#d) could kill me in less than one blow

[lutorao]

Doffy 🦩

Doffy being jealous over Luffy, is my fav moment

let me explain okay?

here we go

Doffy knew every single thing about Law

how he survived, his backstory, his history, his goals(this is debatable cauz his goals changed after Cora's death) and etc.

Law was a traumatized child who had lost everyone and everything. He believed that he only had 3 years left to live, so he had to experience everything in those three years.

he lost his parents, his sister, his friends and everyone

Doffy was a man who had experienced hunger, the kind that gnawed at your bones and left you hollow. He had known the anguish of losing a parent, the primal fear of death stalking his every step, and the burning rage that only betrayal and abandonment could ignite. Doflamingo was no ordinary tyrant; he was a man molded by pain, and that pain had birthed his relentless hunger for power and control.

Law reminded himself of this truth every time he thought of the man who had once loomed over him like a god. He had seen that rage firsthand—the seething fury of someone who had lost everything and now sought to take everything from others in return. Doflamingo wasn’t just a warlord; he was a survivor who had clawed his way to the top, dragging anyone he could down into the depths with him

And then one day he finds out that Law created an alliance with who? with Luffy

Doffy had high hopes for him

But Law had walked away. He had chosen someone else.

Doffy couldn’t forgive that.

For all his power and charisma, Doffy was a man who demanded loyalty to the point of obsession. Law’s betrayal wasn’t just a practical blow; it was a personal insult, a rejection of the twisted connection they had once shared. And worse, Law had chosen him.

Monkey D. Luffy.

A man who embodied everything Doffy scorned. A fool with reckless dreams, an idealist who sought freedom in a world where freedom didn’t exist.

So yes he got mad,of course he got,he was confused. law isn't someone who trusts people that easily. he was confused because he chose luffy, why him? why luffy? why he trust him that much?

What could Law possibly see in him? Doflamingo had given Law purpose, power, and the means to enact his revenge. Luffy had given him… hope? Friendship? Law could almost hear Doflamingo’s sneer as he thought of it: "I made you. I saved you. And you abandoned me for him?"

Why did you choose him, Law?! I thought you were a smarter man than this!" The anger in these words isn’t simply about the alliance; it’s deeply personal. Doflamingo prides himself on understanding people, bending them to his will, and shaping them into extensions of his vision. Law choosing Luffy is, to Doflamingo, proof that he misjudged Law. Worse, it highlights Doflamingo’s own insecurities his inability to inspire true loyalty beyond fear or manipulation.

Doflamingo’s jealousy stems from this realization. Law’s choice wasn’t just about strategy, it was about rejecting Doflamingo’s way of life in favor of something he could never offer: trust, camaraderie, and a vision of a world not ruled by fear. For a man like Doflamingo, who thrives on dominance and sees relationships as tools, this rejection is both infuriating and incomprehensible.

he was still here, thinking about him, right?

"do you remember the first day we met law?"

imagine how annoying this was for him

Doffy was the man who taught Law how to fight. Doffy was the man who killed his own brother because his brother "betrayed" him. Now imagine how disappointed, angry, and hurt he must have been when he discovered that the person he had placed so much hope in—the one he thought would one day become his right-hand man, whether to exact revenge or fulfill his own ambitions—had chosen someone else. A pirate. Someone for whom Law had risked everything in the middle of a war to save his life. And if that wasn’t enough, now an alliance? Against him, no less. Many believe that Law used Luffy. Really?

Does this pannel really look like he was using him?

And as strange as it may seem, Law truly wasn’t opposed to the idea of Luffy using him instead.

How crazy must a person be?!

I mean look at is face

"using? who's using whom...?

As if that wasn’t enough, he also entrusted Luffy with his deepest secret—Corazon. He preferred to die alongside Luffy rather than live without him. And on top of that, he worried about him? Is the alliance over? What are you doing here?

Law, get a grip—you’re being far too obvious!

A man who had no faith, who trusted no one, suddenly shares his deepest secret with someone else? Oh, Law… And to place his hopes in him, of all people? Yet, look at how confident and happy he is every single time Luffy declares he’ll become the Pirate King. He was like, “That’s my boy.”

(from anime btw)

and I don’t know if it’s because of Cora, maybe even Luffy, but it’s clear that this character’s development is undeniable, right?

Thank u

[moodymisty]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊 (𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖛)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 5 of 5 - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Choose Ralkan

Author's Note: So, you're here either cause you're just reading everything, or you prefer Night Lords. Either way, I hope you enjoy. The damn android tumblr app posted this accidentally again, and i suppose it helped me get up off my ass and finish it. I'm not happy with it, but I just need to finish this and move on with my life XD

Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.

Relationships:Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord

Warnings: somewhat graphic violence warning, Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language,Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers

Word Count: 2331

You look to Lev.

He’s right; Ralkan’s protection has been little more than smothering. You find yourself now with less freedoms than you'd arrived on the Flamewrought with, confined within your own quarters out of fear of imaginary threats.

Perhaps Lev wasn't imaginary, but the lengths at with Ralkan has gone in which to cage you from him has gone to places you would consider extreme, despite the fact that the Night Lord has done nothing at all.

If anything, the one time you truly needed help, when you were being cornered by astartes, Lev was the one that was there, not him.

But you don't want Ralkan to die; He's been overbearing and suffocating but for Lev to think he needs to be killed is madness.

You wouldn't want any bloodshed if you had anything to do with it, though with astartes, that outcome will always end up being inevitable. It's in their nature, after all.

You suppose that's what Ralkan warned you about. He told you what Lev was like, what his legion was, and you didn't listen. Perhaps this is the consequences of that.

"Wait, Ralkan, d-"

You call to the Salamander who's attention waivers in your direction, allowing Lev to sneak in a solid strike to the man's jaw. He's quick to steady himself, and returns Lev's attack in force- nearly sending the Night Lord to his knee.

You quickly attempt to back out of the way as Lev is pushed towards you, as much as Ralkan tries to grapple him out of the room and away from you. When he manages to do so, gripping the shoulder of his armor and throwing him- the Night Lord stops his own momentum by gripping the frame of the door, Ralkan goes on the offensive and pushes him farther away and out of the doorframe fully.

The only downside to Ralkan's size is how much slower he is that the more lithe, agile Night Lord, who can easily dodge his blows. You try to stay as far away as you can but Throne, you want them to both stop.

"Lev! Stop!"

He doesn't pay any attention to you, too consumed by tormenting the Salamander and keeping out of his massive grip. The two fight so fast you can barely keep track, and the late hour on the Flamewrought means that there isn't someone in radius for you to try and get help from.

You could try and run for it, hoping that they won't kill one another before you get one of Ralkan's brothers.

But if you do get one of his brothers... They'll kill Lev. Without hesitation. He's attacking one of their brothers, one of their captains; His fate is sealed if you do that.

You stop running, realizing what would happen. When you turn to see them as you try and rethink your options, you realize they've moved out of sight. You hear the clashing of armor and blades, the higher pitched sounds of a knife. You hear metal clank and warp, over and over as you try to rush towards it- But it stops.

The hall becomes deathly silent other than the sound of one pair of footsteps, heavily armored.

You don't get a chance to round the corner and look for Ralkan before Lev blocks it, coming towards you. You instinctively take one backstep.

There's no one around, the ship feels so dark and cold. He approaches you; You can see the clouds of his breath as he pants.

"Lev?"

He moves closer coming in like an encroaching shadow, before reaching his hands up towards you. For a second you tense in the fear he's going for your neck, but he doesn't. His hands cradle your face. You can feel the blood that sticks to them, sticking to your skin and running down your neck.

“My little one, do you like finally being out of your cage?” 

He has blood dripping down his nose, but by the time it reaches past his lips, it’s already beginning to coagulate. 

“What, what did you do?”

You don't want to leave; The Salamanders have kept you safe and fed, Ralkan kept you safe and fed. Lev is a complete unknown and the thought of him having you to himself terrifies you no matter how kind he's been to you as of yet.

But Ralkan isn't coming.

"You don't belong to him anymore."

You didn't think you belonged to him to begin with, is Lev seeing something you aren't? Or is it something that's just not there at all, that the insanity of their genefather is making him see?

Ralkan warned you that Night Lords are prone to it.

The madness of the 8th. They loose what little sanity they have, and nothing around them is safe.

Lev grabs you by the ribcage and hauls you into his arms, and the yell In your throat is taken from your lungs much like the rest of your air. The Flamewrought blurs through your vision as a maze of corridors and hidden nooks, before you're soon entrenched in complete and total darkness.

Lev's lips smash against yours, teeth biting and catching your skin. He’s always nippy, like some sort of untrained hound. In a secret thought you suppose he is, in a way.

His body is so much larger than yours it’s so easy for him to cage you in, trapping you against he shoddy metal structure that serves as his cot. You feel his hand trailing up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your clothes up and moving-

“Lev!” 

The door to his quarters slams open, and Lev instinctively goes to reach for his bolter. He stops however, when realizing it's one of his brothers.

“We’ve tried getting you by vox for thirty minutes.” His brother looks right at your barely clothed form and grunts. You're still trying to learn Nostroman, the words are quick and rough, but you're slowing beginning to catch enough that sentences eventually pull together in a way where you can understand the core meaning of them. Most of the time.

“Quit playing around. You’re needed planet side.” He nods in your general direction. “And bring your toy with. She worked the last time. Captain doesn’t want to deal with the commissars himself again.” 

You always work well whenever they need to speak with mortals. You’re easier on the eyes, more convincing. They throw you at baselines and try to have you do work far more suited for a diplomat than a remembrancer, though you suppose they don't care about the difference.

You're a baseline. Do it.

But Lev hates it. They look at you like you’re nothing more than meat, some fruit ripe for the taking. Whenever you return from these sorts of things Lev is oftentimes even more possessive than he usually is, muttering about how you’re far more than talking to pitiful little baselines, to him.

It’s his job to protect you from all of them.

From the moment you first asked if he was ok, he knew you were something special. 

His battle brother kicks something, and grumbles in Nostroman as he leaves the room.

"Are we leaving now?"

You look up at him, his hair falling forward to frame his face slightly. He doesn't answer, and merely decides to lean down and continue wounding your neck with bites as your nails scratch his skin.

"He wasn't even armored. It will take him 30 minutes at least." You whimper as his teeth catch your skin again.

"It'll take you 30 minutes as well,"

You breathlessly say as your feel his hand barge it's way between your thighs once more. Lev looks down at you.

"Watch your tongue. Your attitude overstays it's welcome."

Lev likes when you have a bit of an attitude sometimes, talk back, but only when he doesn't have to fight it. When it irritates him, he expects you to quiet down- let him toy with you.

His fingers tip into your core and you whimper at the sudden stretch, legs spreading as if trying to ease it and accommodate his large hand. He eats up the way you whimper, mouth against the corner of yours, attempting to cram a second finger inside of you shortly thereafter and push them both even deeper.

The shaky whimper you let makes him let out a breathy chuckle, the gritting of your teeth from both pleasure and pain. You wish he'd be less rough, but you've heard things from him; About how much rougher he could be.

It's apparently not common for baselines to survive this long under the ownership of a singular Night Lord. Lev's squad jokes that you are pampered because of it.

Lev snaps at them for it, but are you? Is your mountain of blankets and little light in the darkness of his quarters considered a luxury among the few humans aboard this ship?

"Lev..."

You whimper, feeling him finally manage to seat both of his fingers entirely inside you. They scissor and curl deep within you stretching you, making him smile as your writhe on his hand.

When he pulls his fingers from you, it's impossible not to whine, though it gets cut off when he grips you by the hips and suddenly pulls and flips you onto your stomach.

It's easier for him to have you this way, with how wide his body is in comparison to yours. But the lack of sight makes you jolt as you feel his cock press against your thighs, and you can't help but arch your back trying to present yourself to him better.

He scares you, but you want him. You want him not to chain you down again.

It doesn't take much for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and pop inside, the rest of him sliding into you without much effort. It still stretches but not enough to burn, groaning as he bottoms out in you and the wide expanse of his hips presses against your ass.

The feeling of his warm skin on the back of your thighs he begins to roughly slam into you, and not long later do you lose the strength in your back and legs to stay arched and fall prone on to the cot. He follows you, driving into your cunt and pushing deeper as you clench around him. He needs to grip you with one shoulder to keep you from sliding away from him, trapped under his massive body as his cock threatens to knock your cervix.

His hips slam into your ass, making the cot creak and groan helplessly. You gasp, the air constantly taken from your lungs, hands digging into the fabric of the cot. His weight laying on you is so much yet you know this is only a fraction of him, his forearms holding a significant portion of his weight off of you.

It feels, good; It feels warm and tight you can't help but enjoy it, like you're safe in a little pocket he's left just for you. Everything around him is so cold and dark, It's like he's just a little bit of light to keep you safe.

Lev lets out a deep, chesty groan as you tighten around him, whimpering through your pursed lips as you cum around him. He mindlessly continues to fuck you through it, like little more than an animal, making you squeal and whine and gasp.

He's close, his hips are losing pace and his heavy panting is getting faster; He's losing care for your safety as his hips start to pound down on you hard in the chase for his own release.

These bruises will be deep, this time. You'll feel them aching for days.

When Lev cums his hips stutter before he shoves himself deep side of you, painting your walls and surely your cervix with cum. You can feel the heat of it and the throbbing of his cock as he releases, his muscles tight like readied triggers so close to your sensitive body.

When he pulls from you, you whine at the sudden ache of emptiness and the soreness of his forced entry, the way your entrance flutters and leaks with cum that pools in the squish of your thighs.

"Get up."

He chuckles at you when he himself rises to his feet at the side of the cot, laughing as you struggle and shake to try and move and right yourself. You're unsteady on your knees, cum leaks down your thighs- your presentable clothes are somewhere around here. They're usually hidden underneath the cot, along with a few other things that are kept just for you. You manage to find the respectable clothes you're looking for, the ones he took you from the Flamewrought in, and put them on.

"At least my brothers will keep off of you now that you smell fresh again."

You doubt they will. Fresh unscarred baselines are always a desired commodity; You can't go anywhere without them watching you. Lev has to watch every single corner or else one will snatch you for themselves, forcing you to stay close to him and hold tight to your safety.

"...Let's go."

Lev doesn't like bringing you along for these things, he doesn't enjoy when anyone, let along baseline males look at you, but his leaders demand it. He opens the door to his quarters and what little light comes from inside is unable to penetrate the darkness of the hall.

The Nightfall is always pitch black, and it terrifies you. It's the main reason you've never tried to break from his quarters; This is what is outside of it. There's no options anymore.

"Can you help me?"

You say, reaching a hand out to him. You can't see in this dark, but he can. Your words make him smile.

Lev grabs your hand and wraps his fingers tightly around it, and begins guiding you in the pitch black.

[thisisourlovestory]

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

part 2- the chronicles of a stargirl and her sun masterlist

Luke Castellan x reader

Summary- the first full day at camp where slight drama unfolds and you make a new friend

Word count- 5.4k

Notes- thank you @imaginingmoonlight again for the vibe (I don’t know what else to call it) and I’d also like to say that I was actually inspired to write this series by @tangledinlove because the killerverse is amazing and I love it so also thanks to her otherwise I wouldn’t have done this.

Taglist:

@abbersreads @tenshis-cake

“We've just got to find out what you're good at first.” Annabeth explained as you walked beside her. “It might be that you are just really bad at using weapons but don't feel bad. You barely nicked him and he was standing in the wrong place so it was technically his own fault.” You winced.

“I didn't mean to, I swear, it just kinda slipped out of my hand before I was ready.” Annabeth grinned.

“At least you know to never try to throw a javelin when we do sports unless you want to skewer someone.” You glared at her.

“I'm glad someone is enjoying my embarrassment. I could have killed him! And then what would happen? Besides, I don't think that helped my prospects of making any friends here other than you.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“You'll make friends. It's just that you're new and the circumstances were interesting to say the least. Also it is spring so there are way less people here than there will be in summer.” You sent her an unimpressed look.

“You can't talk. Everyone loves you. I'll bet even Mr D doesn't hate you as much as the rest of us.”

“That is a lie. Plenty of campers don't like me.”

“Oh really? Name one.” You crossed your arms over your chest as she struggled to answer. “Didn't think so.” You said smugly as she stuck her tongue out.

“We've got to get to the armoury. It's time to try out sword fighting.” You paled.

“Can we not skip it?”

“Not a chance.”

Annabeth rummaged through a pile of swords. Occasionally picking one up to show to you and immediately putting it back down at your face. You wandered around the armoury, glancing every once in a while at Annabeth to check she hadn't cut herself accidentally. Finally she emerged from the pile, holding a sword triumphantly above her head.

“This one is perfect.” She held it out and you gingerly took it. The bronze blade was sharp and shining, the smooth metal cold to the touch.

“I don't see why I can't just use my knife.” She sighed.

“Because it's not made of celestial bronze so it won't kill monsters. Now get out there, I'll be out in a moment to teach you some stuff.” You trudged out and took your place on the sawdust, swinging the sword from side to side, letting the tip brush the floor lightly. Annabeth followed out quickly and got into position.

“Just try and land a hit on me.” You gaped at her.

“You want me to try and hit you?” She shrugged.

“It's a good way to test if you have a natural ability for sword fighting” Without warning she swung her sword forward and you lifted your own to block the blow.

“Not bad.” She swung again and you stumbled back slightly to avoid the hit.

“So I just kinda,” You swept the sword in front of you and Annabeth jumped back to avoid it, “Actually I think that works.” Annabeth slashed her blade through the air and you ducked, sweeping your own out in a wide arc, hitting her ankles with the flat side of the blade. She hissed at the sting and narrowed her eyes as you rose up and smiled. She rained down a flurry of blows on you and you blocked each one as well as you could, ending up with a multitude of tiny nicks on your arms. You rolled onto the floor to dodge a particularly well aimed stab headed straight for your neck and twirled the sword in the air before thrusting it forward to just under her chin. Annabeth’s eyes widened in shock before a grin took over her face.

“Not bad, but-” She grabbed the hilt of your sword and twisted, forcing you to let go and allowing her to poke you lightly in the stomach. “I win.” She handed you back the sword and you stabbed it into the ground. “Rule number one is never let up your guard, always be expecting an attack. It’s what keeps you alive. But for your first time you did pretty good. Better than most, and with a little training you’ll be able to beat me.” You hummed.

“Maybe. But the sword feels…wrong in my hands. Like I shouldn’t be holding it.” Annabeth frowned.

