#dream teepee party

[bluemirrorangel]

Ooh for your fic requests post, would you be able to do a Halloween fic with the Poets while still being Anderperry focused? It can be anything Halloween themed like them dressing up, them going to a Halloween party, them reading scary stories in the cave, etc. I just need to see them having fun during the holiday :)

Anderperry Oneshot

Just like a ghost (you've been haunting my dreams)

Neil shook his head from where he sat, shoulder blades pressed against Charlie’s headboard, “Just go without me, I don’t feel too well.” He meant it too. Neil hadn't been sleeping too well for the past week, dreams plagued by nightmares, he couldn’t remember anything in full, just snatches; the crippling weight of expectation and big sad eyes staring back at him in the mirror. Mean-spirited laughter, damp brown hair matted with blood, a figure sobbing above him their soft arms gripping his unmoving chest as his body lay cold and lifeless against the unforgiving ground. 

He woke up the same way every night, A bloody scream on his lips, eyelashes clumped together with tears, his shirt damp with sweat, and chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Really Neil should just stay home, tired in the type of way that set deep into your bones, he was paler than usual, his undereyes marred with dark circles. Charlie looked up from where he was crouched in front of his Chester drawers searching for a flask for his costume, “What? Neil no, you can’t  back out now, you promised to help me steal their pumpkin.” Neil let out a slight laugh “Yeah I guess I did.” Chris looked away from the mirror to level Neil with a sympathetic look “Don’t feel like you have to but a change of scenery might do you some good.” she told him, pushing a strand of sprayed blue hair behind her ear. Neil took a second to think about it, “Yeah ok I’ll go, it might make me sleep better.” he eventually agreed, and she smiled at him before turning back to the mirror and continuing to adjust her thrifted wedding dress.

An hour later found the six of them standing outside Balincrest’s main hall. “Right Men” Charlie started, sounding more like a military general than a seventeen-year-old boy trying to win a prank war. “I’ve hidden all the supplies in this bush, Meeks you’re the lookout, Pitts you’re on teepee duty, Knox you’re the only one with a real date.” Charlie onwards despite the grumbles of protest from Pitts and Meeks, “So you and Chris are the distractions of the evening and Neil is on Pumpkin stealing duty, Neil Pitts the party ends at twelve fifteen so I need you out and at your stations by twelve O’five at the latest ok? We have one shot to get this right.” Charlie said sagely, obviously still bitter about the live chicken the Balincrest boys had snuck into his dorm room. “What about Cameron?” Pitts asked fiddling with the fake bolts on his neck “I told him someone's planning on vodka-bombing in the drinks so he’s inside Guardian the fucking punch bowl.” Charlie said, Knox let out a low whistle “You can’t say he’s not dedicated” he joked, “he’s such a loser” Charlie joked back rolling his eyes but his smile was a little soft almost fond. “What about you?” asked Meeks, sounding understandably put out about having to play lookout at a party. Charlie smirked leaning over to mess with Meek's lab jacket “I, my dear Frankenstein am on graffiti duty.” 

The party was lively, to say the least; people in every corner of the hall, and the floor practically vibrated from the sheer volume of the bass-heavy music being blasted from the speakers. Neil lost sight of his friends the moment they stepped into the ballroom, too blindsided by the music, and lights to pay attention to wherever it was they went. Neil weaved in and out of the people around him before finding solace in a corner of the room occupied only by a glass trophy case. Neil watched the world keep on turning from his place in the corner, he saw people flirting, guys drinking and girls dancing as he got his bearings. A flash of white caught his attention, Neil brought his eyes towards the corner opposite him where a tall tanned girl dressed as Carrie seemed to be apologising to a sheet ghost for stepping on their costume and spilling their drink, the sheet ghost didn’t seem upset at all by her mistake but gratefully accepted her replacement cup all the same. 

The girl walked away clearly still a little embarrassed by her mistake, Neil watched enamoured as the sheet ghost pulled their table cloth over their head so they could drink their punch, revealing their appearance. He was a boy around Neil’s own age, a little shorter than himself with pale skin and soft-looking brown hair so light it was almost blonde. The boy seemed to feel Neil’s stare because he looked up and their gazes met through the glass of the trophy case. 

Crystal Blue eyes met brown, the other boy gave him a shy smile and Neil knew he was a goner. He made his way towards the other boy under the guise of needing a drink himself. The boy was even prettier up close; cheeks flushed from the alcohol, brown hair a little Mussed from his costume, he’s got on another one under his original; a school uniform of sorts, regular black trousers, and a plain white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and splattered with dried fake blood. His sheet ghost costume is draped across his shoulders like a cloak, upon further inspection it appears to be a regular tablecloth, made of thin white satin, glowing a little where the light hits making it look almost like angel wings.

