed some problems with Etho's unintended cloning, but at the same time created some problems of its own, seeing as the clones appeared to have a life of their own.It's fine, though. It's probably fine

- I would say Grian is unrestrained, a bit like Etho, Chaotic in his own way. Does not activily Try to hurt people, but does mostly what he wants for fun.-Ciara

- Xisuma is a civilian- he has hero friends, but despite all their teasing he’s never wanted to go through VEX training. But in the night, the unrestrained Void walks the streets [Void is a symbiotic creature made of nothingness that uses Xisuma's body as a substitute physical form]

- Bdubs was such a good man... he could be trusted to look after Doc, couldn’t he? Somebody had to oversee him, somebody who was reliable and would never, ever consider betraying the mayor and ConCorp...They let their guard down, and Bdubs got curious. Bdubs made a friend.And then they lost him.- Slimetek

- The hels hermits are considered evil by default. How do you spot these clones, how could you protect yourself? Well in the past it was a lot easier, just look for their red eyesNowadays contacts exist but that doesn't stop people trying to call the police on tango, calling him a hels. Hes netherian, they have unnatural eye colours and their iris fills the entire eye, hes not evil but if people keep doing this hes gonna be!

- Beef woke up from his brain surgery to receive telepathy powers, took one look into the mind of the overseer, and noped put of there as fast as he could go.He's on very public record. After all, the mind control he may be capable of is a very convenient explanation for anyone who turns against concorp... ~DragonKay

- Hypno can’t control minds.They say he does. It’s why he’s named Hypno, after all.In reality, he can’t control people like that... but he can control what they see.Your best friend might look like your greatest enemy. A pit of lava might look like solid ground. A 100-foot drop might look like a step down.It’s a good thing he’s a hero, and a good thing he keeps his true powers hidden beneath a guise of low-level hypnotism. There’s no telling what he could do if they let him go. [he works for Concorp, helping to protect VEX trainees from people trying to harm them before they get a chance to finish the program, as well as keeping other resources safe]

- The 9th Street Incident [referring to an earlier Impulse comment] was a friendly greeting. That particular version of Etho just thought that drawing weapons would be a friendly greeting for Impulse, but Tango and Zed seem to disagree

- They still don’t trust Bdubs. He was with the government for a long time, and things are hard out there on the run. Besides, they don’t know what he got up to there. ConCorp could have any sort of information on him, something that might scare him back.Bdubs understands this. He doesn’t want to go back. He’d hate to go back....but they think he will, and maybe there’s something he’s not telling them. An ace that ConCorp has yet to play.- Slimetek

- Mumbo works for concorp as an engineer specialising in robotics, most recently taking on the task of maintaining Iskall's cybernetics that somehow they just keep damaging. Iskall assures him they're just.. very clumsy. So far Mumbo hasn't caught on.

- Ren's power is that hes a werewolf, but he only found out when he was in his late teens with his childhood friend Iskall. He still feels guilty about it, he did kill his best friend afterall. Or so he thinks.He's lived off grid ever since, too overwhelmed with grief and guilt to rejoin society. Most assume he's dead too - @ghastly-ghostie [Ren dropped Iskall off to Concorp as a last ditch effort, running away before he could see whether they took his friend in or not. They did, starting Iskall's plotline. Iskall told Concorp about Ren's abilities, triggering a panic in the Concorp ranks at the fact that Ren is a superhuman being created by some force other than their own project]

- Where does Void come from? The same place all powers come from.Little did they know, something survived the crash and has taken a human host. Maybe it's not the only one...No, that place is not Concorp. Concorp's original goal was to develop technology by reverse-engineering from a crashed alien spaceship. These aliens did gene-editing the way some people do nose jobs, so they adapted that technology, too.~DragonKay

- i've already said a bit about it in the discord but i have hermitopia cleo brainrot. joe being there was able to save her by giving her the regen powers along with her puppeteering telekinesis power. anyways cleo is presumed dead, sent by concorp into a mission as fodder basically until zit could arrive. but now there's is one (1) bitter undead vigilante against concorp that is presumed dead

- Stress’s name has a few meanings in relation to her. Whenever she gets too angry or /stressed/, she transforms into the StressMonster, a monster that feeds off of other people’s stress to become more powerful. Luckily, the monster is rarely seen, but does terrible things when she is. She’s one of the most feared creatures in Hermitopia. Stress hates her and tries her best to hide her from her friends, but it can backfire sometimes. - @guster-animations

- to follow-up on Joe being presumed dead: remember the time dilation incident he was stuck in? ConCorp figured it was best to cut their losses and not try to send anyone in to rescue him -- it would be a pointless mission. so they abandoned him, quietly announced that he had died in the line of duty, and put the affected area under high security clearance in order to prevent any future accidents. they figured he was already dead. and Joe figures, given that they up and abandoned him, maybe it's for the best that they continue to figure just that. he changed his last name to "Hills" -- a joke about the biome containing the time anomaly -- and otherwise proceeded to stay under the radar. he still uses the time dilation area as a base of operations, sometimes; it's very useful to have a hideout that people physically cannot get into/out of without his direct assistance. is he nursing a grudge, coming up with some convoluted scheme to get back at the paramilitary group for abandoning him? or does he just want to live a relatively normal life off the grid? who knows. that's the Joe [REDACTED] Hills difference. -@betweenlands

- False has some big scary power that is almost Eldritch she just happens to prefer a sword and doesn’t really care for who she works for as long as they’re paying... (they don’t need to know of the power that had harmed the ones she loves the most)

- Keralis once encountered Void sulking around where Xisuma worked. So fearful for his friend’s safety, he used his power on Void and told him to go away. Apparently the charm is still active, because if Void spots Keralis anywhere, he’ll turn tail and run. No, it’s not because he’s scared. Absolutely not.

- Grumbot serves as a sentient supercomputer created by Mumbo for Grian. Grian is using Grumbot for... various activities, all of which harmless, but a certain evil clone [Helsknight] has reverse engineered the technology. Concorp would like for Mumbo to give them the tech, but mumbo stuck some eyes to the computer, got emotionally attached, and refuses to give up his baby boy.

- When Impulse hears his friend/colleague Bdubs has been "taken over" by the mind-controller [Beef], he wants to go on an off-the-books mission to rescue him! Just giving up like they were told to isn't in his nature.Of course the rest of ZIT are with him. Heroes save people! It's what they do!~DragonKay

- Hermitopia is a mixture of sleek futuristic and cyberpunk in terms of style. It really depends on where you live and work (ik this doesnt include any hermits but whatever) - @ghastly-ghostie

- I wonder if Cleo's overactive healing powers affect herself and if any injuries she receives immediately heal over like wolverine or deadpool

- Ren used to be friends with Cleo too, but then she died. Strangely enough, she died on the same day that Ren killed Iskall. Ren’s lost all his friends. It’s hard living in isolation when there’s no one left that even cares about you. (Unless— no, that’s impossible.)

- I was thinking about Biffa, like you do. And Biffa would totally be some robot that was created by Project VEX in its early stages, however they realised fast that it was easier to use humans and give them powers, maybe its not their strong suit with robots. But Biff went sentient and glitched and was scrapped so hes just out there doing his thing. Hes a wildcard and plays for which side he wants at the time, sometimes he'll help or sometimes hes the one causing trouble. He looks pretty similar to a android like in Detroit:Become human but hes a bit uncanny and eerie, maybe its the eyes or the blood red armour. Powerwise, he's got more strength than a human does, mainly because he isn't limited like others are. try not to get punched by him, it'll hurt! [He's convinced Concorp will destroy him if they find out he's alive and Unaffiliated] -lucodak

- Going off of my thing about hermotopia impulse having friends everywhere....this may include the nho. Okay, they beat him to a pulp on one of his solo patrols once, but theey felt bad n patched him up! He has to keep it a secret. He brings them dinner alot. And checks in on them.

- Beef is the perfect cover-up for Bdubs’ desertion. ConCorp doesn’t want any other employees getting bright ideas, now, do they? Nor do they want employees getting nosy and trying to figure out where Bdubs went. They don’t have to tell people what Beef’s powers are. They just release that he developed powers after brain surgery, and a rumour that he was spotted lurking around before Bdubs suddenly betrayed ConCorp... and people draw their own conclusions. -Slimetek

- xB is pretty sure he’s supposed to be evil.I mean, that’s what sentient AIs usually end up being, according to a quick internet search. And yet he’s... not. Or maybe he’s just on the wrong side. - Slimetek

- Yes impulse is friends with the nho....what he doesn't know? He's....easily susceptible to hypnosis. Very easily.......Of course, after impulse is basically a very tired n warm cuddle bug, so, cuddle piles tend to happen after all information is spilled. He must've fallen asleep at their apartment again! Whoops! But it's okay.....they take good care of him if he does! [Beef is using his mind reading ability on Impulse without his knowledge, to make sure that he hasn't spilled their location and to predict the government's next moves. He feels slightly bad about it but feels that it is necessary for the nHo's survival.]

- So far, Grian has only ever encountered two of his clones, NPC Grian and Robot Grian. Technically three, if one were to count Ariana Griande. Grian doesn't really, but some do. [Ariana Griande is a popular musician in Hermitopia who is building a career using the magical stone of voice enhancement she recieved through the cloning process]

- To handle the two Grumbot issue: the one working with Helsknight can be Jrumbot, a legion of robot drones meant to work as Grumbot’s physical form that ended up being hijacked by Helsknight and turned against ConCorp

- There...aren’t a lot of “normal” animals left in Hermittopia. ConCorp took one look at the animals populating the city and decided that, hey, they could make some improvements. Species after species, they modified their behavior, appearance, internal structure, whatever they could fix, tweak, or add. They were just improving their lives and the lives of the citizens of Hermittopia, after all, but the new animals quickly outcompeted the old for resources and habitats. And if it makes it easier for ConCorp to stick a camera in one or two of them, or set up robotic animals to keep a better eye on the city, no harm, no foul, right?(Bonus: there is one (1) singular cat left in Hermittopia, resulting in a spy movie-style heist where two teams of Hermits attempt to “rescue” the cat simultaneously. The cat keeps wandering away from both teams. Shenanigans ensue)- Adonis [the cat is Jellie, who orchestrated the competition between Team ZIT and Cleo and Joe for her own entertainment, getting away from both parties in the end]

- The Leak:Not all mutations are the result of controlled experiments! If some alien tech got away from the crash site, concorp never would have picked it up. It might have got into nature, not as refined as they made it in the labs but causing little changes here and there. Ren may have become a werewolf from being bitten by a mutant wolf~DragonKay

- Impulse is able to use his powers to create illusions or male things appear invisible! Sort of. After all, light dictates what we see. It takes a lot of focus, though, so it's not that practical. -@rayveewrites

- The one thing Hels wasn't able to steal was the cloning technology, hence his hostility with Concorp -- he needs the cloning device, because how else is the void going to get a body of their own? - SilverWolf53

- *glances at the hermitopia werewolf ask* okay but what if the same mystery people who made ren into a werewolf also created jevin, and maybe Etho? idk if either of them have been given any hermitopia headcanons yet lol. but im sure the same people who made a werewolf could make a sentient slime (or perhaps rescue one) or make... whatever etho is. [Since the "second organization" is an incorrect assumption believed by Concorp, Jevin was created when he came in contact with a waterway contaminated by The Leak. Concorp assumes he was created by an opposing organization and not by accident, and therefore would like to bring him in along with Ren.]

- hermitopia - mumbo and grian were friends back when cloning experiments were still happening (or . as friendly as you can be with someone who's treating you like a lab rat), but after everything went wrong and grian escaped, mumbo has his memories wiped nd thats why he's trusted w iskall's stuff? bc he inherently remembers working on high-level things without knowing where he learnt it - muscle memory, yk?anyway massive angst with grian maybe recognising mumbo, but not the other way round, and trying to rekindle their friendship? and that's where grumbot comes in? -gin [Mumbo's memory was wiped so that he would forget the deadly purpose of Iskall's cybernetics, which he was working on at the same time as the Grian project in the background. Mumbo does not remember creating Grian's mechanical wings or Iskall's arm and eye, and he has no memory of either individual previous to "meeting" Iskall as the person assigned to his repair and upkeep.]

- Etho doesn't so much have powers as he is powers. All the powers the ‘original’ had went into creating him; now he just exists, as whatever sort of being he is. Not a human one, that much is obvious. ~DragonKay [Etho has no powers beyond the hivemind and his training, due to the error in the experiment that caused the clones]

- Mumbo started the button as a joke. A nonsense social expirement to see how much people want worthless signs of status. Unfortunately things got out of hand, and violent too. But hey! It's not his fault that the five special anomalous stones were misplaced into the prize dispenser! It was just chance that they fell into the hands of the clone of the worst gremlin in the city! Don't fire him! [He was not fired, but Cub was Decidedly Unhappy with him for a good long while]

- Void mostly trashes ConCorp facilities- trying to figure out if any of his siblings survived the spaceship crash, but occasionally he’ll pilfer from a bakery, because X is a health nut and Void just wants a gods damned cookie [Void very much dislikes unseasoned chicken]

- If the Stress Monster gets too big, too dangerous, Cleo is sworn under oath to Stress to zap her with her healing powers. Cleo doesn’t like to do it, overhealing a stressed Stress makes her so calm she gets knocked out for a couple of days, but Stress can take a small comfort in the fact that at least one person out there can stop her

- Ooh with the self healing Cleo she'd be able to develop a small amount of super strength, with how the mind keeps from going full throttle because it would destroy the body once she gets over it it's hysterical strength whenever she wants [it is quite painful, but a good backup plan]

- Being a hive mind of disposable clones that can spawn new copies at will, it can sometimes be hard for the Etho Entity to remember that it is indeed a big deal for other people when they get hurt. This can make him come off as callous to those around him, placing him firmly in the "villain" category in most citizen's books, but he really doesn't intend any harm!

- Grian used to be tall, but then the cloning happened. With each clone they stole a little bit of his height making him the short man he is today. He needs to capture those clones and get his height back. [Grian isn't entirely sure how to accomplish this, but he's dead set on trying! He misses being tall!]

- While Grian was perfectly fine with Ariana Griande living her own life, he did insist on one thing.Her "older brother" getting backstage access whenever she was on tour. He's very proud and supportive of her and her music career.

- Mumbo is perfectly content working in tech, watching the other hermits get up to crazy shenanigans. Except of course, there was that one time he was out testing some new gear and accidentally saved a crowd from some villains... and there were all those times after too...But hey! It’s not his fault that people like him, and he certainly isn’t going to get caught by Concorp during his after hours activities. [Mumbo considers himself an accidental hobbyist, not thinking he has the nerve or the skill for proper hero work. Time will tell if he's right about that or not...but unfortunately, he probably is. This should be fun.]

- There’s still some people overseeing VEX, even over Cub. They’re the ones that push Cub to do certain experiments or to scrap one. They’re the ones to give Cub the decision for Iskall’s life debt. Scar was under them too for the longest time, but eventually he wanted out. Cub still wanted in. They were still in the right, right? That’s what they tell him. He’s starting to doubt it. [Cub is way too invested in everything he's built to even think about going rogue now, but he does resent and occasionally question the judgement of his superiors increasingly as his project begins to fail more and more often. He also fears that Scar's shift in career will be seen as a betrayal, rather than as a tactical attempt to gain the company influence in the government.]

- Been thinking about the impulse + nho asks and just,,, what would happen if concorp/the government found out? It cant be good with interrogation/hypnosis on both sides (incase you cant tell,, the brainrot got me as well) (apologies if this is a mess im excited) [Hypno is assigned to set up an illusionary conversation to make Impulse reveal nHo location to Concorp and government agents while thinking that he's actually talking to the nHo in a random encounter]

- The one mind Beef can't read is Etho's. Their hivemind is just too weird for him to comprehend. If he ever tries to listen in, it sounds like just a bunch of static from an old TV.

- for hermitopia au!: Out of most of the heros, the most reckless may be team zit. sure they tell themselves they'll plan out missions but it's hard when they share a braincell and tango just runs in. impulse and zed share a look everytime and have to run after him to make sure he doesn't get too hurt or overwhelmed by the enemy. in their defence its hard to plan ahead against an enemy when you dont know what they are thinking.-lucodak ["You might not have known what they were thinking, Tango, but we'd generally like you to know what you're thinking!"]

- i bet ConCorp really wants to make it out like theres some secret shady organization creating all these people with mutations, rather than their own operatives deserting and their own failure to contain dangerous chemicals... whether its malicious coverups or just ignorance to the fact they messed up, wonder what would happen if that sort of thing came to light...? [If they found out that the unintentional superhumans were a result of the poorly-contained crash site? Cub would lose his job...maybe worse. If Cub found out (and he hasn't, yet) he would do everything in his power to keep that information from his superiors.]

- (paraphrased) Impulse accidentally walks in on heroes and agents breaking down the doors of the nHo's hideout and confronting them. Scar claims that they did so on information Impulse himself provided and thanks him for his service. Impulse, feeling confused and betrayed, resists Hypno's attempts to illusion him back to Scar's side and flees the scene with the nHo, knowing very little other than the fact that he doesn't want to be manipulated by the government any more (and still not knowing that Beef has been reading his mind)

- Impulse may have been labeled a traitor. But do you really think that Impulse, secret rebel, starting to learn how dangerous and corrupted Concorp really is, wouldn't let his best friends know about the danger they might be in? I think Team ZIT is more loyal to each other than to the government. - @mleemwyvern [ Impulse's first stop after escaping with the nHo is to find a place to secretly meet Tango and Zedaph and tell them about the way he was tricked. It takes a lot of explaining and a lot of trust, but they eventually decide to believe his claims and are left with a choice: will they openly go rogue and become a target along with Impulse and the rest of the nHo, or are they better off using their established image and reputation to keep an eye on the government heros' movements from the inside?]

- (two asks combined, paraphrased) Ren runs out of supplies and decides to head back into the city, confident in his ability to stay off the grid after so many years of experience and such a long time away. Once there, he runs into Doc, and they hit it off quite quickly. However, the more Ren talks the more Doc realizes - with his ex-Concorp knowledge - that Ren matches the description of Iskall's main target exactly. He warns Ren, who is then faced with the knowledge that Iskall is alive and assigned to kill him...so many questions and so many tears to follow...

- Why did Hermitopia start needing heroes? When the Unrestrained started to appear, if course. Why did the Unrestrained start to appear? A question asked a little less. When did the VEX program start? When did they start taking more risks? When did they stop caring about certainty and safety and shift towards trying to push boundaries they weren't ready to? People can be so enamoured with the concept of superhuman abilities, something bright and glorious and good- and perhaps they could have that too- they don't ask all the right questions. It's all an elaborate game of damage control, don't let the flashy heroics fool you, they've made mistakes, terrible, terrible mistakes, and now there are villains running loose with powers they fooled ConCorp into giving them. Are they villains? Are they victims? Does it matter? They're causing problems. [Project VEX has developed into a solution to its own problems, a self perpetuating cycle...one that Cub, as a businessman, is very familiar with. It's what keeps the wheels of industry turning. It's what keeps innovation creeping forward. It wasn't intentional, not this time...but if it keeps his project alive, he'll take it.]

- One time, Jevin had narrowly dodged being captured by Concorp. He was laying low in the forest out of town, when he had a run-in with some sort of wolf creature. Thankfully, claws and teeth couldn't exactly hurt him anymore, so he just played dead until it gave up.When the moon set, the wolf-thing slowly transformed into a human being. Ren was horrified at the thought he'd lost control and hurt someone- again- but Jevin assured him he was fine. Jevin got the feeling that the werewolf needed a friend, and Jevin himself needed a place to stay for a while... -RayveeWrites [Ren and Jevin are not currently in the same location, but they each have a means of contacting each other for help if needed]

- Worm Man wasn't a well- known super, but plenty of people have noticed that he seemed to vanish at the same time Team ZIT first started active duty. Those people have also noticed that one of the members has a very similar power set to WM.Officially, that's just a coincidence. Officially.-RayveeWrites [Zedaph was trying to get some unofficial practice while still in training in the VEX program]

- A common misconception is that Bdubs conjures up his vines from nowhere. He can't.Like any plant, his vines grow from seeds. They grow unnaturally fast, when Bdubs wills it, but they have to come from seeds. Where do these seeds come from, you may ask?Well, a long time ago, Bdubs ingested some strange fruits. Somehow, in wild defiance of human biology, the seeds contained in those fruits worked their way into his muscles and germinated. Some of the roots worked their way into his brain and fused into it; the rest spread through his muscles, grew beneath his skin, coiled around his bones. Thanks to the way the vines connected to his brain, Bdubs is able to command the vines, and their magic, at will.The vines produce seeds; some stay in his body to replace the old ones when they die, and most work their way into a pair of 'seed pods' in his wrists. Bdubs provides the nutrients, the energy; the vines provide the seeds, the magic. As an extra bonus: if the vines were to be totally removed from Bdubs' body, he would be at best extremely weak, and at worst dead. The vines have grown into his muscles, to the point where they've essentially replaced them in some areas. It's fortunate that they connected with his mind so early on, otherwise he'd be dead. -RayveeWrites [Concorp developed the fruit, and the fact that Bdubs is evidence of the unlikely success of that experiment makes them all the more angry at his betrayal]

- A lot of excellent xB information (it's too long to copy but please read it it's very good)

- Iskall has exactly one (1) failed assignment. That assignment? The kill or capture of Stress. Stress and Iskall have been, or should it be were now, friends for a very long time, since before Iskall even met Ren. So one can imagine the stress this causes Iskall, to be told to kill his one remaining friend that he knows is alive. Of course, this stress is quite enough to to Stress's Stress Monster into one it's strongest yet seen forms, allowing for Stress to then get away. (1/2)(2/2) Of course, Con Corp doesn't- and can never- know the true reason that Iskall cannot kill or capture Stress. If they knew, if they subjected Stress to the same hell he's in- no, that cannot happen. So Iskall hires False to protect Stress, to interfere whenever they send him on a mission for her. Luckily, False is good at keeping secrets when she wants to, and this one she'll keep. But as far as Con Corp knows, Iskall has severe stress and trauma from being a cyborg, and that's why he fails. [This all adds up to a monumental waste of Concorp's time and money, which also results in False getting payed, so all parties involved are happy except for Concorp >:)]

- Impulse would take a bullet for his teammates, and he knows they might be about to take one for him, keeping him updated on what's going on government side of this... slander. Still, Tango and Zed are great actors, and if he didn't know better, he might be a little worried they would *actually* be hunting him down in the name of justice [Tango and Zed are now being sent on missions to retrieve Impulse, which they must pretend to lose believably. They occasionally overestimate their friend's abilities and give him a few more close calls than he'd like, but overall the ruse is holding up.]

Writing:

- Wels, Hels, TFC, and Grumbot

- Bdubs Concorp promotion and desertion

- Joe Hills in his time dilation hideout

- Etho clones, ZIT, and the nHo

- Keralis and Void

- [ALTERNATE] Reveal of Impulse's situation with the nHo

Art:

- Impulse suit design

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hcraft #Hermitopia AU #masterpost #long post #mod Shade

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tekka-dan · 4 years ago

Text

How I managed to play the fuck out of my boss and shitty job with a twinge of salt:

Basically here’s what happened: I got my second formal write up for blamings the company needed to pin on somebody. And who else to chose other than the hardest working employee whose never complained, called in or made a fuss about anything?

With that being the case I raised my voice in that meeting to make sure the witness heard my grievances with my manager as well. When she started taking notes, so did I.

I’m not about to be bitten and not bite back. I’ll do it with class though.

First and foremost let me break down what my job / title is.

I am receptionist. I answer the phones, I schedule appoints, I manage co workers, clients and doctors all while dealing with emails, a digital work list, checking in and out patients, filling prescriptions and other duties that apply.

That’s not a lot but for some people it is. I love being productive and I love showing I’m a reliable and capable worker, with rarely anyone complaints.

My managers first grievance with me:

1. I answer the phone too quickly.

My rebuttal to this to her [and the witness] was:

“I understand that it’s within my job duty to answer the phone timely and efficiently, as that’s apart of my daily routine and I do it consistently.”

Her response was:

“It’s just that you don’t give your co workers the chance to step up. Perhaps if you stop answering the phone, you could do your other duties better.”

My response:

“You’re right. The times which your pointed out I’ve made mistakes I can tell you when they happen. When I work with [co workers name] I notice they aren’t as efficient and aren’t willing to do tasks as quickly as me. So this means when doctors come to us with orders and they approach her and she turns them away, they basically have no one else to come to except me, the only other person on the floor. And I’m also busy. However I take what they give me as priority because that’s also apart of my duties and in turn I have to sideline my other duties.”

Notice how I didn’t blame shift. My manager gave me a grievance and an issue to which I explained why those issues happen and how she could step up as manager to fix them. Instead she says this:

“You could always talk to that person who you’re finding it difficult to work with.”

My manager whose entire job is to manage just told me basically deal with my issues of another person on my own.

2. She pins the blame of something on me that had nothing to do with me.

A client communicated he was going to drop off a stool sample at a certain time. I recorded that in the file and informed my co workers. I had an early leave this day so I made sure the others knew. The client did proceed to come in after my departure and left the sample. I come in the next day and the blame falls onto me why the client was never notified about the results and why the cost of the sample wasn’t collected at drop off.