“We do still need to try out some other weapons. You might like them more.” She turned and walked back to the armoury, gesturing for you to follow her. “You’re doing archery later but for now grab some knives or daggers and try to throw them at those targets over there.” You did as she instructed and gathered a collection of bronze knives, carrying them over to a bench and dumping them on it with a clatter. You squinted at a target, judging how far the distance was and picked up one of the knives.

“Wait for me before you throw them.” Annabeth started but you had already tossed it up into the air allowing it to spin and then caught it and threw it full speed across the room. In a blur it hit dead centre. Annabeth looked at you surprised. “I guess you can throw.” You were already throwing more knives at the other targets, each one making a dull thudding as they hit home in the bullseye. You huffed and pushed your hair out of your eyes as you finished, sweat dripping from your brow, eyes sparkling with exhilaration.

“That. Was. Amazing!.” You exclaimed and twirled on the spot. “Did you see that? It was so cool.” She nodded, calculating, but you didn't notice. Too caught up in your own achievement.

“Yeah those throws were scary accurate for a beginner.”

“I think we've found what I'm good at.” She laughed.

“Not so fast, you've still gotta try out archery. And Luke is helping with that. He couldn't help now cause he had to supervise the climbing wall. Make sure nobody gets burned alive that kind of stuff. But he's taking you for your first archery lesson later, responsibilities that come with being head counsellor of the Hermes cabin. That and none of the current Apollo kids stay year round yet.” She rambled and you watched with an amused smile. “Anyway we have to get going for lunch, since it's not summer and there's not so many people we don't have to sit at designated tables like usual, if we did most people would literally just be sitting by themselves and that's just sad.” Your stomach rumbled and you glared down at it before looking up at her sheepishly.

“I'm apparently incredibly hungry so please lead the way.” She rolled her eyes and discarded her sword in a pile, kicked open the door and began the fairly long walk to the mess hall. You both trudged past the cabins where all the other campers were also starting to walk to the mess hall. There weren't many at all, about twenty across all twelve cabins, chattering happily to one another as they walked in a clump. Everyone sat down on random benches, presumably with their friends, and piled the food that appeared on the tables onto their plates in mountains.

There was a varied selection of food, all stacked in heaps so they filled up all the available space, there was something for everyone. Breads, cheeses and cuts of meat spread out for a buffet style meal, pots of soup, bowls with all kinds of pasta, rice and meat coated in sticky sweet sauces. There were even baskets stacked with fresh fruit surrounded by tiny bite sized sweets covered in sugar. Annabeth grabbed some food for herself and picked up some meat from a pile that stained her fingers red.

“Try this it's good, It's beef marinated in some random sauce and then cooked on the barbecue. Nobody actually knows what's in the sauce but it's kinda spicy.” She paused thoughtfully. “And it has garlic in it. I think.” She licked her fingers, getting rid of the red stain as you followed her advice and plated some of the beef along with rice and a warm bread roll dripping with butter. Annabeth immediately made her way over to the fire and dropped some food into it, you snatched up a bunch of grapes and followed suit. As the grapes fell into the flames you shut your eyes and bent your neck slightly.

“Hi, it's me, again. I don't know who you are but could you maybe send a sign or something. It couldn't hurt. Could it?” You mumbled and straightened up as smoke rose into the air smelling like every kind of food you could ever imagine.

“I really can see why they like burnt food.” You stated as you sat down next to Annabeth at a table. “It smells annoyingly good.” You took a bite of food. “And that's delicious as well.” She smiled, taking a bite of her own food.

“Told you so.” You both ate in silence, too occupied with savouring every bite that you forgot to ask any questions. All too soon the lunch break was over and Annabeth was directing you to the archery field.

“So you basically just follow the path past the Big House and he said he'd be waiting for you there and if you got lost he'd go and find you.” She turned around as someone called her name and yelled back. “Give me a minute.” She looked back at you. “Have fun and I'll see you later at dinner.” She spun on her heel and ran off as you did the same and walked in the opposite direction.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you walked through the woods, the trees shading you from the sun. Dust from the path floated in the air as you kicked the stones from it and into the grass, other campers passed you once or twice, attempting to whisper to each other about you and failing as their voices rang out like foghorns through the otherwise silent trees. You passed the Big House and caught Chiron watching. You waved slightly and continued without waiting to see if he responded. After a few more minutes of walking you arrived at the archery field to see the targets lined up and a selection of bows laid on the grass ready for use. You looked around and saw nobody. Not a single soul in sight. He's probably just running late, you thought, Annabeth said he was head of the Hermes cabin though so he must be busy taking care of something. So you waited. You sat down on the damp floor and fiddled around, picking blades of grass and twisting them around your fingers as tightly as possible before they snapped, plucking daisies, weaving them into a crown and placing it on your head. You even resorted to picking up one of the bows, subsequently snapping the string across your hand and leaving a raised red line across the palm of it. Then you settled back down, made yourself comfortable and placed your chin in your hand. You hadn't meant to fall asleep but the night before had been almost sleepless, tossing and turning in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar people in some of the other bunks. So you somehow ended up drifting off with the warm heat of the sun on your back and a cool breeze blowing across your face.

You woke up just as suddenly as you had fallen asleep, an owl hooted softly and you realised it was growing dark. The sun almost completely set in the horizon, only a thin sliver of light peeking out from behind the trees. You got to your feet and began the march up to the cabins. It was most definitely too late for dinner but you remembered Annabeth mentioning there was a campfire tonight. You followed the smoke rising in the distance and the faint glow of the flames, tripping over the occasional dip in the ground and sliding over the grass. Shortly, you arrived at the campfire and Annabeth spotted you almost immediately, jumping to her feet and running over.

“Where were you?” She asked, an accusatory tone to her voice and a frown on her face. “I couldn't find you anywhere. And what is that in your hair?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” You mumbled, sitting down and reaching out for a stick; shoving a marshmallow onto it then holding it above the fire to toast.

“Did you suck at archery?” You laughed half heartedly at her question.

“I wouldn't know yet Annabeth.” She tilted her head and studied you puzzled before a look of understanding passed over her face.

“He didn't teach you any archery.”

“He didn't even bother to show up.” You corrected, pulling the marshmallow out of reach from the fire and blowing on it slightly as you grabbed two chocolate covered biscuits with the other hand and mashed the marshmallow between them. The chocolate melted, mixing with the gooey melted mess of marshmallow. You lifted it to your mouth and took a bite.

“And I don’t care at the moment. I just want to eat my smore. I forgot how good they were, do you want one?”

“No I already had some. I’ve been meaning to ask you, where did you get that hoodie from?”

“Oh it was waiting for me yesterday when I woke up. Probably just a spare one from lost and found since my clothes were ruined.”

“Right, lost and found.” Annabeth sat still for a second then grabbed your hand and dragged you around the campfire to the opposite side despite your protests.

“Why are you so freakishly strong?”

“I am not freakishly strong! And that hoodie, not from lost and found.” She stopped in her tracks as you looked at her confused.

“Huh.”

“Never mind, it’s just a hoodie. Now I have to have a little chat with Luke.” She continued to drag you until you both stood directly in front of him.

“Hey Annabeth.” Luke greeted her with a grin as he stopped talking to the people sitting around him. “What's up?”

“What's up?” She seethed. “What's up is I asked you to help earlier and you didn't want to so I pretty much begged until you said yes because I had something important on.” She took a deep breath and tears filled her eyes. “And then you didn't even do what you said you would.”

“Annabeth…”

“No don't,” She interrupted, “I don't know what exactly your problem is with Y/N since you seemed fine with her last night when she woke up but you're going to sort it out right now.” She punctuated her sentence by pushing you down next to him.

“Can we have a minute.” Luke said to the others and they all obliged, walking over to other people laughing and sneaking peeks back. “Annabeth, seriously why would you think I have a problem with Y/N?”

“You didn't want to help her, you made up fake excuses to get out of it and then you agreed but didn't follow through. So you have some kind of problem otherwise you wouldn't have done any of that.” She crossed her arms and you spoke up.

“Annabeth it's fine, really it's fine. I don't mind if Luke doesn't like me. It's not a big deal.”

“It's a big deal to me! I want you to be friends. And you'll be really good friends I swear. So can you sort out whatever is wrong and get along please. Ask each other some questions, get to know each other better. Say twenty each?” With that she ran back to the other side of the campfire to her siblings leaving you both staring after her in shock. After a moment Luke broke the silence.

“Where did you come here from?” You blinked and answered slowly.

“I lived in the UK until I was eight then moved to the USA because my parents got a job offer.” His eyes sharpened.

“Parents?”

“Yeah. I was adopted, I don't know who my real parents were. Suppose I might find out who one of them is someday though. How about you?”

“Grew up in Connecticut, ran away when I was nine.” You stared at him vaguely shocked. From everything you had heard from Annabeth, Luke was the golden boy and he had run away from home. It was hard to believe but the bitter look in his eyes quickly changed your mind.

“When you were nine. So you were homeless for how long?” He shrugged.

“Five years. But I'm here now, and I've got Annabeth and my half siblings.” You hummed and shuffled around on the log, crossing your legs and leaning forward on your hands facing him.

“How did you meet Annabeth?”

“Just before we arrived at camp, we were walking down an alley and she jumps out and almost knocks my head in with a hammer.” He laughed slightly. “We took her in and then we got here.” You tilted your head.

“We?” His expression changed immediately. “Don't want to talk about it. Got it.” He looked at you.

“Annabeth is my little sister. Not by blood but by choice. We’re family and it seems she wants you to be part of our family.”

“You are very close to each other having known each other for so little time.” He smiled slightly.

“I would say she’s easy to like but that’s not entirely true.”

“Yes she can be quite intense at times. And I’ve only known her a day, can’t imagine what she must be like once you’ve known her a bit longer than that.” You grinned at him and tilted your head. “Must be unbearable.”

“You get used to it. Annabeth is Annabeth, she’s smarter than everyone, always six steps ahead of everyone else, she’s an incredible fighter and along with that she’s stubborn as a mule. But I wouldn’t change anything about her because then she wouldn’t be Annabeth.” He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his clasped hands in front of him.

“I am sorry I missed your archery lesson. I didn’t mean to I just got caught up practising.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Practising what?”

“Sword fighting. I’m supposed to be the best swordsman in three hundred years and I need to practise if I ever want to go on a quest.” You hummed noncommittally.

“I suppose that makes sense.”

You turned to look at the fire. The flames a bright yellow, dancing up into the sky, twisting and turning, bright against the darkness of the night. Your eyes followed the smoke, whispers of grey spiralling up, up, up into the atmosphere.

“I can give you the lesson now if you’d like.” Your eyes widened in surprise as you turned to face him.

“You would?”

“It’s the least I can do to make up for skipping out on you earlier.” He quickly stood up and held out his hand. “Coming?” You smiled brightly and grabbed his hand.

“Lead the way Castellan.”

“Remind me why we're in the armoury again.”

“You need a good bow before you can shoot right. So here we are.” He raised his hands and turned in a circle. “Take your pick.” You rummaged through the bows, picking one up occasionally to inspect it. There were so many different styles, some smaller, some larger, some metal, some wooden, some decorated and ornate; others as plain as could be. The difference between being inconspicuous and wanting to show off. You stepped over to a crate and pushed off the lid, letting it fall on the ground with a bang. You shuffled through the few bows stored in the crate, disgust filling your face at the ostentatious designs.

“Do people just use these to look cool?”

“Some of the Apollo kids definitely do. But they can shoot with any bow and make the shot so it doesn’t really matter to them.” He picked one up and held it out. “This one looks like it’d fit you.” You scrunched your nose.

“It’s too…much. Yeah, it’s too much.” You slid over to another rack and pulled some off.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever find…” Your voice trailed off as you picked one up from the very back, pulling it out of the pile that it was buried under. The bow was a smooth crescent, dipping in the middle, covered with strips of leather, with slightly curved ends, pointed and dipped in silver. The wood was engraved with miniature flowers and vines, each petal painted delicately with faded colours of red, blue and purple, the vines thin lines of green weaving through them. Your fingers floated over them, tracing each petal's outline with a look of wonderment on your face.

“Well how about this one?” You snapped your head up quickly, holding the bow close to your body, Luke raised his eyebrows. “You good?” You cleared your throat.

“This one. This is the one.”

“Are you sure? This one,” He waved the one in his hand in the air,”Is particularly nice and actually new, made only a couple of days ago.” You regarded the one he was holding with disdain. It was plain, nothing that made it stand out. It could not have been more unlike the one you held tightly in one hand, fingers flexing around the leather grip.

“No. This is the one, it’s perfect.” He sighed.

“Alright then, I’m not going to argue with you. Follow me.” He walked outside with you behind and stood in front of a target, illuminated by the dim light from torches lit up around the edge of the field. He steadied an arrow. “You pull back, straighten your aim and release.” He let go and the arrow landed just outside the bullseye. “Your turn.” You fiddled with the bow, stroking the leather nervously and tapping the sharp silver capped ends. He smirked teasingly. “Come on then. Or are you scared you won’t be good enough at it.” You scoffed and stomped over to him, grabbing an arrow and nocking it, pulling the string taut to your cheek and narrowing your eyes at the target.

“First of all, you’ll never hit the target like that. Lift your elbow. And widen your stance.” You shuffled your feet. “No, not quite. May I?” You nodded. “You need to just,” He moved behind you and placed one hand on your waist, the other on your arm and kicked one of your feet to the side, “That’s better. Now,” He lifted your elbow up. “Fire.” He whispered in your ear, his warm breath grazing your skin. You sucked in a deep breath and let the arrow fly. You squeezed your eyes shut as it shot through the air and hit the target with a dull thud.

“Well look at that.” Luke murmured behind you.

“What is it Castellan?”

“Why don’t you open your eyes and see for yourself.” You hesitantly opened them and looked disbelievingly at the target, the arrow sitting in the middle of the bullseye. You took a double take, looking back at Luke and then back to the target.

“I did that? Me?” You whispered and Luke chucked quietly.

“Yeah you did but let’s try again. This time by yourself. Make sure it wasn’t just my expert skills that made you shoot like that on your first try.” He nodded to the target and you nocked another arrow, pulling back the string to your cheek with ease and letting it loose quickly, sending the arrow flying and splitting the wood of the previous one as it lodged just between the feathers.

“Not just your expert skills apparently.” His lips twitched upwards.

“Perhaps not, but I will need more proof.”

“Then I will give you some.” With that you fired a volley of arrows, each one landing so they formed a star when you finished. You stared proudly at your work. “How’s that for your proof?”

“That's pretty hard proof. You must be a natural at archery and my teachings clearly have nothing to do with it.”

“Your teachings have something to do with it. You got me that first shot. I’m just a quick learner, and lobbing things at targets is apparently my thing now.” You dropped the bow down carefully in the grass and turned around to look at him and added as an afterthought. “Except for spears. That did not go well.”

“I heard.” You winced and twiddled your thumbs.

“Yeah. Anyway thank you for this, you really didn’t have to.” He shrugged.

“Like I said, I wanted to make up for this afternoon and giving you a late lesson seemed the best way to do it.” You rolled your eyes at his words and threw yourself down on the ground, unbothered by the damp soil. Your hands rested on your stomach and the longer pieces of grass ticked your ears as you gazed up at the sky, the stars twinkled above, shining brightly like miniature diamonds. They decorated the night, small pockets of light in the deep blue sky, soon to give way to pure blackness but the stars would still be there.

You felt Luke lay down next to you and heard him ask you a question.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“What?” You asked back, turning to look at him.

“Your favourite colour. Annabeth said we should get to know each other so what’s your favourite colour?” You stared at him for a second and found nothing but truth in his eyes.

“I’m not sure,” You paused for a moment, “I like green a lot though. It’s pretty and there are so many different shades of it, some are more blue like the sea and others are more the colour of the trees. But you can find traces of green everywhere and I think that’s why I like it, it's not just some obscure colour that you can only find in clothes. It’s all around us, you’ve just got to look for it” You stopped, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, you weren’t really looking for that kind of long winded explanation were you.”

“No I don’t mind, it was interesting. Besides, I've heard longer explanations from Annabeth about why she had nutella on her toast in the morning rather than her usual jam.” You tipped your head to the side and laughed.

“And what was the reason for that exactly?”

“The first time she did it I believe she spouted some nonsense about it being high in fibre as well as having iron and calcium in it and also would give her more energy to deal with, as she put it, incompetent fools. However every other time she's done it she just gives me a look as if I'm completely stupid.” You muffled a snort at his indignant tone.

“She sounds like a middle aged woman called Susan or something. And for the record you are stupid.”

“I always thought she was more of a Theresa but each to their own and I’m not stupid at all thank you very much.” You snorted again and quickly covered it with a cough, composing yourself as he smiled smugly at the reaction he managed to pull out of you.

“So anyway, what’s your favourite colour?” You asked, shifting slightly to look at him better.

“Blue, a really clear bright blue, like the sky in summer, electric blue almost.” He answered decisively and you tapped your fingers together in thought.

“And how old are you?”

“Fifteen, you?”

“Fourteen. Why do you want to go on a quest so badly?”

“I need to prove that I'm a hero. And going on a quest is the only way I can do that.”

“Is it?” He faced you with a look of disbelief.

“Yes, if I go on a quest I'm a hero because I get glory from it, you don't get glory from sitting around at camp doing nothing. You have to fight for it so I need to go on a quest.”

“Right, sorry.” You murmured and looked back up at the sky, head resting on your crossed arms. “The stars are beautiful aren’t they.” You muttered. “I find it hard to believe they can only be found in such distant planes of the universe when we can see them right there in front of us.” You lifted a hand and traced a kind of w shape in the sky. “That’s Cassiopeia, the Queen, you probably already know this but she was the mother of Andromeda and was forced to sacrifice her to a sea monster due to her own pride when she boasted her beauty was greater than that of the sea nymphs.” You pointed to another cluster of stars. “And that’s Ursa Major,” You moved your finger again, “And that’s Virgo, the Maiden.”

“How do you know those constellations?” Luke asked quietly.

“My dad.” You smiled. “He taught me all the constellations and we would go stargazing together in the country whenever he had a free night. The first time he took me was when I was three and he said I asked for food every two minutes, after that he would always bring a picnic, sandwiches, carrot sticks, biscuits and little slices of cake with tea or hot chocolate in a thermos so I would never get hungry. And we would lie on a blanket and watch the stars, pointing out all the constellations we saw and naming whatever stars we could. On special occasions he would bring his telescope and let me use it so that I could see everything that was happening as closely as possible.”