Neil takes a sip of his drink and winces at the cocktail of alcohol that assaults his taste buds.  the shorter boy lets out a little huff of laughter “What you guys don’t have jungle juice at Welton?” he asks with a hint of good-natured teasing, Neil stops himself from gaping “How’d you know I’m from Welton?” He asks, taking out the cheap spirit Halloween vampire fangs that were currently glued to his teeth. Neil felt ridiculously out of depth. The boy pointed to somewhere in the distance. “One of your friends, the short one kept bringing it up.” he explained, Neil relaxed at the mention of Charlie “You go to Balincrest?” he asks, leaning in closer to hear him over the music “Something like that.” he mutters, Neil chuckles softly “fraternising with the enemy huh?” he jokes finally finding his social footing.  “You ever read Romeo and Juliet?” the other boy snickers back shaking his head “We did Hamlet.” They lapse into comfortable silence as they watch the party roar on, the boy watches as people dance, gaze zeroed in on one couple in particular; a boy and girl dressed as an angel and a devil Neil hears him let out an envious little sigh. Neil turns to him “You wanna dance?” he asks him,  already knowing the answer, he shakes his head “I never dance at these things” he says but Neil’s a man on a mission, already moving off the wall and taking his wrist “come on” Neil says pulling the boy towards the dancefloor there’s a first time for everything” “there are too many people” he complains half-heartedly, as Neil pulls him through the crowd, pulling back a curtain and opening the door to the balcony.

The night  air is chilly against their heated skin, the brunette turns to Neil inquisitively “Why’d you bring me out here?” he asks, pulling the satin cloth closer to himself, so you can dance, there’s no one else out here.” Neil says, wrapping an arm around the other boy's shoulders to keep him warm. The music from the ballroom played faintly, something slow and romantic, “I don’t know,” he says nervously, Neil turns to face him holding out a hand “ It’s just you and me right, you said it yourself you never dance at these things but you look like you really want to, so come on Juliet live a little.” The brunette rolled his eyes but took Neil's hand. “It’s Todd,” he says, bringing his hands to Neil’s shoulders, “Neil” Neil says, Todd smiles “ok Neil, if I start can you lead?” he asks, Neil nods, moving his hands to Todd’s waist. Todd starts them with a very simple, very awkward box waltz. Neil tried hard to keep pace, he didn’t dance often and even when he did this was not at the top of his list, Neil hadn’t done a waltz of any kind since Welton cancelled traditional dance and etiquette practice two years ago Neil had no idea Balincrest was just as traditional. Eventually, the song faded into something a bit more upbeat but just as romantic, Neil quickened their pace to match the music, turning Todd a couple of times when they got used to the change in tempo, he spun Todd away and spun him back in, Todd laughed in surprise, pulling Neil closer when he was spun back into the taller’s arms, the song was beginning to wrap up so Neil decided to pull out a trick Charlie had taught him in fourth year, he span Todd out again and went to spin him back in but dipped him last minute. They looked into each other’s eyes both smiling giddily, Neil prepared to pull Todd back up but was stopped by pale fingers hooking into his cravat, “what are you doing?” He asked Todd shakily. Todd beamed up at him bashfully “Living a little” he said before pulling Neil into a kiss.

They kissed for what felt like forever, moving eventually, Todd was leaning against the balcony railing, satin cloth draped over the railing so Neil had better access. His arms bracketed Todd's hips caging him in while Todd's arms were thrown around Neil’s neck bringing him closer. The door flew open causing Todd to freeze and Neil to spin himself around. 

“Neil man come on it’s twelve on the dot, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” said an irritated Charlie, he was followed by a flustered-looking Cameron. “What were you even doing out here?” Neil turned around to introduce Charlie and Cameron to Todd who must have used the commotion to excuse himself because he’d completely disappeared, his white tablecloth the only proof he was ever even there in the first place. “I just needed some air I guess” Neil lied awkwardly, Charlie rolled his eyes “There’s plenty of air outside, come on you gotta help me move that mammoth of a pumpkin,” he ordered, before turning on his heel, Charlie and Cameron began leading Neil away from the balcony and back into the ballroom. Neil might have noticed their intertwined fingers if he wasn’t so distracted by a photo on the trophy case; in faded colour a group of teenage boys huddled together smiling at the lens, a little out of frame a shorter boy stood, pale and alone, with soft brown hair and crystal blue eyes. The engraved frame read ‘Balincrest senior year 1959.’ 