My manager:

“We noticed that you documented [clients name] was going to drop off at a certain time and to collect payment. However he was never told the results of the sample and payment was never collected. Why is that?”

My response was:

“So you’re telling me it’s my fault the results were relayed to the owner and the payment wasn’t collected at the time of drop off when I wasn’t here?”

My manager:

“I’m just trying to follow up on who dropped the ball and the starting person was you.”

My response:

“I fail to understand my fault here. I need more understanding otherwise this sounds like you’re just trying to pin the blame on me. Is there anything else you have a complaint about?”

So the resolve of that matter was basically bevause the other co worker was off that day, it needed to be put on someone and that someone needed to be me. Despite the fact I was literally not physically present when the aftermath happened and it was still something they tried blaming me for.

3. My manager told me I filled a medication wrong and at check out the client was angry about it.

So apart of my duties is filling medications and preventions for dogs and cats daily. I do this while doing other tasks too. Sometimes things get a little flustered but I try keeping my cool during these times.

A client requested a refill on her dogs prevention through email. I got the request, noticed in our system the dog was 9.8lbs. So I filled the prevention for 0-10lbs because that’s where he’s classified. I then notified the owner back through email what size and how many I pulled aside for her pet.

I wasn’t present when she picked it up but my manager was. Apparently the woman wanted the 10lbs+ range and she was aggravated she did not have it.

My manger to me:

“So you filled the prescription wrong because her pet was 9.8lbs and you filled up to 10lbs when she wanted the 10lb and over.”

My response:

“Are you telling me that because I filled a prescription for a pet in our system for the appropriate weight range, but the owner wanting the higher dose at check out without previous knowledge, that I filled it wrong? That I didn’t follow protocol? Please help me understand that.”

My manager:

“Yes. The owner requested the higher dose at check out and because you filled the size she didn’t want, it was wrong.”

My response:

“Where was it notated that we still the higher dose for her? Where could I have found that information?”

My manager:

“Well it was only at check out, so I’m not sure if I can answer your question properly.”

At this point the witness said nothing and the witness isn’t anyone I even work directly with so it’s not like she could back me up or say anything substantial. At this point however I realized what this was and I retained my sense of ease and just sighed heavily as she went over correction coaching with me.

I signed the papers but it’s taking every ounce in me to not have dishes her my two weeks right then and there.

Why? Because I need this job while I await my approval for an apartment. I need to not let my emotions take over.

However, I didn’t leave without giving her a peace of my mind.

Me to my manager:

“Can I offer some constructive feed back?”

Manager:

“Sure.”

My last retort:

“I just think it’s funny how you only ever have a problem with me. These same things you’ve gone over with me here I have seen the others make the same mistakes and never once have they been corrected or reprimanded. In fact this write up is my second one for mistakes that weren’t my fault and I recall the first being the same way. Now I’m going to add some tips for you: you’re accusing a great and solid worker of things that make blatantly no sense and when I give you rebuttals you offer no reprieve about how YOU as a manager are going to handle it, instead all you do is shift blame. You asked me how are these things going to be fixed and where the issue was and I told you and you offered no evidence you’re going to make sure I succeed in my position any further. I understand why we are here today but I’m not going to sign these papers. In fact I’m going to ponder if I want to continue having a future with this company on my own time. Until you can follow up with actions to help me succeed then I’m afraid my two weeks is effective immediately. Also, I’ll be writing a review for your manager to follow up on your duties that you’ve severely lacked in since I’ve started here May 8th, 2020. I hope you have a great rest of your day, I’ll return on Friday with hopefully some follow up answers.”

Anyway I am searching for a new job but I hate that they made me feel like total shit at this one and I don’t deserve that treatment.

I also wholeheartedly believe it’s race induced considering I’m the only black worker and I’m the only one she has issues with. She raises her voice with me, says things in a demeaning or condescending way and I was raised to basically not act of character and so my response was always “Alright, I’ll make sure to work on that for next time. Thanks for the insight.” And she would get hella angry about that.

Like bitch you’re coming at me sideways and I handle it with grace and it makes you mad? Go kick rocks.

Anyway I wanted to vent. Now I’m going to take a walk, apply for new jobs and check in on the apartment status. I still have a life to live and losing shit job won’t stop me from living it.

#personal #danis rants

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johobi · 5 years ago

Text

When You Least Expect It | 12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, angsty-angst, dramaTIC ANGST, anxiety, depression, fear of going mad. i swear it’s not all that bad though!!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: thanks, as ever, for all your encouragement, love and patience. i truly treasure you.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

"Need to get my⁠—mmm⁠—keys."

Taehyung's argument was solid, but your lip-lock took precedence. "Nuh-uh," you murmured to his saliva-slick lips, eager to taste from them again. "Do it blind."

Your lover fished futilely for his keys, eyes closed for kissing. His body angled away when you only wanted it flush. Selfishly you clung to him, arms fast around his neck, compelling him closer. Oh, but you needed more. Needed his touch. It was painfully absent. Taehyung’s long-fingered hands trawled the depths of his pockets when they should have been defiling you.

He snorted through the meagre space between your faces. "I can't find⁠—mmgh⁠—find them."

"Here," you offered in devilish whisper, plunging a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Shamelessly grasping a little too close to his left-leaning dick.

"Ah⁠—"

Your fingertips grazed metal. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It will be."

It was your turn to scoff. Right into his hot, nasty mouth.

Despite Taehyung's ineptitude at locating his own keys, it was spellcraft how easily he unlocked the door, with his back to it and his tongue thrust far past your lips. As the lock gave way, you threw yourself into his freshly-freed arms, urging he embrace your touch-starved body. But Taehyung was already around you, on you, fondling the breadth of your thinly-clothed ass. He broke away to whine: “God, you drive me crazy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

You stumbled into his apartment as a mass of roving hands. "You’re gonna get it again, noona," Taehyung hummed around your earlobe. Tugged it between his teeth. Whispered obscenities while his hard cock pressed close. “You feel that, babe? You want it?”

Breath tumbled out. “Y-Ye⁠s—”

"It certainly sounds like she does," a wicked voice sang. It was high-pitched and heavy on the dialect and its source unmistakeable. You wished you were mistaken. "Whatever it is. I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's⁠—"

The two of you repelled like magnets.

"Oh, fuck. Jimin, why are you still here?" Taehyung made no attempt to smother his exasperation. His erection, on the other hand, he smothered actively, obscuring it with the hem of his shirt..

"Good night without me?" the redhead side-stepped. Consistent with his character, the conversation became depraved, and all about him. You found yourself on the receiving end of an unwelcome eyebrow waggle. "I was only one phone call away."

Taehyung's hand flew to his face. Dragged down his features. "I told you I didn't know when I'd be back. If at all. Couldn't you have gone home, dude? What did you even do all night?"

As Jimin dithered and whined, you surveyed the damage the bachelor had inflicted upon Taehyung's usually immaculate apartment. Takeout trays, beer bottles and indiscernible spills surrounded the little imp. Insult to injury was his occupation of your beloved red slanket. It coupled his hair so garishly he resembled something of an angry pimple. You glared at Jimin from behind his 5'11" handler.

"I thought you were coming back!" Jimin finally exasperated. His wrists emerged from the slanket-holes when he gestured to his nest of trash. "I had to eat twice the amount of food. And I got drunk alone. You know how sad that is?"

"Got a glimpse of your future, did you, Jimin?" The snicker that shot from you almost took the contents of your nostrils with it. To say you were a little sniffly this morning was to minimise it. It took all your nasal strength to prevent a flood. Probably all that rain yesterday.

No, don't think about yesterday.

Luckily, your dignity remained intact for discard another day. Jimin's however, had long been abandoned. Tact, too. "So—" He watched, beady-eyed, as you busied yourself in the undoing of his mess. When you reached for a pizza box: "You guys having an affair? Or is this some kinda friends-with-benefits deal?" The slanket rode up his offensively nude thighs as he leaned toward your stooping form. "Any chance of making this a three-person thing? Or four, if that Jungkook guy is still in the picture."

It was like an icicle through your poor, hollowed heart. You froze, bent at the hinges, pizza grease becoming palm sweat. "W-What?"

“Actually, was he even real? I never saw him.”

Was he even real?

Taehyung was quick. Was there in a second, striding to your side, affixing a hand to your lower back. His fingertips, too, were quick. Quick to find that sliver of exposed skin where your jeans and shirt met. To give you the warmth of reassurance that came only with his touch. "Jesus, Jimin. I know this is your shtick, but no-one's in the mood for your bullshit today. Just go home dude, I'll text you later."

An expression you'd never encountered warped Jimin's delicate features. Hurt. "What the fuck?" he grumbled, complying despite his injured feelings. Coming to a stand, he stuffed himself into his night-before skinny jeans, plump lips pursed. "What got into you? She peg you or something?" Jimin’s hmphs continued, punctuating his impromptu Get Ready With Me throughout. Without the care it warranted, he slung off the slanket and began turning out the couch.

“Very funny. What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Taehyung offered, placidity masking his vexation incredibly well. Antagonising Jimin would only prolong his being there, after all, and the scenario was already unbearably awkward. Especially now, when he was flaunting a good inch of his ass-crack in the hunt for some misplaced possession.

"My wallet. Y’know, the pot leaf one. Where did I put the damn thing?"

In that gaping crevice, maybe? It wasn’t aloud.

"Okay, look⁠—" Taehyung, too, looked to have had his fill of his friend's butt-cleft. "I'll bring your wallet 'round your place later. You got your phone and keys, yeah?" The outline in the redhead's jeans confirmed it. "Go home, sleep off the rest of the booze, we'll talk this evening."

Despite his grievances, Jimin suddenly brightened. He never was one to hold a grudge. He was a Pisces, after all. "You're gonna come over? Cool! I'll get more beer in." The fact he'd consumed a dozen only two hours prior didn’t appear to deter him. "You coming, ____? We gonna have another game of Never Have I Ever?"

The sincere sparkle of his eyes threw you a little. "Uh, I don't think so. Not today. Sorry, Jimin. Next time, okay? I've got some things to sort out later. Plus, I think I’m getting sick." A sniffle for illustration.

"That's cool." He hummed, shrugged on his signature varsity jacket. The world would burn before he conceded college was over. "See you later, Tae. Happy smashing," was his parting comment as he sashayed out the door, mildly uncoordinated. Taehyung was charitable enough to relieve his friend of the quandry of closing it.

And when it was closed, your lover turned back. Had a pensive purse to his lips. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

"Don’t apologise, I’m the one that disrupted your plans in the first place, Tae. But yeah, I’m good."

Taehyung couldn’t see the extent of that untruth. Not when you averted your eyes so swiftly. Pinned them to your busy hands as you continued to collect up Jimin's litter. Why had it been so easy for him to speak his name? Like it was nothing but breath? Just two syllables, plucked from an alphabet of indifference?

When it was sand and salt on open sores?

When it was woe so heavy it rasped the soul?

"Alright." It wasn't, but what mattered was that Taehyung knew it. Knew it, and didn't pursue it. Instead, he fluffed a trashbag for you in which to deposit your greasy collection. "He's always like this. A mangy raccoon." The comparison hit humorously enough to curtail your anguish. Momentarily, at least. A genuine laugh came from you. At that, Taehyung looked up. Caught your smile. "He's always like this. Always leaves me to clean up. His metaphorical and literal messes."

Trash collected, you straightened. Inelegantly, and with a groan. You'd have to scrape together the pennies for some sweet chiropractic adjustment. "Yeah? That doesn't surprise me," you smirk, prodding at the knots in the small of your back. "All I know is he's a gross, unashamed pervert that could be a good guy if he grew up a little. You haven't really told me too much about him. I guess you'll—" the reality of your and Taehyung's changed relationship hit you, then. It had transfigured into something far more intense. Far more beautiful. Potentially volatile. "—you'll have to tell me more. About him. Your other friends I don't see much. And about you, stuff I didn't get to know until we—well. You know."

Taehyung's head came to a tilt. His downy locks strayed into his eyes, softening them into a squint. "It's weird, isn't it? Being like this. Good weird—" he added with haste. Had he been suddenly struck by the revelation, too? Your two combined brain cells continued to surf one wavelength. It was uncanny. "You're standing there, I'm standing here. We look the same. But it's all different. I look at you different." A contemplative pause. The trash-bag knocked noisily at his knees as he rocked. "And all I know is I want to learn about you. Again. Inside and out."

"Yeah. I'd like that very much. I'm hardly a treasure trove of alluring secrets, but I'm sure I have a wild story or two from my college years. Ugh—" The ache that'd been no more than a dull tapping at your skull suddenly came to the fore. Your head throbbed like a blunt force concussion.

"You okay?" The trashbag left Taehyung's hands and crumpled to the floor. You felt them on you shortly after, palpating your oddly sensitive forearms. "What's up?"

"Headache. Think I was bent over for too long, or something." But then came a torrent of sneezing. And it was also then that Taehyung's proximity was suddenly, intolerably stifling. "Ugh. Maybe not. I’m definitely getting sick. Sick-sick."

A satiny palm left your shoulder and found your forehead. Your vantage saw only Taehyung's mouth. It opened into an O. "Oh, shit. Yeah, you're burning up, noona. We should get you into bed."

"No, no. That won't be necessary." You waved away his clammied hand and instead peeled off your - his - jacket. The last thing you wanted, on a day as emotionally strenuous as this one, was to find yourself physically compromised, too. "I'll be okay. I just need to cool down a bit. It's probably just a cold, and I can soldier through those. Uh—I'm a little hungry, though?"

"Aha! Want some French toast or something?" Taehyung leapt at the opportunity to tend to you. Like Yoongi, you shied away from showing weakness and instead showed a reluctance to lean on others. It must’ve been frustrating for Taehyung, an unashamed empath who wanted nothing more than to accompany and comfort you during your times of adversity. But he understood that it could not be the case with you. That less was more. That the key to helping you was when you asked for it. Yes, even when it was something so small as the common cold.

And when it wasn’t just the sniffles, but world-ending woe, Taehyung embraced your diversions from the difficult topics. Didn’t push it. Best friends never pushed. Yes, he was still your best friend. Something more, now, too, but forever your gentlest, most attuned of friends. "Don’t you like French toast? I could make something else?" He prompted, peering into your faraway face with those precious eyes of his.

"You can make French toast?"

"Of course I can. I can make you anything, within reason. I've been practicing. Takeout's giving me a belly." In illustration, Taehyung molded his hands to his mildly rounded flesh. Strained it out further, like an expecting mother.

"I like your little belly." Your hands fell to his, pressing his stomach back to flat.

"Yeah?" An errant quirk of his eyebrow. "It likes you, too."

You smiled so, so wide. And then you became certain:

Last night had been the right decision. One made in a swell of volatile emotion, yes. But this day - this moment - in which it was still possible to smile, proved that. Taehyung conjured it to your face with so little effort. It took so little effort to be with him. To just be.

And that was indeed a feat.

Because inside your mind, there was no reprieve. Barbed words and self-abuse clattered about your brain, painting you unworthy of Jungkook. Worse yet; deserving of his treatment.

Every second since your waking hour you’d been assailed by volleys of it. But your self-loathing didn’t end its assault there. In your darkest seconds, it even dared to suggest that you proclaimed your love for Taehyung too hastily.

That you instead yearned for that other man.

By some mercy, you were already adept in handling intrusive thoughts. Because that was all they were: Intrusive. Unwelcome and unwanted. There could be no truth to the doubt or longing.

Not when your new horizon stood before you, a sunshine smile dawning across his cheeks. Taehyung. The once boy, now man, you'd forever coveted.

He was yours. Your desperate words a night ago sealed it.

Puzzlement mingled adorably with Taehyung's bright features. "Babe?"

Yeah. It was the right choice.

"Sorry, Tae." In spite of your climbing fever, you intertwined your idling fingers. Looked down at the union with a contented smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit. I didn't want to go back to my apartment yet." The reason why remained unspoken. "I know I can't avoid it forever, but for a little while at least, I just wanna not think."

Soft, familiar lips were on your forehead. Spoke against the skin. "You stay here as long as you need. My apartment and I are at your disposal." It was Taehyung's turn to loose himself from your febrile embrace. Your perspiration lacquered his fingers. "We're getting you some painkillers for that fever, at the very least. You don't have to stay in bed, but I want you on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you while I do some marking."

"Okay, dad."

Taehyung’s tongue danced over the tips of his teeth. "That's daddy to you, noona. Get those damp clothes off and get some of my pyjamas on, there's a set on the bed."

----

Your sentencing to the sofa had initially been met with resistance. Especially when Taehyung hovered, ever-watching, an eye on his papers and the other on your recalcitrant form. Your every attempt at productivity - even a surreptitious attempt to fold his laundry - had been met with soft but stern eyes and an escort back to your cologne-saturated prison. Jimin's stank had ingratiated itself with the fibres of Taehyung's cushions. No amount of deodorizer could reduce its cling. It did nothing but intensify the thudding behind your eyes.

And at first, you attributed your worsening nausea to that silly little redhead. But the lightheadedness followed swiftly after, and then the chills, and then that horrid, off feeling encroached, like your soul lagged behind every of your body's movements.

In the end, you begged for the bed. Taehyung's memory foam mattress and sweet-smelling pillows. Only, the sweet made you sick, and the memory foam only exacerbated all your indistinct aches. By early afternoon, despite his dutiful nursing of you, you tapped out of your brave-facing. Practically begged him to return you to your apartment, where all your remedies resided.

If there was something that united the men of your world, it was their haphazard approach to health crises. Taehyung possessed a pitiful two (2) painkillers. The nasty, round, chalky type that got you gagging. Expiry date: Last year. No hot water bottle, no frozen goods to improvise a cold compress. When questioned about his unreadiness in the face of illness, his reasoning was ridiculous. Sound, but ridiculous. 'I never get sick, so I don't need it.’ The painkillers were Jimin’s.

Hoseok and Yoongi were much the same. The former would simply turn up on your doorstep and check-in to your veritable inpatient clinic and expect private-tier care. For the latter, you'd have to make a house visit, because he never got sick, and he didn't need you fussing over him so. And yet he was the one that fell ill the most. The one that needed the most tender of care.

Sigh.

Today, you required it. And that was how you now found yourself back home, a day earlier than you would have preferred. You tottered out of Taehyung's car in your royal red slanket, pyjama pants dragging on wet asphalt. It took what waning stamina you possessed to gaze upward at the same balconies Jungkook strode yesterday. It was like looking on an untouched crime scene; as gloomily lit and ominous as it had been then.

Taehyung came to your side, and then a little in front, surveying that same sight. "Looks like he's gone, noona."

The relief that surged was medicine in itself. "Thank God. Let's go in, quickly." Your teeth chattered animatedly during the climb, even though you burned like the sun incarnate. Taehyung's arm was fast about your waist, steadying you on each of your Everestian steps. Collapse felt close at times, but when your vision began to fail it was the image of Jungkook's guilt-ridden face that rallied you onward. To fall, here, was to expose yourself to the risk of seeing it again.

And that could not happen.

"Do you have the keys—"

"Got 'em." Taehyung was ahead of you in every sense. With the dexterity he was inhibited from displaying earlier, he had your door open before you could reach him. "In you go, babe."

"Thanks." You loped past, unsteady. Unready to climb the flight of stairs immediately within. "Why do I have a maisonette?" The question was to no-one, or God.

Taehyung answered anyway. “Because you’re a woman of discerning taste.” Large hands found your blanketed backside, lending you their support. “Plus, when the bedroom’s upstairs, the neighbours can’t hear.”

“A valid point,” you ceded, beginning your ascent. Even with Taehyung - quite literally - bringing up the rear, your legs felt like those of an unpractised infant. It was astonishing just how quickly the virus had incapacitated you.

Still. The higher you climbed, the handsier Taehyung became. He stole squeezes of your rump with every step. Said it was incentive to keep going.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

After much of his unscrupulous groping, the laughter finally broke free. "Oh my God, you're being so shameless right now." Another shaky step. "I wish I had a stairmaster."

He wasn't done being outrageous. "Sit back and I'll stairmaster you all the way up, babe."

The giggling became painful. Welcome, but painful. "Stop."

At the top of the staircase, you stopped to compose your failing limbs. It was alarming just how vital you'd been this morning. This afternoon, you felt one laboured breath from death. "One sec."

"I knew this was a bad idea. You shouldn't be going anywhere in your condition." His two, warm hands stabilised you from the back, preventing an inevitable tumble. "I coulda just bought more painkillers and whatever else you needed."

"It's alright, Tae. I had to come back at some point soon, anyway. My keys for the cafe are here and I'm opening tomorrow." Blotting the sweat from your brow, you advanced on unstable legs to the sofa and immediately crumpled onto its familiar comfort. "Plus, when I'm sick, I like to be sick at home."

"I don't think you'll be going into work tomorrow." By the time it took you to maneuver yourself onto your stomach, Taehyung was stood over you, hands emphatically on hips. "Look at you. Can't even get comfortable without exhausting yourself."

"I don't wanna let Hoseok down." Nor did you want to enlighten him to your current romantic quandry, though. Ugh. "But I do feel terrible. If I’m no better later, I might text him."

"Wow, I thought for sure it would take far more convincing than that," Taehyung snickered, eyes round with mock shock. He'd accumulated a number of dirty dishes from your coffee table in his hands. "Glad you're prepared to rest. Stay there and let me get whatever it is you need. I'll clean your place up a little as well, so don't stress about it."

"No—Tae—"

"Hush. Get the pyjama bottoms off, too, they're wet on the bottom."

You'd been shouldering so much discomfort that your freezing wet ankles had eluded you. A glance down. "Oh. Yeah. I don't know if I can, though." You flopped your feeble arms. "Too far to reach." Plus, Taehyung could undress you now. To disrobe in any other way was to squander the opportunity.

His mouth curved villainously. "Okay." Clap. "Let's see if I can do this in one swift move. Like a magician pulling a table cloth."

Before his proposition had entirely processed, he pinched the hems of your sodden pyjama bottoms and snatched them from your legs. "Wh—"

"Open sesame!"

Wheezy giggling filled the air. "Oh, it hurts to laugh. Fuck." Being semi-naked and comically incapacitated only heightened the hilarity. Taehyung straddled your legs, twirling the wet pants in triumph— "Oww. Oh my God, stop, I can’t—” More rasping laughter. “What even goes on in your head? Also, magicians don't shout open sesame when they do that shit."

"I do. That's why other magicians suck. They say the wrong words." He spoke it like he believed it, and for a moment he was again the boy from childhood, proclaiming the weirdest - but sincerest - of things. And now he was your loveable oddball. "Daddy's gonna get you some dry ones."

And there was the gross-ass man he'd grown into.

Nevermind.

"Okay, you're taking that in a direction I don't want to go in, Tae," you protested, flimsily, through persistent laughs. With a half-hearted kick, you nudged him toward your bedroom. "Hurry up, my ass is getting cold."

“A cold ass will do you good,” was his nonsensical retort. He wriggled out of his own, damp jeans as he went, gifting you the sight of his luscious ass in curve-hugging cotton.

You were appallingly close to catcalling take the boxers off too!, but in your current state you could barely lift a pinky, let alone give him the vigorous fucking he deserved.

---

A little channel-hopping later, Taehyung returned. Armed, coincidentally, with your favourite flannel bottoms. Yes, it was likely just coincidence, but the romantic in you posited destiny. "Legs up," he commanded. You did try, but the attempt was laughable. Taehyung's sigh hit the back of your thighs. "Listen here, lazy," he crooned, turning your body with the care one would an undercooked omelette. Pyjama pants in hand, he glowered down at your defiant face, brandishing them like a threat. "You gonna co-operate?"

"Nope." You turned your attention to the TV to stifle further laughter. Why you were hindering his attempts to help with your misbehaviour was anyone's guess. There was something irresistible about making trouble for him, though. Probably because Taehyung, too, was an unrepenting rascal.

"Okay then," was his equivocal response. You scrutinised him through narrowed eyes, waiting on his next, underhanded move.

Which was to tickle your feet. Underhanded indeed.

"Oh, God, no!" you yelped, cried, rasped for breath. Flailed your legs like a fawn on skates.

"Thought you couldn't move, huh? Huh?" Taehyung caught your ankles amidst their thrashing and pulled them through freshly-laundered flannel.

Once the pyjamas reached your knees, you relented in your nonsense and shot him a buoyant smile. "Thanks."

"Hips up."

This time, you were obedient.

And Taehyung was thankful. A fine smile shone back at you as he settled the waistband around your hips. Your smile, however, drifted. Awe replaced it as you stole glances at his beautifully-hewn features. He truly was sublime. The bridge of his nose was high and strong, its tip hosting the most precious of moles. Beneath his bottom lip there was another. These little details, of course, hadn’t escaped you before, but it was something to see them so close now. With time, you would kiss each and every of his chaotically placed moles.

When you recalled your gaze upward, Taehyung was watching you. The chocolate of his eyes was molten with feeling. Love and warmth irradiated him. "Can't believe you're mine now."

It was crucial that you kiss him.

You moved to do so. His lips were only a breath away. But then—

Three, distinct knocks.

You traded looks. Yours, petrified. His, outraged.

"Wait—"

But Taehyung's weight had already left you. An intimidating energy lingered in his wake as he strode toward the staircase, fists clenched. "I'll get that."