“He sounds nice.”

“Yeah he is,” You whispered, “He really is.” You both went silent for a while, simply gazing up at the stars in peace and quiet, comfortable in each other's company.

After a while Luke stood up.

“We should get going, everyone will already be sleeping by now and we can tidy this all up first thing tomorrow.” You sat up and took his offered hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

“Thanks.” You leant down to scoop up your new bow. “I can take this back can't I?”

“It's yours.” He answered simply as he started to walk to the cabins with you hurrying to walk next to him.

“Thanks again for, y’know.” He glanced down at you.

“You don't need to keep thanking me, it was my fault for not showing up earlier. I was just making good on my promise to Annabeth.”

“Yeah but still, I appreciate it. Other people wouldn't have done what you just did.” You reached the semicircle of cabins and took a step into the Hermes one before you realised Luke wasn't following. You turned your head back to look at him only to find him looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” You slapped your cheek lightly.

“No you just-” He stepped forwards and righted something on your head, brushing the hair back from your face in the process. “Your flowers were falling off stargirl.”

“Oh.” You breathed out, a hand rising to feel the flowers. “Thank you, I forgot I had them, I thought they would've fallen off earlier.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “Stargirl?” He shrugged and offered a simple explanation before walking past you into the cabin.

“It suits you.” You smiled and made your way to your bed, quickly grabbing a top and pair of pyjama shorts before running to change into them behind the private screen set up in the corner of the cabin and then bouncing into bed. You lay there for a minute, staring up at the wooden ceiling, before you turned to face the empty bed next to you.

“Hey Castellan.” You whispered loudly and from the other side of the room he answered.

“What is it stargirl?”

“Are we friends now?”

“Nah, we're best friends stargirl, I don’t just teach anyone archery in the middle of the night. and don't think you can get out of this easily, best friends are for life.” You smiled into the darkness at the joking tone in his voice and answered with a hint of laughter.

“Wouldn't dream of it. I gotta say, it's nice to have a friend.” You hurriedly added, “Other than Annabeth and Maisie,” And turned over to the other side, “Goodnight Castellan.” You said and burrowed deep into the duvet. The last thing you heard was a soft laugh and Luke's voice saying.

“Goodnight stargirl, sleep well.”

Light pink sky up on the roof Sun sinks down, no curfew Twenty questions, we tell the truth You've been stressed out lately? Yeah me too

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 13/24

Happy Friday the 13th everyone! Let's get into the long weekend with five more fics that have been put on my radar this week! I hope you have a gay old time!! :D

RECENT MFLs

A Magical Holiday by PipMer (T, 1,107+ w., 1/2 Ch. || WiP || Established Relationship, Fluff, POV Sherlock, Johnlock on Holiday, Magical Realism, Christmas) – He had wanted to wait until after the new year, but it seemed that John needed some kind of pick me up to get him through his first Rosie-less Christmas. Maybe a get-away was just the thing. Not an exotic, far-away place, but just far enough removed to escape the melancholy and focus on fresh surroundings. And he could kill two birds with one stone in the process. Yes. Good. He would do this.

Every Song Reminds Me of You by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (G, 1,157 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, John's an Idiot, Posh Sherlock) – Music hath charms to help John acknowledge his feelings for Sherlock.

Polychromatic Wrapping by Lock_John_Silver (M, 6,187+ w., 12/31 Ch. || WiP || Alternating POV, Established Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Tumblr Prompts, Kissing, Minor Illnesses, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Christmas Presents, Rimming, John's Red Pants, Grumpy John, Cooking, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Traditions, Caring Sherlock, John in a Kilt, New Year's Kiss, Celebrations, Travelling, Switzerland, Blow Jobs, Alcohol, Making Up) – Sherlock tells John about a challenge he and Mycroft participated in when they were children, initiated by their mathematician mother. (NOTE!! WiP updating daily in December 2024)

Looking Up by StarlightAndFireflies (T, 11,704+ w., 3/4 Ch. || WiP || Alternate First Meeting / Neighbours AU || Single Father John, Domesticity, Falling in Love, Mental Health Issues, Crime Fighting, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content) – When John Watson, single father to toddler Rosie, finds a cheap flat for rent in central London, he's sure there must be a catch. He can't afford to be picky, though, and so he moves in... only to discover that his upstairs neighbor is far more unconventional than he bargained for. But this strange man might just be the fresh start John needs. AU in which Sherlock and John meet when John moves into 221c.

Murder in Sussex Trilogy by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (T, 78,331 w. across 3 works || 1920s AU, Case Fics, Surprise Ending, Alternating POVs, Humour) – Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

[honeybeefae]

Congrats on the 2K!! 🥳🥳🕺💃🕺 I am feeling a lil hurt trope/ enemies to lovers for an Azriel X reader fic (BUT only if you would like!!)

(say less SAY LESS ANON. I LOVE ME SOME HURT ENEMIES TO LOVERS)

Enemy of My Enemy (Azriel X Reader)

WARNINGS: Blood, pain, bandaging

You were in the middle of battling some of Hybern's forces, your stance strong as you landed hit after hit against them. The rest of your group, Rhys, Feyre, Cass, Azriel, Mor, Amren, and others were also fighting them off as the army desperately tried to invade your lands.

"Bloody bitch!" One of them sneered at you through their helmet, his sword clashing against your own as you swiped under his feet and made him fall on his ass.

The tip of your blade immediately went through the helmet and into his face, ending his life as easily as blowing out a candle. You let out a huff of breath and spit on him, tasting the blood and dirt that coated your face.

"See what calling me a bitch earns you, you bastard." You snark, not noticing the large man coming up behind you.

His foot hit against a fallen Hybern soldier as he rose up to strike you, alerting you at the last second. You had just enough time to avoid a killing blow but he still caught your arm, slicing through your skin and leaving you in searing pain.

"Fuck!" You hissed, feeling the familiar sting of faebane on his sword as you ducked from the following swing. Blood was oozing from the deep cut as you let out a loud cry and sliced him through his stomach with your good arm, your eyebrows furrowing as you heard a loud horn blow three times in the distance.

Suddenly all of Hybern's soldiers winnowed away, retreating like the cowards they were. You looked around and did your best to get a head count, grimacing as you counted less than you had arrived with.

"You need to pay more attention." A deep voice rumbled from behind you. "I saw you almost get taken out by a single soldier and I had half a mind to let you since you were being so careless."

Azriel's voice made you scowl. He had had it out for you since you joined this group to fight. Besides not fawning over him like every other woman in his life, you didn't know what you did to make him hate you.

He was a cold, heartless Illyrian as far as you were concerned. You hated how he tried to analyze you and how his shadows drifted after you when you passed him by. The feeling was definitely returned by him since he tried to get in a dig every time he saw you.

"At least you admit you have half a mind." You quipped, turning around and eyeing his bloody attire. "Though I think half a mind is a little generous."

One of his hands came up to grab your shoulder, probably to shove you onto the ground until you cursed through your teeth and gave a small cry. Immediately his eyes were scanning your arm, his eyebrows furrowing when he noticed the wound.

"Who did this to you?"

You didn't answer as you tried your best to sheath your sword with one arm. Azriel grabbed your face roughly, turning it until you were staring directly at him.

"I asked you a question. Who did this to you?" He asked lowly, hazel eyes burning with anger.

"Get off me." You say roughly, pulling your face away in an attempt to get some distance. "Why do you care? You just said you would let me die a minute ago."

"I have my reasons that do not concern you. Now, for the third time, who did this to you?" You could tell he was getting impatient, his tone tight. He continued to stand right in front of you with little room left between your bodies. The scent of his sweat mixed with dirt and blood was something you were surprised and disgusted to find appealing.

"A Hybern soldier." You mumble, looking back down at your cut. "Now, if you can leave me be I really need to dress-PUT ME DOWN!!" You end your snarky goodbye with a screech, wriggling against his body as you are suddenly lifted into his arms as the two of you take off into the skies.

"Azriel, by the old Gods and the Mother, if you do not put me back don't put me back on the ground-"

"You're going to make me go deaf with all that screeching." He said with a smirk, ignoring the feeling of your warm body pressed against his. "I'm taking you over to the healer's tent. I don't want that getting infected."

"I am a grown woman and I can walk there myself!" You protest, shoving him with all your might the second he lands you both outside the tents. "There was no need to manhandle me like that. Go save that for one of Rita's girls."

"Trust me, Y/N, if I wanted to manhandle you it would be much rougher than that." Azriel's chest rumbled, his tan skin glistening with the last rays of the sunset. "I do find it funny that you seem to know about the girls from Rita's. Have you been spying on me?"

"I have better things to do with my time than watch you." You spat angrily, turning on your heel and walking towards the healer as they tended to other wounded soldiers.

You thanked her when she handed you some dressing and medicine to rub on it, turning around to see if Azriel was waiting outside for you. Luckily he wasn't and you felt like you could breathe again.

As you began to clean and wrap your arm you couldn't stop imagining Azriel's hands doing it for you. How he had gripped your face and said those words earlier made your head spin.

No. No. You were absolutely not going to think about this anymore. Not him. Not ever.

The nurse in front of you giggled and looked past you which made you turn again, your eyes widening when you saw the Shadowsinger completely shirtless and tending to his own cuts.

Sweat made him shine from head to toe and you got the very dirty thought about licking the small bead running down his stomach. You immediately clenched your legs together, frowning as you went back to your task.

You needed to get a grip.

[hulloitsdani]

PLS go on another rant about Kiran Fire Emblem I’m begging you 🙏

I love to read you yapping💞💞💞 I like your TedTalks

:D

Aw thank you stranger! I’m happy to provide!

So recently I feel that I have been putting Kiran Fire Emblem through the wringer. Which is all well and good, but I believe it’s time for them to have good things. As a treat. This oddly takes the form of book 5.

In case it’s your first time witnessing my monologues or are in need of a refresher, let me provide a little context. Kiran had a life before being summoned to Askr and a major part of their arc is suppressing just how deeply that loss affects them. Like it or not, it bleeds into everything they do. This all culminates into book 4, which was an all time low for their character. A lot of issues all started blowing up in their face all at once, last but not least being the grief they hold from losing their entire world. It very nearly kills them. It was an extremely bad time.

However, lessons were learned. Since then, Kiran has been trying to vocalize their discomforts more. It’s a bit weird though, considering Anna and Sharena witnessed firsthand their little meltdown in the realm of dreams. It’s… damnit it’s just weird! Really weird! Most of their cards are on the table now and it’s weird! It’s not like their friends heard about this stuff by talking to them, they SAW it nearly KILL THEM. The dynamic is, understandably, different than it would otherwise be.

If they weren’t willing trying, Anna would pry their issues from their mouth with crowbar. Hell, sometimes she does anyway if she gets, in her own words, “a hunch.” Sharena meanwhile has been very pampering. They didn’t know she could be more pampering than she already was, but oh boy were they wrong. Three homemade meals a day guaranteed under her watch. And if they’re being honest, it does feel very nice, which ultimately makes them feel awful because the realm of dreams was rough for her too. She should also… they don’t know. They feel bad. She has reassured them many times that it’s all good and that this helps her too. And how even if it didn’t, she loves them and would do this stuff anyway. They don’t doubt that anymore but… they still feel bad. They feel bad about feeling good. It’s all a complicated mess. They are telling Alfonse about this though, which makes it feel less overwhelming. His insights help. He provides a bit of a sanity check.

It is within this state of recovery that book 5 occurs. Considering the weaponry of their enemy, Kiran ends up talking a lot more openly about their world. Delving into the literal and metaphorical mechanics of it. And it’s oddly fun! Alfonse has a leg up since he’s the only one who has been curious enough to ask prior to this. So there’s many scenarios where a.) something Kiran previous told him finally clicks now that he has a better visual for what they mean, which leads to b.) Alfonse and Kiran trying their best to explain to Anna and Sharena. It’s an absolutely ridiculous sight to behold— Sharena catches on a bit quicker since she’s pretty good at visualizing things, but Anna has no such boon and is STRUGGLING. Kiran and Alfonse aren’t exactly teachers either, so it’s a fun time.

Then they meet Reginn.

It feels obvious, in hindsight, that they were bound to click with each other. At first though, it seems like it’s going to be the same dynamic Kiran always has with the new stray the Order picks up. Polite friendliness alongside genuine empathy with a side of reassuring presence. The group agrees to help and Kiran gets cracking on how to make that a reality. But then something interesting happens. As Reginn speaks in further vulnerable detail about her plight to them, Kiran begins… talking. Like actually talking. Talking about their family and their life prior to Askr.

It starts small. The both of them are fixing up Reginn’s metal horse (the Order broke it in their initial fight with her) and she asks how they know so much about her country’s technology. She knows they’re from an alien world and, well, they aren’t proficient at this by any means— but they know enough to be helpful. And for once, Kiran is honest. “…My mom was a mechanic.” They say, not turning to face her. “She, uh, knew how to fix this kind of stuff. Taught us a little bit.”

It’s a small snippet of information that has taken five seasons to wring out of Kiran, and Reginn of all people is the first one to hear it. It’s way easier to tell her, for a multitude of reasons. One of them being exactly that— there’s no build up. Reginn didn’t see their book 4 meltdown. She doesn’t know how big of deal this is for them. That’s good. It takes the pressure off and makes it easier. For Reginn, this is information they offered casually and willingly from the beginning. And in doing this, they keep talking and both end up relating to each other rather deeply. It quickly becomes obvious that Kiran isn’t simply helping her out of the goodness of their heart, but because they personally relate to her plight. Kiran was extremely close with their siblings, and now they may never seen them again. They don’t want the same thing to happen to other people. This recontextualizes a lot of their actions, but it importantly builds trust. Kiran is immediately knocked off this pedestal as some morally pious figure and into a human person in her eyes. Someone who gets it and wants to help.

This creates a delightful dynamic between them. She is immediately more than friend, as that’s pretty explicitly what the Askr trio are to them. This is different. It’s familial. Reginn is working with information and a cultural context pretty perfectly equipped to understand them in this way. And, considering the losses they’ve both experienced, they crave this placement in each other’s lives. It’s healing. Kiran lost their family and Reginn’s family hasn’t been a family since Fafnir took the throne. It’s far from a replacement, but it’s definitely filling a void. They both needed this.

Gods, they both needed this.

They needed someone to respond to playful quips with a laugh and a clap back. They needed someone to triple dog dare to sling a spit ball into the back of a god’s head. They needed someone to people watch with as a late night to early morning watch shift wrapped up. They needed a shoulder to lean on after Otr finally said all the quiet parts out loud. They needed someone to understand some parts about them a bit more inherently than either are used to, for better or worse.

Without this, neither of them get better. Not anytime soon, anyway. But luckily, Reginn and Kiran entered each other’s lives at just the right time.

[sufferingink]

the way that TMA has altered my brain chemistry is unreal so here's 911 characters and their fear alignments (without having watched past season four):

Buck: I don't think his would actually be The Lonely. while that's certainly part of it, I think too much of his fear comes from the idea that he's replaceable and filling too much space and needs to hide parts of himself to be loved and if that's not The Stranger, I'm not sure what is.

(I think you could probably make a case for all of them EXCEPT the corruption. when faced with a decomposing dead body he stabs it without gloves to manually drain fluids. when faced with a maggot that had crawled from somewhere I'd prefer not to think about, he goes "maggot :D!" he's kinda chill around killer bees apparently?? I've not gotten that far. but he's not afraid of bugs or sickness or anything so long as it doesn't keep him from his people. tldr: Buck loves bugs too much to be a corruption avatar)

Eddie: that's The Desolation babey. Is terrified of losing everything, so blows up his life before anyone else can. routinely loses things, relationships, people in a dramatic fashion, usually descending into guilt spirals that makes everything so much worse. has yet to end a relationship on even remotely good terms, I think it's fair to say they'd all be better to not have been with him at all

Bobby: I'm actually not too sure about this one but I'll go with The Eye. After the fire that killed his family he talks about how he should have known better, both in doing drugs and in the building's many safety violations. He's a fire captain that takes the injuries of his people very seriously because they happened under his watch and he should have kept a closer eye on them. he's got religious guilt. he even immediately gets sucked into spying on people "just in case" just like one Jonathan Sims circa Magnus Archives season 2

Maddie: The Hunt. do I need to explain this one? her abusive husband LITERALLY HUNTED HER through the woods. not to mention her relationship with her parents. The Hunt is also the fear that the people closest to you would turn on you, and I think trying to erase your brother from existence, leaving you (a ten year old) to raise your OTHER brother, then completely ABANDONING YOU when you get into previously mentioned abusive marriage qualifies as a betrayal, one that has broken her trust in others to help her (Buckley parents when I find you-)

Chim: The Lonely. his mother died when he was young, his father barely speaks to him, one of his brothers died BECAUSE OF HIM (in his mind anyway), he refuses to admit he thinks of his found family as more his family than his blood relatives till his late thirties, and I haven't got to where Tommy gets reintroduced, but Chim's origin episode I'm sorry but he's trying a LOT, TOO MUCH to become friends with someone that's been exclusively a jerk to him, he strikes me as a lonely guy

Athena: The Hunt as well, and I'm not just saying that because she's a cop! that's only part of it- but she's also a black woman working in a police department. she's aware of how easy it is for officers to get away with basically anything, even aware of exactly how unsafe her OWN family is, yet insists on staying and insists that there are more good cops than bad. you can't tell me she doesn't doubt that every single day, and what if they prove her wrong? (remember what I said about the fear of being turned on?)