Neil’s blood turned ice cold.

I hope this was ok :) it's a little different from what I originally intended but I hope you like it anyway :) once again If anyone else else any requests don't hesitate to ask :)

[sleepoverpartyshop]

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[lavitadidrew]

A nice creative refresher this weekend at Riverside Drive-In’s Monster-Rama. 8 slashers in 2 nights, I took some notes of things I liked in each film for future inspiration:

Silent Night Deadly Night: Radio DJ, Tiger painting, Green velvet pool table

Chopping Mall: Retro robots, Cigarette vending machine, old-school lightning effects

Slumber Party Massacre 2: “I’ll try to make it”, Dream sequences, Chase shot, Musical numbers during high intensity scenes, Drill guitar

Sorority House Massacre: “Reptilian Behavior”, “Powwow”, Out of body experiences, Teepees

Maniac: Mannequins, Mini-TV, Stand alone laser synths, Switchblade knives, Music box

Maniac Cop: Extremely low phone call shot, Daytime parades

The Toolbox Murders: Vinyl score, Driving with the door open

Silent Madness: Creepy laughter ending a scene, Boiler rooms, Small town newsroom

[eccentricnomad]

That you have but slumbered here, While these visions did appear, And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding, but a dream.

[tinydeskwriter]

Traitor-Part Three

singer!reader

PART ONE; EXTRA ONE; PART TWO; EXTRA TWO

summary: time passed, but some feelings never go away…

word count: 2561

warnings: it’s a sad happy ending🤷🏻‍♀️

A/n:I know I said I would post it tomorrow, but I am kind of anxious for you guys opinion.  

Sooo, here is Part Three, I honestly hope no one will be disappointed, I choose to go with my original idea, and follow the path I always imagined,  I am sorry if some of you guys don’t feel like it… about a feel messages I received: Harry isn’t a bad guy, he isn’t toxic or shitty or treated her bad, he’s just human and made a series of bad decisions. 

I confess that I am a little insecure with what I wrote in this part.

As Traitor is coming to an end, I would really appreciate if you guys would send me ideas of what to write next, and remember: No idea is a shit idea.

I hope you guys enjoy it. xx Caro.

TRAITOR- PART THREE: After all this time?

2026

"Is this weird?" She asked as they danced to some sad old Taylor Swift’s song, they weren't looking at each other, her face was resting on his shoulder and his head was slightly tilted towards her. "Us here, after all this time?"

Harry sigh as he thought of the answer.

The dance floor was almost empty, most of the wedding guests had already left or in the case of those who are staying for the whole weekend of celebrations, retired to their teepees, those who stayed were just the closest friends an of the newlywed couple—most are sat around talking and drinking, probably waiting for a more dancing beat—, who would probably continue enjoying the party until dawn before Survivors Breakfast is served.

The wedding had been music festival themed. Y/n’s idea, of course.

An immense marquise of De Gournay printed fabric had been erected to provide shade for the tables. The dance floor had been set up outside —protected from drones by pretty white paper flags with laser cuts of the couple’s names, doves and flowers, and large greenery and white flowers garlands, fairy lights giving just a magical touch— in front of a stage where many of the musical guests had performed throughout the day, offering tribute to the couple—Justin Bieber sung four songs, John Legend serenaded the couple on their first dance, Zayn and Niall took the stage and sung old 1D songs was well as a few of their solos, Elton John offered a song to the bride, Mark Ronson DJed for Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus and Dua Lipa, who took the mic at different times during the day, Miley even forced Y/n to the stage with her to sing their featuring song; the DJ and band the married couple hired had almost no work to do as the guests got so excited in just having fun on stage performing for friends—. Teepees had been set up around the property as accommodation for the guests who stayed for the three days of celebration.

A merry-go-round and a Ferris wheel had also been set up, as well as a huge inflatable slide, and the adults were enjoying it as much as the children.

Love and Angel were still running excitedly across the lawn with some older cousins, with no signs of wanting to go to bed anytime soon, Niall was running after them like the overgrown child he was —Y/n blamed this on Anne for allowing them to take a long nap in the afternoon, and all the sugar they ate during the party, they would probably accompany the adults at the early breakfast—.

"Have I told you that you are the most beautiful bride?" He didn’t answered her original question. "I always knew you would be." Harry said, making her smile against the fabric of his custom-made dark green Gucci suit.