"Tae, no—"

The difficulty with which it took you to extricate yourself from your slanket was all the more frustrating for the urgency of the situation. You staggered, almost toppled, to catch him, but he'd already descended the steps by the time you reached the top. Damn those lovely, long legs of his. All you could do now was brace yourself on either bannister to prevent a gruesome fall. Because no amount of honeyed pleading was going to stop him. You peered, lightly nauseous, down the expanse of stair as Taehyung slung open the door.

It came as no surprise that it was Jungkook stood there, his doe-eyes wide.

It eviscerated your guts, nonetheless, to see him.

“Noona!”

At first, he lit up in elation. Perhaps he thought the door-answerer to be you. When Taehyung’s identity became clear, however, that elation morphed. First, to shock. Your long-legged lover wasn’t wearing pants, after all. But when Jungkook spied you at the back all shy, sadness again descended upon him. It was a sadistic hope that your sickly appearance intensified that upset. That it fueled his guilt for having decimated you. With every, shredded fibre of your being, you wished Jungkook hurt.

“Thank you for answering the door,” he began with an earnest bow, as though he didn’t know just how much you abhorred him. “H—”

"I answered the door. What do you want?" Taehyung straddled the doorframe, asserting his dominance over the territory. Jungkook's every attempt to look past him was foiled. The lissom man angled himself obstructively, and yet you sought Jungkook's face, too. Wanted to glimpse the heartbreaker for yourself, like he was some loathsome thing of legend. Like it was hard to believe you'd looked into that face just yesterday and seen the world. "Don't you ever give up?" he added, his patience sounding pencil-thin.

After several, weighty seconds of silence, Jungkook eventually acknowledged Taehyung's existence. Addressed him earnestly. "I know I'm not welcome here. I just want a couple of minutes with ____ to explain what she saw—" A derisive snort threatened to cut him off, so he continued hastily, and louder— "—Not for my benefit. For hers. I don't want her to—to—" Choked with frustration, Jungkook thrust himself into your sightline. Implored you with large, gleaming eyes. "I don't want you to blame yourself in any way."

You despised how pregnable you were under his gaze. Like imminent, avoidable death, it became impossible to look away. The void called. There, in his desolate eyes. He wanted you to join him.

No, Jungkook didn’t need you anymore. What he wanted was absolution. At great personal cost to you. But whatever he wished, no matter how detrimental, you would likely grant.

Because as much as you hated him, you loved him.

“I—”

But you loved Taehyung, too.

“____?” And he was there, soft voice enticing you back toward the light. Back toward his pretty face and tender-hearted intentions. There was no hurt to be had with Taehyung.

"I don't,” you spat, clear-minded once more. “I don’t blame myself, Jungkook. Only you.”

But you did blame yourself. Every second since, in fact.

Too fat, too boring, too ugly, too old, too much baggage—

It mustn't have been too convincing an outburst. Jungkook's mouth remained a thin, grim line. And those fucking eyes of his were so fucking ridiculously big and sad and—fuck!

It was all too much.

Mercifully, Taehyung was composed enough to mediate. You, however, were on the brink of emotional - and physical - collapse. "You heard her." Again, he filled out the doorframe. Stood provocatively close to the man in front. "You fucked up majorly. Actually—" Taehyung leaned in. His baritone dived lower. "You're lucky we're not alone right now."

Jungkook did not recoil an inch. Neither did he square up, though. He just stood, toe-to-toe with Taehyung, receiving the vitriol.

"You've imparted your message. You’re too late. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Are you finally going to go?"

At that, something bubbled within Jungkook. It shook his frame, balled his fists. Blinking came more rapidly. And then— "I know all that, dude. Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I appreciate what you’re doing, and that you’re protecting her, but I just—I need to talk to noona—to ___ a little longer. Privately. I just need a little more time. Please. Let me get the words out."

Taehyung bore impossibly close. "You don't need more time."

Jungkook’s mouth opened, combatively downturned. But whatever he meant to launch next was stymied when you took one, noodly step down the stairs. Taehyung turned toward the movement, and Jungkook peered past. It was then that he clocked just how arduous it was for you to move. “Noona? Are you okay?”

Dizzyness crowded your peripheral vision. But Jungkook was front and centre, and so painfully clear, that the influenza quietened. "I don't want to see you, Jungkook. I’m pretty sure I got that across yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? What if I don’t even want to hear your damn sob story?"

He fell mute when your words reached him. Like he could scarcely believe you'd deigned him worthy of directly addressing. Palms pressed together and with his mouth agape, he looked the picture of a supplicant.

But he was unworthy.

No, I am.

You hung your head again. It was strenuous on your neck; weighing like a cannonball. "I don't want to stand here all day, Jungkook. Fucking say something. Why did you come here if—"

"Because I love you!” he gasped. “I love you, and—"

"Bullshit you do!"

It came from Taehyung, not you. He'd turned back, teeth bared, no longer saying but growling. There he was. Your guard dog. The leash was straining. "You don't love someone and hide a fucking fiancee, you piece of shit." Jungkook flinched at Taehyung's ferocity, but remained stalwart on his spot. Curled his lip instead. "You blew it. Now go."

Jungkook shook his head suddenly, violently. Flung rain from his hair and onto the walls. "This has nothing to do with you!" The bridge of his nose scrunched tight and bared not bunny teeth, but fangs.

Taehyung swatted away the finger poised aggressively at his chest. Stepped closer, but didn't stop. No, he bumped him back toward the threshold with his chest. "It does now. Read between the lines, dumbass."

Jungkook was ineffably innocent. “What do you mean?” He stared into Taehyung’s narrowed eyes to glean more meaning.

And then he gulped.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to Taehyung’s immodestly nude legs, and clarity began to dawn. It astounded you how little reaction Taehyung’s state of undress had initially garnered from Jungkook. But now he was giving the situation its due attention.

A few, unmoving moments later, he gulped again. Harder this time, like something tangibly obstructed his speech. “N-Noona?” It was a mere rasp.

When Jungkook looked back, eyes glossy with devastation, your heart tore again. Right along its freshly-stitched seams. You tried desperately to avert your gaze, but the void shimmering back at you was dense. His voice reached for you again. "____?"

Your name, alien in tone, was what finally closed your eyes. Fresh tears ran down established tracks. You turned away, grip on the bannisters dubious.

"You and—him?" Jungkook gasped, so quietly, so pained, it was like agonal breath.

You crumpled as if stomped on. Your chest was ablaze, and you wanted so desperately to clutch at it. To smother it. To cradle your torso as it caved once more. But you were too impaired to move. Instead, you stood there, frozen and hunched, crying uglier than you could remember ever letting anyone see. Staring at your toes as the carpet caught your tears.

But why? You should be overjoyed to shatter him as he had you.

"Get it? Now go." Taehyung sighed, all the fight siphoning from him. He backed up from Jungkook and went monotone. "You've upset ___. Again. This is your last warning. Get going."

Predictably, Jungkook didn't budge. In the ensuing silence, however, he didn't plead his case as he once would have done. No, something about him was changed. An aggrieved aura hugged him, expanded, until— "Last warning? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes, once brimming with tears, now seared with a fury. Even Taehyung looked taken aback. The outburst came sharp despite its gentle source. Again, Jungkook thrust forward an accusing finger. "Don't pretend you're better than me. You're selfish. I knew you couldn't wait to get your dick in her. I knew it ever since we saw you at the movies and you looked so fucking jealous—"

The gasp that exited you was so heavy with outrage it almost took you with it. You gripped the bannisters tighter, wobbled down two further steps. You had to de-escalate this. Somehow. "Jungkook!"

He granted you a brief, guilt-ridden side-glance before once again affixing his target with a glare. "You were just waiting for your moment, weren't you? Didn't want her 'til I had her. Couldn't bear the thought of your closest friend not being one of your conquests."

“Shut the fuck up!”

You didn't make it in time. Not before Taehyung wound back his elbow and snapped it forward, a hard, coiled fist on its end. It landed, brutal and blunt, on Jungkook's jaw. A dull, fleshy thud resounded, but to you it was like a gunshot. And so was the way his head and body whipped away, spiralling until his knees buffered his fall.

"Oh my G—Jungkook!"

The younger man, crouched away as he was, breathed deep, coppery air. Smeared his mouth along his sleeve, leaving red where it touched. And then, standing, he glared hatred at Taehyung. His shoulders shuddered with untethered anger. "You—"

"It's more than that for me. I can't say the same for you," Taehyung cut in, surveying his reddened knuckles. He flexed his fingers for feeling. "Fucking cheater."

Distracted, Taehyung was unprepared for the solid hunk of human that caught him around his midsection. Jungkook tackled him without caution, throwing his entire, intimidating mass into Taehyung's lankier frame. The two surged into the ground, clawing and grappling at the other's limbs, eyes wild, lips stretched back from teeth.

"Stop!"

"Oh my God, stop it!"

Neither listened. They were feral. Both heard only the rush of blood.

Knowing you must intervene, you manipulated your ragdollish limbs into descending the last half dozen steps. It was then, after an elongated struggle, Jungkook clambered atop Taehyung and fisted the collar of his shirt, glaring daggers enough to maim him.

“You’re so fucking smug—”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who fucked up!” Taehyung crowed from beneath, maniacal. He taunted Jungkook with an angular grin, like he wasn’t the one at disadvantage.

“Shut up!”

Once your feet met ground, you crumbled to your knees, Taehyung's head of hair between them. The sneer he brandished fell when he caught sight of your sweat-soaked face. Pitifully you pressed against Jungkook's shoulders, dissuading him from further violence. You felt like a toreador pushing on 1800lbs of charging bull. Jungkook didn't even so much as register your attempts until you wheezed out, "P-Please stop."

He did. He went rigid, in fact. Trembled, when he became aware of your touch. His rage evaporated and the boy that sat there was no longer a bull but a meek little kit. Trepidation rolled from Jungkook in waves, and he would not meet your eyes.

Why?

Was he now repulsed by you?

How could he judge you for your indiscretion when he—he—!

No. It wasn't an indiscretion. What you did with Taehyung held no moral ambiguity.

It occurred to you, then, that the pair of you hadn't been so close since the last time you were intimate. And happy. Though damp, Jungkook's familiar, and once comforting scent, brushed your nostrils. Perhaps your proximity was what flustered him.

When he finally met your gaze, you knew it to be true. He didn't look upon you with the anger nor revulsion you expected. Not anything obvious, anyway. Instead it was the wide-eyed wonder from your first date. The shyness. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to revisit it.

But then his brows drooped low in remorse. "Noona," he called to you like you were far away. Pined for you. Taehyung's shirt fell from his clutches, and you found his hands on your elbows instead, propping up your drooping form.

Feverish before, you were positively boiling now. To have his gentle palms on you again, no matter the circumstance, was a threat to your hastily-cobbled retreat. His fingertips told you, as they caressed your inner elbow, that any other man's hands would never do. And yet - you squirmed feebly, recalling it - those hands had been on, been in some other woman's body. And that would never do. "Don't touch me, J-Jungkook. Not with those hands."

But it was his hands that stirred your heart into uproar.

No. It was simply the flu. Nothing more. It influenced your body in the oddest ways.

And there was someone that had pumped your blood for far longer.

You cast your eyes to where Taehyung lay, honey hair a halo about his head and eyes only for you. Love bloomed fiercely in the bowels of your heart. “You really don’t look very good.” He made to push Jungkook off, but the younger man was already up on his knees, scanning your wan complexion.

"Are you burning up?" Jungkook murmured, his lips a line of concern. "You feel hot." Again he clasped your elbows, testing along their length for temperature. When he reached your upper arms, he was bold enough to advance on your neck, thumbs either side the line of your jaw. To your great shame, though you attributed it in most part to the fever, you enjoyed Jungkook's handling. "Your glands are out. And—" he pressed a cool, clammy palm to your clammier forehead. Spellbound, your eyes closed. "Yeah, you're even hotter up here, noona."

"No shit, dumbass," Taehyung growled from above. When you opened your eyes, he was no longer supine but towering over the two of you, fingers twitching by his sides. You foresaw Jungkook's imminent scalping if you weren't quick to intervene. "You chased her into torrential rain. She's sick, asshole, and it's your fault."

But there was no need to intervene. Jungkook didn't anger again. Nor did he stare down the man spitting insults. His focus remained fixed on you. On the damage he'd done. The deadened, bloodshot eyes, the pallid skin, the absence of joy. Of understanding. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could think to say? Again?

Desperate, you implored him for more with forlorn eyes. Begged him for sense. Practically mouthed the word please. It would be nothing you wanted to hear, but perhaps hearing it could bring closure. Some semblance of peace, eventually, in some far-off year.

Jungkook stared back, ruminating, and you knew there was no sense to be found. None that you wanted, anyway. Jungkook was a liar, an adulterer, a manipulator—

"Alright, you said sorry again. Time to go." Taehyung hauled him up by his underarms and, hopefully, away from you forever. It was a credit to him for tolerating Jungkook’s presence for so long. Especially when all he did was regurgitate the same, tired shit. "Don't come here again, or I'll call the cops," he snarled to Jungkook's ear, spittle flying. With a grip on the scruff of Jungkook's jacket, he whirled him toward the door.

"She's not my fiancee!"

Taehyung paused. As did you, in your agonised ascent into standing.

"She's not my fiancee," Jungkook repeated over his shoulder, looking for you over his gathering jacket. "I wanted to talk to you about it calmly, and in private. It's not simple, and it’s hard to believe."

"Don't lie to me n-now, Jungkook." The finger with which you jabbed at him, trembled. "I asked you that. You said she was."

Taehyung's expression darkened by the second. It would devolve into another brawl at this rate, and you didn't want that. Not because you didn't want to see Jungkook get served, but because you didn't want him in your presence another gut-wrenching moment.

Brazenly, Jungkook yanked himself from Taehyung's grip and turned, palms up and pacifying. He inched back toward the door; a gesture of his intent to finally leave. "Look. It's because technically she is, but it's not real—I'm going, asshole!—" Jungkook waved his arms demonstratively at the nearing door. Having appeased Taehyung, he pinned you again with fervent eyes. "What you saw wasn't the truth. If you won't hear me out entirely, at least hear that.”

“No-one believes you. Everything you say is a fucking contradiction.” Taehyung was red and riled again.

Jungkook ignored him, his time short. “I won't text you anymore, I won't come here anymore. What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I know that. I should never have lied. But—" The lamp outside illuminated his bedraggled hair. The tip of his nose when he turned. "You know my number if you do want to hear me out. I'll be around for a bit longer.”

A bit longer?

You granted him the minutest of nods.

It was enough. Nodding back, Jungkook turned on his heel and flew around the corner. And though he was gone, his silhouette stayed seared into your retinas, haunting your every blink. It was only when Taehyung replaced him in the doorway that Jungkook faded. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you back on the sofa.”

Wow, he was tall.

Oh.

Somehow, you were on the floor again. You squinted up at him with sore, watering eyes, overwhelmed by it all. You reached for him like an infant would its parent, too vulnerable to move, and too stupid to know better. “Okay.”

"It’s been a shitty day, but I’m gonna try and make it better. Why don’t we have a Netflix nostalgiafest?" Taehyung cooed into your sodden hair, no minding the sweat. He wound your arms around his neck, legs about his waist and chauffered you up the stairs, grunting by the step. Exaggerating the effort by comedic amounts in order to provoke you.

“Sure.”

But you were far, far away. Hidden behind your glazed eyes, the encounter replayed on loop. Lingered on Jungkook's Disney eyes and big buck teeth. The ones you loved back when he deserved to be loved. The nonsense he spouted toward the end was of particular interest in your mental re-runs, even though it should have immediately been dismissed.

'What you saw wasn't the truth.'

But neither was his relationship with you. Not when he kept such weighty secrets as sport.

'I'll be around for a bit longer.'

And that? Another of his manipulative tactics? Was he really leaving, or merely dangling the threat of it?

But why would it be a threat? You wanted nothing more than him to be gone.

Oh, it was all so bad. Everything was bad. Everything was too much, and, oh, even being in your body was too much, let alone your mind. You were drowning in affliction. Assailed from all sides with nothing for defense.

"Babe."

All went black, and then you opened your eyes. Taehyung stood over you, mouth downturned. Cotton caressed your naked skin, and you knew these were your sheets. This was your bed. Your lover had stripped you of your oppressive pyjamas. You stared at the mole on his nose, the one under his bottom lip. One, two. You could count to two.

"Are you doing okay? Your fever really spiked there. Should I call a doctor?"

“No, no.”

Perhaps you'd simply hallucinated the entire encounter. Perhaps it was your mind's exercise in catharsis. Or perhaps Jungkook had never existed to begin with, and his betrayal was the product of a detailed fever dream. Taehyung was real, though, and here he was still. Your forever best friend. Your secret love. You had not yet confessed your love to this real Taehyung. But now you were awake, you would seize the chance. Because if there was one thing your prolonged nightmare had taught you, it was that you should have just done it to begin with. On the porch those years ago, when the stars weighed heavy over his head and dared you to kiss him.

"I love you," you rasped, sounding like Death's next call.

And just like it should have happened then, Taehyung lowered his face to yours. "I love you too, noona," he murmured through a joyous smile, brushing together your noses first, lips second. "But it's time for your next dose of painkillers. We gotta get this in you ‘cause your fever’s really mounting. Pretty sure you’ve been hallucinating. It’s worrying me. I’m this close—” he pinched together his fingers— “to calling a doctor. I don't think that asshole turning up did you much good."

Brainless, you repeated. "No doctor. Asshole?"

"Yeah, Jungkook." A tray of painkillers dangled from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth while he poured water. "Lying douchebag. Who, by the way, will not be working at the school anymore. Not if I have something to say about it."

The words went in, but floated right back out. The ceiling swirled.

"Oh." He was real.

Of course, you knew that. Even in the murk of fever it was apparent. Still, it’d been nice to pretend for a while.

The sound of preparation ceased and the mattress dipped. Taehyung extended your next dose and a glass of water to you. His expression was no longer so sunny, but clouded with disquiet. "Talk to me, ____. I know you're sick, but that's not all that's going on in that muddled head of yours. It might help to talk. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to be afraid. Just try it."

It was a credit to your weakened state that you were so loose-lipped. You downed the pills and curled around Taehyung's seated position, molding to his lap. "I'm just—I don't know." Your cheek was hot against his thigh. His Calvin Klein waistband stared back at you. "I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm so, so sad. It's unbearable. I can't handle much as it is. It doesn't take a lot to drag me down, but this, this—" Tears welled. Taehyung's slender fingers were there to catch them. "This feels almost too much. Even with you here. It's like I'm locked in a mental prison."

"I know, babe," he whispered, stroking your face free of limpid hair. "It's gonna take a while to feel better, like it does with any big change. What he did to you was villain material. Of course you're going to be devastated." For once, you listened. "You don't owe him forgiveness, though he tried his damned best to get it. For his own selfish satisfaction, I'm sure. And you don't owe him anything else, either, not even the thoughts in your brain. Though I know that's gonna take a while, too. I'm sure it's all you can think about." You nodded, snuffled into your blanket until it was wet. A sob felt ripe for eruption. "The flu won't make things easier, either. You're not losing your mind. You just need rest. And when you're not resting, distraction. I'm on hand for the latter." All that he said was all that you craved to hear. A tremulous smile - of relief, of gratitude - wobbled into place. Taehyung must have seen. "That's it, babe. It won't always be this bad, okay?"

You nodded, marring his exemplary thighs with a variety of unpleasant excretions. "Ugh. Sorry." You’d been intimate just one day with Taehyung and you were already establishing yourself as a repellent bog monster. Usually that happens at least 3 years in.

Taehyung merely chuckled. Kept the tissue box out of reach when you moved for it, thinking himself funny. It was only upon your panicked pleas of oh my god, snot’s gonna go in my mouth, that he finally indulged you. By wiping your nose for you, cooing all the while. "That better, little baby?"

Your face spelt vexation. But inwardly, yes, yes, it was better.

Taehyung made you so.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook angst #taehyung angst #jungkook scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #bts scenarios #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #wylei

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teenyfish · 4 years ago

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Marine Biology Story of the Day #13: The Collection

Hey everybody, long time no see—we’ve been dealing with hurricanes and vacations and I’ve been extremely worn down from work so I have not posted anything in the last two weeks.

But, since it’s early spooky season and I’ve finally had a chance to sit down, we are going to do a special post today and go over my collection.

My collection of “dead things”, as my husband likes to describe it.

I like to describe it as my natural history collection. It’s a collection I’ve been curating since I got go college, and I have either collected and cleaned them myself, or received them as gifts from others who share my strange hobby. I have not personally killed any of these animals, however I’m sure some were road kill or were killed by barotrauma (if they were fish). Also, these are not all from dead animals, I have a large collection of molts and shells as well. For me, these are found objects, and I am giving them life again in my house. If you are uncomfortable with the idea of animal bone collection and processing, I suggest you stop here.

If you have a morbid curiosity like I do, welcome.

Lets start with the bones. On the first row we have what I think is a squirrel skull that I found on a beach (I’m not 100% sure because I don’t have any teeth from it) and a cormorant skull I found completely bleached and cleaned on a dock. On the second row we have a pair of deer antlers I spent $2 on at an antique fair, we have an otter that I cleaned for my university that I was allowed to keep, we have rocky the raccoon, also from my university, a cat skull I found on a washed up beach (there were no tags attached, no tissue left, it could have been a pet or a stray, but considering we were in the middle of nowhere, there was no way to tell), and a Atlantic sharpnose shark jaw I cleaned while on a NOAA trip. The back row we have a blacktip reef shark jaw from the same trip, and a red drum skull collected from a beach.

Now, rocky is one of my favorites—we have a long relationship. When I was in college, I took a mammalogy class and one of our assignments was to go find a dead animal and bring it in, dissect it, and clean it. Like for a grade. Our professor had tenure and was pretty eccentric, so he got away with it much to the chagrin of the president. I found rocky on the side of a highway, while I was driving home to my parents’ house for fall break, and he looked pretty freshly dead, so I thought that would be the best way to go. It didn’t stop him from stinking up my car though, and my mom was not pleased that I stuffed him in the basement freezer. He made it back to school in a Styrofoam cooler, and I got an A on that assignment, and then we put all of our skulls in the “beetle tank” so that they could finish cleaning the skulls for us. I forgot about it. Fast forward to two years later, I was working for the graduate department while getting my graduate degree, and we were asked to clean out the “bone room” and process the skulls, and I found him, a tag with my name on it attached. He came home to live me ever since.

Next we have the molts, all of which, with the exception of the sea urchin, all came from live animals that continued on living after they had shed their shells. On the bottom left we have my horseshoe crab molts, the larger one was collected on a fisheries survey I was on, the little one I found at a hotel beach in Florida. Just above the horseshoe crabs, we have an urchin that I found in Maine—this one was likely smashed against the rocks by a seagull, because when an urchin dies, it usually doesn’t leave behind it’s spines. Next to it is the large, American Lobster, which came from the lobster at the aquarium I used to work at!! And then, in the bottom right is a spiny lobster molt. Spiny lobsters come from the south eastern united states, but our aquarium collected a spiny lobster in North Carolina. She was one of my favorite animals I worked with in the aquarium.

Then we have the full bodied organisms that were preserved fully. We have European hornets pinned in the bottom block, which are from a small project I worked on as an undergrad. These are invasive to the states. The large blue jar contains a baby sandbar shark. My friend (who is also a biology nerd) found this one for me at a thrift store, so WHO KNOWS how it got there originally—but I gave her a new home none the less. The last three small jars are fish and invertebrates that were collected on my trip studying marine plastics in the Pacific. In one is a Velula velula, or a by-the-wind sailor, which is a small siphonophore (similar to a jelly fish, or like a small man-o-war) that “sails” on the surface of the water with it’s little biological sail! The next one is a myctophid, which I’ve covered in previous posts, but it’s a small, very numerous deep sea fish with bioluminescent photophores on it’s belly. The last is a dragonfish or a viperfish, which is another deep see fish similar to an angler fish, but it’s bioluminescent lure is on it’s chin.

I’ve been putting this collection together for almost 10 years now, and they all have their little spots on my shelves at my home. I just find these pieces of biology so beautiful, and I want to give these animals a second life. I’m not just into dead animals, I have a 55 gallon saltwater tank and a sweet baby puppy as well, but I just love natural specimens--it is just so cool to be able to reach up on your book shelf and be able to study anatomy from the real thing.

Now, there are a myriad of methods required for preserving biological samples, many of which you can do at home with your own materials. Cleaning a skull successfully also depends on the condition that the remains are found in. I rarely do a skull that has a lot of tissue still on it, it’s a lot of work. I do stress though, unless you want to get into some really nasty stuff, it is not for the faint of heart (or people who are easily nauseated). If you want any information on how to clean skulls, both from mammals and from fish, please feel free to contact me in the notes or in the asks.

That being said, as a reminder, there are some legal issues regarding many species. Marine Mammals and endangered species are a no go, even if you find the animal already dead. Make sure to be aware of that when you go out in the field looking for bones. It is also is typically illegal to collect things from state and national parks in the U.S., and I don’t have all the rules for other countries, so just educate yourself before you head out.

As always, if you have any questions or comments PLEASE do not be afraid to ask!