Hen: I'm feeling The End, but less in a Death™ way and more of "there's nowhere to go from here." Hen prides herself on her ability to learn and grow so naturally that hard stop, you will be exactly as you are now forever, scares her. also people keep telling me she's the only one yet to get a major near death experience soooo

Ravi: Buck

[cowgremlin11]

*grabs you by the throat (/j)* give me as many Wild West facts physically possible, and also if you know any good websites/videos on The Wild West possibly pretty please blinks eyes 🥺🥺👉👈

this is gonna be a doozy welcome to my autism.

my area of expertise relates to southeastern wyoming btw kisses. this is going to be very long. starts out rambly and then i busted out my actual notes that ive been compiling. if you have specific areas you wanna know about feel free to ask i love using my major for this stuff :D

before the cut im gonna include my fav websites i reference (i dont do much video research sorry, im the bitch with a bookshelf full of heavily annotated books and a fat google doc file)

for fashion: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search?geolocation=North+and+Central+America&era=A.D.+1800-1900&material=Costume&showOnly=withImage

for navajo info (you can look at my comic if you wanna know why i focused on this tribe specifically): https://www.navajo-nsn.gov/

for dialogue/slang: https://freepages.rootsweb.com/~poindexterfamily/genealogy/OldWestSlang.html

OK TIME TO RELEASE THE AUTISM

so there were reservations right. wanna know the events leading up to the battle of little bighorn? basically in the 1850s the sioux tribe, crow tribe, and northern arapaho tribe (roughly speaking, these are the tribes most mentioned from this time) were all forced to live in the same range of territory spanning northern wyoming, around the little bighorn river. there was the fort laramie treaty which ensured that the tribes in this area would be provided help for 30 years and that nonnative settlement wouldnt be allowed. well they found gold in the black hills about 20 years later and that went out the window. miners rushed the area for gold and forced the natives to move again. tensions rose, the treaty was ignored by all parties and only mentioned when convenient, and then the battle of little bighorn happened

TRAINS!!!!! TRAINSTRAINSTRAINS. fun fact train robberies were actually very common in the 1800s! jesse james (yes that one) committed the first one in iowa in 1873.

bank robberies were very rare! cus when you think about it, yeah ofc thats gonna be hard. its in the middle of town, its one entrance, and theres safes you gotta either crack in 10 seconds or blow with dynamite, risking the cash inside.

most other crimes include larceny, burglary, home robberies, horse robberies, stage coach robberies, cons, etc.

buffalo :( they were hunted for many reasons. 30 million to less than 100 in the span of about 30 years. they were hunted to piss off the native tribes, since buffalo were sacred to many and when the government had them killed theyd take the skin, the tongue, and leave the carcass to rot before retrieving the bones to ship back to the east for production of stuff like glue. but also, they would be hunted due to the way the buffalo impacted the railroad industry. theyd damage the rails, and in lines going through mountains theyd actually huddle up on the track because its instinctively the safest place to be. this would cause days long backups

last names had some cool stuff happening! after the civil war when slaves were freed, a great deal chose their own names. some chose names after national heros, some would take their parents name, and some would take the name of their old masters as a very intentional way to make sure they could never wipe their hands clean of the cruelty they committed to the enslaved. so yeah thats metal as hell. on a related note, “Historians estimate that 20–25% of cowboys in the American West were African American. They worked as ropers, trail cooks, wranglers, and bronco busters. African Americans learned the cowboy way of life from Mexican or Spanish cowboys, Native American cattle handlers, or their former slave masters. African Americans also contributed to the West as miners, homesteaders, town builders, and entrepreneurs.”

BRIEF ART HISTORY TIME. AKA MY FUCKING MAJOR.

In 1886, American art was influenced by French Impressionism, and American artists began to experiment with the style

Impressionism reflected a modern reality that could be troubling

Impressionist artists expertly depicted the alienation that this new Paris proffered. An unfortunate symptom of such modernity was the loss of an intimate, knowable community; now citizens were strangers in an anonymous crowd.

During the mid-1880s, as French Impressionism lost its radical edge, American collectors began to value the style, and more American artists began to experiment with it after absorbing academic fundamentals.

and now, for some stuff im pasting over from my fat google doc

Country Witchcraft, Wisdom, and Lore

“you can sleep with a skeleton key under your pillow to increase your chances of flight during sleep. you can wrap a horseshoe in white cloth and place it under your pillow to speak with the devil’s wife during your sleep. you can leave a glass of water out and ask your ancestors for visions during your sleep.” (Oberon, 15)

“folkloric witches don't use circles the way most wiccan folks do. circles do pop up in folklore but not too often. circles appear almost always when something is being conjured.” (oberon, 16)

“it was a brass screw in a gun that prevents a witch from placing a curse on the gun” (oberon, 18.)

“piss in a mason jar, throw in broken glass, mirrors, barbed wire, sulfer, and bullets. bury it somewhere on your property. if a spirit or spell comes looking for you they will mistake the urine for you and get caught in the bottle.” (oberon, 19)

fashion

the Victorian tradition of wearing mementos in honor of deceased loved ones. Many of these items included ashes placed into rings or necklaces made out of human hair. However, over time mourning jewelry evolved and became more of a fashion statement, even though most jewelry wearers lived on and continued to struggle with their grief.

the items weren’t just mementos to wear around one’s neck, but were something that you carried with you 24/7, no matter how much you may have hated it.

https://gemgeneve.com/the-necklace-from-antiquity-to-the-present/

Precursor of the Bulgari ones by far, one of the most typical examples is the serpent necklace paved with turquoise. In the 19th century, turquoise stands for “forget me not”, and the colour of the Forget Me Not flower is, precisely, turquoise. Therefore, the stone itself means “don’t forget me”. With the snake biting its tail being the symbol of eternity, this necklace is actually a love jewel. The message of these serpents is not at all about evil, but it is a love message: “Don’t forget me. Love me forever”. As the symbolism of forms and stones is deeper, wearers in the 19th century are much more aware of this particular message.

The necklace remains at the base of the neck, but what changes are the motifs and the materials. In the 1860s and 70s there comes to be a craze for archaeological revival jewellery and women go to wear ancient-looking jewellery. Archaeological revival necklaces were copies of genuine ancient pieces. Jewellers like Castellani try to reproduce not only the design but also the materials, and the techniques. Sometimes, these necklaces are close replicas. Some other times they are pastiches: they look like antique in style but are an invention of the late 19th century jewellers, as no such necklace would ever have been created in ancient times.

Materials become unusual: from little shells to tiger claws, for example: this was a consequence of improved travel, of tourism, and people going travelling and acquiring souvenir jewellery in exotic locations and bringing them back to Europe.

Dances/musicians

https://www.learn2dance4fun.com/dance-classes/country-dance-lessons/western-waltz-dance-lessons/

https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/babel-a-o

“In the Houston city directory of 1881 he went by the name Alexander O. Babel and continued to be the musical attraction at the Solo Saloon. The Galveston Daily News later commented in 1885: “Whether he played by note or not, he tossed from the keys of the grand piano that stood on a stage at the side of the large hall every variety and shade of music from the most delicate to the most sonorous tones.” Babel also gave concerts in other towns and church festivals in Texas.”

From playing piano in texas to mining in new mexico. Played in chicago, then new york, 

Lots of papers making him into a myth. Writer from texas saw this and disproved it. 

“Despite the disparaging remarks from some Texas periodicals, Babel created a sensation across the United States to the delight of audiences in Milwaukee, St. Louis, Atchison, New Orleans, Cincinnati, Chicago, New York, and Bangor. He was hailed as a piano master who played more than 1,200 songs and even performed at times with a cloth over the keys. The “Texas Wonder” played at dime museums, concert halls, theaters, and other venues and sometimes gave hourly recitals.”

“By 1887 advertisements included mention of his musical partner, Mattie Babel, dubbed the “cowgirl cornetist.” Most accounts called her Babel’s wife (though at least one newspaper referred to her as his sister). Given that no one named Mattie appeared among the Babel household in early censuses, Mattie Babel was probably A. O. Babel’s wife and possibly the same Emma Rumpel mentioned as the spouse of O. A. Babel in Houston.”

Babel and his wife Mattie continued to give performances well into the 1890s and toured Canada and Europe.

research i did for a specific character whos gonna show up in chapter 4:

Freed people established all-Black towns, such as Bookertee, Clearview, Lima, and Pleasant Valley. These towns provided a market for African-American farmers and a sense of community.

The discovery of gold in 1867 at South Pass drew many immigrants to western Wyoming.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_slavery_in_Oklahoma#:~:text=The%20history%20of%20slavery%20in,state%2C%20with%20prominent%20racial%20issues. 

https://www.taylorfrancis.com/books/mono/10.4324/9780203496756/slavery-cherokee-nation-patrick-neal-minges 

the Indian Removal Act was the reason for the movement of the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole to Oklahoma (not yet called that. With these nations moving to the west, they brought with them black people, including slaves. This was the beginning of slavery in the land of Oklahoma. 

When the Cherokees were relocating it was estimated that 10-15% of the nation were African Americans. This nation in particular brought not slaves, but freed blacks. This was one of the main reasons that they were forced out of their previous land. The nation had become a safe space for slaves to run away to and slave owners wanted to diminish that possibility for slaves in the south.

By 1866, the Cherokee Nation, once so proud, had been reduced to ruins

With the forced removal of the five nations into the land of Oklahoma throughout the course of time, slavery began and progressed in the Indian territory. Specifically, in the Choctaw and Chickasaw nations, slavery and the ownership of black people became common.

https://www.lib.utk.edu/cherokee/EvolutionCherokeePersonalNames.pdf

research i did for the chinese characters

1848: The California gold rush brought more Asians to the United States, especially Chinese people from the Guangdong region

The discovery of gold in 1867 at South Pass drew many immigrants to western Wyoming.

The Union Pacific Railroad's construction in the late 1860s brought settlers to Wyoming. The railroad created towns like Cheyenne, Laramie, and Rock Springs, and attracted cowboys and cattle drives.

The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 Many Americans on the West Coast attributed declining wages and economic ills to the Chinese workers who were only 0.002% of the population, Congress passed the Chinese Exclusion Act to placate worker demands and assuage concerns about maintaining white "racial purity." Repealed on December 17, 1943 

https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/565882.shtml 

During the 1850s, the first revolt of the Taiping Rebellion by the Hakka people took place in Guangdong. Because of direct contact with the West, Guangdong was the center of anti-Manchu and anti-imperialist activity. 

https://www.history.com/topics/immigration/asian-american-timeline 

https://www.history.com/topics/asian-history/taiping-rebellion 

In 1856, a second Opium War broke out with the west, continuing until 1861.

https://www.history.com/topics/19th-century/chinese-exclusion-act-1882

stuff for solveig

“The huge population growth between 1800 and 1900 led to overcrowding within the social structure of the day and was one contributing factor to the wave of emigrants leaving Norway for North-America.” 

“During the next centuries, much of the farmland was sold off to the previous leaseholders and became private property for the many. Owning your own land has been – and still is – an important part of the Norwegian identity.”

https://evergreenpost.eu/the-old-norwegian-farm-its-land-and-surroundings/ 

AND THATS ALL I CAN POSSIBLY THINK OF THAT I HAVE ACCESS TOO RIGHT NOW.... IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR WANNA KNOW ABT SPECIFIC STUFF TELL ME AND I CAN EASILY ANSWER THEM AND PROVIDE A GOOD DEAL OF INFO

[birdmitosis]

Voice of the Cold for the ask game, i hope I got here first D:

[ask game here]

OMG, you did! :D And I am so happy to answer about Cold.

First impression

Pretty sure my first impression was of him in the Spectre route, and I was curious, a bit positively inclined, mostly on the strengths of how well he fit how we got him and also how hot his voice was. 😔 Yeah, I'll admit it. I looked forward to seeing more from him and was intrigued by the seeming discrepancy between his "emotionless" claims and his blatant grudge against the Narrator.

Impression now

I LOVE COLD SO MUCH. Ohhh, he is as much of a trauma response as the rest of them and is both driven to keep himself safe and also experience something new (which is itself not safe) and also not care about safety... He is dismissive and deeply caring and he can't stand stagnancy and yet he feels at home when everything unravels into the Long Quiet. One of my Top 3 faves I think.

Favorite moment

There are a lot of moments I could choose here but I think I still have to give it to my bias: Cold in the Wraith chapter alongside Paranoid. Especially this sequence:

This has lived rent-free in my head since I first saw it, it just hits me so hard in a "none of them are fully wrong but none are fully right either" way and says so much about Cold in the context of other things... Especially the absolutely wild "If you can tolerate joy, you can tolerate pain" line, like UM EXCUSE ME?

(But the whole chapter is great, with Cheated as well as with Paranoid, but I have a bias for so many moments with the Paranoid version, like the "you think you are brave" line from Wraith and the fact that Cold must have helped with the efforts to toss the body into the void... Wraith is a severely underrated chapter, I feel!)

Idea for a story

Look, because of the way I fandom, all my ideas are for shipfic and ParaCold is 1000% my OTP, soooo...

That said, a specific idea I've actually had that I still kinda want to use with something, that I may have mentioned before, is Hunted making a point that they need each other (as a group) and at their best they cover each others' blind spots and shore up each others' weak points.

When Cold pulls something along the lines of his "I'm special" thing, Hunted ends up challenging him to a "play" fight (no actual wounds being left, "wounds" marked with something like chalk or berry juice or something, fake blade, etc.). And by the time Cold calls that he's "killed" Hunted (and so obviously he's right that he doesn't need help/he has no weak spots that actually matter), Hunted can point out that he's managed to land enough "minor" blows that Cold would be bleeding out by now too, because he doesn't guard himself at all.

(I also kinda want to look more into a super queer TTRPG called Moonlight on Roseville Beach because I wanna play around a bit with an AU for it where the six possible player character "origin stories" are filled by Hero, Contrarian, Cold, Paranoid, the Princess, and the Narrator... "[In] Moonlight on Roseville Beach, it's the summer of 1979 and you work in the village by day while protecting yourself, your housemates, and your neighbors from supernatural monstrosities and occult horrors by night," and it's in a queernorm setting where LGBTQIA+ characters are considered the norm, with a "focus on queer people succeeding at keeping themselves and their communities safe (at least for a time).")

Unpopular opinion

TBH I also agree that Cold isn't all that edgy. I think he's quite straightforward most of the time and definitely has some issues -- I think he likes prodding at some of the other characters more than some people realize but also less than some people act like, he really does jump to "we could stab" very quickly as a response, he seems happy to encourage potential violence against himself if he finds it interesting in some way, he has a surprisingly big ego -- but also blatantly cares despite how he often talks, is curious and wants new things, and seems to like connecting with the other voices and even, sometimes, the vessels.

I also think he isn't as hard to get along with as some people think, in the sense of, I think he has like three different "modes" when it comes to interacting with people:

He vibes with how you do things, in which case he goes along quite well, is agreeable and calm, and seems to like you. (Skeptic in the Drowned Grey chapter is a clear example, but so is Cheated in the Wraith I think; IMO Hero and Hunted would go here as well.)

There's enough push-and-pull there that he finds you interesting, in which case he can get a bit intense, prod you some just to see the push back, might sometimes go along just to see what you'll do, and it's a bit harder to tell if he likes you (but honestly he does). (IMO Paranoid would go here, and I do actually think Smitten goes here as well.)

Neither of the above apply, in which case he's just bored of you, and if forced into constant proximity with you, annoyed. (Stubborn in MOC is the most blatant example; IMO Broken would go here as well, ironically outside of if you somehow managed to get Cold alongside him in the Tower route.)

(The first two can be true simultaneously for some people; I feel like Contrarian would be in both. Weirdly, I feel like Opportunist is somehow in both #2 and #3? Stubborn could eventually go into #2, under better circumstances. And the Narrator fits a special category of "fuck you" where He doesn't quite fit #2 but there are some similarities, Cold just doesn't like Him.)

...This got a bit weird and long and out of Unpopular Opinion territory, huh. WELL, TL;DR Cold isn't edgy and actually likes a good number of the other voices.

Favorite relationship

I mean, y'all can guess this one, right? >_>

No, but honestly, as a ship it's definitely ParaCold. But in a totally platonic way, I also really love his dynamic with Hero in the Spectre route, especially if you free Her, and with Skeptic in the Drowned Grey chapter (okay, okay, I can see that one as either platonic or shippy). And his dynamic with the Narrator fascinates me but I can't ever see them getting along.

Favorite headcanon

I love the idea that Cold picks up new things all the time, and whether he sticks with them or not he gets surprisingly good at them first. Skills, hobbies, other languages. I can imagine his handwriting getting better more quickly than a lot of the other voices because of this, and him also managing to bond with the others over doing their hobbies with them.

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 12)

Links:

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

- - - - - - - - - -

The past few days at Pacific Deskmate High School have been more or less an improvement over the first two. But despite somehow becoming friends with a perthean, I've been struggling more than ever to hide my fear.

On Secandday, Derrick dropped his Biology textbook right beside me on his desk! All I could do was stand there, adrenaline flooding through my system as I ruminated on how easily I could have been crushed. Would he have even noticed if the book landed right on top of me? Was he trying to kill me? Honestly, it wouldn't be hard at all for him to drop a book like that on me and make my death look like an accident...

On Sirdday, he poked me in the middle of Algebra to ask if I had written down a certain formula before the teacher cleared the whiteboard. I'm not sure whether or not he was trying to be gentle, but the force of that unexpected poke was enough to send me into a spiral about how he could easily pin me down with nothing more than a single finger if he wanted to.

And on Forsday, after our English lesson on Greek and Latin root words, I was glad to watch him happily ramble away on the subject. It was only when he lifted me up off the desk that I guess he somehow managed to forget he was dealing with a human! He snatched me up so fast, so effortlessly, as if I didn't even weigh a thing! I thought for sure I would be flung across the room! He apologized, so I know he could tell I was scared, and that's not good.

If I were to slip up and reveal to Derrick that I have a fear, it'd ruin our friendship for sure! We'd be worse off than we were at square one! I need to make sure I'm doing whatever it takes to keep this fear hidden from him. I've never let a perthean find out about my fear before, and I don't plan on letting one find out now! Who knows how Derrick would react after finding out about my fear?

Ever since Derrick and I became friends, I've felt guilty for having this fear. I don't want him to think I see him as some kind of monster! But standing here on the balcony, watching him approach me, all I can think about is how much I want to get out of here before it's too late!

I tighten my grip on the balcony railing until my knuckles turn white to keep myself from running away, but that doesn't stop my legs from restlessly fidgeting beneath me. My heart pulsates as I'm covered by Derrick's shadow, and my lungs gasp for more air than I can take in with each shallow, shuddering breath. I need to get away from him!

"Hey, Kaylin!" Derrick says, smiling down at me.

My heart skips a beat as I stare into his big blue eyes, nothing short of terrified at the sight of my perthean friend. I try in vain to back up, my grip on the railing stopping me. I know I can't just run away— that would reveal that I'm afraid. As slowly and as steadily as I can, I take a deep breath and hold the cold surface air in for a moment before setting it free.

"Hi, D-Derrick!" I say, kicking myself for stuttering.

"How are you this morning?" Derrick asks, holding out his index finger for me.

I know I can do this, I've done it before. I release my hands from the balcony railing and carefully wrap my arms around Derrick's finger. It twitches in response to my touch, catching me by surprise. It still blows my mind how something as minute as a twitch to a perthean can translate into a harsh jolt for a human like me!

"I'm good!" I manage to squeak as Derrick lifts me from the balcony. "And you?"