How many times had they not talked about a wedding? How many times had they not planned? How many times had she told him about her dream dress that Ale would make?

How many times has it felt like they would never make it to this moment?

It took Y/n a entire year of therapy before she got to the point where she was able to sit down with Harry and talk.

And they talked.

They talked about what happened, about the cheating, about the cruel breakup.

They just talked about them and how eight years had ended in such a bad way. Harry cried, his arms around Y/n, as she ran her hand on his back. He apologized for the millionth time, he said he knew he didn't deserve her or her forgiveness, and how disgusted he was with himself for what he had done.

Harry told her how he'd thrown up after the first time it happened.

How he'd let himself be seduced by all of the attention, how he'd missed her, and how guilty he.

The internal conflict for everything, how he wanted to tell her everything after she asked the first time, but he just knew that she would never forgive him, he was so afraid that she would leave him. In the end it made no difference. He told her how he'd listened to the wrong comments instead of listening to the right advices. Recreational drugs and alcohol played a part in his bad choices too.

In a lapse of judgment he did the worst thing he could have done in his life: He chose to break the heart of the woman he loved in an attempt to protect his own. Harry convinced himself that he could turn lust into love, but every minute with Olivia was a minute he remembered that he had broken Y/n’s heart.

He had lost the woman who owned him heart and soul since he was eighteen, and he knew he would never recover, he would never love someone else again.

And it wasn't anyone's fault but his own.

Harry wanted to die when she said how even against all her principles, she would have stayed with him if he had handled the situation differently, he bitterly regretted not talking things through, not listening to her, allowing her to leave that day, how he wished could go back in time —he was the love she had loved most, and she would never love anyone that way, she said—, and it killed him a little on how she used past tense.

Following her therapist advises—and Michael’s, he later learned— she apologized for all her petty revenge, the EP, the digs, all the times she tried to hurt him with words, even the children's names, though she genuinely loved the names she choose,—Harry admitted that it had been painful at first, Love and Angel, his nickname for she and hers for him, Helene, the most beautiful woman in the world, and Apollo, the golden Sun god, their ‘codenames’ from the summer they spend in Italy after he proposed—.

He got some hope on for them after their conversation, maybe not that moment, but in the future. For the time being he accepted her offer of friendship and the chance of co-parenting their children—he would accept anything just for the chance of being in her life again, honestly—. Harry even bought a house in Montecito just to be closer, spending more time there than in London.

And then he was introduced to Michael. Michael, who was no longer just a friend, but Y/n's boyfriend of a few months. And the way they smiled at each other killed him a little bit more on the inside.

Y/n was falling in love for the actor.

He recognized the signs, she looked at Michael the same way she had once looked at him.

Like he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky.

How he wished that moment to have a time machine, he would give away all his money for one, just to be able to go back in time and stop himself from doing the worst thing he ever did in his life.

‘She’s that kind of woman, you know?’ he remembered Niall telling him that day in April 2021, after he waived his custody rights, ‘you either stays by her side the rest of your life, or you regret leaving.’ the Irishmen hadn’t being angry with him, his old friend and bandmate pitied him. When he asked why, Niall, who saw Y/n as a younger sister, wasn’t mad at him, the other man just shrugged, ‘She’s no longer yours, I think this is punishment enough.’

Niall’s word hunted him as he watched the woman of his dream, the mother of his children, the love of his existence, take another man as her husband.

"I always knew I would dance with you in a wedding dress." He commented with a forced smile, and Y/n's heart tightened a little at the heartbreak she heard in his voice. "I just never imagined it would be at your wedding with someone else." He smiled sadly at her, as their eyes met. "I still had hope."

"Harry..." She tried to say, pity clear in her eyes.

He just rolled his emerald eyes at her playfully. "Don't worry My Heart, I would never try to come between you two," the man said, "but my hopes won't die until one of us do, even if it takes decades, know that I'll be here." Harry gave her one of his boyish smiles, making him look younger than his thirty-two years. "No matter how much time passes, you own my soul, and I don't think that will change just because you married another man."

Y/n had become Mrs. Michael B Jordan that afternoon.

They married in the 14 acres estate she owned in Chatsworth on top of a hill, in the presence of four hundred friends.

The bride wore Dior. She looked like a heavenly vision in the organdie princess gown costume-designed for her by Maria Grazia Chiuri— she wore other two dresses after, but Harry would never forget how she looked when she waked down the aisle— the seven-meter long veil she worn had been fastened to her head with golden birds—the birds still adorned Y/n's hair, but the veil had long since been removed—. She carried a bouquet of lilies of the valley and orange blossoms, like British tradition demanded —Niall’s girl caught the bouquet later that afternoon—.