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stella-monstrum · 4 years ago

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“Autopsy of Jane Doe”[ IFC MIDNIGHT, 2016] [Rated R]

(Review & My Parallel Film Theory)

(NSFW CONTENT AND POTENTIAL SPOILERS)

(Written by Stella, edited by Jacob J.)

No matter the genre, the independent film industry holds many hidden gems within it. Studio IFC has been in the game for close to twenty years now, but it wasn’t until 2010 that it unveiled its plans for their “Midnight” collection and genre.

“Many of our most successful VOD titles are those that might fall under the Midnight label – not just films that are straight up horror, erotic arthouse, or genre films, but also ones that shock audiences, push boundaries, and stir up controversy – so officially creating IFC Midnight was the logical next step,” President of IFC Entertainment Jonathan Sehring in a statement. (SOURCE: indiewire.com // HERE)

But the focus in this article will be solely on the horror genre, specifically the 2016 supernatural/horror/thriller standout The Autopsy of Jane Doe. My review, thoughts, and analysis will include some changes I would have made to change the story itself. Now, full disclaimer, my changes and reimagining will not affect my rating on the film overall, per se.

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

[REVIEW]

One thing that was honestly a surprise (albeit a pleasant one) was how small the cast actually was. Whilst there are ten actors and actresses listed on the IMDb page, the film focuses on only five of them, eventually whittling the action down to three. My honest thought? “With such a small amount of people only being focused on, this will get boring quickly.” But boy, I was 100% wrong in that assumption. If ANYTHING, it only intensified every moment on, Add in dramatic references, film scoring, and film aesthetics? It was just icing on the creep cake.

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

Let’s begin with the cast and breakdown of the story:

Brian Cox and Emile Hersch as father-son coroner duo Tommy and Austin Tilden

Ophelia Lovibond as Emma, Austin’s girlfriend

Olwen Kelly as Jane Doe

Michael McElhatton as Sheriff Burke (an albeit brief focus)

Left to right: Austin, Emma and Tommy (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

~~~~~~

From the beginning of the film, you are immediately immersed within a brutal crime scene. It seems fairly straightforward in what appears to be a triple homicide. I was taken by (delighted) surprise that it kicked off at such a fast pace, so much so that I physically felt that I’d lost my footing (while sitting). But as the police and forensic team further search the home for evidence, they wind up finding a pristinely preserved and very nude corpse, one only partially covered in dirt down in the basement. This new revelation doesn’t fit what they’ve pinned down to be a homicide.

Enter a quieter and uneventful small town setting. Here we are introduced to Austin and Tommy Tilden, running a very small coroner business out of the basement of their home (blasting rock and roll from the radio whilst they do their job—a very cool touch.) Austin comes off as a young adult who doesn’t want to be stuck in this small town, let alone in this profession. He feels bad since father Tommy is otherwise alone and widowed.

The Tilden home/business (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

~~~~

Austin’s girlfriend Emma comes in to pick him up after his shift for a date they had planned. (This part plays into my reimagining later.) Emma sneaks up to scare Austin, then begs and pleads with him to let her see a dead body and what they do for a living. Austin flat out refuses, but then his dad allows Emma to pick one to view. Tommy also explains that they keep bells around the ankles of some corpses (a practice with origins in an old wives’ tale: if the person isn’t dead, the bell will jingle). Austin gets back at Emma by ringing the bell on one of the bodies to scare her, and she threatens that he “won’t be getting laid.” (Emma comes off as a very strong type—and not in a flattering chemistry way)

Just as they’re about to leave for their date, Sheriff Burke comes in with an urgent request: they have 24hrs to perform the autopsy of the Jane Doe found in the opening scene. Austin decides that, with the urgency and his guilt, to stay behind and assist, asking Emma to come back later.

As they perform what they thought would be just another autopsy to find clues as to how or why Jane Doe met her end, things get very eerie and strange. These events elicit goosebumps: from a shift in music to a creepily upbeat version of the McGuire Sisters’ 1954 song “Let the Sunshine In,” to an awful storm coming in seemingly out of nowhere, knocking a tree into the cellar exit, trapping the Tildens inside. The family cat gets killed. The bodies in the morgue awaken. The power goes out. These usually run-of-the-mill supernatural tropes are 100 times more dramatic with the focus only on the two men.

While they examine Jane layer by layer, her fingerprints are nowhere to be found in their system, and her trauma and, injuries in total, do not seem to match up with the crime.

Peat soil from “up northeast” found under her fingernails

No outward visible signs of marking or bruising

Broken wrists and ankles

Ripped out tongue

Mutilated genitalia

Missing tooth (which was force fed to her in a cloth with a ritualistic sigil in it)

Flower with paralyzing properties (and not native to the area) in her stomach

Horribly burned lungs and internal organs covered in scar tissue.

A very much active brain

Roman numerals and symbols carved into her skin

Markings on the cloth alluding to Leviticus 20:27 (which condemns witches) and the year 1693 (a reference to the Salem Witch Trials)

Austin and Tommy do not come out of this unscathed—or alive, for that matter. While trying to escape in the elevator when being chased by one of the belled-up corpses, Tommy hacks away at it in the dark. But, once the power comes back on, it is revealed to be Emma. Tommy gets attacked by unseen forces (since he is the one primarily performing the exam). They finally reveal that Jane Doe was likely thought to be a witch during the Trials, but the people who performed the ritual were horribly wrong—and ended up turning her into the very thing they sought to destroy. Tommy pleads with the witch to take him as long as she leaves Austin alone, and all of her horrific injuries get transferred to the elder Tilden, leaving Austin to put his father out of misery. Austin, however, gets spooked by a hallucination (provided by Jane) of his dead father on the stairs leading up to the exit. He falls and snaps his neck.

The next day, Jane Doe is in pristine form on the exam table. The Sheriff cannot understand what could have happened since he’d known the Tilden’s for so long, and decides to send Jane off to the next county. The ending features Jane being transferred into the van, a creepily upbeat song playing once again.

All in all, if I were nitpicking, the only real complaint I’d have is that some of the suspenseful moments were drawn out a few seconds too long. On top of that, they shouldn’t have killed off the family cat, Stanley. That said, if you’re into supernatural thrillers or just looking for a film for date night, this would certainly be one to consider.

(7/10 stabs) 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

(Reimagining AHEAD)

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Now after watching the film, I got to thinking. This is my reimagining of sorts, and a theory that they could have used to cash in on a continuation:

Let us rewind a little bit. Remember Emma? Think back to this scene specifically:

youtube

(I do NOT own the rights to this clip, simply sharing for viewing to set the scene)

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In this parallel theory there are a few points of change that come to mind initially:

1. Tommy has a more stubborn personality, absolutely and flat out refusing to let Emma see the cadavers

As he (Tommy) shoos Emma out, that is when the Sheriff urgently brings in Jane Doe. Austin convinces his father to let Emma stick around. Tommy then has the attitude of, “If she wants to see a dead body we’ll let her see the entire process.”

Jane’s body gets taken into the Tilden’s business. (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

Whilst the Tilden’s are performing the examination, Emma begins to get bored (before shit gets weird and they essentially awaken Jane’s warnings)

2. When things slowly proceed to get horrific, the further that they get into things, Emma touches the ritual cloth that was used to force-feed Jane her molar, then Austin scolds her for touching evidence.

Progressively after touching the ritual cloth, Emma begins to get very sick. This not only adds an anxiety-inducing level of conflict on top of having to deal with Jane Doe’s unfolding evil, but also provides a deeper layer to the film.

Austin and Tommy examine the ritual cloth. (Screencap, Autopsy of Jane Doe, 2016)

The more that they poke, prod, and try to fight Jane, the worse Emma’s condition gets. Austin has to drag her along whilst also trying to protect his father from the witch’s attacks.

3. You get to the point of looming dread when it becomes clear that Austin cannot save his father, and seemingly Emma as well. (Also fuck it that the cat stays alive and alerts Austin of danger, cause why not?)

After Tommy begs Austin to kill him once all of Jane’s injuries transfer to the elder Tilden (VIEW HERE); Emma’s eyes become clouded like Jane’s.

While Austin tries everything that he can to keep Emma comfortable, he tries to perform a ritual himself to destroy the evil brought in.

4. For Austin’s final attempt, he burns Jane in the incinerator.

Jane Doe is far from done causing harm and suffering. When she is burned, Emma takes her place. Seemingly, her magic makes the sheriff believe that Emma was the one that was brought in.

Tommy’s death is made look like a suicide.

Since the Tildens only had 24 hours to solve this case, the Sheriff understands that Austin couldn’t get the job done due to the loss of his father. But rules are rules, and he’s forced to transfer Jane Doe’s (now Emma’s) cadaver to the next county.

While she’s being taken out and Austin is being asked protocol police questions, the eerie song plays on the radio.

5. Austin knows that he has to hunt Emma’s cursed body into the next county. (And takes the cat with him, because the cat didn’t need to die.)

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Who would LOVE to see a sequel like this?!

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koala-otter · 4 years ago

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oh god this got long and maybe isn’t nearly as light-hearted as we hoped?? but here’s female friendship and bonding--it was honestly really fun to write just the girls all together

thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you like it @it-is-the-female-federal !!

the girls of the gaang at ember island 2.3k words

“Oh, my gosh, Suki, I’m so excited to see everyone again!”

Suki looks away from the approaching ship to Ty Lee standing next to her on the dock. Or, more accurately, jumping up and down on the dock. The two have traded their heavy Kyoshi uniforms for the light, midriff-baring style popular on Ember Island.

“Me, too,” Suki says warmly. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

“And I’m so glad they convinced Mai to come, too,” Ty Lee adds. Her eyes widen and she erupts into a squeal as the ship reaches the dock, and a staircase lowers from the shipside to the ground in front of them. After a few seconds, Mai comes down the stairs, followed by Katara guiding and holding Toph’s hand. All are dressed in the bright reds of the Fire Nation in styles similar to Suki and Ty Lee’s.

“It’s so good to see you both!” Katara cries once they reach the bottom, running to hug Suki.

Ty Lee enwraps Mai in a bone-crushing hug, crying, “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

“Move over, Sweetness,” Toph says to Katara, “I wanna say hi to Suki, too.”

Suki laughs as she hugs the younger girl, then pulls back, asking, “Wait, where are the guys?”

Toph smirks. “They couldn’t make it,” she says.

Katara smiles sympathetically at the disappointed look on Suki’s face. “There’s some problem with the new Fire Sages temple,” she explains. “Sokka’s overseeing the changes to the construction, so he has to stay behind with Zuko and Aang while they figure it out.” She tilts her head toward the beach. “But we can still have fun without them.”

“If anything,” Ty Lee says energetically, looping her arm through Suki’s, “it just got more fun. Now it’s a girls’ trip!”

“Yeah! Girls’ trip!” Toph yells, throwing her arms in the air. A rock shoots out from the ground beneath them and through the dock, sending the staircase sailing back onto the ship. A moan of dismay sounds out from the deck in response.

“Yay,” Mai says in a monotone.

Katara glances at Mai, almost disapprovingly, before taking Toph’s hand again. “I think a girls’ trip is just what we all need,” she says.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?” Ty Lee says excitedly. “Let’s go to the beach!”

“I thought this was supposed to be the off-season,” Toph says, her face turned down toward the sand and her arms crossed.

The girls look around themselves. The beach is teeming with islanders, from little kids playing in the water to young adults like them playing volleyball. The sounds of lively chatter and playful shrieks pollute the air.

“I can’t even see a space to put our stuff down,” Katara says.

“You were right, Mai,” Suki says, “we should have stayed at the private beach.”

Mai shrugs. “We can always go back,” she says.

“Let’s do it,” Toph says commandingly, “my feet are getting serious sensory overload right now.”

“Can’t we just stay another minute?” Ty Lee begs. “There’s gotta be a spot somewhere.”

Right on time, a young man in swim trunks and a top knot approaches Ty Lee. “My name’s Zang,” he says. He points behind himself at a group of young men lounging a few feet apart on the beach. “Need somewhere to lay your towel out? We’ve got some extra space.”

“Thanks!” Ty Lee beams at him. “There’s room for my friends, too, right?”

Zang notices the other girls all at once and balks, but quickly begins to nod. “Of course,” he says, almost smoothly. “Anything for a group of such lovely ladies.”

Katara grins when she sees Mai roll her eyes.

Once they’ve set out their towels, the girls leave Zang and his friends behind, running for the water’s edge. Katara rushes into the waves, as usual, and Ty Lee follows, Katara creating a board of ice for the two of them to ride together. Suki stands with Mai with the water up to their ankles, watching as Toph bends the sand around them into various figures.

“Wow,” Mai says after another round of creation, “it looks exactly like the old guy staring at us.”

“Down to the tiny shorts,” Suki comments.

Katara and Ty Lee ride back in on another wave, both of them laughing breathlessly.

“That was so much fun!” Ty Lee cries once she’s caught her breath. She turns to the other girls. “You guys have to try it.”

Toph shakes her head. “No way. I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.”

“Yeah, no, thanks,” Mai says disdainfully.

Katara frowns.

“I would, but maybe not here,” Suki says, looking around at the rest of the beachgoers. “There are a lot of eyes on us.”

“All right, all right,” Ty Lee agrees, “let’s go back to Zuko’s beach.”

“Finally,” Mai says.

The girls go back to collect their things and bid farewell to the young men, but Zang stops them.

“Ladies, what’s the rush?” he asks, his arm around one of his friends and a flask in his other hand.

“We’ve got plans somewhere else,” Katara says in explanation.

“Somewhere far away,” Toph continues.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Liquid splashes out of the flask and onto Zang’s leg. He wipes it away with his hand. “Look, you girls have got everyone’s eyes on you at this beach,” he says.

Mai, Katara, and Suki exchange looks.

“I’m just saying,” Zang continues, “I’m a promoter at this little hot spot in town. It’s called the Dragon’s Lair.”

Katara tries to hold back a laugh.

Zang continues, unfazed, “We’re having an event tonight, ladies drink free. I think you’d all have a lot of fun if you came.”

Ty Lee brightens. “That sounds great!” she says.

“I think we actually have plans tonight,” Mai interrupts.

“What? No, we don’t,” Ty Lee says.

Suki nudges her arm. “I’m pretty sure we have a dinner to go to.”

“Come after dinner,” Zang says casually, “or come whenever. The party’s all night.”

“Come on, girls,” Ty Lee says to her friends, “This sounds like just the right thing for a girls’ trip!”

“I’m in,” Toph says, a mischievous grin on her face, “as long as there are actually free drinks.”

Katara sighs. “Maybe we’ll just go for a little while?” she says, glancing at Suki and Mai.

“An hour,” Suki says sternly.

“At most,” Mai adds.

“Great!” Zang says with seemingly genuine delight. “I’ll get a table for you all. My treat.”

The girls arrive at the Dragon’s Lair in outfits chosen by Ty Lee. Even Toph wears a swipe of eyeliner, courtesy of Katara, on each eyelid.

“One hour,” Suki reminds the group before they enter.

“If that,” says Mai.

They step through the curtain in the doorway to find a crowd of people their own age. Groups of them clump around tables, moving between them and the bar, carrying bottles and trays of drinks. Loud cheers erupt every once in a while, and the general din and low lighting makes it difficult to navigate the space.

“Hey! Over here!”

Zang waves at them from a table nearby, and holds his arms out as they draw near. No one goes to embrace him.

“How nice of you ladies to join us,” he says, looking a little dejected. He claps the shoulder of a young man next to him. “This is Muzu.”

The girls all nod at him politely. He winks at Katara. She avoids looking at him.

“Can I get you all some drinks?” Zang asks. He grins. “Remember, ladies drink free.”

“Yes,” Toph answers immediately.

“But, Toph, you’re not sixteen yet,” Suki hisses.

“Just let her order like the rest of us,” Mai says in a bored tone.

“We’ll each have a rice wine and a beer to start,” Ty Lee says brightly.

“All right,” Zang agrees, getting up to go to the bar.

A worried look crosses Suki’s face. “I’ll go with you,” she offers hurriedly and follows after him.

The rest of them stand in an uncomfortable silence with Muzu. He turns to Katara.

“So, where are you from?” he asks.

“Southern Water Tribe,” she replies.

“Oh, wow,” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “Cold down there?”

“Very,” she replies curtly. She turns to Ty Lee. “Hey, you didn’t finish telling us earlier--how are your chi-blocking lessons going?”

Ty Lee takes over the conversation, gushing about the Kyoshi Warriors and what great students they are, and praising Suki for her leadership and ability to pick up the technique quickly, until Zang and Suki return with the drinks. A look passes between Suki and Mai, and the two pass out the drinks themselves.

The conversation continues easily, floating mostly between the girls. Zang even becomes a decent guy once he has a drink in him, listening actively to Suki explaining the difference between fan and sword-fighting, and even asking Toph to explain her metalbending process.

“I will,” she promises, “as soon as you get me more to drink.” She pulls on his arm. “Let’s go.”

They take off, and Muzu asks the group, “She’s really blind?”

“Yes.” Mai barely looks up from her drink to reply, though when she does, the contempt is clear in her gaze.

Katara feels like her head is swimming after her second drink. She shakes herself. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she whispers to Suki.

Suki looks at her, concern clear in her eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

Katara shakes her head and smiles. “I’m fine.”

Mai watches her go.

In the bathroom, Katara splashes her face with cool water and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bright in the dim light, and her cheeks carry a slight flush. She smiles and dries herself off, opening the door to go back out.

Someone is on the other side of it.

“What are you doing?” she demands when she finds Muzu in front of her.

“Don’t worry,” he says sleazily, running his free hand through his hair, “I feel it, too.”

“No,” Katara says forcefully, shoving him away. She feels hot and dizzy as she begins to walk back to the table.

“Are you sure?” Muzu asks, grabbing her wrist.

“Yes,” Katara says, ripping it free from his grasp. “I have a boyfriend.”

Muzu smirks. “He doesn’t have to know,” he says, and steps forward to go after her one more time.

Suddenly, he’s pinned to the wall behind them, his eyes wide with shock. Four knives stick out of his clothing around his shoulders and waist. Katara stares at him, her brain still fuzzy and trying to make sense of what’s just happened.

“She said no.” Mai steps out into the light, another knife glinting in her hand. “I’d take it for an answer, if I were you.”

Mai walks forward and holds the knife to his throat. “We’re going to leave, and you’re going to stay right here until we’re gone, and you’re never going to talk to her, or any of us, ever again.” She twists the knife threateningly. “Understand?”

He gulps and nods desperately.

Mai moves over to Katara and puts her arm around her shoulders, guiding her out of the building. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

Katara nods mutely. Once they’re outside, Mai helps her sit down on a curb and squats in front of her. “Just breathe,” she says in a low tone. She looks up and then back to Katara. “Suki’s coming now. We’re all going to go home, and we’re going to get you some water.” She puts her hand on Katara’s arm, and Katara looks up at her with wide eyes.

Suki comes out and puts her hand on Katara’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Katara says, though her voice is thick.

Suki nods and looks back at Mai. “Toph’s really drunk. Ty Lee and I are trying to wrangle her, but it’s going to be a couple of minutes.” She squeezes Katara’s shoulder. “But then we’re going to go home right away, okay? I promise.” She runs back inside.

Mai holds Katara’s hand to help her rise, then puts her arm back around her, holding her close. “I’m here,” she says as Katara wipes at her eyes. “Whatever you need.”

A weak smile makes its way across Katara’s face. “Thanks, Mai.”

The girls all drag their mattresses into the largest room in the house and lay them out in a circle, a fan spinning lazily above them. Bowls of snacks fill the empty space in the middle of their mattresses, and they all wear bright green facemasks made from the Southern Water Tribe’s most antioxidant-rich seaweed.

“This is way more my style,” Katara says.

“Mine, too,” Mai says from the mattress next to hers.

They exchange small smiles.

“You said it,” Toph says, kicking her feet up and lying on her back. Her hair has been tied back in an elaborate braid by Ty Lee, her bangs pinned back out of her face to keep clear of the face mask. “My head is killing me.”

“Have more water,” Katara says to her, bending some from a pitcher on the floor into Toph’s glass. “It’ll be even worse tomorrow.”

“Speaking of which, what should we do tomorrow?” Ty Lee asks excitedly, rolling onto her stomach and facing them all.

“Maybe we should take it easy,” Suki says cautiously. “We can sleep in, spend the afternoon on the private beach.”

“Oh, Katara, we’ll have to do more ice-boarding,” Ty Lee says. “I wanna see if we can do more flips.”

Katara nods, smiling lightly at Ty Lee. “Of course.”

“I’d try it again, too,” Suki volunteers, reaching for another sweet rice cake.

Ty Lee beats her to it, and pops the treat in her mouth. She grins mischievously at Suki. “I’d ask you to join, Mai, but I guess we can never expect you to get wet,” she says.

Mai chuckles lightly and reaches for a cream candy. “Not normally,” she says slowly, popping the candy into her mouth and sucking on it for a little while. “But I might be willing tomorrow.”

“Oh, yay!” Ty Lee cheers. “We’ll have so much fun.”

Katara smiles at Mai. “Yeah, we will.”

#my writing #ask #atla fanfic #fanfiction #atla #katara #mai #suki #toph #ty lee #it-is-the-female-federal

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aroworlds · 4 years ago

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Those With More, Part Two

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness.

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. This section includes characters embracing and touching.

Length: 4, 691 words (part two of two).

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

***

She isn’t surprised when Moll strides, their braid and girdle book swinging with each step, down the path to her garden. Sirenne rarely leaves its rules unsaid, an admirable quality to Suki’s way of thinking, but one needn’t long elaborate to impart the expectation that junior priests arrive promptly when summoned. Moll, despite the lifetime of alienation that leads to questioning rules and a habit of interaction best described as “restrained”, hasn’t dawdled upon hearing her request. A problem, that.

She understands, though, in the way of a woman once a girl who couldn’t have understood at all.

Obedience to conformity isn’t something she feels in the heart; Suki responds to being haltered with sharp words and loud arguments. Amadi, knowing this, kept her with em for a year before taking her to Sirenne, a year of learning to accept reasonable restrictions before facing the greater challenge of an acolyte’s service. That bitter, aching, defiant Suki would have scorned Moll’s flushed face and hurried pace, not seeing that she reacted to the same set of weighty, dehumanising beliefs and demands.

Submission and rebellion are just two sides of the same coin.

She doesn’t approve, but she understands.

“Don’t you even think about it,” she says, gleefully irascible, as Moll opens their mouth. “No clucking allowed. Sit down. The food’s safe, but it’s been half an hour. The tea’s probably cold.”

Moll nods and settles themself on Mara’s recently-vacated bench, the tea tray resting between them and Suki’s chair. As always, they move slowly, carefully, cautiously—like a wolfhound sniffing a newborn kitten or a man allowing a butterfly to alight on his finger. Like a tall, broad, boulder-shaped priest attempting to avoid threatening or scaring, however inadvertently, those around them. Like a puppy lying on its back, belly bared and paws tucked under its chin, its defencelessness a performance made before all would-be predators.

I won’t hurt you, so don’t hurt me.

They look more like a fig tree towering over the world’s seedlings than a puppy, but while a fig possesses an ancient, confident majesty in its quest to subsume another life in its great roots, Moll is … Moll. Shy, awkward, hesitant, uncertain. Rarely does she see them widen their arms or roll their hips, as if forever working to make their immense body appear smaller, softer, lighter. Just as a fig, for all its grandeur, lies vulnerable to any woman wielding an axe, Moll lies vulnerable to the wounds wrought by tongue, expression and gesture.

She wants to, simultaneously, swathe that nervous puppy in a warm blanket while taking a sharp blade to that fig’s trunk and daring Moll to defend themself.

Some scars are long years in the fading, if at all.

“Do you … mind, if I heat the tea?”

“Clucking,” she says, fighting to bite back her impatience. She doesn’t want to be the kind of old woman who moans about the young’s blathering, but sometimes they make her silence difficult! “If I objected, couldn’t you cool it down? Or tell me to pour a cup and let time have its way? I’d tell me, personally, to stick my head where the sun never shines. Try, if you want.”

Moll’s deep-set brown eyes put her in mind of shadowed pools—their fathomless serenity now disturbed by a crotchety priest’s thrown rock. Wordlessly, they pour a small amount of tea into a saucer before resting one hand on the teapot’s handle. The other guides a finger to the saucer, dampens a fingertip and traces, with careful delicacy, evaporating glyphs atop the tan glaze.

Many magicians speak loudly or write in great looping script, their magic become another performance of wordplay and artistry—as if, Suki always thinks, they find adoration for their art more useful than magic itself. Moll works in gestures and murmurs, collected and subtle. Everything must be reduced, depressed and lessened for safety, and she sighs, for even she recognises that they’re no casual magician. Why shouldn’t the world outside a small, backcountry monastery welcome or accommodate such ability?

Why shouldn’t Freehome welcome Suki’s free, unrestrained, honest self?

Such pondering, when she knows the answers to both questions, provides only one thing: delay.

“How old were you,” she asks, “when you learnt the word for your aromanticism?”

A slight frown, more the suggestion of expression than the actuality, shifts Moll’s brow. “I know exactly,” they say in their slow, deep voice, “because I learnt five weeks and two days after my acceptance as acolyte.” They purse their lips, studying the movement of their finger across the teapot. When a breath of steam issues from the spout, they pull back their hand. “I knew what I was since childhood, but knowing that I am loveless isn’t the same as a more … academic term. Loveless … people have other ideas about what that means.”