"I'm doing well," he responds with a slight chuckle that I'm almost certain I can feel through his hand as he sets me down in his palm.

Once I'm settled in his hand, Derrick turns and starts heading to our first class. As we're moving along, I find myself staring at the fingers that surround me. They're a bit... close. Too close. Each long, curled digit is about the same length as I am, and about as wide as a tree trunk. A trunk of a human-scaled tree, that is— like we have in the undercity. I don't even want to consider the thought of a being with fingers that would match the width of a perthean-scaled tree! Such a being could easily hold a perthean in their hand the way my deskmate is holding me now...

I watch Derrick's fingers as they curl inward, every second inching closer and closer to where I sit in the center of his palm. My core tightens and my racing heart sinks in my chest. Does he realize what he's doing?

Without warning, each massive extremity begins to slowly wrap around me. I let out a gasp. What's he doing?! I look up at Derrick as his grip on me tightens. He's... smiling?!

My insides churn upon seeing a twisted smile plastered across my deskmate's face, and narrowed brown eyes that show no signs of mercy. My heartbeat rings in my ears as I squirm between the fingers fastened around me in a pathetic attempt to escape from Derrick's unyielding grip on me.

"W-what are you doing?!" I stammer, trembling in my deskmate's clutches.

"What I should have done the moment I first laid eyes on you," he says, letting out a loud, deranged cackle as he tightens his grip on my figure.

As I'm gasping, fighting for air, a sob rises in my throat.

"I-I thought we were friends!" I cry.

My deskmate lifts me close to his eyes. Those narrowed brown eyes... there's something off about them.

"No real perthean would be caught dead befriending a pathetic little weakling like you!"

"P-please!" I beg, tears streaming down my face as I struggle with all my might to escape this perthean's grasp. "D-Don't hurt me!"

"Huh?"

I open my eyes and look up at my deskmate. He's stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at me. His big, blue eyes look to be searching mine for some kind of explanation to what must have sounded like quite a perplexing remark.

Blue...! I knew his eyes were blue!

I look at my surroundings. I'm in Derrick's open palm, and his fingers are only bended toward me slightly. I look at myself. One of my legs is curled inward, and the other is stretched out as if I tried to scoot backwards. Oh no. What happened here?

"Kaylin?" Derrick says as he lifts me closer to his face, his eyes filled with concern. "Don't what?"

"I-I—" I stutter.

I stare into Derrick's eyes, my heart sinking further in my chest with each rapid beat. I can't think of anything to say! He's bound to realize I have a fear now!

"Don't... don't forget there's an English quiz today!" I blurt out.

Really?! That's all I could think to say?!

"Oh, is that all?" Derrick says with a chuckle. "I could have sworn..."

I resist the urge to curl up into a ball with all my might as I quake in my deskmate's hand. Is he about to call me out?

"Nah, it's nothing. Nevermind," he says, continuing the walk to our first class.

That was close. Too close.

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

Brittney huffs and puffs down the hall with the neon pink and orange lunchbox she retrieved from her locker after gym. Even after cool-down, showering, and changing back into our regular uniforms, I'm surprised to see her still struggling to catch her breath.

"Hey," I say, coming alongside her after we reach the cafeteria. "Good running today."

"Thanks!" She laughs. "Running always takes it out of me, but knowing lunch was coming was enough to keep me going!"

We sit down together at an empty table and take out our lunch. I unwrap what I'm decently sure is a turkey and swiss sandwich and take a bite. Brittney takes out a thermos and a grilled cheese.

"Grilled cheese again?" I ask.

"I guess so. What's the note of the day?" Brittney asks.

I'd completely forgotten to check for a note from Dad. I rummage around the brown paper bag in front of me and pull out a note. This one says:

What is a geode without its crystals, an oyster without its pearl?

So it is with a person's heart.

- Zenara

"Wow," Brittney says. "I didn't think your Dad was one to quote Zenara."

"He found one of my mom's old poetry books when we were moving and has been flipping through it over the past few days," I say, setting the scrap of paper down on the table. "I'll probably be getting more notes like this."

"So..." Brittney says, folding her hands together and propping her chin on top of them. "Speaking of looking into people's hearts, how are things going with Derrick?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, befuddled.

Brittney rolls her eyes. "You know, seeing him for how he is on the inside in spite of how he appears on the outside! Like the quote?"

"So that's what that means?" I say, looking back to the note. I've never really been one for poetry— it usually goes right over my head. I figured it was the same with Dad, and especially Brittney.

"Anyway, spill it! How are you two getting along?" Brittney asks, eyes wide with anticipation.

"You say that like we're dating or something!"

"You know what I mean, girl, now spill!"

"Well," I sigh, "things are going... well, they're going."

Brittney pouts. "Come on, you know I want more than that!"

"Okay, fine, fine!" I say, waving my hands. I stare at my sandwich in contemplation. "Ever since we became friends... I've felt guilty for having a fear. And not only that, it's been getting harder to hide it!"

"Go on," Brittney says, her brows turning upward.

"I guess it's only a matter of time before Derrick finds out about my fear. And after that, I'm not so sure he'll want to stay friends with me."

"Why not?" Brittney asks.

"I mean— who would want to be friends with someone who only thinks of them as some kind of monster that's out to get them?" I rest my cheek on my hand in defeat. "Maybe I should just tell him I have a fear and get it over with. That way, at least I'll know how he feels, and if he doesn't want to be friends anymore then it'll hurt less now than it would if he found out later on."

"I-I wouldn't do that!" Brittney blurts out.

"What?"

"I-I mean, normally I'd tell you to be honest, but Derrick..." Brittney trails off, looking down into her soup.

What's she going on about?

"Brittney, what about Derrick?" I ask.

Brittney shakes her head. "Nothing. It's nothing. What I mean to say is... I don't think telling him outright that you have a fear would be the best idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, some pertheans don't really know how to act around humans who are afraid of them. For some, it might get to them."

My insides twist. "Are you saying Derrick is like that? Would he really be hurt to find out about my fear?"

"Well..." Brittney says, averting her gaze. "All I'm saying is I wouldn't tell him if I were you. Derrick is... sensitive."

I know Brittney's known Derrick much longer than I have. If she says I shouldn't tell him about my fear, I'm inclined to trust her judgment. I just can't help but wonder... what isn't she saying?

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

"So, what are you up to this weekend?" Brittney asks as we approach the spot on the balcony where we've been meeting up with the boys.

"I don't know, I might try my hand at gardening. We found one of those indoor planters when we were going through our stuff before the move."

"Ooh!" Brittney says, clapping. "Gardening! I've always wanted to try! Especially since the undercity is so void of greenery compared to above ground."

"After that, Dad and I will probably watch Stranded together," I say, wondering how much we need to catch up on before Restday night's new episode.

Brittney's eyes get wide and she grabs onto both of my arms. "Did you say... did you say Stranded?!"

"Um... yeah?" I say as I look down at the hands gripping my arms, her grip a bit too tight for my liking.

"I. Love. Stranded. It's like, my favorite show ever!" She gasps. "Do you read fanfiction?! I'm working on this one story about Jack and Merlot— I should totally send it over to you!"

"Hey guys!" my deskmate says.

Dread fills the air, and a burning anxiety creeps up my spine. My legs quake, and I nearly trip over them as I leap behind Brittney to shield myself from this perthean boy. This perthean boy... who's supposed to be my friend. I realize I shouldn't be hiding from Derrick, especially since I don't want him to find out about my fear— but no matter what I do, I can't seem to stop myself from shaking uncontrollably like a cold, wet puppy!

"Kaylin? Are you—" Derrick starts.

Brittney laughs. "If you think this is bad, you should have seen her this morning when I snuck up on her with a hug!"

What? Brittney didn't do that! I didn't even see her today until it was time for gym! I look at Brittney, and she looks back at me. She winks.

"Ha, ha... yeah," I say, slowly coming out from behind my friend. I fold my hands together in front of me, all the while trying my hardest to suppress my unrelenting trembling.

I look up at Derrick, who stares right back at me with a blank expression. He hums flatly. Does he buy it?

"Well, I'm not sure where Kevin went, but Kaylin and I should probably be getting to Biology," Derrick says. "Are you okay waiting by yourself?"

"Yeah," Brittney says. "Kevin's a slacker. I'm used to it by now. You guys go on ahead!"

A knot forms in my throat as Derrick lifts his index finger and places it in front of me. With how many times we've had to do this so far, even today alone, shouldn't I be used to this by now? I try to be discreet about wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt, and then manage to wrap my arms around Derrick's finger in spite of the sinking, spiraling feeling in my gut.

"Have fun, you two!" Brittney calls out as Derrick lifts me from the balcony.

I expect Derrick to say something in turn, but he remains silent. He places me in his palm and turns to head to our Biology class. He remains silent the whole trip there.

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

Our Koronian class has nearly passed us by, and Derrick has barely spoken a word to me since the incident at the balcony before Biology. I try to focus on the lesson being taught, but the history of adjectives in the Koronian language fails to occupy my brain as much as my anxiety does.

Does he know I have a fear? Is he mad at me? Does he think I see him as a monster? Does he still want to be friends with me, or is he thinking about some way to go about telling me how inconsiderate it is to have a fear of pertheans? What if he hates me? What if we end up being stuck in an even more awkward relationship than what we had when we first met? What if he doesn't want to be deskmates anymore?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Derrick's notetaking. I know he loves languages, so I was sure he'd be taking as many notes about Koronian as possible during class. What I find odd, though, is that I haven't heard him write anything down until now. After a few seconds of pencil scratching, he goes silent again.

I try to take my focus off of Derrick and keep it on the teacher, but just as I tune back into the lesson, his notebook slides into my peripheral vision. Do I dare look? I pretend I don't see the notebook and shift my focus away from Derrick. After a moment, he slides the notebook closer to me. As worried as I am, I can't help but wonder what he wants to tell me. I hesitate, but take the bait and read the note presented to me.

Are you afraid of me?

Hot blood rushes to my cheeks, and my heart pounds against my ribcage. My whole frame trembles as I turn my head to the shaking hands in my lap. He knows.

I try to steady my quivering breaths. I can't let myself panic. Not now. Not in the middle of this class, not in front of all these pertheans... not in front of Derrick. We're so close to the end of the schoolday. All I have to do is sit through the rest of Koronian, get to the balcony, and go home! He'll forget all about this tomorrow, and I'll have a better chance to hide my fear then.

Derrick taps his notebook, drawing my attention back to it. Why is he so insistent? He underlines the question he wrote with his pencil. He's not going to be satisfied without an answer, is he?

I stare down at my own notebook laying atop my desk. What should I do? Should I answer? Should I try to continue ignoring him? How long can I keep this up?

As I'm lost in contemplation again, a large, warm surface presses against my back, poking me. That's it. I scrawl down a response in my notebook.

Why are you so insistent on me answering this question?

I can't keep from trembling as I push my notebook to the side of my desk. Derrick leans over in his seat. He's so close! I try to take deep breaths in and out, but my constant shuddering makes my breathing anything but smooth.

Derrick sits back in his seat. Silence. Maybe he'll finally leave me alone. Just as I begin to let my shoulders droop and my muscles relax, I hear it again: the scratching of Derrick's pencil against paper. A few seconds later, he pushes his notebook back into my view.

Why are you so insistent on not answering this question?

He just won't let it go! What should I say?! What should I do?!

Brittney said I shouldn't tell Derrick about my fear because he's 'sensitive.' But what was it she didn't tell me? What's going to happen if I'm honest with Derrick? Should I lie?

Derrick underlines the question again.

Are you afraid of me?

My heart sinks, weighing me down, and there's an aching unease deep in my inner core. Do I tell him? Can I tell him? I stare at my notebook as anxiety creeps up my back and threatens to choke me. Hands trembling and barely able to grip my pencil, I write my response and slide my notebook back into Derrick's view.

I'm sorry.

He's quick to scribble down a response.

You're sorry?

I don't think and simply let my pencil glide along my paper. I slide over my answer:

I'm sorry that I'm afraid of you.

I sit in my anxiety, nervously awaiting Derrick's inevitable reply. What will he say now? Will he call me a coward? A bigot? Would he call me... a tiny?

Silence. He must be satisfied with my answer. I just hope things aren't awkward for us after class. I rub my legs to keep them from jumping up and down under my desk, and return my focus to the teacher.

Scribbling. It's quiet at first, then harsh. There's the sound of an eraser rubbing the paper, followed by more harsh scribbling. I clench my fists as tears prick the edges of my eyes. He's really going to let me have it, isn't he? My heartbeat, oddly enough, slows down as I think through what must be in store for me. Deep down, he's no different than that man, is he? Merciless. Unforgiving. Cruel. No perthean could ever be understanding when someone thinks of them as a monster, could they?

Derrick slides his notebook back over. Blinking back tears, I brace for impact, breathing in and out, and turn to see what it is he's penned.

Let me help you.

What? What's he talking about? He's not going to let me have it? I hesitate before looking back at Derrick as apprehensively as ever. He's... smiling.

"What?" I whisper.

He points to what he wrote on the page, and looks back at me. I spin back around in my seat, my mind buzzing with questions. What does he mean? Is that even possible? Is he joking? I pull my notebook back towards myself and start writing. Once I'm finished writing, I push my notebook back into Derrick's view.

What are you talking about?

Again, he doesn't hesitate, but writes his response swiftly.

Are you free to meet behind the school after class?

An uneasiness creeps up from my gut and into my throat. I gulp. He wants to meet after school? What does this mean? Is he serious, or does he have something more sinister in mind? I stare at my hands in my lap. What should I do?

I turn around and look Derrick in the eyes. As he smiles at me, his wide blue eyes seem to smile, too. I have no idea what to say, and I can barely breathe! He looks at me with anticipation. Almost as if to ask, 'Well? What do you say?'

I nod. I have no idea what I'm supposed to expect, but at this point, what do I have left to lose? Derrick laughs softly as he continues smiling at me.

"Mr. Drake and Miss Finch!" the teacher says, raising her voice and catching Derrick and I by surprise. "Is there something the two of you would like to share with the rest of the class?"

I turn back around in my seat, my heart fluttering and my cheeks as hot as ever.

"No, m'am!" Derrick and I both exclaim.

I try to focus on the lesson again, but all that comes to mind is my deskmate. Really, what could he possibly mean by helping me? And what did I just sign up for?

[veryace-ficrecs]

Marineford fix-it fics

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

You Still Have Me by Rijus_Hope - Rated G

Ace is kneeling on the execution platform, ready to accept his fate. He wishes his father and crewmates hadn't come for him, but is glad that, at least, his older brother hasn't come to die for him as well. Or so he thought. Or: the Navy tries to execute Ace. Newly dubbed Emperor of the Sea Monkey D. Luffy shows the world why that was a mistake.

Retired doesn't mean weak by Dezace - Rated T

Gol D. Roger survived the illness that should have killed him, once again triumphing where he had no odds of winning. After Roger achieved his goal, he returned to the love of his life to live out his life with only calm days ahead. His son was born and doted on the boy, soon enough gaining two more sons in the coming years. He approved of their dreams and would not get in the way of them.

But he drew the line at executions.

The Marines better be prepared, because the Pirate King is coming, and he won't rest until his son was safe.

take these fists of mine (raise them one last time) by SkyGem - Rated G

Monkey D Garp is 76, and he's tired of giving up pieces of himself for the World Government. Monkey D Garp is 76, and his grandson is about to be executed. Monkey D Garp is 76, and his family is the one thing he will never give up without a fight.

The Sharp Knife Of A Short Life by Memories_of_the_Shadows - Rated G

Garp isn't the greatest parent in this world or any other by far, but he does try his best and he does love his boys.

Executing Family Reunions by RubyBlue2005 - Rated G

Executions are just less boring family meetups to the Monkey family.

You say there’s a monster in my past (but I don’t believe you) by Glaux_Bryonia - Rated G

The scheduled execution of the pirate Portgas D Ace, Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, did not go entirely according to plan… Or: what if Garp never told Ace he was Roger’s son?

All For One by missmungoe - Rated G

Some things never change. Except this time, one very important thing does.

the One Time Ace Turned Away by FMPtrumpets - Rated G

We all know Ace is well-known for never turning his back on a fight, but… what if Luffy managed to get him to walk away from Akainu at Marineford?

Emotional damage by Lerya - Rated M

Opening his eyes, Luffy found an oxygen mask over his mouth. What had happened that he needed that. He never needed something like that, Chopper was well aware that he would bounce back soon enough. Looking around now that his eyes were opened, he could see that he wasn’t lying in their infirmary. The lay out was different from theirs; from the way Chopper had decorated it.

The will to live is harder to keep than a will to die by Dezace - Rated T

Ace was chained down in Impel Down, waiting for his execution and death, knowing that nothing can change that. When Ace hears the news that Luffy was here and there for him, Ace couldn't sit still. Not anymore. Or: Ace decided that being the damsel in distress sucks and that if you wanted something done right, do it yourself.

there is thunder in our hearts by taizi - Rated T

He’s not close enough. He’s not going to make it. Even if he managed to shake off the soldiers in front of him and just threw his whole body at full-speed between Luffy and Akainu to take the blow, he wouldn’t get there fast enough. He doesn’t have enough time. He’s going to lose another brother, only this time it’s going to happen right in front of his eyes, from seven—five—three feet away. He’s ten years old again and learning what grief is. He’s ten years old and all that’s left of Sabo is the letter in his hand and a shared dream and the promise that Ace will look after their silly baby brother while he’s gone.  “DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Ace screams. It’s pure desperation. It’s the last human thing he’ll ever say if Luffy dies here. 

Whitebeard Pirates Guide to Gaslighting the World that Ace is Whitebeard's Biological Son by Thatoneanimequeen - Rated G

Ace being the brilliant genius that he is somehow convinces the Whitebeard pirates and others to get everyone to believe that he is Whitebeard's biological son.

walk the wire by Anonymous - Rated G

So they’re talking about the possibility that Whitebeard loses and Ace dies and Sabo can’t. There are locusts beneath his skin and a headache throbbing against his skull and a tick-tick-tick down his spine, a countdown, a warning, and he needs to go. “I can carry a black bag operation in Marineford,” he blurts, off topic, and the room blows up with noise. ///Sabo needs his memories, Ace needs saving, and Garp needs to rethink his life choices.

[vulpes-ferus]

FFXIV LFRP On Hiatus

Full name: Miyako Akane

Race: Auspice/Yokai

Gender: Genderfluid? Nonbinary? Really, it's whatever they feel like at the moment. Her pronouns depend on the skin she's in at the time: she/they, or he/they. Typically prefers her female presenting form unless her masculine form is more preferable to those she's interacting with.