All the decor was idyllic and delicate and fun, something expected from a bride like Y/n.

Denzel Washington was the officiant at the wedding at Michael’s request and Elton John played the piano during the ceremony, with Taylor Swift singing ‘Lover’ during the bride's entrance.

Niall and Zayn shared Y/n's 'Maid of Honor' role with great humor—the two walked down the aisle in light blue suits— not unlike the color used on the bridesmaids' dress worn by Hailey, Bella, Kendall, Gigi, Kylie and Dakota, they walked in with a few of Michael’s cousins and closest friends.

In the absence of a father and mother, the singer was walked down the aisle by two of her dearest older male presences in her life: Pedro and Oscar.

Y/n looked up to him, watching him with those beautiful eyes, that still held the power to melt him inside. She seemed to want to say something, but they are interrupted as she opened her mouth.

"Life?" Michael called her. Her husband now. He was smiling, carrying the golden copy of Y/n in one of his strong arms, Love was holding the man's other hand and Angel was following them, the two children had sleepy smiles, but the little girl in Michael’s arms looked alert. "Honey woke up, and wants mummy."

Harry let her go, smiling at the small group, Love quickly came to him asking to be lifted, while Y/n took her youngest daughter in her arms.

He smiled at the little girl in Y/n's arms as she waved at him with a smile. Honey was completely Y/n, there was nothing Michael in her face, if not for the coloring that was a mix of her parents.

Harry had drowned in a bottle of tequila when he got the news of Y/n's second pregnancy.

It was Love who let the news slip.

The reality that Y/n might never be his again became more and more real.

The engagement weeks later was like a knife to his heart, but he smiled and joked when Y/n showed him the ring—'It's smaller than the one I gave you,' and she rolled her eyes, the comment not even bothering her, 'not all are narcissistic and show off like you H'—.

He watched the woman he loves become a mother again, this time to a baby that wasn't his.

Honey called him Uncle Arry —they corrected her after the occasion when the little girl called him 'Daddy', because that's what she heard her older siblings call him, they all laughed, but Harry felt his own heart skip a beat—, it's impossible for him not to love the little girl, not only is she the adored little sister of his children, but also because she is a part of Y/n.

He felt Love settle on his shoulder, her arms around his neck, the tiny hand playing with the end of her hair as she let out a sleepy sigh.

Angel didn't look much better, practically sleeping upright against his stepfather's leg.

"I think I'll take Love and Angel to bed," Y/n said looking at the older children.

"Leave it to me," Harry said before she could continue, gesturing to Angel and taking his son in his other arm. "You stay and enjoy the party, I'll take care of the little monsters." He assured with a smile.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked with a frown. "I can..."

"Yes, Y/n, I'm sure, I'm their father too, and today is your wedding party, you deserve to enjoy it." The two looked at each other for a second before Y/n returned the smile.

"Okay, thanks H." She said approaching and kissing each of the twins good night, "Are you coming back?"

"Maybe I'll take the opportunity and sleep with them already." Harry commented, the truth is that he had already exhausted his dose of watching Y/n and Michael being a happy couple.

He was honestly glad she was happy, but he was miserable himself.

The singer walked away with the children in his arms, his head lowered looking where he was walking, while listening to Love murmur how the day had been splendid and Angel was already drooling on his suit.

"H?" He heard Y/n's voice call out to him, and turned around.

She came alone, and he could see Michael on the dance floor dancing with Honey.

"Yea?"

The woman stopped a short distance away from him.

"I want from the bottom of my heart for you to be happy, I still love you, and the possibility that you are unhappy kills me," she said with a wistful smile and teary eyes, "you are my twin flame, and I think what we were meant to be, but we did it wrong, and our time passed."

"I could never be unhappy having you guys in my life." He said with a practiced smile, gesturing to the children in his arms.

"It's okay to let me go and love someone else." Y/n said fondly.

"It would be difficult to find someone who could measure up to you in my eyes,” He said smiling affectionately. "You set a high bar.”

He choose not to say how she was it for him, how there would be no other woman in his heart after her, apart from the one he had in his arms that moment.

"You're a good man Harry, you do stupid things sometimes, but you're a good man." She said with a smile, accepting what he said, and letting go.

They smiled at each other.

"You should go back to Michael and Honey." He pointed with his chin somewhere behind her. "And I have to get these two to bed, they're really getting heavy."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I'll let you go then." The woman backed away, turning her back under the emerald gaze.