She always knew whom and what she was, clinging to a truth so obvious part of Suki still finds it absurd that Mama Lewis persisted in her stubborn obliviousness. Knowing, though, isn’t recognition, isn’t identification and permission; knowing isn’t the certain categorisation of the self as a different, acknowledged, communicable manner of ordinary.

Knowing isn’t pride.

“When do you think I found the word?”

Moll shakes their head, pouring now-steaming tea into a clay mug, the glaze chipped about the rim from years of use, the handle too small to fit all of Moll’s fingers. Their expression shows not the slightest hint of curiosity towards her questions. “I wouldn’t begin to guess, sir.”

Given Moll’s newness to the red, they can easily rough-reckon the numbers, so she answers as they did. “One and a half years before you, and leave off the ‘sir’! What are we, Astreuch?” Suki draws a shaking breath, her voice undeservedly sharp, but how can she fight both her acid tongue and the awful surge of hurt? How can she fight both her acid tongue and a nebulous tension that only fuels and strengthens her aching joints? “I was accepted, in a ‘some people don’t like relationships’ way. My mentor, Amadi, was like us. But the word? I didn’t know words until a cluster of young priests brought books from Khaloun. I found it, unexpectedly, while reading. So I made it my life’s work to have, here, our library.” She pauses, rueful. “Or the rest of my life’s work, since…”

Moll has given only patient, considered answers. Moll hasn’t asked questions coated in that dread mingling of need, hope and dismissal. Moll has done nothing to deserve her mood beyond asking one question, in the vegetable garden, that they had and have every right to voice.

Anticipatory fear and aching memory, poisonously entwined, have ever raised her hackles.

Suki counts backwards from ten, breathing long and slow, before realising that the Stormcoast’s culture of tiptoeing around advancing age—one daren’t observe that another approaches a state of “elderly” or “ancient”—has left Moll dwelling in a stone-faced, finger-entwining, staring-at-the-ferns silence.

“Which relative told you off as a child for calling another relative ‘old’?” she asks, grinning. “You think I don’t know I’m over the bloody hill and rolling down the other side? Yes, it’s the rest of my life’s work, because most of my life happened beforehand! Why pretend otherwise?”

“Many.” Moll rolls their shoulders back, softening. “How old were you?”

“Seventy-nine.” Suki silently applauds them for avoiding the tired “may I ask how old were you” approach and leaves the rest of the reckoning to Moll, carefully shifting her hands. Too often, these days, she earns nothing for her restful efforts but more time yearning for the work around which she has anchored her life. “Sometimes I feel like I was alive when the Sojourner supposedly lead hir band of survivors from the Change-ravaged North. Sometimes the world feels impossibly different, from then to now. Mostly, I feel the same as I always was, and the world's less different than people think, but people treat me like a ... a relic. Fancy attempting to educate me about theories I promoted because the old can’t understand the new!” She sighs. “Pour me a cup of plain tea, please, and put a pill on the saucer. The rats are gnawing today. Bloody rats.”

If her pain becomes unbearable, she’ll ask Thanh for hir set of nerve-blocking spells. She won’t be able to move or feel much of her body, but since she’s already remaining still, the real difference lies in consideration for Thanh. Ze’s had enough on hir metaphorical plate over the last week without Suki’s adding to hir work—and she hates to call on hir when she unnecessarily provoked at least half the throb in her hands, knees and ankles. Thanh has never made her feel as though she shouldn’t, but she does nonetheless.

She’s learnt the hard way how much her mood, and her guilt over wishing for relief, stokes and banks her pain.

Moll sets down their mug and pours another. “Can I do anything for you?”

Suki laughs. “I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you’ve figured out Thanh’s nerve blockers?”

They shake their head with speed enough that she guesses this a source of some frustration. “I don’t know how! There’s so much grafting onto nerve points, and in trying to describe it all and then shell … I make too many mistakes in the spell compression. It isn’t something in which you want mistakes.” They stop, breathing out long and slow. “I’m sorry, s—I’m sorry.”

Suki considers asking why, since she can’t expect a former quartermaster to reveal mastery of an art for which Thanh spent years studying at Eastern universities, but isn’t all this another distraction? “Don’t be. Thank you. Can you put the tray, just the cup and saucer, on my lap?”

Moll shifts the teapot and plate of corn muffins onto the bench before, as carefully as if handling fragile porcelain, arranging the rest of the tray on Suki’s lap. “Do you want to eat?”

“No.” Once, she could clasp a cup without provoking or worsening the pulling, throbbing pain in her wrist and fingers. So simple a thing to hold a cup, to drink, to return it to her tray! The tea’s heat doesn’t ease her pain, but the warm, tingling sensation distracts her somewhat, so she cradles the cup in both hands before raising them to her face. Now, at least, she needn’t waste her time in hope. As much as she yearns for Mara’s unlooked-for shape of witchcraft, there’s no reason to think her magic anything but sorcery, distant and unattainable. So be it.

She has blessings to count: a home, acolytes to help her wash and dress, purpose.

The bitter pill sticks to her tongue before she swallows it down.

“I can imagine,” Moll says, settling themself back onto the bench, “but in that way of theory. I can’t know, in the heart, the longest rhythms of time unknowing or half-knowing, given all denied us because we lack comprehension’s authority and…” They trail off, taking up their mug and, likely unconsciously, mirroring the position of her hands. “Place. That sense of place in time, in space, in community, in family, that … existential assuredness. Place. I know separation, distance, but I won’t pretend that I know that deeper shape.”

That Moll thinks their service should encompass only the safety of the vegetable garden is both tragedy and metaphor, but their still face suggests they don’t realise the contradictory echo of old words behind the new.

Mara wanted her kindred’s acknowledgement of her pain, someone to help her shoulder the weight of her agony in the validation and sympathy offered only by one who understands. Was Suki wrong to think, for so long, that she can’t risk seeking comfort? Does Moll’s rare consideration, offered unprompted no less, betoken safety enough for her to try?

“Do you have place, now?”

Moll cocks their head to the side, tapping one finger against the mug’s brown handle.

Suki waits.

“I don’t know that I will ever have that … neat, puzzle-piece sense of fitting into any time or space shared with others. Just autism alone, just aromanticism alone, just genderlessness alone … possibly. But they can’t stand alone, even if others want them to.” Moll exhales, hissing their breath over their lips in the loud, habitual easing of a priest performing and, through performance, encouraging the behaviour. “Sometimes … I want, so much, the ease of that fit, the confidence of an unquestioned place. And always … not, never, at that price.”

It shames her that, for all she has long held Moll at arm’s length, they are so willing to share.

“Burn the whole damn puzzle,” Suki says through a terrible, crooked grin.

Moll nods, a slight frown creasing their lips.

Do they realise? The shock of their first conversation in the vegetable garden, followed by an induction into the events surrounding the Hill siblings, may have seen them miss or put aside the obvious, for all that they touched upon it in their question of her. Moll owns too much perception to remain in acceptance of the thick paint covering the wallpaper beneath, and priests must do just that: question.

No thought or word can be worth anything if crumpling under curious, inquisitive challenge, so the question remains: have they the courage to ask?

“Do you know,” she says in a would-be conversational voice, “that the best thing about being a priest is that you can, amongst other priests, speak your mind? The trick lies in only having something worth speaking. Try it.”

With the speed and presence of a glacier, Moll turns their head to look Suki in the eyes. Their brow sits low and heavy, their controlled voice too tense for indifference: “What is this, then?”

Suki shakes her head. “No, try again.”

Moll’s lips shift, as if they mean to mouth a word before deciding otherwise. “Do you want honesty?”

“Your own mind will tear you apart if you say anything less, so why should I expect otherwise?”

A slight crease of Moll’s brow may suggest amusement—or consternation. Both, perhaps. “You’re discussing,” they say with painful slowness, “aro—” They hold up a hand, stopping her from remarking on their woeful statement of the obvious, and Suki, despite her anxiety-fuelled throbbing, works to hide a smile. “When you’ve had five years to start a conversation, why now?”

Their breath hisses over lips and teeth, one hand sketching lines on the meat of their robe-covered thigh.

Suki nods her encouragement.

“I did think that if this were well-known, I’d have heard. Someone would have said so in explaining to me? I also thought that your answer to my question … undermined your sense of the importance that we guide our own, especially now.”

“Do you feel that with Esher Hill?” Suki asks, wondering if they’ll dare put damning thought to voice. “Importance?”

"Yes." Moll shifts the girdle book and the bunched-up length of brown belt fastening said book to their waist. Their robe spills over thighs and knees, leaving ankles and shoulders bared; unlike Suki, they don’t appear the least bit cold. “He doesn’t trust me, but I think seeing himself reflected in that tangle of sharedness does more to help him survive than anything else. It matters.” They draw a breath, their voice firming and harshening: “So why do you talk sharedness now?”

Good! Only pain and the fear that Moll will take a somewhat-deserved offence keeps her from clapping. If she spends her remaining months or years helping Moll craft a more intentional relationship to obedience, even the Sojourner must reckon this time well served.

Easier to think about that than her own fear of an unvoiced answer.

Easier to frame this as a lesson or a guiding, her conversation possessed of another’s purpose.

Easier to think of anything but guilt and the damning thoughts an old woman must dare speak.

“Why do you?” Moll sips from their mug, their body angled towards her, their soft tone less a question than a prompting. “Isn’t that it?”

Only then does Suki realise that she embodies her own lingering, encloaking silence.

Her eyes rest, fleeing Moll, on the fern-encrusted garden wall and its uneven rows of red and yellow orchids. Her plants, fronds and leaves stirred into bobbing by the evening breeze, appear peaceful and fearless, but even allowing for flora’s unknowable sentience, that can’t be true. What stops a priest from consigning her flowers to the compost heap? A swarm of thrip from devouring the vegetable garden? Ferns, too, live their lives at the whims of the weather, the season, the denizens of the land upon which they take root. Plants grow, flourish, sicken, die. Peaceful?

What is peace but illusion: the hope of a perfect shelter from nature’s whims, ways and hurts?

“It goes the same way,” she says, now staring at her lawn and its mushrooms, those glistening fruits of the fungus conquering the soil beneath. “You learn something you didn’t know existed: the word. Once you find it fits, you feel the betrayal, the ache of once not knowing something fundamental, the deep cuts left by ignorance. You want sympathy, reassurance and validation to heal, and where are they when most don’t understand?”

Deep creases form across Moll’s brow as they thread their fingers together. “Yes. Esher needs it from me.” They hesitate, lips parted. “He needs it. So does Mara.”

“You can say it,” Suki murmurs, wondering the cost of standing, stepping onto the lawn and pulling the closest mushroom … with her back, conveniently, facing the priest beside her. Perhaps she and Moll aren’t so dissimilar if she wants to turn her hurt to fighting fungi. Perhaps this only crosses a mind looking to find a replacement for her knitting. “Please.”

“And I needed it from you.”

They may be referring to that first vegetable garden conversation. They may be referring to the years that passed between Moll’s learning the word “aromantic” as a descriptor and discovering that another priest is also aromantic. Both are truth.

“Nobody but Amadi had anything close.” Suki yawns in the first touch of medicine’s giddiness. Pity, as always, that she feels the effect in her head long before her joints. “Given nameless, remaining nameless with eir last breath.”

Only the stirring of hair and robe by breeze and breath mars Moll’s quiet stillness.

“Those with more,” she says bitterly, “serve to guide those with less. How doesn’t aromanticism apply? But we know the other side of its truth: a priest must have more to serve. More knowledge, more support, more sense of place, more safety, more community. A priest offers sympathy, provides reassurance, validates feeling, illuminates direction. A priest does what the world so often can’t in telling the different that we aren’t wrong to exist as we are.”

Mama Lewis wanted Suki to be safe, happy, loved. Mama Lewis never valued the daughter she had over the image of the daughter she thought herself entitled to have.

The part of Suki still yearning for the promise of her mother’s love can’t surrender one tainted, maggot-ridden idea: that a concept bearing an academic-sounding, official name must have made a difference.

Or will she still exist in this same circumstance, a trailblazer struggling with the full and challenging consequences of being this path’s guide?

“You think that I’ve known our word for years. You think that age means my hurt no longer throbs and I will carry your pain. You think I have more.” She presses her lips together, fearing the tears threatening to burst their dam. No, Suki takes pride in being the human equivalent of a splinter under a fingernail! She doesn’t weep. She rebels. “I have more knowledge only! You’ve … thirty, forty, fifty years of knowing ahead. You won’t find the word when you’re at death’s doorstep. You won’t bear the pain of a word unknown for eight decades. Your guide came delayed, but your guide still came!”

Suki learnt her words from books, not other priests. Moll had Gennifer, who’d learnt of aromanticism from her and affirmed in person the name of their identity and human worth. Moll, now, has Suki, even if five years later than right or deserved. Mara and Esher Hill have the wonder of identified validation provided by other aromantics, but Suki lived in a time when even the best affirmation went unnamed.

She tried openness for a year. She tried talking, despite such guiding never being her strongest art, to those guests who showed signs of aromanticism. She tried to find and connect with her own.

Easier, so much easier, to withdraw, to leave nurturing the younger aromantic starting their novitiate to other priests, to trust that Moll’s future will achieve what hers can’t.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid the young’s self-involved cruelty in relegating her only to their mentorship: the provider of their needed validation and support, the priest with more.

Easier, so much easier, to avoid speaking of her named identity with her aromantic kin … until a man almost died in part because of how he took a priest’s careless words, a situation that may not have existed if everyone knew “aromantic” described her and understood its context. Her failure, her cowardice, her unwillingness to build aromanticism more obviously into all her priests’ knowledge and service. Her inability to survive the bruises dealt her by others in pain. Her rebellion offering no direction or answer.

“You want me to strengthen you, shore you, shelter you. I can’t. I can’t when even thinking of sharing your agony reminds me of mine. I can’t when listening to you…” She sucks in a harsh, shaking breath, her throat tightening like a python’s jaws around a struggling rat. “I don’t have more. I’ll never have more. But acknowledging that isn’t enough!”

No lie slipped from her lips when she spoke to Moll in the vegetable garden, carefully dealing in careless and shallow words: how can a priest best guide someone when that guiding means taking further injury to damaged flesh? How can she serve their guests and her belief when she fights to keep back her screams, when pain and defensiveness sharpen her words to cruelty?

How much did the ostensible Sojourner struggle in leading hir collection of rent and ruined survivors along such a frightening, untrodden road?

She wishes herself able enough to march into the kitchen, grab a stack of the cracked plates she kept aside for such purposes and find a private courtyard where she can hurl them at a particularly offensive wall.

“I’m sorry,” she rasps, “because you needed. Because what happened to Esher wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t retreated. I didn’t question. I didn’t try to find an answer. I used the precept as a shield; I failed it. I’m sorry, I—”

She doesn’t realise she’s weeping until Moll slides towards her, closes their warm hand about her bony shoulders and pulls her into their chest, her tears soaking their red linen robe. They don’t speak. They don’t do anything but sit, awkwardly leaned over the arm of her chair, and hold her like a fresh-hatched chick in a pair of sheltering hands.

Guiding priests don’t, by custom, embrace their guests.

A lifetime’s grief spills from her eyes, stinging creased, dry cheeks. Not until the evening’s chill increases to something unignorable does Suki find again her composure. She sniffs, draws a shaking breath and speaks in her ever-readily barbed tongue: “Ten years ago, before your novitiate, I’d have asked if you were interested in bedding. Or even just sleeping, because you’re better than a dog and a hot brick for keeping an old woman toasty.”

Moll sits upright, only a strained shift of shoulder suggesting any stiffness or discomfort. Their wet eyes glisten even in the dim light, an odd contrast to their twisted lips and crumpled chin—and then a noise between a hoarse laugh and a snort explodes above the breeze’s whisper. “Don’t distract!”

They sound like Suki does when objecting to the young's woeful blathering.

She straightens, wiping her face on a corner of her shawl before smiling in pride. “Yes. I…”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to share.” They’re priestly words, taken right from the instruction manual, but Moll’s following sentences aren’t: “You said my guide came delayed, but she came, she showed herself when needed, she served. She’s here. I don’t know … how people reacted, what was asked, all of what you feel, how you bear the weight. I want to know. Your guide came delayed, so delayed … but they’re here. Even at the last.”

Emotion cracks and shreds her voice: “I’d rather not cry again, thank you very much.”

Moll doesn’t dilute their blank stare with speech or gesture.

“What path, then?” she croaks—tired, giddy, shivering, relieved.

Part of her, the wary woman once a distrustful girl, feels it ludicrous that Moll, so junior a priest, can answer something she can’t. The girl does them no justice: Moll hasn’t asked her to carry their pain. They’ve shared only at her prompting. They’ve treated her with a friend’s warmth and courtesy. If she holds no faith in their sacred service, is there anything left of Suki but damaged bones in an aching body? Isn’t this the same old difficulty: a woman fighting herself to trust another person, simultaneously needing and fearing?

Moll rests a hand on the arm of her chair, fingers half curled in invitation.

Suki nods and rests her stiff hand in their soft one.

“Someday,” they say slowly, “as how it seems incredulous to question one eschewing gender, we will be history. My school, years ago, taught that: the tears and blood spent to make a world where I can shrug at gender. Not just as a past to avoid repeating, but as … respect for the pain that birthed the now.”

They motion with their other hand, fingers curled inwards—the mug and teapot sitting, long abandoned, on the bench.

Suki yawns, presses her trembling lips together and waits.

“We need books of names and definitions, and we need books of stories. Our futures and hopes written on the page. Stories of the past that we’re hoping become … incredulous. We need the stories of those who wept. We can’t forget.” They turn to glance at Suki before speaking in a voice marred by quivering: “May I write down your story? So I can understand—so we can understand, all those who come after?”

They won’t offer power. They can’t violently remake a world so wrought against her. They don’t provide resolution to the ache felt by a woman struggling with the community who need her to help them bear and understand theirs. They haven't a solution.

They offer direction, one balancing their hopes for the future with the harms of the present. A direction that doesn’t make her feel like a relic to be cast aside but a paving stone at the road’s beginning, one small part of ensuring the steady, continuing passing of feet and wheels.

Moll’s suggestion is why she believes in the concept of the Sojourner, even though she can’t make herself ascribe to certainty in god.

“I don’t mean to be impudent—”

“Never cluck when you’re doing a bitchy old woman a kindness.” Suki draws a shaking breath of her own. “I’d … like that. Very much. Thank you.”

At first, she thinks Moll’s expression—a slight curve of lips, only a smile by comparison—speaks more of relief than happiness. No. Don’t they also straddle a complex and confused struggle to build their place? Don’t they also feel the sacred power in their service? Aren’t they also in need of friendship?

“May I ask—” Moll stops themself, raising a palm. “Why did you talk to me, at the beginning, as though guiding a priest? Why didn’t you talk about this straight out?”

Suki grins at both the correction and the question. “I’m the Guide. What else do you think I’m going to do?”

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maviemesregles · 5 years ago

Text

Once I was an Eagle

Part II has landed, my friends. I hope you enjoy it. :)

NSFW under the cut.

As always I’ll never get tired to say the words of appreciation to my beta @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur <3

Thanks for sticking with this story, guys. ♥

All the chapters can be found on AO3 as well.

Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

CHAPTER V: Lovestruck. Part II

Jamie ran feeling his leg muscles burn with the effort. Endlessly long, his feet stumbling over the dry branches cracking under his feet startling forest’s inhabitants that seem not to care of his attempt to escape. They know there is no way out. He feels the slap of wet leaves on his face and scratches all over his skin. An aching hollow space inside his chest is growing bigger and bigger. Ultimately, Jamie knows his heart will be ripped out at the end. The sweat dripped down his face forming salty paths. Jamie wants to scream that it stops. He wants to fall down and beg for mercy. But something behind pushes him back further and further into the darkness. His own mother’s voice whispering “Ye didna try hard enough.”

In the end, the darkness has won. Once again he succumbs to its cold clutches.

* * *

The crisp, fresh Highland air always brings him back on track. Jamie thinks it is one of the main reasons why he feels much better when he’s in the wilderness, especially since his Mam has passed away. He enjoys the freezing early morning air, giving his skin goosebumps and his mind to think straight once again.

He shivers at the swoosh of cold wind. His toes slowly developing a bluish tinge standing on a chilly stone patio. The skies are pink aquarelle with white fluffy marshmallow clouds passing by. Jamie can hear the birds taking charge of the morning chirping away in the garden in front of him. He thinks Claire would love the view. Claire.

Jamie tiptoes back inside closing the doors behind him back facing the wall. Even if he wanted to wake her to catch the beauty of early rising he could not do it. Jamie has learned by now that Claire was a relatively light sleeper. Not by her nature but rather her professional duties. She always slept with her iPhone kept near at hand always, heard each and every message and call. Sometimes Jamie wanted to throw that technical invention through the window and see it break into small pieces. It was his only chance to see her peaceful. Her face always seemed to be concentrating, as if she was not truly asleep. But now that little crease between her eyebrows seemed to be gone.

Claire usually slept like a child with her knees brought up close to her body and wrapped up into a blanket cocoon-like, now was sprawled on her back. The mass of curls exploded into the waves all over the pillow. Like a crown, he thought. One of her breasts peeked from under the quilt, her veins cast a bluish trail over her pale skin all the way down the soft hip pressed to the mattress in its relaxed shape. Jamie was sure he knew each and one of those blue paths under her skin and could trace the map of them on her body with his eyes closed. The morning sun travelled through the thin curtains running its warm rays over Claire’s skin. There was something that came to his mind so sudden that the realisation almost knocked him down.

Sorcha.

She was his remedy from that darkness he was running from. That light he longed for so badly but could never find.

When Jamie slid under the blankets next to her she stirred just a bit but did not wake.

He could try to speak to her in English, Gaelic, French; he would even learn any other language just trying to explain what he felt. But it still would not be enough. He was falling in love. Falling in love gave him the same tickling sensation inside his belly and made him breathless as when he rode the roller coaster for the first time at the age of ten.

* * *

Half awake and drowsy I thought that my cat decided to crawl under the quilt in an attempt to beg for his morning feeding. My eyes snapped open when reality kicked in. I viewed a glorious pink sky surrounding the high mountains I saw yesterday through the window of the cottage. The sun crept along the wall, drawing knitted lines of light there. I watched the sunny glimpse run away (creation of the curtains dancing in the wind). It climbed up on the bed all the way up burying itself inside Jamie’s red hair that shone like Amber. His head found its residence in the valley between the milky white of my legs. Jamie’s lips softly touched a spot on the inner side of my thigh where three birthmarks gathered together.

“Ye ken ye have a witch mark here?” His thumb circled dark dots upon my skin.

Something that vaguely sounded like “mmmm” escaped my mouth. All of a sudden I forgot how to breathe.

“Now I ken about them too.”

The rest of the blanket was pushed aside falling to the floor with a soft whisper. It was the competing temperatures, the cool air of the room playing against my hot skin, that raised goosebumps all over me.

I tried to tell him that I am not a witch though (as if they really existed and he was going to execute me). But the words remained stuck inside my throat only letting out a moan when the velvet of Jamie’s tongue descended lower. In mere seconds, my legs began to tremble, hips instinctively rising up with want. But Jamie’s hand laid atop my stomach keeping me pinned on the mattress. A shuddering sigh left my seized lungs as Jamie flicked his tongue once, twice and then his lips closed over the sensitive flesh sucking.

The ceiling started to spin above and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the only existing thing in the world that moment - Jamie. His exploration up and down, from left to right, circling and suckling did not last long before the daylight has disappeared from the view and my cry echoed in the room.

As the real world returned and I regained my senses, I felt my breathing slowly return from short gasping breaths. Jamie's blue eyes settled on me excitedly remarking, "We have a great day ahead of us."

Jamie indeed had plans. It was hiking in fact (“it’s a must in Highlands, ye canna not do it”). Mentally I kicked myself for stopping jogging in the mornings. How big is the chance that I’m not going to be out of breath ten minutes into our nature exploration? The yoga classes where I went with Geillis was also abandoned after several weeks. “I stand enough on my feet in the surgery” I reasoned with myself (and Geillis who made a remark about having “trained arse”).

With perfectly ripe avocados on toast and cherry tomatoes for breakfast (with occasional kisses in between, Jamie tasting sweetly of orange juice and I of strong coffee) we made it outdoors.

The Highlands was dressed in autumn. The leaves were toned in shades of orange, red, and gold causing the scenery to look as if someone had spilled paint down them. Other sepia coloured leaves fell down, whispering their goodbyes to the last warm days. They rustled softly as they dropped from dry branches bidding their farewells. I remembered as a child I liked collecting star-shaped maple leaves, creating a bouquet of reddish-brown remnants of summer. I used to put them between the pages of my Dad’s books in his office. Usually, he would find them days later and smile at me. Together we would take them out and stick into the notebook I had. We did that each autumn until my blue notebook was left behind. As well as the life of my parents when uncle Lamb turned the keys to close the door of our London house. That way he locked away my childhood forever.

Jamie was a walking book of legends and stories. Since we left the cottage he was telling me all kinds of things I’ve never even heard about. He made a remark that I should be ashamed I live in Scotland and only heard about the Loch Ness Monster.

“Have ye ever heard about Kelpies?”