Sexuality: All of it. Anything.

Marital Status: Single! She's not settling down, she's always on the prowl.

Age: Several centuries old

Profession: She doesn't have one! Though technically they may read your cards or offer a boon...for a price, and she rarely accepts actual currency

Hobbies: Pranking mortals. Preying on mortals. Seducing mortals, people watching... and generally just about anything to do with the forest, or nature.

Hair: Dark orange/white accents

Eyes: Amber

Distinguishing Marks: Typically veiled as a Miqo'te, there is little distinguishing about her person to those unable to see through the magic she uses - although on occasion, one might spot a fluffier tail than she actually seems to have, out of the corner of their eye. To those able to see through this magic... she's quite a bit different than her feline glamour would suggest to the average person. In their feminine presenting forms, she always has red tattoo-markings around her eyes.

RP Hooks

She's still as-yet un-roleplayed, so there's a lot of potential - and there's less impetus for me to want longer storylines on her, so if you just want a few one-off scenes to have your cards read or the like, those are easier on her than on my other characters, though I'm always a sucker for a long plot/storyline that's steeped in character growth! Never be afraid to approach me if you have an idea!

Maybe you want your cards read! I have several tarot decks IRL, and an oracle deck that's well-suited to her too, and I could no doubt use the practice, myself. She essentially makes fey bargains - deals with weird prices that aren't always clear at first.

She may be centuries old, but she was barely over a century when she was imprisoned out in the East, and only escaped her magical prison in the last couple years! (I was, in fact, inspired by JJK and Sukuna for her imprisonment.) She ran from the East and took a new face to pose as, since she was captured and imprisoned in the East, and the people there still respect the old legends... and the Black Shroud is an excellent forest, vibrant with life! ...and unsuspecting mortals.

Speaking of the Black Shroud, there's a lot of ways to interact with her in regard to that! You could randomly run into her. She could do what kitsune do in the old tales, and lure you off the road at night and get you lost. Maybe you've seen something weird in the forest, or heard strange tales from travelers. Maybe you're just really in tune with the elementals and they've mentioned a new entity in the forest...really, I'm open to about anything with some talk about it beforehand!

She feeds on aether! She doesn't have to kill people to do this, though she's certainly not above it - what are morals to an animal, anyways? Food is food. Prey is prey. But sometimes, it's easier to just seduce someone and feed on their aether, before leaving them naked and drained in the forest to have a laugh at their expense.

Given her long imprisonment, much about the world is new to her! Maybe you lure her in by showing her all the nifty new stuff there is, and blowing her mind at how much things have changed in a few hundred years.

You could be an antagonist! Hunt her, if you like! Maybe she hurt you, or someone you care(d) about! Maybe you're from the East and found out her prison was dismantled, and you fear yokai; or you're just a Shroud Dweller who has been wronged, etc.

Romance! While I don't tend to like interactions that are solely focused on seeking out ERP - she is a sensual creature, and physical intimacy is an indulgence and a way to consume aether... though I don't know how she'd feel about genuine romance... last time she indulged in that, it got her caught and imprisoned!

She likes pranks/mischief... and sometimes that mischief can seem cruel if you don't understand the mindset of a creature of the wild. Engage her on her level, and she might find you more 'fun' than 'food'.

Alternately, she carries her soul around in an orb she wears as jewelry, and if someone got their hands on it, it'd be bad news for her!

About anything you can think of and want to brainstorm together! She's an alt that's good for long-term or short-term RP; serious, or not-so-serious moments... there's plenty of potential!

The OOC

Writer is 30+, and I prefer RP partners to be 21+ - I do prefer darker, more mature RP, but that's not all I'm capable of! I just like morally grey explorations - and questions like 'what really drives a person?'

Late nights aren't really something I can do anymore, past 11-12pm my writing isn't any good, though my schedule is open enough to allow earlier starting times. Also I'm CST, and prefer in-game RP. I simply can't stay in character when RP isn't moving in real time, and tend to just forget to respond to out of game stuff, or not feel well enough to write some days, and it ends up taking so long that I can't stay in character. Thus, scheduling in-game scenes ahead of time will always be what works best for me.

No canon characters please, it just really breaks my immersion/my character wouldn't have any reason to interact with canon characters really! Unfortunately, this means WoL OCs as well - their power level is just so intense that I can't really justify my OCs interacting with the WoL: time-traveling slayer of gods at the edges of the universe. (And no shade to canon RPers of any kind - it's just not my cup of tea, is all. Embrace your fun, my friends!) I also don't mind bending lore, but outright ignoring/breaking with it is also not really for me - and again, there's no judgement for how others choose to have fun, but I like to respect the canon.

I prefer plots, and RP with a purpose - contact solely focused on ERP is not welcome. ERP as part of an on-going story doesn't bother me, however.

Don't bring IC into OOC, or vice verse!

Communicate! If the RP isn't working for you, just tell me! I prefer 'organic RP,' but if you want to steer a story (RP) in a certain direction or don't want it steering in a direction, let me know! I much prefer having that conversation, rather than allowing an RP partner to be silently upset or uncomfortable!Follows come from @ooc-miqojak , and my other blogs are @miqojak and @antlers-and-omens!

[highoctanegem]

Limp D*** (pt. 1) || Jade & Regan

TIMING: Mid-January. LOCATION: Jade & Regan's new house. PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @highoctanegem SUMMARY: Jade comes home after a hunt having all sorts of feelings, Regan wants to figure out what's wrong. CONTENT WARNING: None

Regan wished she could saw Jade’s skull open, tear through her surely marvelous dura mater, and see exactly what was inside. She figured that was love: fingering through your bone partner’s brain, and knowing exactly where all the right grooves were.

It was more dirt than blood staining her shirt, that was for sure. Daiyu’s tips were totally doing something. Making her a little sharper in her movements, and smarter in her decision-making. The goal was never to become a deathly MMA fighter or anything, but being able to dodge more blows and avoid sharp claws and knives jabbing her skin sure did feel nice. It was more dirt than blood, but Jade was pretty sure a blade still managed to slice part of her shirt. 

It was less blood than normal, but her hands trembled like she’d fought a dozen spawns without a second to catch her breath. (What was that about?)

Innocent until proven guilty, was what Van said. (Actually, she said it wrong, but she was not gonna make fun of her in her mind). She couldn’t stop thinking about how messed up the concept was. What if she killed a quote-unquote good undead? Even if Jade had caught her with her fangs deep in someone’s neck. Even if the lady had brandished a knife at her in response to her presence. What if? Like, she got rid of a dangerous vampire, going by Van’s code. But no victory tune blasted in her head, no celebratory confetti popped off, instead, it felt more like a funeral march as she made her way back home. What if? What if she halted someone’s unlife before they could go into their redemption era? (Was this how it was gonna feel from now on?).

Reaching the entrance of their love nest, she hoped Regan was already in bed. She hoped she was sleeping peacefully and dreaming about Aneurysm the horse, or Bill Nye, or even Jade (it was a testament to how scrambled she felt that she was only the third option she considered). She didn’t think she wanted to deal with Regan’s concern. She wanted to wash her hands, take her clothes off, slide under the covers and cuddle. She was in the mood to be a little jetpack this time around. Wait, should she shower? Maybe she should shower. In case Regan was indeed dreaming of option number 3 and woke up in need of a helping hand…

Regan wasn’t sleeping. Cause Regan didn’t sleep easy either. Cause there were the nightmares, and the anxiety, and the loneliness, and the horrors and the overwhelming lack of purpose (she wondered what that was like) and… Regan wasn’t asleep, of course. And that almost made Jade cry in relief. Which was weird, cause…didn’t she want her to be sleeping instead? (Did she lie to herself? Surely not…). “What’s up with you?” she smiled lovingly, a twinkle lighting up her eyes again. Despite. (Regan had that effect). She unfastened the sling of her crossbow, the holster where she kept her knives, she slid the bag of stakes down her shoulder, not caring where anything landed, and joined Regan at the table. “Couldn’t sleep without me, huh?” she teased, leaning forward cause it had been hours. That had to be about a hundred kisses! (Times a million. Cause gay math worked like that). But she froze before her lips could brush Regan’s, bumping their noses instead. “I um, smell like cemetery,” she apologized (for some reason) (?). 

—

–It’s coming up. Christmas, I mean. And I have missed you. More than Al, more than Liam, and especially more than Al. Are you going to be–

Regan hissed a breath of air through her teeth, the screen of her phone cracking at the sound. She set her pen down and sighed. Slogach. The chain of her necklace tangled around her fingers; that silver chain felt like a rope at times, though she was the one who insisted on not freeing her neck. Right now, she also felt heavy with concern, because Jade had been out longer than usual, and she was tempted to run out there with a flashlight soon. This was keeping her busy for now though. Regan looked down at her letter draft – it was going to join the pile of her last twenty discarded attempts. Before she could feel too defeated, the door creaked open. Jade. She sat up, alert – she had been waiting out here for Jade, but it felt shocking all the same. The tension melted from her muscles as Jade peered in and then locked eyes with her. “Later than usual tonight. I was– I thought – I mean, I know you’re competent, I only mean– who knows, you could have tripped. Or there could have been coyotes. Or a big… bird.”

But there was something strange about Jade’s demeanor. Skittish, but not in the obvious way. She was avoiding something. The flirtation, that twinkle in her eyes that seemed slightly duller than normal. Regan’s eyes narrowed, because she knew what this was. A distraction. Unfortunately, those usually worked, because Jade could draw Regan’s attention so effectively she’d pull her eyes off a fresh deer smeared across a highway if Jade so much as breathed near her. So, yes, Regan was successfully distracted, but she could still try and piece together why Jade was doing this (while thinking about how nice it would feel to finally get in bed and do things that would make even the dead blush, which was obviously just livor mortis in a prone decedent). At first, Regan thought it was because Jade had some amount of discomfort coming home to her right after she was out slaying – she knew Regan didn’t like the weapons, the danger. That Regan still shrank away from the blades at times. More than that, there was a difference of ‘opinion’ that both of them preferred to ignore. It was a wide chasm, but not as wide as the Atlantic Ocean, which they had overcome. Still, after so much, didn’t they deserve to have no problems? Ever? Yes. They would never have problems again.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Regan confirmed, “not with you out there.” The double meaning of the statement wouldn’t be missed by Jade. Certainly, it would have been easier to sleep if Jade were in bed, but that wasn’t the issue, was it? “I’ve been writing a little. Nothing particularly interesting.” Regan nudged her journal shut and closed the pen with a decisive click. Jade could think Regan was writing about her; it was often the case, and didn’t require any explanation. Regan closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, smiling as Jade approached. She could feel Jade’s breath against her lips, but no kiss came. Regan opened her eyes, feeling a little bit deprived. Where was her kiss? Wait, shouldn’t she be trying harder to figure out what Jade was playing this game over? Was it shame about where she was, what she was doing, or was there more?

Regan studied Jade but played along for now. She reached for Jade’s arm, not missing the way Jade seemed to flinch slightly. “I like when you smell like cemetery. It’s two of my favorite scents together. Like peanut butter and jelly. Jade and cemetery. Though I prefer a simple peanut butter or jelly sandwich. The combination is unnecessary.” But Regan’s mind was elsewhere: Jade’s movements suggested she was hurt, and the longer Regan looked, the more indications she spotted – scratches and scrapes on the perfect skin of her arms, blood dotting her shirt, with an especially large swath of it sticky against Jade’s abdomen. A stark look crossed her face, and she stood up, all former thoughts about those dead-blushing behaviors sucked out of her skull. She pulled Jade’s arm closer, flipping it slightly, her fingers running over the hot scrapes and claw marks. “This…” Wasn’t even half of it, was it? Regan pushed Jade toward where she was just sitting, managing to be both gentle yet firm. “Sit. I am going to see everything, all of it, so I suggest you speed things up and tell me if anything is actively bleeding and needs immediate attention. I’m getting the first aid kit. Because you’re bleeding. And probably won’t acknowledge that, because you’re used to being hurt.” Before Regan turned to get the kit, she pressed a light kiss to Jade’s forehead, holding it for a little longer than normal. Because just like when Jade was out there, Regan had no idea how worried she should be right now. 

—

Her eyes, bright and curious, moved to the journal on the table. That made total sense to Jade. Regan usually wrote when something was stuck in her head. She was incredibly honored and totally smug about the fact that she was one of Regan’s greatest muses. (Probably at the top, for sure) (Bill Nye hot on her tail, though). But she was positive Regan wasn’t writing about her this time. Not just cause she had the gut feeling (and the gay feeling), but also cause there was no flush on Regan’s cheeks betraying her. So even if she was nosy as always, she accepted her explanation. Maybe she could convince Regan to read some of it later. Yup. She liked the idea of falling asleep to the sound of Regan’s voice talking about sepsis or ulcers… or reading the grocery list, really. She claimed it wasn’t interesting? Pft,  she was totally wrong (nothing new) if she thought Jade wasn’t gonna be thrilled to hear about the most mundane details of anything ever. 

Speaking of betrayal, it was right there, shining in Regan’s eyes the moment they opened and she realized there would be no smooching. Oh, Jade so deserved that. How dare she? It was like, a total villain move on her part. But being the literal angel on earth that she was, Regan held zero grudges after such foul play. In fact, she reached for Jade’s arm, quelling some of her worries about the stink and on a less fun note, brushing over some of her scratches. Not that she minded them too much, save for the occasional wince. Instead, she fell into a gay trance, staring at her perfect girlfriend (sorry, bone partner) saying perfect things about PB&J sandwiches and cemeteries and… yup, it made so much sense. She nodded along, enjoying the faint brush of skin that alright, was a little distracting, and almost burst into tears there, for realsies. Cause she had this. Waiting for her at home. Jade, eternal daydreamer, devoted romcom stan had found the stuff Hallmark would be jealous of. 

Except, her mind didn’t want her to have even a tiny drop of happiness tonight, quickly crushing her fleeting happiness with a metaphorical hammer. There was no way their story ended the same way Hallmark movies did, with the whole... happy montage of the future, and all the cheesy family Christmas cards flashing while the credits rolled to a generic pop song. In fact, it was probably (or definitely) ending in their new home, surrounded by unpacked boxes and new furniture before their real domestic era could start. Right after getting two (and a half) couches! So unfair. Jade knew that the time kept ticking for her, her bad deeds catching up to her. If only she had like, a cooking show type of timer right above her head she could look at to be aware of how much time she had left. Alas, she was delaying the inevitable. Cause she’d gotten famous in town for the wrong reasons, and she’d built a reputation that sooner or later would reach Regan’s ears. 

Didn’t she wanna be the one to break the news, so to speak? Could someone come around and remind her that honesty was actually a good thing? Sometimes (most times) she still needed that reminder. 

Regan was on her feet, and her body could tell before her mind caught up, by the way Jade was now surrounded by dull, mid, Reganless air. The kind that was easier to get into her lungs but made nothing tingly or exciting. It sobered her up, or whatever, at least. Jade felt the light push from Regan, coaxing her toward the chair and she glanced up, definitely feeling like she was in trouble. Stupidly, Jade expected Regan to be proud. Like, see! She could kill without getting hurt that badly! This wasn’t the first time Regan had patched her up. So like, she should’ve admired the progress. But all she saw was concern. Cause Regan thought she was bad at her job, didn’t she? Cause she knew she was a failure and couldn’t trust her to come home in one piece. (Yup, that was totally what it was) (And she chose to skip all the evidence that went against that statement cause… cause).

Her siblings would’ve been proud, by the way. Cause they wanted her to succeed. They wanted her to be good. They wanted her to take fewer punches so she could plunge more stakes. Not so she could stop fulfilling her duty, like some wanted her. (Would Regan side with Van, then? Judging by her look… yup).

It would’ve been so easy to joke about Regan wanting to see her without a shirt. Jade could almost see a neon sign suggesting it above their heads, like a comedy show cue. Just to like, break the tension and drag herself out of some swampy waters that had zero bog lemmings and therefore were pointless. She so wanted to. A few months ago she would’ve flirted, she would’ve batted her eyelashes, showed a little skin and Regan would’ve been distracted. They would’ve been distracted. But also, that was before… before… something. It was so freaking weird to feel like she’d changed without having any proof. She had nothing to show for it. And shoot, what if changing was a bad thing? What if Regan preferred the whirlwind, take no prisoners attitude? She fell in love with the breezy, flirty force of nature possessing a small woman’s body. Not with some mopey failure with a limp— What if she was a total drag now? So what, she had to be a killer (for a good cause (?)) and be no fun? How was that fair? Who was making these character choices? She wanted a word.

Regan’s lips touched her skin and her eyes closed. Her body shut down all angsty thoughts running amok and even the dull pain in her belly. And Jade realized she hadn’t exhaled since like, she probably entered the house. So she let a lot of crappy feelings go in one big (a little shaky) sigh. Allowing the power of gay to heal her. She really had the best doctor at home. (What was she even worrying about before?) (Regan’s lips were lethal against bad thoughts). Jade wanted to hold her there forever or, okay… at least for a little longer. Wrap her arms around Regan’s waist and hold each other for a minute. But Regan was inevitably pulled by the invisible strings of that oath she kept reneging. Her real calling. So Jade watched her go fetch the first aid kit, and in the meantime, she hoisted herself up on the table. It was probably better if she was supposed to play the role of patient, right? When Regan returned, Jade immediately raised her shirt, revealing the slice inches above her navel. “This is the worst I got. The rest is just…” mental, she wanted to say, but she shrugged instead. (Again, why wasn’t she quipping ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’?)

Maybe becoming boring Jade had nothing to do with her duty, actually. Maybe she was trying to blame it on something and being super wrong about it. Maybe it was the whole turning thirty. Yup. Maybe she got hit by the whole, frontal lobe developing thingy, cause… So much more thinking was happening at all times. Right now, she was thinking about Regan (nothing new, obviously). But Regan in the context of… what her place was in all of this. How it affected her. Cause Jade wanted Regan to have as many places in her life as she desired. All of them even. But, she’d never really opened that door when it came to hunting. She’d let her duty exist alongside her devotion to the woman she loved. (If not, a little behind Regan, most of the time) (That was like, a pretty important part of the lore). Never together. Her thumb brushed the ring on her finger, finding some encouragement in the small heart Regan had given her. If she wanted all of Regan, didn’t Regan deserve all of her too?