Harry watched her return to her husband's side, and as the two began to dance with Honey between them.

How he longed to be in Michael's shoes.

But he was paying for his sins.

She belonged in another man's arms now, and it was his own fault.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Toasting

(Hayffie 💕. Loving when we’re afraid is deeply authentic courage. In dystopian reality, loving with arms holding one another close is a fundamental act of civil disobedience and essential for trauma integration.)

His fingers were clumsy as he wrapped a pale blue ribbon around Effie’s hair. She’d pulled it back loosely into a bun with tendrils coiling down the back of her neck. Working with the satin ribbon felt alien compared to the knots Haymitch had tied throughout his life.

In childhood, as soon as he was tall enough to reach the clotheslines, his mother had given him the job of pulling the lines tight and tying them with no slack. Those needed to be ready each week for the task of holding the family’s clean laundry up to the sun. He and his brother were scolded sometimes for playing underneath the damp sheets, which held the fragrance of springtime no matter the season. It must have been the dried flowers his mother put into the soap. Later on and still, each time he passed those flowers in the Meadow, their smell cut straight into his heart. It’s one of the reasons he’d steered clear of that place even before it became a mass grave.

Unlike the pungent flowers, his mother’s voice calling as they played was a faint memory. “If you boys tug those lines down, YOU will be the ones washing that laundry all over again!”

“Those are MY knots. They ain’t gonna be comin’ loose.”

“Your knots WILL NOT be cominG loose, you mean. Don’t allow your speech to conceal your intelligence.”

“Okay, Ma.” He said as he and his brother lay on the grass, sticking their tongues out to catch drips from the sheets like drops of rain at the end of a sunshower.

The clotheslines were made of twine. Haymitch learned to work with thicker rope during training before the Quell. It never took him long to learn something, and once he did, it was committed to memory. In time, having a mind too sharp to forget things had become more of a curse than a gift.

Suddenly here he was with delicate ribbon between his calloused fingertips, and the fine muscles there were forgetting everything they’d ever learned about tying.

“I’m kind of fucking this up, sweetheart. I’m usually UNtying your ribbons, not the other way around.”

“I trust you.” She kept her body still as she knelt on a rug in front of the fireplace. 

When the ribbon was tied, he adjusted the bow until the loops were even. Then he ran his fingers through her wispy curls.

“Your ‘something blue,’” he murmured, sliding his hand down her arm and lacing their fingers together.

She stared at the polished band on her left hand. “Something old...” Haymitch’s father had made the ring 50 years prior from a small metal disk and some tinkering tools.

Effie brought their entwined hands to rest on her stomach. “...And something new.”

A chill ran through him. “Maybe you should have a backup just in case—“

“Do NOT say that! Don’t even THINK it. I’m further along this time. No arguments... our baby is my something new.”

He held her tighter and kissed her neck in apology. “All right. The baby it is.”

She changed the subject before the unspoken word had a chance to start spinning in her mind. “The tongs from the bakery are ‘something borrowed.’”

“Did Peeta ask what you planned to do with them?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I said we’ll be using them to toast the loaf of bread that I was there to buy.”

“Shit, Effie. What’d he say?”

“He hugged me, and told me how very happy he was to give us the bread and lend us the tongs.”

“Let me guess... His eyes were all teary.”

“That dear boy.”

“And your eyes were all teary too.”

“Whenever the children cry, I can’t stop myself.”

“He knows now, of course. I thought we we’re keeping this a surprise!”

“I confirmed nothing.”

“The boy knows anyway. You two are thick as thieves.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure he will ACT surprised when we tell them.”

“So the kids already know. It’s fine. ...Are you ready to do this?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded.

“...With ME,” he teased.

“Come here.” He’d been curled against her back, and she tugged him to kneel beside her. “We’ve done this before, you know.”

“Have we?” He chuckled, “I doubt any amount of liquor would make me forget doing this with you.”

“I was 8, with an big imagination and—“

“That kid on those screens is long gone, honey. You know that better than anybody.”

She pressed her palm to his chest. “This heart is the same. They broke it a thousand times, but they didn’t destroy it. ...I draped a shawl over my head as a veil, and I swore on every doll I owned that nobody would take this heart from me. I’ve kept swearing it... no matter how many pairs of my shoes you vomited on.”

He brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I married you sometimes in my dreams.”

“Does that explain any of the occasions you woke up screaming?” She smirked then caressed his forearm because nightmares were never a light topic regardless of the context.