“No, I haven’t,” I shook my head clinging to Jamie’s forearm for support when we passed a muddy puddle.

“Kelpies were said to take the form of a horse. They could also take a human form. They would use their beauty to lure people to climbing upon them before being taking them into the water, not to be seen again.”

“Charming.” I grimaced.

“Dinna fash, I willna let them take ye.” Jamie laughed grabbing me by the waist before I was trapped under his lips.

The cool mid-autumn air slightly burned inside of my throat when I inhaled too deeply. Not being used to such fresh, crisp sensation I coughed feeling my eyes water. Jamie who walked next to me, kicking the leaves with his shoes, squeezed my hand softly.

“Yer okay, mo nighean donn?”

I liked the sound of the Gaelic he spoke sometimes. His ability to fluidly incorporate it into his speech when he spoke to me made me long to hear it even more. Made me long for him. There was something about the way he sounded. The soft lilt of his voice, the deepness of his accent with a trace of huskiness that poisoned my blood with curiosity and mystery. I was dying to know what he was saying but also wished it to remain a secret. But I could not resist.

“Jamie, what you just said, what does it mean?”

Jamie stopped turning me to face him. His warm breath travelled upon my skin as his forehead leaned to meet mine. He smiled lips curling into a soft shape.

“It means my brown-haired lass.”

“Rather a dull colour I always thought,” I whispered, the pink blooming in my cheeks.

His lips brushed mine. Hands tangling around his neck, I kissed back, fingers running along with the soft curls on his nape.

“No,” Jamie’s finger gently touched a stray curl on my cheek. “No, not dull at all. It’s like the water in a burn, the way it ruffles down the rocks. Dark in the wavy spots with wee bits of auburn when the sun touches it.”

I knew this wasn’t just a crush on him. I was well and truly smitten. There was such a serenity when he was around that I could not imagine how should I carry on if he suddenly disappeared. My heart was swelling with my feelings growing with something that one day I could name as love. And I was unquestionably petrified but with him, there was nothing I could be afraid of.

Every time he looked at me like that, the world seemed to stop.When he kissed me, I felt breathless as if all the air from my lungs. His presence, his being was stretching throughout my whole body wrapping around my heart and cradling my soul between his hands. How could I not be falling in love with this man?

Jamie softly kissed her temple when she closed her eyes. His heart leapt as he held her like that. They stood there in the middle of nowhere, with the mountain rising above them, golden leaves falling down. They were spiralling all the way to the ground as the signs of a bright future life holds for them. The way Claire’s body melted into his, her chin rested at the crook of his neck, Jamie’s hands holding her waist tightly. It was more intimate than anything else they’d done already.

“Claire, about what ye said yesterday,” He spoke quietly into her hair. “Do ye really feel that way?”

Her words echoed in his fevered mind. ‘I fancy you. Very much.’

She nodded.

A romantic inside Jamie wanted to tell her that he loved her from the first moment Claire’s solid head bumped into him but he nodded back tightening his grip on her.

The mountains rose high into the blue. We passed fields with yellowish grass, still wet with morning dew making our shoes damp; It was a glorious expanse of dried grass softly rustling in the wind bending over where we walked creating a pathway.

When my fingers became cold and numb from the freezing Highlands wind Jamie untangled our hands to share the pocket of his jacket with me. We ate a tuna sandwich and vinegar crisps on the wooden bench that stood in the valley near an abandoned cabin. Jamie spilled half of our coffee from the tumbler he prepared. I stifled a need to laugh at him, my thumb gently sweeping away sandwich crumbs from his lower lip. My lips chapped from the wind but Jamie’s touch soothed the burning sensation.

“Ye ken that Loch Lomond,” Jamie pointed to the left where in the distance a great lake stretched out. “Is the largest water lake in British Isles?”

“It surely looks like it,” I smiled looking at the dark water on the horizon. “How do you know so much?”

Jamie chuckled speeding up in front of me to let me pass in safety then, with the help of his steady hand.

“I grew up in the countryside, Sassenach. That’s where I belong. That’s what I love. A Scot must know his history.”

“You know, you would be one of those Highlander warriors in the past for sure.” Laughing, I pinched his biceps.

When we reached the blanket of trees at the base of the mountain, the sun started to go down in the horizon. The sky almost vanished in the forest leaving us with small glimpses of the blue coming through the thickness of pines above us. We took at least a hundred awful selfies during our four-hour hike. I spied a flower that bloomed in all possible shades of purple. Crouching down, I took a picture of it so I could look it up later.

I heard the leaves rustling under Jamie’s feet when he appeared next to me holding out his phone.

“I, er… I... I need to take a pish,” Jamie announced shyly. “Dinna want to drop it down the rocks”

“Smart.” I chuckled hiding his iPhone into the depths of my jeans pocket.

The mist started to gather around covering the ground with a smoky quilt. I inhaled fresh air perfumed with the rich fragrances of the trees and plants. It was filled with a promise of coming rain clouds ready to burst any moment. I mentally estimated how long we have to get to the cottage before we got soaking wet.

The buzz of Jamie’s phone took me out of my thoughts. Not sure what to do, I fished it out my pocket.

“Jamie, you got a text!” I shouted into the tall trees startling a lonely bird from the bush.

“Who’s it from?” His voice echoed back somewhere from the left.

Hesitating for a few seconds I looked down at the screen to see the message. Involuntarily my eyes ran along two lines of letters.

“How are u, mo ghraidh? Dougal popped by, said he canna reach ye, it was urgent. I guessed ye didna have a connection there. Xx.”

The box From said Jen with two emojis -a heart and a house. It was Jenny.

“It’s your sister.” I handed him the phone when he came out brushing off the pine needles from his pants.

When we were going down I wondered what those words meant that Jenny had called him. It was something he’d said to me once before. While Jamie was telling me something about the castle that we could see from our path I googled the meaning of Gaelic that I could not understand.

It said, “My love” and my heart sank down my chest and then almost broke free out of it ready to burst with happiness.

My love.

* * *

The countryside stretched itself around us in brown, golden and burgundy stains of colours. The hills rolled in soft waves of yellow grass meeting the ground in the valleys with hidden flora.

We walked back in companionable silence holding our hands, fingers securely tangled together, not breaking that needed contact between us.

When there was less than a kilometre until we get to the house the grey skies grumbled with anger. The heavy clouds no longer wanted to wait and cold drops started to fall down as gunfire. In no time it turned into a heavy storm soaking the ground beneath us until it was soft and slippery under our feet. The downpour of water felt icy cold and we had to run lest we get completely wet. The wind howled muting our laughs but for once in the longest time, I felt reckless and happy.

Jamie went to the bedroom peeling off his clothes that stuck to the skin. I followed in suit, not wishing to catch a cold and left a damp pile of clothes on the floor. While I had the time I filled the bathtub with steaming water. Turning off the main light the room went into the warm glow of the candles I’d managed to find in the cabinet in the living room. They were half used, the wax melted into peculiar figures. I had placed them in the corners near the windows and popped a couple on the bathtub sides. Sliding down the water, my eyes closed at the feeling of heat soaking into me. I physically could feel each muscle in my body relax and become numb, limp.

Jamie stood in a doorway looking at me quietly. In this light, he reminded me of a Greek statue. He was beautifully made. With long, graceful bones and flat muscles that flowed smoothly from the curves of chest and shoulder to the slight concavities of belly and thigh. He was fair with bits of freckles but slightly touched by the sun, toned in a way that reminded me floral honey.

“Come here,” I spoke quietly lifting my hand up from the depths of the water.

He walked over slowly, stepping gracefully as a cat, not breaking our gaze. I felt a tight knot in the bottom of my belly starting to ache just by looking at him. Soon his boxers were left aside together with the puddle of my clothes. The water raised slightly when Jamie got in, sitting behind me, my back pressed to his chest. His hands roamed on the water slick sides of my thighs and my head dropped down his shoulder. I hummed an appreciative ‘hmmm’ at his touch. It felt soothing and much needed after our long hike.

“I must tell ye something, Sassenach.” His voice sounded husky. It was the tone that pulled at the deepest strings inside me. “I’m sure ye bewitched me. Cause for God’s sake I canna imagine how I managed to live without ye before.”

My head turned slightly to the left as my lips had found the column of his neck. I loved to touch him. But not just in a sexual way. Being with him, simply existing in the same space, in a distance of millimetres of each other. This became my everyday dose of oxygen. I craved him. All of him. Including his soul and heart and all of his body. He seeped deep into my being and would remain there forever I was sure of it. And I could not remember life before him anymore. As it simply could not be there without James Fraser. I ached for him every time we separated and I would be a damn fool to deny that.

“I think I can’t imagine that either,” I whispered kissing my way down his torso. When he was well-loved with my lips, my mouth and hands Jamie pulled me up cradling my face between his palms.

“I could love ye, Claire. I could love ye well.”

I exhaled feeling his moist full lips tracing my collarbone. When Jamie lifted me up from the water that became our shelter of warmth and my hands circled around his neck I remembered.

When Jamie kissed the tip of my nose I remembered twisting my ankle two years ago on the slippery grocery store tile after the rain.

When his hands held me tightly, the drops scattering off my body I remembered calling first Geillis asking to bring me to A&E.

When Jamie’s lips softly touched my forehead I remembered that I called Frank but he did not pick up being busy at the meeting.

When Jamie passed the first stair I remembered I stayed home and felt lonely.

When Jamie’s lips dragged down my neck I remembered that Frank had left to the conference in London saying that he’d call me several times a day to check on me.

When Jamie gently laid me down the bed I remembered feeling awfully lonely despite Frank’s words of reassurance and support, calls and promise to come back soon.

When Jamie’s thumb brushed over my nipple I remembered feeling empty.

When Jamie held me I felt safe. And when he leaned in to kiss me I whispered into his lips.

“I could love you too. I could love you well.”

#outlander #once i was an eagle #outlander fic #outlander fanfic #maviemesregles #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #the frasers #modern au #these babies

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ngame989 · 5 years ago

Text

“Onward” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 7

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox

Editing: @toxicpsychox, @seddm, an IRL friend

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Bloodlines clash over the past on the first anniversary of the Cleaving, while Star, Marco, and others try to focus on looking forward.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Sorry for the big delay. In the meantime, we did a pretty massive in-character RPish Q&A session taking place in the time of the fanfic collection storyline just before this chapter, so check that out here! Post-summer schedules are settling in now, so hopefully we can get back on track for regular updates. See below for the text, hope you enjoy!

“Think we should head back downstairs soon?”

Star poked her head out from the closet to find Marco had taken his hoodie off and spread himself akimbo on their bed, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. “We probably should,” she admitted, turning the swords she held in her hands over a few times. Her own blade was relatively simple compared to the ornate craft of Marco’s falchion, the Cleaver. That name seemed especially fitting now, since it was exactly one year ago today that their new world was created. She carefully set them against the wall, still in their protective sheaths. “Ooooor we could just use my messiness as an excuse for why it took us extra long to find these!” she drawled out dramatically, giving Marco a sly grin. He finally tilted his head towards her and opened his eyes, treating her to his soft warm gaze while she kicked off her tennis shoes and adjusted her old sky-blue dress. Their day had begun only a few hours ago, yet she was already feeling drained, and his slight wince when she dropped onto the mattress, reclining against a wall of pillows suggested he mirrored her sentiment. “You OK?”

“If your uncle’s hug didn’t break something, your aunt’s sure did,” Marco mumbled, testing his joints for injury with a grimace before scooting himself further towards her and dropping his head into her lap. Normally she’d be all for the rowdy family party going on right under their feet, but today felt like it should be their day too. Earthni was a wonderful place for sure, but today was the anniversary of so much more for her. The perfect bliss of loving Marco, the terror of losing Marco, the overwhelming sadness of missing Marco, the enrapturing contentment after reuniting with Marco...

“Marco, Marco, Marco…” she singsonged, thoughts leaking out into words. Her left hand caressed his cheek while she tangled the fingers of her right in his hair; he closed his eyes and nuzzled further into her contentedly. Her smile grew all the wider as she upped the ante, squishing his cheek and poking his mole then finally honking his nose. After a few moments of trying his best to ignore it he started lazily swatting her hands away, but she persisted nonetheless. This adorable face was hers for the booping, dangit!

“Star.” His tone was firm, but she knew better than to assume he meant it.

“Yes?” she innocently crooned.

He caught her wrists and held them away from him. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun, silly.” She wriggled free and got a sneak attack in, pinching both cheeks at once. When he went in for the counter, she pulled back so quickly that he slapped himself, causing Star to fall backwards onto the pillow clutching her sides and laughing. Marco lifted himself off of her and onto his knees, and she caught only a glimpse of his cocky smirk before he dove forward, pinning both her arms above her. “Oh no! You got me, Diaz! I am at your mercy. Whatever shall I do?” Try as she might to keep up the mock damsel in distress act, she failed to suppress her giggles. Only a second later, he released her hands and planted a quick kiss on her lips before resting his head on her shoulder. Her arms wrapped tightly around him. When she’d made the fateful decision to risk leaving everything else behind for Marco, this was why, this was what she couldn’t see herself living without.

“Star… ow…” Her grip slackened and he wheezed in relief. “You definitely… got that… from your dad’s side of the family.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Hello, dears.” Eclipsa’s voice rang from the doorway, catching them both off-guard. Marco yelped and rolled off of Star, flopping to the floor with a thud. “Don’t mind me, I was just sent up to see if you two were ready for your demonstration. I must say, everyone seems quite excited for it.”

“Oh heeeeeey, there’s the swords!” Star pointed with a totally convincing shocked expression. “Silly Marco, I told you they wouldn’t be under the mattress!”

Eclipsa laughed heartily enough to make the light purple hem of her summer dress sway around her. “There’s no need for excuses, dears. In my younger days, I would have killed to have Globby with me at even a single family outing. I’m not one to tattle on the tomfoolery of love. You should probably go, though, before any more Butterfly-Johansen friction spills over.”

“Uuuuugh,” Star groaned. Things had been pretty civil amongst all the various interdimensional families thus far, but she’d known it was only a matter of time before something happened. When she was a kid it was fun watching everyone punch each other off cliffs to vent their frustrations, but now it just seemed petty and pointless to her. Had they learned nothing from everything that happened? She helped Marco off the ground then grabbed their weapons for the exhibition spar that all their guests were apparently anticipating. He slid into his hoodie while she slipped back into her shoes, then they closed the door behind them and descended the stairs.

The Diaz living room was largely occupied by the Butterflies for the time being, while Star could hear the characteristic Johansen ruckus from the backyard. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could all just get along forever? Probably, but she could scarcely fathom how that might ever happen. She glanced around to find her mom trapped in conversation with Great-Aunt Etheria in the kitchen. Despite wearing more casual clothing, Mom was in total “queen” mode right now, politely tut-tutting at all of Etheria’s observations. Maybe that wasn’t the best term for it, but it was how Star had known her mother most of the time growing up. However, there was still no mistaking the strain in her expression: even the Queen Moon of her childhood couldn’t put up with Etheria for long, and Star had no idea how the mom she’d gotten to know in recent years could handle it for more than half a minute. When Etheria noticed Star’s presence and strutted towards the stairs, Star could see her mother breathe a slight sigh of relief before following.

“Ah, dearie, there you are. Come, come, let me see this magnificent blade I’ve heard so much about.” Eclipsa held it up, but the eldest Butterfly snatched it from her grip without even a glance before running her fingers all over the blade. “Fine craftsmanship, indeed… where did you get such a thing? I must commission the maker for a new display.”

“It was actually Buff Frog who recommended me an old friend of his, she’s really cool. She does experimental art with molten metal that’s really pretty-”

“Ah. Hmmph.” The woman handed the sword back to Star tersely. “Well, it is well-made, I’ll give it that.”

“Speaking of artistry,” Moon chimed in before Star could respond, “weren’t you saying something about Marco’s parents, Aunt Etheria?” Star and Marco glanced at each other anxiously.

The large woman perked up, scorn diminishing in an instant. “Oh yes, they’re wonderful. A poet and a sculptor, how splendid! It’s positively delightful to see such devotion to the most noble of endeavors. The graceful wielding of a blade or a brush are signs of a good temperament. I’m glad at least your family can appreciate the finer, more delicate things in life, boy.” Star cringed a bit, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Marco doing the same, but the tension she didn’t even know she had in her shoulders dropped. Despite the tone, it was nice that Marco was being accepted, but… yeesh. “Let’s get on with this display, shall we?” The group headed outside where the Diazes had taken advantage of their spacious backyard.

Star instinctively shielded her eyes with one arm, blocking out the blinding light of the sun. Two poles held a banner up above a table loaded with all kinds of meats and vegetables. ‘Butterfly-Johansen (and Diaz) Annual Picnic’. Marco’s parents had resisted inserting themselves for long enough that Star had scrawled the addition on herself. They were hosting the freaking thing, why shouldn’t they be an official part of it? The Butterflies who had followed them outside were audibly scoffing at the various Johansen men and women sweeping up armfuls of meats and jamming them into extra large tortillas that were still far too small for the task. Finally she found her dad, who was guiding cousin Rock through the various foods that had become a staple of his diet, and when he noticed her in kind he skipped over. “Star, honey, there you are! And Marco, my boy, tell me: did you have your first encounter with Grandpappy Bear? The man with the grey beard down past his knees?” Marco nodded at the clarification.

“Ha! My father used to tell me stories of how he’d vanquish foes by opening his arms to feign surrender. Many great men and women fell right for it- went for the hug and had the life squeezed right out of them!” His eyes narrowed intensely, getting right in Marco’s face, and Marco’s nose ruffled at the wild beard hairs.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Marco dryly responded. “My everything hurts.”

“Nonsense, lad. If you’re even still standing, you’ve done better than most! It’s like you’re part of the family already.” He clapped Marco on the back with a joyous laugh, and Star grabbed onto her boyfriend’s arm to keep him steady on his feet.

“Try not to break the boy,” Etheria sneered from the doorway behind them, joined by a few of Star’s aunts and uncles.

“They are quite talented at breaking things,” Heartrude murmured low enough that anyone farther away than Star probably wouldn’t hear.

“Aye, we’re just having fun with ‘em,” Aunt Crag hollered back. “From what Rivey tells me, he’s gonna be an honorary Johansen soon enough!”

Daaaaaaad. Star tried to bury the rising heat in her cheeks. While her brain was still putting itself back together, Marco had jumped between them with a nervous grin on his face. “So, swordfighting, huh? What’s the deal with that?”

“Yes, I suppose some entertainment is in order,” Etheria sighed. “Are you quite sure that we can’t stage a rousing game of Flags, Moon? After the last few cancellations due to…” Her gaze flickered to Eclipsa and Globgor briefly. “Circumstances on Mewni, and now the Butterfly Kingdom being dissolved altogether, I dare say some stress relief might do us all some good.”

“Hear, hear,” the Butterflies behind her chanted. Even a few Johansens were mumbling their assent, though they’d never be forthright with their agreement with the eldest Butterfly.

“Be that as it may,” Moon spoke up, “my decision still stands. If there’s anything I’ve learned these past few years, it’s the value of letting go of the past if it’s holding you back, and Flags, fun as it may be, just kept this feud going. We have our whole lives ahead of us. Perhaps it’s best if we can all learn to find that which binds us together.”

“She’s right,” one of the Johansen cousins added. Phew. Finally, maybe people were starting to see the sense in- “Since we don’t have to bother with politics anymore, maybe we just shouldn’t put up with them!” Oh for the love of- calm down, Star. Deep breaths. Though she tried to ignore it, a tiny voice in the back of her mind pondered those words carefully. Why were they trying to make the families get along? Sure, it’d be nice for its own sake, but it wasn’t like her parents were BFFs with any of their in-laws, either. Maybe it was selfish to think, but what did they get out of it?

As the tensions mounted more by the second, Star felt something prodding her clenched fists. She looked over her shoulder to see Eclipsa surreptitiously handing over her sword, while Marco already had been given his. Star took the hint. Too late to turn back now.

“EN GARDE, MARCO!”

***

To anyone else, the sun being blocked out completely in the middle of a summer afternoon would have been alarming, but for Eclipsa it was a most welcome sign. “Having fun, my love?” a deep voice boomed above her.

Globgor shrunk down to smaller than his default size, his form-fitting sweater vest and pants scaling appropriately, and dropped down on the grass next to his wife to hand her a cup of tea. She took a test sip: black, with milk and a generous serving of honey. He only ever put that much in when he thought there was something bothering her, and as always, he was correct. “I get the unfortunate feeling we’re not quite welcome among some of the clan, Globby. Especially those on our side. The Johansens seem quite fond of you, though.”

“Ehhhh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right, they’re definitely nice in their own way, but I think it’s only because I’m strong. They kept laughing about eating people, and said maybe Etheria would be a gourmet meal.”

“Well, that is a perfectly acceptable reason to like you, dear,” she crooned, placing her free hand on his arm. “But yes, that is… troubling.” It didn’t surprise her, really; it had taken her nearly a year to find her place within the small portion of the Butterfly family consisting of just Star and Moon. Eclipsa had accepted being an outcast from the remainder of it, given her supreme infamy in Mewnian lore, but it wasn’t in her nature to sulk, and in all fairness it had been a good year for them. Perhaps she hadn’t been the best at guiding her people safely through dangerous times, but she still had earned respect and camaraderie from much of Monstertown. Rebuilding the town after Mina’s destructive rampage had been a satisfying effort, and she still had far more time to enjoy the company of her family than she ever could have dreamed.

Taking another soothing sip, her gaze wandered over to the only other people she knew that needed this time to be together as much as she had. Star’s combat style was fierce, unrelenting chaos guided by warrior’s instinct, but Marco balanced it perfectly with a keen eye for when to defend and when to counter. Eclipsa had guessed where they’d end up from quite literally the first moment she’d met Star, and where they complemented each other perfectly as a team, they were equally matched as opponents. The shimmering steel clanged over and over, neither combatant spending more than a handful of seconds on the backfoot at a time. Marco deftly ducked under a ferocious two-handed swing and jabbed forward, so Star rolled with her momentum to dash backwards. She was about to back into a cactus behind her when Marco kicked off the ground and lunged towards her, grabbing her free hand and twirling her to the side, eliciting hoots and hollers from the enthralled crowd. They both giggled before squaring their stances, and combat resumed.

“They’re quite extraordinary, aren’t they?” Eclipsa turned away from the match in progress at the sound of Moon’s voice. Globgor extended an enlarged arm towards a chair leaning against a picnic table and dragged it over for her.

“They’ve both turned out to be some of the best of us. Even with all my strongest magic, I wouldn’t want to get between them. It looks like they could keep this up forever.”

Moon raised an eyebrow and folded her hands in her lap, sipping from a mug with an ornate floral pattern. Royal status or not, Moon had a taste for the finer things. “I wasn’t talking about the swordfight, Eclipsa.”

“Nor was I.” Eclipsa playfully smirked, and Moon conceded the point with the two sharing a knowing look.

Globgor shrunk and hopped onto Eclipsa’s shoulder, gathering some of her flowing green hair with his tail as a headrest and reclining into her neck. “Wouldn’t it have been nice to be like that at their age? We only ever had minutes at a time to ourselves, and it’s not like we could just use giant mirrors or big glowy portals to chat whenever we wanted.”

“True enough, my love, but Star had been devoting everything to keeping an entire kingdom afloat at age 15 for half a year, and Marco’s own service merited knighthood in less. Even if we debate the details, I’m not sure I envy them.” She gently ruffled his hair with her fingers. “And besides, we’ve had the last year, and however many more follow to do whatever we wish.”

Globgor smiled back up at her, hugging one of her fingers. “You’re right, dear. Oh Moon, that reminds me, how are those big plans you mentioned a few weeks ago?”

Moon crossed her arms, frowning slightly. “It’s not anything that big yet. I’ve... just been gathering some information. Wrathmelior was quite helpful in finding Historia Homewnum for me, it’s older than the Butterflies themselves. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it yet, but I want to talk to Star first.” She turned away from Eclipsa and Globgor, gazing with a solemn smile towards her daughter who was laughing hysterically as she chased Marco down and tackled him into the grass, weapons forgotten. “How we look back on Mewni requires guidance from those looking most forward.”

“How do you look back on it, Moon?”

Her brow furrowed as she took one sip, then another, clearly lost in thought. By the time she spoke, the entire glass had been drained. “I’m not proud of many of the things I did, or even those I felt I had to do, in my time as queen, but it’s a legacy left behind nonetheless. The people of this world deserve to know it as it was, sometimes noble and sometimes flawed.” A shout of “why I never!” was heard from the distance, and everyone turned to see one of the younger Butterfly cousins hastily retreating from an encounter with Johansens. “Very flawed,” Moon sighed. “The Johansens at least mean well, in their own ways, but my side… well, let’s just say it’s a good reminder of why the Cleaving was necessary. My apologies for any trouble they’ve caused.”

Eclipsa laughed sardonically. “Until quite literally hundreds of years after she perished, my own mother would have drawn and quartered me just for being in love. Family problems are nothing new.”

Globgor hopped off her shoulder, enlarging as he pointed across the spacious yard closer to Moon and River’s yurt, which had become a veritable house in recent months. “Is that River?” Eclipsa squinted to block out the sunlight and get a better view, and sure enough he was locked in a struggle with Heartrude, who was trying to wrestle a large drumstick out of River’s teeth.