“I’m sorry I scared you, I was out pretty late” She pouted, eyebrows pinched in concern as she watched Regan set aside what she needed from the kit. Right, speaking of changes… Months ago, that question would’ve offended Regan. Cause she did not feel fear and all that. Right now it still made her uncomfy, probably. Cause it acknowledged her failure. Which turned into their failure. It was all one big, big pile of failure stacked on top of more failure, sprinkled with whoopsies, and drizzled in loser sauce. Cause oh! Months ago, Jade apologizing for anything, especially for her duty, also would’ve been a sign that she needed intervention from her siblings, stat! 

But neither of them were sticking to the old scripts. Jade was pretty sure there had been no signs of change at all. She hadn’t even gotten bangs or started Yoga or changed her phone’s screen lock or anything that drove the message across or introduced her new era. Just… this weird, yucky sensation some would call… awareness. “I’ve been doing this so long, I forget you have to watch me go fight…” She didn’t say vampires. Another touchy subject. For Regan, who wasn’t sold on the concept despite living with a slayer, and for herself too… after… all of the aforementioned failing. “And then I come home like this, I just… I wanna keep people like you safe, you know?” Like Regan. Like Erin. Like Van. Others too. Even… Maybe people like Vic, who deserved to return safely to her baby. But that part was harder to say out loud. Maybe the Jade who cut bangs would’ve said it. And it would’ve made a splash. But apparently, current Jade was still latching on for dear life to the version of herself who succeeded in her duty, the version who was good.

—

“I didn’t say I was scared,” Regan pointed out, though her tone indicated the words she had or hadn’t spoken didn’t really matter: she was scared. Any other time her eyes would linger on Jade’s stomach, the impressive musculature and skin that was even softer than it looked, but she had a role to play right now, and it startled her how easily she slipped back into that figurative (ick) lab coat and PPE. They fit better than an Apple uniform. The color was also superior. “I’ll admit I thought about you the whole time you were out. I always do when I write.” She hesitated for a moment. “Except for those brief moments where I consider Bill Nye, but forget him.” She almost could.

Regan's fingers were precise as she cleaned Jade's wound – however, she wouldn’t let the feeling of normalcy sneak in, even when she could feel it coming close. She didn’t think treating the wounds of a loved one this frequently was normal, not that she minded the action itself. But then, was anything about them normal (other than the decidedly normal ulcer wall)? Anything in this town? Regan pushed those questions away, too, focusing on what needed to be done. The slice above Jade's navel wasn't particularly deep, but it was long enough to concern her, making Jade’s skin pucker around it. Regan’s eyes kept darting between the injury and Jade's face, watching for signs of pain she knew Jade would try to hide. Between Jade and Emilio, she was starting to think all hunters were like this to some extent.

“Safe,” Regan echoed, the word catching in her throat like a swallowed scream. She pressed the gauze more firmly against Jade's skin, perhaps harder than necessary. “You do, Jade… keep people safe. Diligently, more than almost anyone. I am safe. With you. Most everyone is – this town and these people are fortunate to have you. But you…” She trailed off, unable to voice her concerns (okay, fears) about Jade's safety. Instead, she once again focused on her work, methodically cleaning and dressing the wound. 

“This is an incised wound from a blade,” Regan said, towing the line between accusatory and observation. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, despite there being no pain receptors where she allegedly felt it – a sensation that would have fascinated her clinically if it wasn’t as tender as the wound she was dressing. Fine, so maybe she was moving into accusation territory now. “It could have hit your stomach or an artery,” Regan added, as she finished securing the bandage. Her thumb traced along Jade's abdomen, following the path the blade had taken. “Four millimeters deeper and you would have been dealing with significant blood loss. The kind that would have prevented you from making it home to me.” She met Jade's eyes steadily. “I know what that looks like. And while you would make an excellent decedent – the best, in fact, if you wish to brag – I much prefer you animate.”

Regan rolled her tense shoulders, which probably belied her clinical tone. She could feel Jade holding something back; she was a few maddeningly small bones (the ossicles, it was usually) away from a complete skeleton, the full picture And it wasn’t just about her injuries, was it? Jade’s first thought had been keeping people safe, so this seemed more about her duty. It was a concern about her “Big D”. Regan’s fingers brushed against Jade’s stomach again, and she didn’t think the change in Jade’s breathing was a sign of pain. Or arousal, but… well, two things can be true, as Jade liked to say. 

“This is about being flaccid, isn’t it?” She pushed a little more. “You can be a little evasive, in case you were unaware,” Regan said firmly, her hands moving to examine the scrapes on Jade's arms next. “Like Lullaby when she remembers that particular spot under the bed. Not evasive about the injuries themselves, though I’m sure you’re aware I’d like to know what, or who, did this to you. I have things to say to them.” Things that would probably break their windows if she said them now, which she couldn’t do before they found a decent glass repair company. Her previous contact died. Regan’s fingers paused over a particularly nasty scratch. “So speak to me. I like when you speak, and you like when you speak. Also, take your whole shirt off, will you? I will let you decide which order you want to do those things in. And if it helps, you can make a remark about me wanting to see you shirtless.” Jade probably thought of at least a dozen options in the last few minutes, though it was telling that she hadn’t voiced them. Regan wished she could saw Jade’s skull open, tear through her surely marvelous dura mater, and see exactly what was inside. She figured that was love: fingering through your bone partner’s brain, and knowing exactly where all the right grooves were.

—

Jade really, really, really wanted to ask Regan what exactly were those thoughts she was having (she had a gay hunch) (and, did she mention how she really wanted to ask?). But as much she kept wanting to swerve in a fun direction, someone or something hooked her back to the very serious, very honest moment Regan was trying to facilitate. Maybe Jade needed it, too. Maybe that was why no matter how many opportunities were presented for her to derail everything, she couldn’t go for them. Maybe she had run out of opportunities to hit the metaphorical snooze on this convo. Maybe trying to shove every negative thought and feeling into little boxes and compartments, then proceeding to hide them away in the top shelf of the closet she could never in her wildest dreams reach anyway wasn’t like… healthy or whatever. (Even thinking that made her a little nauseous) (Which was weird, cause she was like, so self aware these days!)

Regan got to work on her teeny tiny knife wound, all the while she tried hyping Jade up. And boy, she wished it was working. The words, obviously. Regan was a pro at patching up, even if the extra pressure against her tender skin made Jade grimace twice. She deserved that, for sure. The pain was welcomed, cause it reminded her that she wasn’t keeping most people safe, actually. She was still failing and flopping, and if she trained harder this wouldn't be happening. Yup, that was the solution for all of this. Maybe she’d listen to Eve’s suggestion and sign up for one of the hunter camps in the area, and go full Billy Madison. In fact, her momentary enlightenment was furthered when Regan called out how bad her injury could’ve been. “But it didn’t. It didn’t hit those things,” she pushed, getting a little prickly. And 90 percent was to reassure Regan that she would never, under any circumstances not make it home to her. (This wasn’t some grim foreshadowing to cry about later) (She’d literally signed up for like, a bunch more seasons already). But also? Fine, she felt 10 percent judged. It hurt her big, wet feelings. Cause, how else was she supposed to take the comment when she grew up with Ruby, an expert at calling out every single hair that moved the wrong way, but never ever pointed out any of the good she did?  

But then Regan called her the best decedent she’d ever have, gave her that look and Jade softened immediately, feeling crappy for being a little defensive.  Even if the words might have sounded the same in her head, they could never mean the same. Plus Regan wasn’t wrong, technically, and could obviously tell she was like, not right in the head right now. Jade was experiencing what some would describe as… um, thought bloating. (And sure, the only two people calling it that would be the ones present in this room, but still). Being the best doctor in the world, Regan took matters into her own hands, or well fingers, as she brushed against her skin in a way that totally eased said bloating for a few beats. In fact, it stirred something much nicer in her belly. Until Jade was called out on her flaccidness. Wow. Talk about a cold shower. And alright, whatever… Regan knew better than anyone how to anticipate her playbook. So Jade let out a sigh of defeat, lips curving into a frown. “Maybe. Kinda. I’ve been… struggling to stay… you know, hard. In my beliefs.” And wait, had Regan gotten handsy with her just to melt her barriers? She was so hot for that. If the butterflies in her belly hadn’t died when she got called flaccid, she would’ve done something about that. 

Instead, Jade sought Regan’s gaze, unsure what her eyes might be conveying. Whether she was pleading for Regan to drop it, or for her to push a little harder. (Oh, yup…there was that nausea again). And Regan only wanted one thing really: For her to speak. And also… to take her shirt off? She hadn’t expected to burst into laughter while talking about how her duty was in shambles, but that was how magical Regan was. The uncertainty in her eyes melted into affection. “I mean, it would help a little to know you still find me hot,” she felt herself smile, which was nice for a sec. Then she removed her T-shirt, never taking her eyes off Regan to get her reaction. The easy part was done, right? On nights like these though, Jade actually noticed how her shoulder was stiffer than it used to be. But like, it had to be some weird psychological pain, probably. The kind that could only be felt when she remembered why she got shot in the first place. 

And so, Jade found herself sitting half naked on their table, which was so not how she pictured this conversation ever happening. But like, one of them being a little naked at any given moment kinda tracked anyway. Except, Regan wanted her to be emotionally naked, also. She could do that. She would do whatever Regan wanted her, the audience at home knew that. But, shockingly, it turned out to be a lot harder to get the words out. (Almost like she had decades of horrors to unpack) (Hypothetically). Like, where did she even start? Everything was so tangled in her head, and why did she feel the urge to look around the room to make sure her siblings, or worse, her parents weren’t prying on this convo? Like, should she turn her phone off too? (Geez, paranoid much?) 

“I just…” her eyebrows pinched together, the small wrinkle in between holding all of her anguish. And it was so sick and twisted that her eyes were already a little soggy. “I can’t,” she admitted, reaching for Regan’s elbow, bringing her closer. That always seemed to help. “It’s actually like, hard to speak cause… you know. I mean… and like…” Right? That made total sense. Conversation dunzo, time to make out! Or not. Regan was giving her those eyes. (Not to be confused with those eyes). Like, the ones she gave Jade after the whole blowing up at Van situation. The ones that saw beyond what Jade herself was willing to see. And again, she wanted to appease that concern, more than anything. Alright. Okay. Regan wasn’t asking her to be 6ft tall or to come home with Boneios, she just wanted… words. (But honestly? She’d rather try to find those boneios).

Another sigh tumbled past her lips, but Regan was definitely coaxing some of the compartments open. “I’m not… flaccid. I’m dysfunctional. I’m a failure.” It was all she’d ever been, technically, so in some twisted way, she was absolutely nailing her part. “Why… why would you want me to be that?” she asked in a small voice. She wasn’t able to ask Van that, but maybe Regan had the answer. And oh, words might actually start flowing now… “Like. I mean, how can you even say I keep people safe when you know I’m letting undead go?” Which was… wrong, right? According to the Bloodworths, it was super wrong. According to Van, offering the benefit of the doubt was the least she could do. But then according to Wynne, she was supposed to play judge. She tried keeping her eyes on Regan, but shame weighed her head down. “I’m a failure and that’s… the whole problem. But if I’m not a failure… then… what’s that? I’m a murderer, right?” According to Siobhan, at least. (But more recently, according to her own conscience).

Maybe Regan wanted her to speak cause she could tell her what the right answer was. Right? She did love it when Regan called the shots. There was no one Jade trusted more. She just needed a little direction, that was all. “What am I supposed to do? I just… I don't get why I’m seeing this crossroad, but my sib— they can't… I must be wrong. Am I wrong? I think I’m wrong. Onyx wouldn’t be wrong. Ruby would definitely never be wrong.” But Jade? She’d been labeled wrong the moment she took her first breath. So it was just… Occam’s razor.

And while they were touching upon what made her little heart ache day and night, wasn’t there much bigger sadness to tackle? See, this was why talking about sad stuff was bad. Cause the emotional closet only held off for so long, and if you didn’t organize your boxes well enough, everything started falling apart until it was an avalanche of suck. And now everything had tipped to the ground, even the stuff that had been sealed for months. (Maybe this was the way her subconscious was forcing her to finally watch that one Marie Kondo show). Jade picked up the wrong kinda emotional baggage, but she couldn’t stop herself from pointing the spotlight at it. “You left,” she squeezed Regan’s bicep, keeping her in place. Her eyes begged her not to move. And crap, she wasn’t supposed to say that. Cause Van had said that was like, justifying her very bad, very stupid choices. Which, Jade still wasn’t fully convinced she agreed, but also… what if she was wrong? She seemed to be so wrong about so many things. Cause it did kinda give ‘this is your fault’ vibes, which was literally the opposite of what Jade wanted. She even took Regan to the airport! Why would she do that and then be resentful? The math wasn’t mathing. Her voice lacked any malice at least, it was just… wet and sad. And a little pathetic. How else was she supposed to explain without context, though? 

(And maybe, another time they could have a convo about how completely ignoring that whole Ireland turmoil the second Regan came home with her chopped wings, was probably not very healthy or good for either of them in the long run, huh?)

“What I’m trying to… I wanted to be like you. I tried, you know? Being better. Being good. I tried it, and it didn’t make me any good. It almost got me like, canceled, actually. The PR spin cost me millions. But kissing babies was kinda nice, and helping the elderly was totally rewarding,” she squeezed Regan’s arm tightly, fingers tapping nervously against her skin and closed her eyes for a beat, just to stop herself from going on a pointless, unserious tangent. Didn’t Daiyu and Owen call this? The other shoe dropping eventually? Her duty, the violence it took to carry it out being incompatible with… the love she had for Regan? Welp. They’d probably love knowing they might be right. She opened her eyes again, apologizing. “I’m… speaking in metaphors, baby. It comes out without thinking. Cause… I’m scared. And… I know, weird, right? Me, scared. But I am. Like… ‘wasps buzzing around me’ scared that you won’t… that you’ll want out if I’m honest about… things”.   

—

The way Jade's muscles tensed under Regan’s fingers told her more than the actual confession – anxiety (sorry, allergies) manifesting in physical symptoms. Regan thought of all of the stomach aches that Jade once said kept her from spending a lot of time being a child, doing things children do, like collecting severed digits on the beach. Then Regan thought of Cliodhna, who would have said, of course a weak heart makes for a weak stomach. Regan didn’t think Jade had a weak heart. It pumped more fiercely than any other she’d known (granted, most hearts she had become intimate with were not beating at all). Regan traced the outline of Jade's deltoid, partially to soothe, partially because touching Jade was as natural as breathing. Which, actually, she did far less of than touching Jade.

“No, it didn't hit those things,” Regan agreed, her voice steady as she continued cleaning the wound. “...This time. Just like that spawn didn't crush your trachea last month, or that gunshot wound didn’t – my point is, your middle name is not Caution, despite the occasional claim.” Regan dabbed the antiseptic with precise, gentle movements. “I've seen too many lives that didn't make it home, and then I have needed to inform their next of kin. When I say four millimeters, I'm not being theoretical. I know exactly how thin that margin is between life and death.” She tried to pile dirt over the tracks that would have continued that train of thought – the inevitability of one day screaming for Jade. They often spoke of their deaths, of being bone partners, even of how beautiful Jade’s internal anatomy must be. But even Regan set aside the coldest truths about the deaths of loved ones. She wondered what Jade read into her silence. Did Jade hear similar from her siblings? That posture and poise would prevent such a tragedy? Cliodhna criticized Regan’s form constantly. She did not care that her granddaughter controlling her screaming would keep people safe. She cared for her pride and legacy. Did Jade’s family care about that more than her coming home? Regan cared for only one thing.

She reached up to brush a strand of hair from Jade's face, letting her fingers linger against her cheek. Regan’s expression grew more serious (what it was best at) as she processed Jade's admission about her beliefs; she knew she had something to do with it, which made the bottom of her stomach heavy with detritus. Regan wanted to say, what is there to question? She wanted to say there was certainly nothing wrong with Jade’s duty (she wanted). Part of her clung to that, and maybe earnestly believed it. But it was too easy to think about the ‘mistakes’ (if such potential grievous error could be called a simple mistake). Jade had almost killed Metzli, thinking them the kind of monster she hunted. Jade came home on nights like this, bearing injuries like that. Regan believed in what Jade did, though. She protected death, protected life. And if Regan’s thoughts on the matter were this tangled and layered, she could only imagine Jade’s.

“Contrary to popular belief, and what I sometimes claim, doctors do not know everything. Sometimes there’s a presentation – in a hospital, on the autopsy table, it doesn’t matter – that looks like one thing. A diagnosis, a prognosis. Practically pathognomonic at times. But then it’s wrong. The doctor was wrong. Not me, of course… another doctor. Rickers. Whomever. The symptoms and presentation don't change, but our understanding does. Medical uncertainty, even in something that ought to be so black and white.” In many ways, Regan still thought of her own trajectory to be something medicine has just never grasped yet, but someday would. Her fingers traced the edge of the bandage she'd just applied. “Maybe what you're experiencing isn't flaccidity. Perhaps you’re actually becoming more… erect in your development, and don’t yet realize it. If life were one of your movies, one might say you’re climaxing. Like when the… zoids combine in the Power Rangers 2017 film, but far more stimulating.” She paused. “If you cannot tell, I do still find you incredibly hot.” She brushed a hand over Jade’s hip, the smallest smile on her lips, which had become so natural. “Your hips and shoulders might be hurt, too… too much tension. I will help with the range of motion later.” If there was anything Regan could put at ease, it was surely that.

That established, Regan took a long breath and looked at Jade’s eyes. Fear. Why was there so much fear there? That was what it was, right? Regan was getting better at identifying emotions, relearning what she worked so hard to forget. “It is an interesting differential diagnosis you’ve made. Though your siblings' opinions hardly constitute peer review, no?” She was on the move again to examine a particularly nasty bruise forming on Jade's ribs. “But you're not dysfunctional, chroí. You're just changing, decomposing beautifully. Growing like a waterlogged cadaver in its bloat stage. Or like how a diagnosis can change as we gather more information. Or the… megazord.” 

She met Jade's eyes, also scanning the stress wrinkles on her forehead, then the tender tears brimming over her eyes. Once, Regan had panicked at the sight of Jade’s leakage. She had scurried around looking for a receptacle, only to realize a sleeve would have sufficed, then subsequently realized that containing Jade’s sogginess wasn’t the thing that mattered. So Regan didn’t panic at the tears (this time), or the nasal quality of her favorite voice. Though she rarely heard it so small, like it could have come from the child Jade never got to be. Regan kept a steady hand as it moved to cup Jade's cheek, thumb brushing away moisture. "And you're not a failure because you question things. If that is all a human does – question things – it would be a life worth living. I was not allowed to. You may not have been told you are not allowed, but…” It was practically the same thing, wasn’t it? “I want you exactly as you are – someone who thinks, who feels, who doubts, no matter how soggy that sounds.” Regan paused, doing one last check to make sure Jade’s wounds were all tended to. She wouldn’t object if Jade were slightly less perforated, but she kept that one to herself.