“No. But it explains the times I woke up with my dick so hard that all I did was move and I was coming.”

She flushed from her chest to her cheeks, wanting him like that right then. “When was the first time?”

“The night after the picnic. Remember? In my dream you were wearing those silky lace gloves, buttering warm chunks of bread with one hand and getting me off with the other.”

“We only spent a few hours together that day, and you dreamed you were marrying me? You hardly knew me.”

“I knew enough to feel you slipping inside me. I tried to fight it a long time, but I couldn’t stop it.”

“So... now it’s full surrender.”

“Being married won’t make this any easier,” he said, “The last thing you and I could ever be is easy.”

“When is anything worth doing easy to do?”

He traced the neckline of her dress with the tip of his finger. The pretty thing dipped so low that he could have slipped his hands inside and filled his palms with her breasts. But he waited. The dress was pale blue like the ribbon, and overlaid with a weaving of tiny pearls.

“Sex,” he answered belatedly, “It’s one thing worth doing that’s always been easy for us.”

She toyed with a button on the shirt she’d picked out for him. “That’s true. Let’s make a fire and toast that bread so we can do that other thing worth doing.”

Haymitch had said no Justice Building, no party, and no singing. So Effie softly hummed the tune she remembered from Katniss and Peeta’s marriage ceremony. She hummed it straight through as Haymitch laid tinder on the andiron and she stacked kindling around it in the shape of a teepee. Then he built a small cabin over that with dry wood. She struck a match and used it to light the one he held. They both lit the tinder and watched as each piece of wood caught fire.

Over the years, she’d started many fires in that fireplace. The first time she tried, Haymitch had passed out in a snowbank on his way home from the Hob. A neighbor saw him lying there and helped him home.

After a warm bath, he was still shaking, so Effie covered him with blankets in front of the fireplace, and she managed to get some flames going as he slept. Her fire died out quickly, so she called the kids to show her the way. Katniss came. “I’m glad you’re here,” the girl told her, “He needs you. He fights it, but it’s a fierce thing to fight against.”

“What is?” Effie asked.

“That kind of hunger. That hollowness that only one thing can fill...” Katniss tapped Haymitch’s foot with the toe of her boot. He was out cold. “Alcohol just covers it up for a moment as it’s passing through.”

“What fills it?”

“When he realizes he’s worth loving, and when he loves himself the way that you love him.”

Effie shuddered at the thought of everything her girl had been through that instilled that kind of knowing in someone so young. “Katniss, I haven’t said anything about love.”

“Good. Hearing you say it would only scare him more.”

Effie said it now as chunks of wood burned down to coals, and flames danced orange and blue. He saw the dance in her eyes. “I love you,” was still difficult for him to reckon with.

“Loving you is the only thing I’ve been sure about in a long time,” he responded as the truth rose up over fear.

“Show me.”

He picked up the loaf of bread with the bakery tongs. “Let’s do this together.”

She put her hands atop his as they toasted the bread over the fire. When the crust was golden brown, they turned the loaf out onto a cutting board.

Effie slipped an oven mitt onto her hand and held the bread with it as she cut a thick slice from the middle. Then she spread it generously with butter, like in Haymitch’s dream. He picked up the slice and broke it in half, holding onto both pieces.

She eyed him warily. “Are you going to smear that on my face?”

“This isn’t the Capitol, sweetheart. No marriage tradition here wastes even a speck of food. ...But I’ll smear butter anywhere you want as long as I get to suck it off you after.”

“Let’s save that for later when I’m not wearing my Nana’s dress.”

He handed her half of the slice and they fed each other, licking the butter from one another’s fingers.

“My heart is yours,” she said, “It always has been, and I swear that’s never changing.”

“Keep swearing, honey, because nobody and nothing’s going to take mine from you either.”

Their kiss was slow, starting at the corners of their mouths, tasting the salty seams of each other’s lips, and opening to the sweetness that only comes with deep familiarity.

“Oh—“ She startled without breaking away. “Butterfly wings! The baby woke up. It must like the bread.”

Haymitch wiped his hands on a towel near the cutting board, then he cradled the bump on Effie’s belly. She cleaned her hands too so she could guide him to the rapid flutter.

He soaked up the movement. With the one they buried, he didn’t get to feel this. They never got to feel her alive. “This one’s strong already.”

Effie simply nodded because she knew if she said anything, then joy would spill from her eyes, and she wanted to keep it all.

“...Strong like my wife,” he said.

Joy spilled regardless, even in silence. Her tears were saltier than the butter, and he kissed every drop. The sunshower was beginning.