“In all fairness, Moon, the Diazes are excellent chefs. I wouldn’t blame anyone for that level of passion over the catering,” Eclipsa sniggered.

“For heaven’s sake…” Moon grumbled while dragging her hands down her face. “River!” She darted off towards the scene, leaving Eclipsa and her husband alone once more.

A few of the others glanced over their way, but none responded. Globgor grew a little more and stretched his limbs before sprawling himself out on the ground, yelping sheepishly when his actions knocked the chairs over. That’s my Globby. Eclipsa giggled and jumped over the wreckage into his arms, using his chest as a pillow. They both loved their daughter more than anything, but time for just the two of them was always welcome. “There are certain advantages to not having much of an audience…” he said, chuckling and gently pulling her closer for a kiss. When she’d first started secretly dating monsters in her youth, the Mewman lore had maintained that size-shifters were clumsy oafs when large and insidious creeping vermin when small, and that was saying something since the pages written about the middle ground weren’t exactly flattering either. No matter his outward appearance, he always knew how to handle her with precision and grace, and they’d worked up a complete comfortability with the shifts in their daily lives. One of Globgor’s favorite amusements was trying to solve any mundane issue he could with only size-shifting, leading to some incidents such as the shelving unit they’d had to rebuild after he tried expanding in a confined space to reach some baking ingredients at the top, but it never failed to amuse her. They flirted in the grass until they’d lost count of the minutes, uncaring of who may have been looking at their innocent (by their standards) shenanigans, until the sunlight in the corner of Eclipsa’s eye went dark once more.

The moment that it took for Globgor to stop being distracted by her kisses lasted about as long as the time it took her to recognize that the usual cause of this was already beneath her, and both snapped to attention together. “Gotcha! Now we’re even-steven,” Star gloated.

All four eyes below her blinked a few times. “Um, it’s Globgor, not Steven.” The other three looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. “What, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, darling,” Eclipsa responded. They both stood up, brushing any stray grass marks off their clothing. “Excellent fight, dears, though I’m afraid I was too, ahem, preoccupied to catch the ending. Who won?”

“Star did,” Marco said.

She poked him in the cheek, beaming with pride and doing a little dance. “First time, too! I was like, swing, swing, slash and I did this really cool twirl and knocked it right out of Marco’s hands. I did it!”

He wrapped an arm around her affectionately, which also served to calm her antics. “I was off-balance from pulling you away from the cactus,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Love made you weak, Diaz, but I love you for it.” She nuzzled into his shoulder and he rested his head against hers. “Anyway, how are things going for you guys?” Star wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at them.

“The party is delightful. It’s so nice to get to celebrate with everyone, even if there’s the occasional spot of friction.” It wasn’t worth troubling Star and Marco over; this celebration was in service of them, in a way.

“The Butterflies don’t seem to like us too much, and I think the Johansens like us for not so great reasons,” Globgor ever so helpfully stated. Well, there goes that idea.

Star growled under her breath. “Why are they always like this? It seemed like things were turning around after the last Flags,” she moaned.

Marco shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, sometimes old grudges last a long time. I remember Uncle Miguel didn’t speak to his wife, Aunt Juanita, for 15 whole years because of a stolen enchilada. She’d even bought him one the next day, too. Probably explains why Cousin Bobby is a bit weird.”

Star puffed up her cheeks in indignation. “OK, I know this isn’t the point, Marco, but every story about your extended family just makes me want to meet them even more.”

“Maybe once the government sorts out all the passport stuff,” Marco said, “and maybe on their own, too. I’m glad your family likes my parents, but I’m, uh, not so sure how they would all get along.”

“Good to know.”

“Can’t you just eat like a well-behaved member of society!” The group heard from a distance away.

“I don’t want to be part of any society that has someone do the chewing for them!”

More and more Butterflies and Johansens clustered together in the center of the yard; it seemed like this whole debacle was about to reach critical mass. Eclipsa surveyed the scene carefully: Moon and River were trying ineffectually to calm it, and the Diazes watched from the sidelines, babies in tow. It seemed like they were the only ones left in action. Marco gathered them into a huddle, with Globgor shrinking down to the appropriate size. “Alright, how do we figure this out?”

“Families bicker sometimes, darling,” Eclipsa offered somberly. “Perhaps them getting along just isn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t get it, though! Okay, fine, they’re annoyed by each other, but who isn’t annoyed by family sometimes? Heck, even Marco grates on me when he says I should ‘eat less sugar’ and ‘eat something besides sugar’ and ‘stop pouring sugar into my soda until it becomes a thick paste’! Have you ever seen the nutrition labels on the Sugar Seeds you eat too?”

“Hey…” Marco pouted.

Globgor raised a hand. “Well, Star, healthy eating is an important-”

“Not the time!” she growled.

Marco squeezed her shoulder, which calmed her down enough for him to speak. “Well, when Uncle Miguel and Aunt Juanita’s feud finally ended, it was because his brother stole one of his enchiladas and then gave it back, so they made up really quickly. I guess that helped him realize he didn’t even know why he was still being so mean about it. So maybe if we just got them to realize their issues are normal…”

“They could just be annoyed by each other normally,” Star finished. “Marco, you brilliant man, you.”

Folding her hands in contemplation, Eclipsa finally spoke. “All well and good, but how? Even though my time was 300 years ago, I don’t think much has changed in just how stubborn any of these royal families can be. They’re not just going to give up hating each other so easily.”

Globgor’s tail swished up against her in excitement. “Remember when you helped me become a vegetarian?”

“Yes, of course.”

“For a while, I still thought about eating Mewmans every single day, so you made all those veggie-filled scarecrows for me to find. They weren’t that good.”

“Not my best work, I admit.”

“But being able to still have some way of scratching that itch was what helped the most, and now it’s not even a problem anymore!”

“So you’re saying we just need a way to still let out all their aggression without doing any serious damage, then. Globgor, you brilliant man, you.”

Rafael and Angie poked their heads in between Marco and Globgor. “If I may contribute a suggestion…” he said.

“Aaaa!” The other two couples stumbled back in shock.

“Sorry, we heard you from over there and we had an idea. You’re not that good at being quiet,” Angie laughed, ruffling Star’s hair.

“When I was growing up,” Rafael continued, “we used to always play silly games in the backyard and everyone got very competitive over it. I think I have some of the equipment still in the shed. Maybe a friendly competition is in order?”

“I love it!” Star shouted, her eyes lighting up with joy. She stuck her hand into the middle of the group, grinning fiercely at the gathered crowd. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s stop our families from killing each other over petty grudges. Globgor, lift all the equipment. Nachos can help too, she should be coming back from her afternoon stroll right about now. Mr. Diaz, set it all up. Eclipsa, Mrs. Diaz, plan the rules of the competition. Marco, let’s go try to distract my family. Team Family on three!” Regardless of whether it would work, Eclipsa felt quite enthusiastic about this as well. She couldn’t say whether it would work, or how it might impact her own standing within the group, but the simple fact that there even seemed to be a chance to set things in the right direction for Star’s family at all was far more than she’d ever had the chance to do in her past.

“Alright, on three,” Eclipsa said, leading the charge. “One, two, three, family!”

***

Marco followed Star across the yard, needing to jog to keep up as she pulled him forward by the hand into the center of the ruckus. Moon and River had their backs to each other as they tried to keep the seething rage from either side at bay, but a few people had already crossed the battle lines and an all-out brawl was beginning to erupt.

“Don’t worry Mom and Dad, we got this,” Star confidently shouted over the din. Admittedly, Marco was a bit less certain than she was that this would work. He was the odd one out in terms of his upbringing, and Star’s families honestly spooked him a little bit with their intensity. The Diazes were quirky, sure, but like most other things on Mewni, this whole situation just seemed amped up to 11 all the time. Still, he wanted to see it through for Star’s sake, if nothing else. So much of what they’d gone through was due in some way or another to family disputes, it was very clearly a personal affront to her. “Alright, everyone, settle down!” Didn’t work. “Butterflies! Johansens! Could you please just stop-” Even at the top of her lungs, nothing changed.

River pushed her back a step. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got this.” He inhaled enough air that his bare chest visibly expanded. “QUIETTTTTTTTTTT!” Dead silence hung in the wake as every member of the families turned their full attention towards Star, Marco, and her parents. One Johnasen even paused mid-headlock of Heartrude. “Listen to my daughter speak!”

“Thanks dad. Hello, everyone!”

“Hello, Star,” the crowd mumbled hesitantly.

“Butterflies, Johansens, I know you both have your differences. I know that nothing I’m going to say will make you just get along forever. But I have a question for you. Uncle Heartrude, you hate the Johansens for how they eat, but haven’t you ever been annoyed whenever Uncle Jimothy uses salad forks for meat?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how-”

Star pointed directly at one of her larger cousins, and even just a sideways look at the fire in her sapphire eyes inspired him as well. “And Boulder, didn’t you once say Rock was a snooty little pebble for waxing his shoulder-horns twice a day?”

“Aye, I did.” His thick brow furrowed and his voice came out a bit muffled from behind his enormous brown beard.

“But you still love each other like brothers, so why are you still trying to break Heartrude’s leg right now?”

“Oi, I guess I am,” he said, letting go of Heartrude’s leg. “Sorry about that.”

Star squeezed Marco’s hand in hers hard enough that he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in exhilaration.

“So sure, we all get mad sometimes. But instead of trying to kill each other over it, let’s just settle it like we would any regular family feud. With friendly, non-lethal competitive fun!”

River tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, sometimes the Johansens do actually settle them by-”

“Not now, Dad,” she forced out through gritted teeth.

“Right-o, dear.” He quickly hustled back to Moon, who was watching with a proud but cautious smile.

Etheria shoved her way through the crowd and confronted Star face to face. “That may all be well and true, but the Johansens spoiled our royal bloodline-”

“That was my own choice, thank you very much, Aunt Etheria,” Moon huffed, hugging River closer to her.

“Besides, I’m proud to be a Butterfly and a Johansen,” Star continued. “And so what if it’s not what you wanted for the ‘royal bloodline’? Earthni to Etheria, we’re not even royals anymore! Who cares about some stupid bloodline when my mom was able to actually be happy?"

“Traditions are important, child. Now, I’ll grant you that we no longer hold claim to a royal throne, but neither do you, so why should we listen to you anymore?” A few murmurs were heard among the Butterflies and Johansens both. How ironic that the first time all day they could agree on something was on their right to hate each other.

“Because… because…” Star floundered for the first time in her speech. Her hand trembled in Marco’s, and the Star he knew and loved wouldn’t have faltered until hope seemed almost completely lost. He had to do something. Think, Marco, think… the Johansens respected might, the Butterflies respected prestige, what did any of them have that could appease both? They were so upset about Flags being cancelled in the first place because both wanted its bragging rights so badly. Wait… that’s it!

Alright Diaz, you got this. Marco stood tall and squeezed Star’s hand back to let her know it was OK. “Because I, Marco Ubaldo Diaz, am the reigning Flags champion, and I say to do what Star says!”

“Marco, what the horse-flipping heck-” Star wheeled on him incredulously, but he quickly turned her back towards the crowds. Their gazes roved over the faces in the crowd. All of the fight had left them. His gambit had worked.

“Huh,” Star uttered matter-of-factly, still in shock. “What would I do without you, Marco?” she whispered to him under her breath, and his heart fluttered as it always did. “Alright, listen up, people! This isn’t about epic conflicts or generational feuds. You’ve got a problem with someone? Challenge them to a short, safe, and fun game to settle that score. Marco’s parents and Eclipsa and Globgor are in charge of the event planning. They’ll help you set everything up. May the best person at resolving all their conflicts win! Welcome to the first annual...”

“Game of Yards!” Star and Marco triumphantly shouted in unison.

“Remember to have fun!” Star shouted before tugging Marco’s hand away once more, but she steered them away from his parents and then further away from the entire party.

“Um, Star, what are you- where are we going?”

“Can we talk about something? I need to get away for, like five seconds.” Marco hadn’t heard her sound that exasperated in a while.

“Yeah, of course, let’s decompress. Anywhere special you wanted to go?”

Her gaze frantically darted around them. She’d taken them back towards the forest, near the edge of the territory their parents had acquired. “I don’t know, I just kinda walked. How about there?” she asked, pointing to a small hill in a clearing, covered by the shade of some Mewnian oak trees (thankfully, the benign sort). Marco nodded, and they both went over found a suitable spot.

“What’s on your mind?”

Star shifted restlessly after sitting on her legs. He tried to convey as much support as he could through the gentle caress of her hand laced with his. Even from hours after they’d met, he’d always been ready to be right beside her when she needed, and that resolve had only strengthened as the years went by. Once she’d gathered her thoughts, she began to speak. “Who am I, Marco?”

Of the many ways he’d thought this conversation could open, this wasn’t exactly one of them. “Huh?” was all he could mutter.

“It’s just… Etheria’s right. I’m not a princess anymore, and when all that went down I just wanted to be a normal teenager, but I’m not gonna be a teenager forever either, you know?”

“I understand.”

“Yeah, but when you turned down Eclipsa’s knighthood, already had a plan for stuff you wanted to do. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to college and all that junk? You can do that now since you finished high school, right?”

“Mhmm.” Marco fell back onto the grass, resting both his arms on his chest and staring up into the clear purple sky. “I- I guess I haven’t thought about it much since then, either. Mom told me that the college she teaches at was still taking students, and it’s still really close to home, and- and I thought about signing up but I wasn’t sure.”

She plopped down beside him, rolling over to face him and taking one of his hands in hers. “You should! Marco, whatever you want to do, you’ll be amazing at it because you’re Marco Diaz, and I’ll be right there every step of the way.”

“Thanks, Star.”

“I never had anything like that. I didn’t think about it too much when I was a kid, and then I was gonna be a queen because, well, that’s what princesses did. And then the first moment that I seriously got to thinking about what I wanted, kablam-o! Solarian warriors attack, magic’s gone, and Earth and Mewni merge. Once the craziness finally stopped, all I could think about was being with you. Don’t get me wrong, the past year just being with you and doing whatever we want has been incredible, but now I just need to figure out what else is out there for Star Butterfly, and honestly...” She squirmed uncomfortably and scooted closer into him, resting her head on his chest. “I’m scared, Marco. I know I need to ‘find my calling’, or whatever Mr. Candle might call it, but I have no idea how, and I don’t want to lose this either.” Her arms buried underneath him and held him closely. There was a bit of dampness that Marco could feel seeping its way into his hoodie, and that caused a few empathetic tears to well up in his own eyes.

He brushed them away with a sleeve and then hugged her tighter to him, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We won’t, Star. Ever. Even if it takes a year, or ten, or a hundred years, or even if you never find some perfect job you want to do forever and ever, that’s fine! As long as you’re happy and fulfilled, that’s all that matters, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Promise.” They rested in silence for a few moments, holding each other closely as thoughts of potential futures whirred in Marco’s mind.

Her chin lifted up and dug into his chest as she stared at him. “Any ideas?” Those Earth-sky-blue eyes that had filled him with a sense of purpose for so long now implored him to return the favor.

“Well, you’re not a princess anymore, but… maybe the stuff you liked doing as a princess could help? You’re a natural leader, you inspire people to be better than themselves, you worked so hard to make Mewni a better place.”

“Marcoooooo,” she crooned, and he lovingly pecked the blushes rising on both of her cheeks.

“For real, Star, you’re the coolest person ever, you could do whatever you put your mind to. Not long after we first met, you were terrified of all the princess duties, and you ended up figuring out how to do them the Star Butterfly way. Just remove the ‘princess’ part of it, and figure out whatever else you’re gonna do the Star Butterfly way.”

A teasing smirk rose on her face. “Weeeeell, I can think of at least one thing, mister…” she booped his nose with hers, and it was his turn for a fiery blush to arise. “You’re so cute to tease. Have you ever thought about what would happen if none of it happened? Like, if I never stopped being a princess and then I had to be queen someday.”

“A little? That whole year on Mewni was kinda a bit weird and all, with the squiring, and…” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Figuring out how I felt about you.”

“Right back atcha, there. But what if we’d still done all that, just without completely changing the world?”

“Being a knight would have been really cool, I guess, but the whole Lifelong Post thing… kinda weird. Maybe I could’ve been one without it, or something? Or maybe I’d have just picked you, officially,” he said, poking her nose. “A knight and princess being together is a story that’s, like, 1000 years old, after all.”

“That’s really sweet, Marco, but… nah,” Star dismissed him, turning over to stare at the same sky he was, folding his hands inside hers.

“Nah?”

“Nah. You wouldn’t have been a knight for long.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“If I was still a princess, then you’d be my prince.”

He jerked upward out of instinct, only stopping because of the weight on his chest. “Uh, Star? I, um, I don’t think that’s how noble ranks, um-” Stream of consciousness took over while he scrambled to collect his shattered thoughts.

“Princesses can do what they want, silly. I’d declare you Marco Diaz, Prince of Echo Creek, and your mom and dad could get little crowns, and there’d be all sorts of ridiculous contracts to sign. You’d be free to whatever you wanted on Earth, too! But we could still be together.” Her head tilted up and her eyes met his once more. “Forever.” The determination in those pools reflected love at him, and even with the impact from the gravitas of her statement, it still just felt natural, it felt right, like everything with Star always seemed to. She leaned upwards to kiss him, slow and soft and sweet as her hands ran over his face and through his hair as his reciprocated. When they finally broke apart, Star sat up, and the Sun framed her hair in the most beautiful way; Marco found himself needing a few more moments than usual to catch his breath. “I’ll always love you, Marco.”

“No matter what, Star, I’ll always love you too. Now come on,” he said, pushing off the ground to a standing position. “Let’s go win some Yards, my princess.”

“We just had a moment, Diaz. You get a pass, this one time… my prince.” She puffed up her cheeks indignantly, but a radiant smile cracked the facade almost immediately, clearly as lighthearted and giddy as he’d ever known her to be, and he felt much the same.

Their fingers intertwined as they dashed away towards their home once more, looking forward to finding their place in the world and - more importantly, perhaps - tag-teaming to kick some butt.

#starco #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #globclipsa #tgg svtfoe #fanfic

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

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Photographs

Summary: A selection of moments in Jackie Mann’s life, as told through photographs.

Upon a pillow laid on a table is a baby. He's asleep, having only been born a handful of days earlier. The hand resting by his cheek makes him appear dreamily fed up with all this attention. Behind the baby is a card declaring 'It's a Boy!' and vase full of flowers from the Aherns down the hall. It's not much in the way of celebrating his birth but it's more than his mother had anticipated. After generations of the family living in what was now Northern Ireland, he was the first to be born south of that border. Miss Coghlan only hoped she had made the right decision by moving away. And when she has the pictures developed, she captions this one

John Bartholomew Coghlan Born 10/07/1966 7:22pm --- John appeared to be caught off guard. In his hands were a wooden spoon and a small pan. He'd been banging them together, as two year olds had a habit of finding enjoyment doing, when he had been caught. His mouth was slightly agape in an expression that was a mix of startled and bewilderment. Seconds before, his mother had asked him what he was doing with humour in her voice. As she tucked the black and white photograph in a safe place, Aoife Coghlan smiled fondly, thinking to herself how her son was already a budding musician. There is no writing on the back except for 'November 1968'. --- The two boys looked like an absolute disgrace. It honestly made you wonder if they'd straight up rolled around in the dirt. The only reason John's mother had taken the photo was to help herself believe it had actually happened. Still the 7 year olds posed with their hands on the handlebars, mounted on their bicycles and a foot on the ground to steady themselves. The whole time they remained beaming, content with their day's worth of exploration and play. John had only received that bike for his birthday the prior month. Now look at the state of it! Dear Lord... On the back of the photograph, coloured this time, it is written: John and Dermot after riding their bikes in Ravensdale Forest, August 1973 --- Aoife couldn't have been prouder. The Aherns, whom they'd invited to witness this important moment in John's life, happily offered to take some photos of the mother and son duo. With his mother (dressed in the best of her Sunday best, obviously) placing a hand on his shoulder, John held his copy of the Bible up for the camera. He looked incredibly smart in his shirt and tie. In the background you could catch parts of other families celebrating the same occasion outside the church. This one was going to be catalogued as John's First Holy Communion - 13/06/1974 (Corpus Christi) --- John holds baby Bridget in his arm. Annette, her blonde hair in pigtails, is sitting on his lap. The siblings both have their gazes on the latest addition to their family. Seeing him with his two little sisters is enough to make anyone wonder how the boy is already 13. If his mother wasn't careful, he'd be preparing to leave home before she knew it. But for now it was her three children, together in one beautiful moment, and there wasn't anything more she could ask from the world. It may be grainy but what photo wasn't? It is filed away with September 1979 inked on the other side. --- Jackie had announced this was the year for change in his life. He was going to legally change his name as soon as his 18th birthday arrived in July. But first, Jackie Mann needed a look. Perhaps that was why he'd styled it into a mullet over the holidays and dyed it a vibrant green. None of his bandmates were going to be the ones to point it out but a mullet wasn't exactly the hairstyle you saw and thought 'punk rock'. Regardless, it was Jackie's hair and if he wanted that over a mohawk or anything else, then fine. Even with his arms crossed and back against the wall, it would need some work. Jotted down on the back is He claims it's here to stay, 3rd January 1984 --- It was clear Jackie felt fairly self conscious while wearing feminine clothing. More to the point, he didn't look comfortable if he knew others could see him in those garments. It was why he only wore it at home. Even so, he wasn't keen on Chris catching him in a dress. However, Jackie appeared to be too engrossed by dancing to whatever was playing on his Walkman when his friend returned from grabbing takeaway. The drummer remains oblivious with an absent minded smile as the moment is captured forever. This one gets titled Happy is a good look on him, 19th May 1984 --- The pub doesn't have particularly good lighting. It doesn't matter. You can at least still make out the scene. Jackie is drinking from his pint of Guinness and giving a thumbs up to the camera. In the corner is part of Matt's raised arm, in the middle of cheering. His friends had heavily encouraged him to choose the stout as the first alcoholic beverage of his adult life. He'd acted as if he was annoyed but ordered it regardless. Why the hell not? He'd been half considering doing so anyway. What the camera doesn't catch is the way he very visibly cringes in disgust seconds afterwards. Nor Stuart daring him to chug the whole pint to get out of buying rounds, Jackie stating he shouldn't have to buy rounds on his birthday in the first place then attempting the challenge despite it. Matt suggests the moment be dubbed 'Baby's first drink, 10th July 1984' --- The knife worked on the charred pieces of meat. In amongst all these restoration efforts, Chris' teasing and jokes caused him to have the blade pointed in his direction. This only triggers more of his offending behaviour. He rushes off to grab his camera. Jackie clutches the knife, swearing he was going to 'Psycho his ass in a minute'. This is the very moment preserved through the lens. The 18 year old repeats his threats of murder when he notices the latest addition of 'Jackie pretending he's not completely hopeless with turkey, 25th December 1984' to Chris' photo collection. --- Jackie's left arm was laid on the kitchen table and acted as a cushion for his head. The other hand was clutching a jar of pickles. With unkempt hair, no top and a pair of pajama bottoms not visible to the camera, he looked as terrible as he felt. The second picture was Jackie in a similar pose a minute later. He'd noticed Chris taking the first photograph, lifted his head a moment before having it drop down in the comfort of his arm. Chris, regretting the night before himself, had told him to smile. Instead Jackie's right arm was raised from the elbow and only one finger was not hidden. In the album, the two photographs are placed side by side. And below them is the caption Why 'cooling down' after Live Aid was a bad idea, 14th July 1985 --- In Jackie's arms, cradled like a baby, is a corgi. Her tail is blurred from wagging too much for the camera to catch it. Caoimhe's owner has his eyes clasped tight from laughter. On the other side of the camera, Jackie's new friend Nate watched as the dog did everything in her power to lick his face. The two men stay giggling throughout the whole thing. The more presentable results are put under Caoimhe 1st birthday, Apr '86 --- In the picture dated July 29 '86, Spencer is sat upon his big brother's shoulders. Pinned to his top is a badge declaring he is 5. He looks down and his face lights up as their eyes meet. Jackie has his hands firmly holding on to Spencer's. His eyes are directed skyward while his tongue pokes out. The brothers jointly revel in each other's company. The photograph could not have been taken sooner because a minute later Jackie is racing around the garden, much to Spencer's delight. --- 'Kissing at Stuart's birthday party, 9th October 1986' is pretty much what it says on the tin. Both of them are a little inebriated. Jackie is comfortably tipsy while Chris is gradually working his way towards plastered. Neither will admit to the other the feeling their relationship has seen better days, despite them both experiencing it. That didn't matter tonight. They were here to celebrate a friend turning 24 and damn it, they were going to do just that. It's a sweet moment where any grudges or frustrations are non-existent. Even better, it is still approximately an hour before Jackie will call it a night, say his goodbyes and leave for home. The party hasn't even reached the point where perhaps a dozen people (all intoxicated to varying degrees) join forces to sing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' as the cake is presented to Stuart. The pair are happy together and for a frozen moment in time, they will remain so. --- He knows that he should technically be turning 53 today but ah, screw it. He's been living in 2019 for more or less five months now. Marvin gifted him several Queen albums this morning which he hadn't even had the chance to listen to yet. The hero had disappeared off to the kitchen, leaving Henrik, Chase and Jameson at the table with Jackie. Joel hovered between the kitchen and the party like he had been ever since he arrived. Standing in the doorway, his roommate counted their guests down from three. Happy Birthday was sung as his cake travelled towards him. Layered chocolate with strawberries and cream inbetween. Of course Marvin had chosen to bake that one. A couple of candles, a 2 and a 1, were situated in the middle of the top layer. He extinguishes them with his breath to the sound of collective cheering. All the while, Joel was filming it on his mobile phone. His phone of all things. Even after all this time, Jackie was still wrapping his head around that. They ask him what his wish was. He chuckles and winks, reminding them it won't come true if he tells. The truth is, however, that he can't think of one. He isn't sure what he wants. And somehow the thought of birthday wishes returns to him that evening. Long after Chase has rushed back to work with a takeaway slice and the others have bid their own farewells, he's got his legs dangling off a roof by Marvin's side. They sit together, hands entwined, gazing at the skyline in the fading light of a summer evening. He'd love to return to 1986, to live his life in a linear chronological fashion the way everyone else got to. There are people he misses, those he never got to say a proper goodbye to and countless memories he could have made but won't now. That said, he's already become part of dozens of memories in the past few months that he was never meant to be involved in either. If he really had to wish for anything, it was to remain happy throughout life. And currently, he was doing a pretty good job of achieving that.