“Who are you letting go, Jade? People? Like Metzli? K– Not letting Metzli go wouldn’t help you keep people safe. Metzli has a heart – which I’m certain must beat even if – not the point. Metzli is no threat to the people you care to keep safe.” Regan was loath to move away from Jade even a little, even for a second, but she ran a cost-benefit analysis in her head, and then stood higher. She guided Jade toward the couch (the green one, though the outline couch wouldn’t have been a bad decision), eager to be even closer once Jade was comfortable. The benefits part was always better. That mental analysis got Regan thinking further… maybe she could speak to that part of Jade, if emotion was too disorganized (it was certainly Regan’s preference).  

“I will speak objectively as well. The time you would spend attempting to… to not let Metzli and others like them go, could be better utilized on the spawn, couldn’t it? That would keep more people safe. The math is mathing, right?” Regan’s voice, not usually prone to shrinkage, shrunk after a moment. “Or… you could spend it with me.” Because they didn’t spend enough time together. And Regan was not needy or clingy. She had plenty to do. There were seven dead chipmunks in the front yard to show for her stroll earlier, and so many crumpled pages that– right.

Just as Regan thought she might be getting through to Jade, her ears heard a word that made no sense. Murderer. The word murderer, coming from Jade’s mouth to describe herself, might have once felt like an icy fist being twisted into Regan’s stomach. Before she knew Jade this well, before the onset of this pseudo-flaccidity, before the ring on her finger. Now it elicited something else. Confusion, first. “A failure and a murderer?” Regan asked, not fully understanding. The self-loathing she felt from Jade tasted like decomp particles that made it onto her tongue when she spoke. Then certainty came surging in like an immune response. “You are not a murderer,” Regan’s voice grew bolder, and the words spilled out. “Where are the bodies, Jade? You would never harm a living, breathing thing. And the situation with Metzli– the circumstances– it was an honest mistake.” Multiple times. Mistakes were often made multiple times. By humans, not banshees.

“The spawn I've seen you fight - those were different. No higher brain function. Like rabid animals, except that's insulting to animals. Your children are nothing like that. But these others... I've seen Metzli’s eyes leak, you know. I got peascake with one of them. I almost moved in with one…” She trailed off, unwilling to continue that particular thought process. Jade knew, anyway. They never exactly spoke about it at length.

“You want me to tell you what to do,” Regan realized, voice precise as a scalpel. “Like how Cliodhna told me exactly how to be a banshee. How to scream. How to kill. How to be nothing. Other than one of her skinned rabbits.” Regan tried to wedge herself inhumanely close to Jade. “But I was wrong to listen to her. Just like you would be wrong to listen to me, or Ruby, or anyone else who claims to know exactly what's right.” 

She raised her brown at Occham’s razor. “One unifying diagnosis is pleasing, but death – and life – are not so considerate. Hickam’s dictum; are you familiar with the corollary? A patient may have as many diagnoses as they damn well please. Sometimes situations are… multifactorial.” Regan pressed a kiss to Jade’s cheek. The only bad thing about the couch was the limited range. 

“I have come to prefer complexity. You’ve always been special.” Medicine and the shadow it cast over her perspective had never concealed anything else. They never steered her wrong. How fortunate only one of them dealt with such complexity nowadays. 

“Crossroads only mean there is a decision to make. Did you know they were there, these crossroads? Which do not truly exist, by the way. I am not speaking of an actual intersection. But rather… the way you had never picked a color for walls before, or the way you have never determined which couch will be in your future for the next seven to fifteen years. We celebrate our firsts, don’t we?” Regan tangled her fingers through Jade’s hair, providing some gentleness, but her voice was still firm and confident. “The fact you have not made a decision yet does not make you wrong. Ruby, Onyx, they’re still following the path that was laid out for them. We seem to go off road entirely, don’t we?” Regan scrunched up her face. “But I am done with metaphors for the next few decades.”

There was still something wrong. Jade’s duty wasn’t flaccid, but her whole body certainly seemed to be. Then it came.

You left. Oh. There was that. That small, minuscule thing, suitable to be found only in a histology slide under a microscope. The tiny thing neither of them really spoke about now that it was over. Buried it. Was Jade – why was she bringing it up now, like this? What did it have to do with her perceived failures? Regan tried to follow along the thread of logic, but it was like a cat’s cradle through Jade’s fingers. Usually, Regan liked that (the complexity of the woman she loved). Not when it involved Ireland. Finally, Regan hit on something. She had even brought it up earlier: was this about the gunshot? The monster who shot her, which Regan would have blown apart herself if given the opportunity? Regan might be wrong, but the look she was getting – that knowingness that mirrored her own now before anything was even spoken – said otherwise. 

“It isn’t your fault some monster shot you while I was gone. And the other things – the bruises, the – it was not your fault. Beasts did that to you.” But… Regan realized, her confidence wearing down, that Jade might not have been saying it was her own fault. Rather… did Jade blame her? The realization made Regan shift on the couch, pushing herself up as the thought weighed her down.

Suddenly, this was unfamiliar territory. Or at the very least, a surgical site that had not healed properly. She was doing what no doctor should do: continue to neglect it.

After a long moment filled with Jade’s strained breaths and Regan hardly breathing at all as the air rotted in her throat, she managed to speak. “I did leave,” Regan said, her voice clinical, like she was reciting from a medical text (Gray’s, not Grey’s) rather than addressing something that still made her wings ache beneath their glamour. Her fingers jumped from Jade’s hair to the necklace she wore around Jade, even still. She also focused on the physical – Jade's grip on her bicep, the way Jade's pulse surely elevated slightly with swampy emotion. Safer territory these days. “I was always going to. I had to.”

Jade’s explanation did not offer much explanation at all, but Regan had grown accustomed to the clipped, often metaphorical way words tumbled out whenever she got especially stressed. Even if she couldn’t always pick apart those metaphors. Admittedly, she had hoped to be done with them for a while.

Some things were clear enough, though. “You want to be like me?” Regan's eyebrows lifted as her hands stilled on Jade's skin. “The person who was not a person? The attempted human who works at the Apple Store? Who can't even tell her brothers and mother what she became? You tried to be good while I was trying to become nothing.” Regan’s eyes darted to the trash for a split second. “I've spent months trying to write Reilly a letter explaining why I pushed him away. What happened. So perhaps I'm not the best model for... anything.” Regan kept distracting herself with Jade’s skin, like she was quadruple checking bandages, the clinical routine a comfort when everything else felt too raw. Jade might have appreciated it too, for all the trembling Regan felt.

“You talk about being good like it's something quantifiable. Something you can measure, like blood loss or tissue damage. I used to think that way too. That if I followed every rule, performed every ritual perfectly, I could be what I was supposed to be. Perfect. Nothing.” Her voice took on a harder edge. “We both know how well that worked out. And I am glad for it, you know.” Her voice softened, especially as Jade’s fear sunk in. The reason behind it. “No.” The word was firm, and it should have been obvious what she was responding to. “I've held enough hearts in my hands to know that yours is extraordinary. I have no intention of…” Regan couldn’t even voice the words. Her mouth refused to fuel her speech.

“I am not going anywhere. And especially not Ireland.” She abandoned the bandage and leaned in toward Jade, feeling slightly victimized that she couldn’t stare into her sad eyes and kiss her the way she wanted to at the same time. “And I love you. Every part – kidneys, lungs, toes, lips, eyes… even the parts that make you doubt. Especially those parts, actually, even if they don’t map to anatomical structures I can list. I don't need to perform a cranial dissection to understand what's happening in that rather exceptional brain of yours,” Regan continued, her hands sliding down to rest on Jade's shoulders. “Though the offer stands, someday. The human brain is drawn toward false dichotomies. Like how mine insisted there was only one way to be a banshee, when clearly…” She trailed off, thinking of the Apple Store uniform hanging in their closet. “You have more than two options. You can do anything.”

“Jade,” Regan finally said, her voice soaked with exasperation and fear she didn’t want to acknowledge because Jade had enough for both of them. She wasn’t sure where Jade was going with this, but she couldn’t imagine anything fracturing her thoughts on the matter, of confirming Jade’s fears. “What happened while I was gone?”

[cressidascowper]

CREATOR TAG GAME

bringing this back bc i think it's fun 🤭

pick your 5 favorite gif sets of 2023 that got less than 1k notes and then pick 10 gifsets of someone else's that got less than 1k notes.

mine:

this alicent hightower set bc i love the guts album for her and the cassette tape effects along with the ripped paper effects were super fun to play with

my beloved ladies (phoebe, rachel, & monica)!!! i just love them sm

natasha romanoff's tinder page was a random thought that came to my head and v proud of how it turned out :D

this yennefer set is one of my most prized possessions. the blending alone took me so long and i'm happy w the way it looks

the blending of this anidala set nearly killed me...and this is one of the only times i've ever done a quadruple blend

others:

i am OBSESSED with this star wars set by @edwards-teach...the coloring is just so stunning and i love the simplicity of the quotes in a box!

this star wars set by @padme-amidala is probably the best thing i have ever seen. the amount of blends and transitions and coloring is just mind blowing! seriously a piece of art work. still can't get over that erika made this set for me <3

becca's (@yenvengerberg) gifs always leave me speechless but this yen and tissaia set just has a special place in my heart..the quote, the colors, the blending, the transitions are all just perfection and capture the relationship so well 🥹

this alicent set by @saws2004 lives in my mind rent free. i absolutely ADORE the way the quote flows through the layout, so well done. the blending and the use of b&w is just superb. honestly one of my fav sets ever i could just stare at it all day

i LOVE the typography in this anidala set by @cal-kestis...nik is just a photoshop wizard and her creativity always blows me away. the blue and orange go so well together and nik's ability to combine multiple fonts is perfection.

this yennefer set by @ughmerlin is so so pretty!! the colors are so soft and the song matches yennefer perfectly. i also love the transition from b&w to color chefs kiss. & the font choice is just lovely.

umm hello??? this shang chi set by @simoneashley is gorgeous. the amount of time this must have taken was so worth it bc the colors are so so vibrant. i always love a good rainbow set esp when the coloring is this amazing!!

this house of the dragon set by @lady-arryn is so beautiful. the coloring and sharpening is just so soft and ethereal. and this particular blue/orange combo is wonderful. i am particularly obsessed with the blending of second gif..its just SO pretty.

my beloved triss!! this triss merigold set by @genyazafin is amazing i love it sm. i love the blue and orange and the way the coloring captures the darkness of the show. also the blending of the last gif is just so satisfying

screeeeeaaaaam this natasha and yelena set by @rosamndpike is just pURE pAin and is also rly rly pretty. the blending is flawless and i love the song + scene pairing choices. the typography alignment and placement is also super unique and satisfying

+ one more because i can – this regina set by bestie @morgana-pendragon is just teehee amazing. i love the trio of term idea and those three words fit regina perfectly (esp the 1st and 3rd lol).. the purple coloring is so her and is so well done

no pressure tagging all the people above & @singularities @moirainesedai @rebecca-weltons & anyone else who wants to do this !

[hislittleraincloud]

(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.  I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.” 

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.” 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” 

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.” 

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility?  I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering.  “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.  

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?” 

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?” 

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't  miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium. 

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one.  Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little. 

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what?  To avenge your rejection? To punish him?  Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes.  But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well. 

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors. 

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo!  Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1” 

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds. 

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else. 

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo?  Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house!  Alone!  With you!   Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park. 

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before.  I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors.  “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —” 

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost.  What am I supposed to do with you now? 

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run. 

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where. 

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home. 

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing. 

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall. 

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea. 

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.  

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there. 

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time  was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.” 

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one. 

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.” 

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension  n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.” 

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.” 

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.” 

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.” 

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes. 

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry.  Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance. 

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —” 

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't  mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate.  It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance. 

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then?  What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”  

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that. 

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head.  Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face. 

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection. 

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.” 

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before. 

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair. 

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim. 

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives. 

“I haven't slept much either, you know.” 

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching. 

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”

[themummersfolly]

Untitled Gastown AU, ch 4

It had been, he realized, less than two full days since he’d last been in this spot, on the road just outside the Citadel. The red rocks soared above him; there was no way he hadn’t been seen.

Warthog rolled up beside him. Jag’s helmet was strapped behind him where the young man had once rode.

“You didn’t say who was going in with you, Boss.”

“I’m going in alone.” Twice in the last two days this place had swallowed up bikers and not even spat out the bones. There was no sense in making more casualties than he had to. “Hang out here and don’t engage with ‘em. If I’m not out by noon, hightail it back to Gastown, load up everything you can carry, and beat feet. You can get by for a long time hiding in the hills and raiding convoys.”

With that, he covered his face again and rolled away from his crew, heading into the heart of the Immortan’s stronghold.

They’d spent a sleepless night in Joe’s audience chamber. Even Dementus, who prided himself on being impervious to discomfort, had only gotten a fitful hour or two. The Immortan had set lookouts to keep an eye on Gastown; every hour, he picked up a telephone to hear them say nothing, nothing yet. Daylight faded and electric bulbs buzzed to life. Joe’s sons paced and snapped at each other, the fat man fiddled anxiously with his nipple rings, but Joe remained unperturbed. He’d ignored Dementus’ bluster and even had dinner served, though he’d offered none of it to the bikers. Lil D he’d had sent away, and laughed at Dementus’ protests.

“Your daughter? You killed her mother. She’ll be better cared for with me than you could ever manage.”

At one point he’d opened his eyes to see the faint light of dawn on the wall of the opposite tower. Rizzdale and Big Jilly had been talking in low voices. They fell silent when they saw he was awake.

“Gastown gone up yet?”

The two men looked at each other with trepidation.

“No,” Rizzdale answered at last. Dementus groaned.

“That drongo.” Maybe he’d misjudged the Octoboss’s brains. Him and his Mortifiers, strutting around like they were better than the rest of the Horde. When he got back, he’d give the cunt something to complain about.

Several hours after sun-up, a Warboy hurried in and said something to Joe in a low, urgent voice that Dementus couldn’t make out. The Immortan and his entourage turned toward the entrance, the guards standing up straighter and holding their weapons a little tighter. Something was happening.

A single set of footsteps echoed down the corridor and a lanky, black-clad figure came into view. The Octoboss had left his distinctive helmet with his bike. His held his hands in the air.

“I’m unarmed. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Here to threaten us if your leader isn’t returned?” sneered the fat man. “Blow up Gastown?”

“Gastown’s fine.” The Octoboss didn’t bat an eye. “Everything’s there, everything still works. I’m just here to talk.”

Joe’s eyes bore down on the lone man. “Tell us what you came to say.”

“You had a deal with Gastown: food and water for guzzoline. We want the same deal. We’ll even sweeten it for you. We’re loading up the rig from yesterday and another tanker we found and sending them here, full up with guzzoline. You keep our bellies full, we’ll keep your tanks full. No trouble.”

The Immortan regarded him, weighing his offer. The Octoboss didn’t flinch under his gaze.

“I could simply have you killed and get the same deal. What then? What of your Mortifiers?”

“You kill me, you’ll have a thousand leaderless bikers to sort out. And my Mortifiers will take offence. They can’t touch you in here, but they can make your life hell out there on the roads.”

If the Immortan wasn’t pleased with these terms, he wasn’t displeased. The fat man stepped forward.

“Your attack on Gastown has cost us. We expect to be compensated. Half again the guzzoline for each shipment of food, and all of the found items you bring in.”

“Half again the guzzoline for the first hundred days only,” the Octoboss countered. “No found items, but we’ll keep the roads clear from here to Gastown to Bullet Farm and back.”

One of Joe’s sons started forward, teeth bared, but Joe stopped him before he could speak. The fat man pursed his lips and looked back at the warlord. Joe gave the faintest of nods.

“Keep the roads clear and the guzzoline flowing, and the food shipments will continue.”

“Deal,” the Octoboss replied, almost too quickly, and spat on the ground. The fat man, in Joe’s stead, spat as well.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting your comrades back.” The Immortan motioned to the captives. Dementus had stayed quiet through the negotiation, aided by the business end of a shotgun in his face and the grudging knowledge that this was the only way he was getting back to his horde. Now he shuffled forward hopefully on his knees.

“Yeah! Yeah. The Red Dementus agrees to these terms, and is damn glad you’re here, you took your bloody time…”

Throughout the talks, the Octoboss’s expression had barely changed. Now, for the first time, he looked down at his former leader, and the coldness in his eyes made Dementus’ voice recoil in his throat.

“I don’t need all of ‘em. The History Man, I need him to help run the place. These four,” he pointed to Mr. Harley, Mr. Davidson, Big Jilly, and Fang. “They’ll keep the bikers in line.”

Guards moved to strike the chains off the men he indicated. They glanced at each other and at Dementus, but looked away before he could meet their eyes and hurried to stand behind the Octoboss.

“And the girl?” Joe asked.

The Octoboss blinked, as if he’d forgotten about her. “Keep her. She’s been trouble for us.” He looked around. “Where’s Organic Mechanic?”

“He will be staying here,” Joe replied with a finality that the Octoboss didn’t dare challenge. “And these others- what should I do with them?”

He motioned at the remaining three. Smeg was trembling and appeared to have pissed himself; Rizzdale and Dementus craned and bobbed, desperately trying to catch the Octoboss’s eyes. He shrugged.

“Whatever you want.” He spared a glance at Smeg, who looked about to faint. “This one’s annoying, but he’s harmless. You could keep him around, if it suits you.” He took a half step back. “We’ll be going now, if that’s all.”

Joe beckoned, and the guards moved to escort them out.

“Hey!” Dementus tried to shuffle after them and was stopped by several rifles trained on him. “You’re not just gonna turn your back on me? After everything we’ve been through, all our magnificent adventures? You’re just going to leave me here?”

The Octoboss stopped and looked back on him, and the hatred in his eyes froze Dementus in place. For a moment it looked like he wanted to come back, if only to lash out at the former biker lord. The presence of the Immortan’s guards kept him from trying. Instead, his lip curled.

“Take it up with my men you killed.” Then he turned, flanked by the guards, and was gone.