#jumbled au #jackie mann #jacksepticeye egos #my writing

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snortyport · 4 years ago

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Trapped - JJK Chapter 4

Summary- Things are looking bleak and tempers flare

Rating- PG

Word Count- 2519

Pairing- Jungkook x reader

Warning- swearing, not a whole lot

A/N- thanks so much to everyone reading!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

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“Miss YLN?” Kyle’s voice breaks through the cloud of despair that started engulfing your mind. You give your head a little shake and then turn to look at him. “Are you ok?” You notice his hand is still on your shoulder so you take a small step away so he’ll remove it. You know he’s trying to comfort you, but you don’t want one of the other boys to think something inappropriate is going on.

“I’m fine, thank you. Let’s get down from here,” you turn around and walk to the front of the bus with shaking legs. You pause before the first jump onto the driver’s side door. You’ve never liked heights and having to jump from one high spot to a lower ledge is making you really nervous. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and your hands start to shake. Calm down, you’re almost there.

Will pushes past you, your arms fly out to keep your balance, and jumps onto the door. He smirks at you over his shoulder then jumps down onto the grass. Graham follows diligently after him, without the jerk smirk thankfully.

Kyle jumps down but turns and offers his hand for you.

“Don’t like heights?” he guesses.

“I fell off the top of a jungle gym when I was a kid and broke my arm. I’ve been scared ever since,” you tell him, carefully grabbing his hand. He helps you down onto the door, his other hand resting on your hip. Your bodies are pressed too close for your liking, and way too close to be any way appropriate for a student and teacher to be standing. A blush creeps up Kyle’s neck as he looks down at you.

“I’ll, uh,” he clears his throat, “jump down first and then help you down.” He quickly lets you go and leaps down. I really wish I wasn’t scared of heights. He turns back to you and holds his arms up. “Come on, I’ll catch you.”

“You want me to jump into your arms?” you ask incredulously, arching your brow.

“Yeah, I got you,”

Yeah fucking right. The cool breeze of early spring blowing across your face is the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. And the almost dozen kids staring up at you, waiting for you to join them. We were just in a crash. Two people are dead. I can’t give up now because I’m scared of heights. Come on girl, don’t be a weenie.

You sit down and dangle your legs over the side. Kyle steps closer and grips your ankles.

“Don’t pull me!” you scream, louder and shriller than you meant. You kick your legs and he lifts his hands off you immediately.

“Sorry, I wasn’t going to, but I definitely won’t now!” he places his hands on your ankles again. “When you’re ready, I’ll just guide your feet down, ok?” You nod your head.

“What’s wrong Miss YLN?” Jamie asks from his spot on the grass.

“Yeah, Miss YLN? What’s the matter?” Will asks, fake sincerity wrapped around every word. “Are you scared?”

“I’m fine! Nothing is wrong!” you ignore Will and shift your gaze to Kyle. “On three. One,” you take a deep breath, “two,” you prepare for the fall that will probably kill you, “three!” you squeeze your eyes shut and push your butt off the bus.

Your feet touch solid ground two seconds later. That was it? You peek an eye open and the only thing you can see if Kyle’s solid chest in front of you. That’s when you realize he has you pinned against the bus, both hands holding onto your waist. You push him away then run a hand through your hair.

“Thank you, Kyle. I appreciate the help,” you step away from the bus to put more distance between the two of you.

You’ve always noticed Kyle’s eyes lingering on you for a little to long, but you never thought anything of it. Until now. I need to kibosh whatever he’s feeling. You’d never do anything with a student, and you don’t want any kind of rumour to get out.

“Um, no problem,” he rubs the back of his neck and turns away. You can see the blush still on his neck. Definitely have to shut that down.

“Phone still aren’t working, eh?” you ask. Everyone whose phone wasn’t wrecked in the crash pulls them out to check.

“Still nothing,” Hayley says, her arm around Jeannie’s shoulders.

“Yeah, mine too,” Noah replies.

“So? How are we supposed to get help then?” Lilly asks harshly.

“Um, maybe, uh,” you stutter. I don’t know. I just don’t know. “Um, maybe we should go down the road to see if we can find service.”

“I don’t know if some of the kids would be able to make it that far. And I don’t know if I’d be able to make it that far on my ankle,” Hayley says biting her bottom lip. You know she’s right but what else is there to do?

“We’ll go,” Graham offers, pointing at Will, Adam, and Kyle. “We’ll walk until we get service, call, and then come back.”

“Why don’t you three go and I’ll stay here to protect the women and children,” Will says crossing his arms, and leaning against a tree. “I was in the crash too. Maybe I hurt too much to go walking for who knows how long.”

“Seriously, Will?” Hayley scoffs.

“What? I just pulled six people out of a bus and I’m tired. Sue me,” he sits down on the grass, leans back against the tree and puts his hands behind his head.

“Whatever, we’ll just go then,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes and slapping Graham on the back.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say putting your hands up to stop them. “We should stay together.”

“We’ll be fine, Miss YLN,” Adam says in a bored tone.

“We’ll stay on the road and if anyone comes, we’ll stop them for help,” Graham reassures you.

“Plus, me and Graham are eighteen. We’re adults so you can’t exactly stop us,” Kyle pats your shoulder as he walks past you.

“You’re still my students, though!” you huff, spinning on your heel.

“The faster they go, the faster we’ll have help,” Will says from his spot on the ground.

“He’s right Miss YLN,” Tanner says. “Jamie should go to the hospital as fast as possible,” he sheepishly says. You turn around to see Tanner shrugging his shoulders as best he can with Jamie using him as a crutch.

“I’m fine!” Jamie says. To prove it, he lets go of Tanner to stand on his own and almost immediately starts to sway. Tanner wraps his arm around Jamie’s waist again to steady him.

“He’s not fine,” Tanner says firmly.

“I guess that’s our only option then,” you mumble. You turn back around to find the three boys had already started walking away.

“Don’t go too far! There’s a pocket of service on the hill a few kilometres away!” you shout after them. Kyle throws a thumbs up as they continue to walk. “And please be careful!”

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“Hayley, what time is it?” you ask. You’ve been pacing for the past ten minutes. “How long have they been gone for?” Your stomach has been tossing and turning since they left, and it’s only gotten worse the longer they’ve been gone.

“It’s a little after ten which means they’ve been gone for a little over an hour,” she replies, putting her phone beside her again and continues braiding Jeannie’s hair.

“What’s taking them so long? Don’t you think they should be back by now?”

“I’m sure they’re fine. They’re big, strong hockey players,” Hayley states. “I’m sure that they’ve had worse on the rink than anything they could get hurt from out here.”

“You’re probably right but I’d still like it if we were all together,”

You take a look at the kids around you. Jamie and Tanner are sitting in the shade on a tree talking quietly. Jamie seems to be not as dizzy but you’d still like him to see a doctor soon. You’re not sure if he has a concussion or maybe something else. Tanner has been such a good friend and keeping a close eye on him.

Will is still in the same spot but now he’s laying down napping. He’s such an ass but at least his mouth shut. You’re not sure why he’s such an ass but after everything that’s happened, why is he still acting like that?

Lilly has been sitting away by herself with her back to everyone. Poor girl. You hope she’ll be able to get past this.

Jeannie hasn’t left Hayley’s side and Hayley’s been doing everything she can to distract her from everything. Hayley let Jeannie do her hair, she is now sporting a lopsided, loose ponytail, and Hayley has been doing Jeannie’s hair for the last fifteen minutes. They’ve collected leaves and pretty rocks. They’ve sang songs and Jeannie has talked nonstop. Hayley deserves an award for being such a trooper.

“Hey I found some!” Noah says, his shirt pulled up in a makeshift basket. He comes from between two big pines into the little clearing beside the bus. He had gone looking for berries in the near vicinity. You didn’t want him to go but he promised to stay close. You knew he’d be fine because he’s written about how his dad takes him out camping and has taught him all about survival. He’s probably the best person to get stuck out here with. “And don’t worry, none are poisonous, they’re all edible.” He leans towards you to show you.

“Wow, Noah, that’s great!” you enthuse. The other kids, minus Will who is still dozing under the tree and Lilly who is still ignoring everyone, gather around you and Noah, curiosity and interest etched onto their faces.

“You found all of these?” Hayley asks with a big smile on her face.

“Uh well, yeah,” he splutters, looking down at the berries gathered in his shirt, a blush dusting his cheeks. “M-my dad taught me which kinds of berries you can eat and which ones you can’t.”

“Your dad’s a freak,” Will mumbles from his spot. He stretches and moves into a sitting position.

“Will!” Hayley scolds. “He found us food and you’re going to insult him?”

“You know it’s true! Don’t even pretend you don’t think so too,” he says. He groans while he stands up and walks over to the group.

“You don’t have to be such a jerk!” she jabs her finger into his chest. “Things like that are why we broke up. You’re such an asshole!”

“Don’t worry about it, Hayley,” Noah mutters, putting his hand around her bicep and gently pulling her away. “I don’t even notice it anymore.” Hayley steps back and stares at Noah, her gaze softening.

“That doesn’t make it ok,” she says softly, her eyes still lingering on Noah. Will narrows his eyes and looks between them.

“So, you went and foraged for food like some woman from pioneer days?” Will says, shoving his hand into the berries. He pulls a handful out and stomps away.

“Foraging for berries was way before pioneer days. It was before any kind of civilization!” Hayley yells to his retreating back. “Ass…” she shakes her head.

“Thank you, Noah,” you tell him sincerely, pushing Jeannie towards Noah. “You guys go ahead and have some first.”

“Thanks, Noah,” Jeannie says, taking a handful for herself. She goes and sits against a tree to eat. Tanner and Jamie also take a handful, saying their thanks before going back to sit where they were. Hayley steps up next and takes her share.

“Yeah, thanks, Noah,” Hayley says, squeezing Noah’s arm. His cheeks flash red and he mumbles something that sounds like no problem. Hayley takes her share and goes and sits with Jeannie.

“Lilly, do you want some?” you call to her. The only response you get is from a bird chirping somewhere overhead. Noah shrugs at you and holds his shirt out farther for you to take some. You peek at his stash but there’s only enough for one person since Will took so much in his big hands.

“You go ahead, Noah,” you tell him. “I had a big breakfast.” You smile and go to sit against the bus. I’m super hungry but I’m not going to take food away from my kids. Hopefully someone comes soon.

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

After another hour you start pacing again. Why are they taking so damn long? You’re really starting to get worried. You told them not to go too far. What if something happened to them? You’re so deep into you head thinking of the worse case scenarios that you don’t notice the sound of three pairs of feet walking on the grass until they’ve rounded the bus and Tanner is shouting, “They’re back!”

You spin around and stomp over to them. Your anger and relief fight for dominance inside you with every step. You’re not sure which one is going to win by the time you get to the boys.

“Where the hell have you been?” you shout. Anger wins again. “You should have been back ages ago!”

“Sorry! We couldn’t find service on the hill,” Kyle starts.

“So we thought we’d check Old Man Busby’s cabin,” Graham says.

“But we couldn’t find him,” Adam interjects.

“So we thought we could stay there until he comes back,” Graham adds.

“We’re sure he’ll understand why we’re in his cabin when he gets back,” Kyle finishes.

“Sorry we took so long. We just wanted to help,” Adam says clasping his hands behind his back.

“You guys are safe. That’s all that matters. Thank you, guys,” you look the three of them in the eyes and smile.

“No way are we walking that far,” Will says.

“Of course you’re against it,” Hayley scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“I think we should go,” Noah says. “There’s,” he takes a quick look at each of the younger kids, “wild animals in this forest. And I know for a fact they’ll attack.”

“Oh of course they do! And we should believe you because?” Will replies hotly.

“Because a wolf attacked my dad. Why do you think he made me learn all this stuff?” Noah crosses his arms and looks away. Will rolls his eyes and sighs.

“It’ll be tough on the younger kids, but I think Noah’s right. We should go,” Hayley states. Everyone turns to you to make the final decision.

There are good reasons to stay and go. The younger kids will have a hard time walking that far, especially Jamie but what Noah said really has you freaked out. But you were always told to stay by the scene in case someone comes along. That said, no one has come by since the crash happened. Old Man Busby will have food and water so maybe you’d better go.

You stare around the group, your mind made up. “Well, I guess we should get going then.”

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

Things are going to start speeding up so JK should be making an appearance soon! Stay tuned!

Tagged: @sugalarity

#bts #bts imagine #bts jungkook #bts jk #jungkook #apocolyptic

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owl-quill · 4 years ago

Text

Random Supernatural x Once Upon A Time Crossover.

Hook catches the Winchester brothers sneaking around his ship, Emma catches Hook probably planning some vigilante justice.

Just some fun crackfic.

Content notes: just some kidnapping and general threatening behaviour

----

“Well. I guess if any boat here is haunted, it’s that one.” Dean pointed out a tall ship with three masts, standing out from the small yachts and fishing trawlers like a yeti at a dog show.

“Huh.” Sam was unconvinced. It was an unusual sight, true, but nothing supernatural. “Let’s not skip ahead, though, in case the guess is wrong.”

They did walk past all ships at the nighttime-deserted piers, Dean keeping his attention on the EMF meter, Sam on the surroundings, in case anyone showed up. No sign of either human or ghost activity, until they got near the tall ship. “It’s not strong, but there’s something.”

“Let’s check more closely, then.”

They walked up the gangplank as quietly as possible, and after a last look around, Sam pulled the sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt out of his jacket. Neither of them considered that there might be a living soul on board.

The EMF meter kept an unusually steady readout, leading Dean to give it a few sharp taps in case it was somehow stuck.

After walking to the stern and bow and back to the main deck again, and short, quiet deliberation, they decided to check below deck. The stairs below were only just visible in the lights of the harbour, and once they were below they would be able to use flashlights without having to worry too much about passers-by getting suspicious.

The second Dean was distracted fumbling the flashlight out of his pocket, there was a thump from Sam’s direction, followed by Sam’s body tumbling down the stairs, crashing into Dean’s legs and throwing him off balance. He hit the deck, flashlight and EMF meter scuttering away, and tried to turn on his back and go for his gun. There was a figure practically flying down the stairs, and the last thing Dean registered was a boot to his head.

***

“Hey, mate, time to wake up!”

With someone’s hand grabbing his face and shaking him, Sam was conscious very suddenly, head spinning. Trying to sit up and push away whoever it was did not work so well, what with his hands and legs tied. Also, “What the hell, where are my clothes?”

“I have confiscated your personal effects, seeing how you boarded my ship with obvious ill intent, and a considerable number of weapons.” The guy got up to hang up the lantern - one with a candle in it - he was holding, giving Sam a moment to take in his getup. A leather coat, black, with matching waistcoat and pants, and when he stood Sam got a pretty good look at the steel hook he used for his left hand, leaving no doubt he was not merely holding it. Great, unless this was an unusually solid ghost, he had been found by a weirdo who liked to dress up as a pirate. And they hadn’t even agreed on a cover story for sneaking onto a ship. Damn.

“Where’s my... partner?”

“Alive,” came the cool answer. “For for the moment. And now I believe you should answer some of my questions. Who are you, and what were you doing on my ship?” He fixed Sam with bright eyes, a slight smile on his lips.

“I’m... we were looking for...” Dammit, his head was still spinning.

“If you’ve lost your memories I guess I have no further use for you.” He drew some kind of curved sword, was that a cutlass?

“Whoa, wait, wait.” With the pressure of the blade tilting up his chin, he spoke quickly, giving the alias they had used when checking in to Granny’s. “We were looking for ghosts, OK? We didn’t mean to cause any damage or harm, really.” The wannabe pirate let the blade droop.

“Ghosts? And why would you think there were any ghosts on my ship?”

“The EMF meter, it--”

“That’s the beeping, blinking thing your ‘partner’ carried?”

Sam nodded. “It detects electromagnetic fields. You get electromagnetic fields were there are no electric cables, you probably have a ghost, and it did indicate something on this ship.”

“So some weird contraption being noisy makes you think you have a right to invade someone else’s ship, and incidentally home, yes?”

“Ah... We didn’t expect anybody to be here... or live here.”

The pirate chuckled, and with a grin and a raised eyebrow asked, “So you were planning to shoot ghosts with that gun of yours?”

Oh, what the hell. He didn’t have to believe in ghosts, he just had to believe Sam believed what he told him. “It’s loaded with rock salt. A hit briefly banishes a ghost.”

He squatted to get down to Sam’s eye level. “And doesn’t usually kill humans, just hurts like fire. That’s interesting.”

With a sinking feeling the guy might be crazy enough to use him as target practice to test that theory, Sam swallowed hard, and tried to control his breathing. “Sir, I’m sorry, you’re right, we shouldn’t have been here. But we really meant no harm, and you’ve given at least me a good scare, so how about we call it even? We can check your ship over to make sure there’s no supernatural danger, or we can leave, which ever you prefer. Or you can hand us over to the authorities, of course.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to trouble the Sheriff with you two. I’d like to have some fun for myself.” He ruffled Sam’s hair, grinning wickedly.

Humans. Humans were the worst. Too damn unpredictable.

***

By the time someone approached Dean, he had been awake long enough to come to terms with his situation, including the fact that he probably was not getting out of the manacles - manacles, not handcuffs, for chrissakes! That did not mean he was happy about it.

He glared at the costumed weirdo. “Where’s my brother, you sunnuvabitch?”

“You might want to pretend a little more respect.”

“Or what, you--” He swallowed the rest of the sentence at the sight of Sam’s shotgun pointed right at his face. After a second, he caught himself and looked the weirdo in the eyes, instead of keeping his focus on the muzzle, and went back to glaring.

“Your brother is alive, and not seriously hurt. I’m still trying to decide what to do with the two of you. Why don’t you tell me who you are, and why you are here?”

With no agreed-upon cover story, Dean reached for the same solution as Sam, giving his alias and otherwise telling the truth, curtly. The gun was lowered gradually.

“So this--” the weirdo pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket “--can detect ghosts, yes?”

“Yeah, believe it or not.”

He switched it on and watched the steady readout for a few moments. “Are you sure it detects ghosts in particular?”

“Or, like, electric cables, but this ship looked rather low-tech.”

“Maybe. But what about other supernatural... energies. Magic, perhaps?”

“What? You’re saying your ship is magic?”

“That she is. What would you do about it?”

Dean looked at him in confusion. The moment was interrupted by the noise of something hitting the hull of the ship. In a flurry of coattails, the pirate disappeared.

***

Hook cursed once again his lack of a crew. Not even one reliable man to leave on watch. It was maddening.

“Hey, Hook! We need to talk!” Emma’s voice. With a sigh, Hook revised his plans for his two guests, and hurried to get a rope ladder. He could see a sail peeking over the rail of the Jolly Roger. “You hear me?”

“That I do. Just a minute!”

One she was on deck, Emma got right to the point. “Do you have the two outsiders here?”

“May I ask what led you to that suspicion?”

“Their car is parked near the habour, Ron saw them sneaking around, and this morning there was no trace of the guys or the Jolly Roger, so, call it a wild guess.”

“All right. I have indeed taken prisoner two men who invaded my ship. Would you like to join me in the interrogations?”

“Hook, what were you planning to do to them?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. Under the circumstances, I shall defer to your judgement.”

“The circumstances being, being caught, eh?”

“Among other things.” He dropped his playful amusement and looked at Emma seriously. “They actually believe in supernatural things and might be a danger to Storybrooke. So I’m not sure what you would consider appropriate.”

Emma cursed. “Good to know. Yes, I need to talk to them.”

“Keep them separate, or gather all together?”

“All together. I want this over with.”

Hook led the way into the main hold and bade Emma to wait.

“Uh, hi,” said Sam, flashing a nervous smile.

“Hi.” Emma raised an eyebrow seeing the prisoner stripped down to his boxers, and sent a ‘what the fuck’ look after the captain’s back. When he came back manhandling someone else in the same state, she asked, “You stripped them? Really?”

“Before you judge, let me show you their personal effects.” He deposited Dean next to his brother, catching the look and nod they exchanged. Before getting the stashed items, he made sure that Sam’s hands were still bound tightly.

He fetched the shotgun he had left near the stairs earlier, put it on top of a crate, and pulled a bundle out of one of the lockers. Unrolling the set of clothes revealed a collection of weapons, two small bottles, and a small leather bag, which Hook laid out neatly. “That’s his.” He pointed at Sam.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Seems more like a citizen’s arrest to me.” Emma put her hands on her hips, making sure the lout saw the sheriff badge pinned to her belt. Hook grinned with delight; It was always nice when the two of them were on the same side.

He continued with Dean’s arsenal, which included two of those modern repeating pistols, several knives, and a beautiful set of lockpicks.

“They also carried this—” Hook added the EMF meter “—and claim it told them there might be ghosts on the Jolly Roger.”

“Jolly Roger? Seriously?”

“Shut up, jerk!”

“Oh, come on, we go looking for ghosts and find some wannabe Captain Hook? What the hell!”

“That’s enough of that!” Emma cut in. “Names. Full story. Now.”

“I’m agent Mercury, this is my, uh, half-brother and partner agent May, with the FBI, we—”

“Yeah, right, and I’m Roger Taylor and he’s John Deacon. Try again.” She sat down on a locker so she could watch them and pulled a cigar box out of her satchel. “I guess if whatever you say is in here, it’s fake.”

“What’s that, Swan?” He looked over her shoulder at a collection of cards with writing and the prisoners’ faces on them.

“Fake IDs. Lots of different names, lots of organisations... They also had an even bigger and weirder arsenal than what you found. They might be more crooked than you were. Are. Whatever.”

Sam heaved a sigh and let his head drop back as far as it would go.

Dean had other priorities. “You broke into my car!”

“Yep.”

“I swear, if you hurt my baby, you’ll regret it!”

“Baby?” The man didn’t strike Hook as the fatherly type, but then, he hadn’t seen him at his best, probably.

“His car,” Sam explained tiredly. After a moment, Hook nodded. Not the pet name he’d pick for his Jolly Roger, but it made sense in principle.

“I asked for your names, guys!”

“Winchester. I’m Sam, he’s Dean.”

“And you are in Storybrooke because...?”

“There’s something off in the area, and we were trying to figure out what. There have been reports of people disappearing, or changing their personality overnight. We... investigate paranormal phenomena.”

“With a whole lot of guns and knives.”

“OK, you won’t believe this, but we’re hunters.” Dean obviously agreed the time for beating about the bush was over. “We hunt ghosts, werewolves, vampires, demons... anything supernatural that’s a threat, we eliminate it.” He held Emma’s eyes for a moment. “Go on, laugh.”

Hook was indeed tamping down an extended chuckle. “What do you say, Swan?”

“This is complicated.”

“It’s all the truth?”

“Absolutely.”

“So why not return the favour?”

“Hook—”

“At your service, your highness!” He swept her a bow.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?”

“Well, he is actually Captain Hook. The real deal. Getting us to believe in supernatural stuff? Nnnnot as tricky as it might be.”

Dean closed his eyes. “We’ve fallen into a vatload of crazies!”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Remember Dorothy?”

Everyone was quiet for a few moments, then Emma asked, “You met Dorothy Gale?”

“Yeah.”

“All right!” Hook exclaimed. “Now that everybody believes everybody else, all that’s left is deciding what to do with those two dangers to the secrecy of Storybrooke.”

“I can’t decide that alone. Or just with you. How about you take us back to shore?”

“As you wish.”

***

Once Hook had left the three of them below, Sam asked, “He’s... more chipper than I expected from Captain Hook. Is he always like that?”

“No... I guess having someone to kick around put him in a really great mood. Sorry about the sticky situation... But we have an entire town to protect.”

“We have an entire world to protect,” Dean growled.

“We’ll work something out, I hope.”

“Could we please work out us getting our clothes back?”

Emma eyed the arsenal Hook had laid out. “I think I’d rather have some backup first.”

#fanfic #Once Upon A Time #Supernatural #Captain Hook #My posts

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clansayeed · 5 years ago

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #playchoices #choices fanfiction #cal lowell #garrus #krom #ivy #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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