[curious-minx]

The Divine Hustle

Do the hustle(!)

Working yourself to the death has never been so glamours! 

To live in America is to play by the business savvy handbook. America has never been a country of a wholesome omniloving God, instead the USA has always been the land of fleeced pockets. Much of America has fetishized the concept of “Hard Work” from the Puritantical Protestants to the Bootstrap pulling fantasia sprung from the Industrial Age. Some business CEOs even go as far to reinvent history by putting the word “Hustle” into Abraham Lincoln’s mouth:

“Things may come to those who wait … but only the things left by those who hustle.”

An actual quote from our Hardest Working President Business 

Yes, Lincoln the original Tall King, the first Presidential White Saviour, a Myth  more than Man, the living embodiment of a Pull Yourself By the Bootstraps Aesop fable. He needed that stove pipe hat to hide his vast quantity of hustle. I can see why a Business CEO type would be tickled by this fake quote. Lincoln’s legal work had him making more money at times than that of a prominent State Governor. There are reasons why he’s a Money Man. So tell me, Encyclopedia Britannica why would Lincoln feel the drive to accumulate this money and capital? Does it stem from Abraham Lincoln’s insecurities and low self-esteem from coming from a low income background? EB offers us none such info but it does lean heavily into Mary Todd Lincoln being a questionable influence on Lincoln. The EB is quick to file MTL as being the Insane, Difficult Woman who has developed an “obsessive need to spend money.” Of course, Lincoln had to make all of this money in order to pay for his expensive crazy wife. Makes perfect sense if I am someone completely stoned and drunk from hagiography and cute, quaint reductive views of history.

Lincoln’s business  savviness is made abundantly clear in his failed presidential campaign against Douglas. He published personally curated debate transcripts and his own Biography to hawk on the campaign trail. The acute self-awareness of his own remarkableness is perhaps one of Lincoln’s  main shortcomings and strengths. The man worked himself into a frenzy, constantly looked emaciated and worn down, and for what? The one few times he tries to take in one of his only pleasures in life, The Arts, he gets murdered. The Capitalist Mythmakers want us to forget about all of that. Abraham Lincoln worked because he loved to work and he was a good American, therefore if you want to be a good American like Lincoln,  you’ll work the Hustle.

Yes, this essay has been nothing but the ramblings of someone pretending like they know what they are talking about, but everytime I see the word “Hustle,” exclusively when it’s being used in terms of celebrating hyper capitalist America another part of me dies.

////

Wow, the people look meaningless from up here.

The New York Hustle. The Detroit Hustle. To do these hustles once meant finding a dancing partner for the night and telling the 4/4 rhythm, “4 steps are fine, but six steps are even better.” Now the New York Hustle is working three unpaid internships with the promise that a slightly underpaid gig could be on the way. All language inevitAbly changes and evolves, but that doesn’t mean I  have to be okay about it. The modern hustle is the joy killer. The modern hustle is pushing and shoving fellow hustlers over the faint whiff of dining room scraps. To hustle is to continue to believe in your own self mythology so hard that you too can become your personal Lincoln. An emaciated, husk working for the Good of the Company, er, I mean Nation. Maybe a scuzzy Matthew McConaughey will give you a spin. That’s sure to make any hard worker smile before she collapses.

/////

Have you ever seen a side hustle news filler story that didn’t make you want to walk into a murky ocean’s depths? One Google “News” search of the term hustle brings up this article about a New Zealand Woman supposedly planning slumber parties during Covid times. One can only assume that this is the case because the article (sourced from the highly reputable looking Stuff.co) despite being published in February 2021 makes no reference to the pandemic. This is because New Zealand has already moved well beyond those covid days. Covid slumber party nightmares aside, the idea of hiring a professional slumber party planner in or out of Covid times is a brazenly gross idea. The extent of “planning” that should go into a slumber party is how much should you tip the pizza delivery driver, how many boxes of brownie mix, and maybe the one job I could jokingly fathom hiring a person for is choosing what regrettable movie a kid should watch at a slumber party.

Slumber parties are for children, and can easily be planned and arranged by a child. There should never be a need to outsource “Harrypotter glam” themed teepees and treats. Maybe that’s the kind of life people in New Zealand want to lead and if certain individuals want to have that ambitious drive to make a ridiculous small company they should be free to do so. The sinister creeping reality is that the standards of the Exceptional Money Making Individual are becoming the standards everyone is expected to live up to. Passion  for the sake of passion, and art for the sake of art is getting the squeeze in favor of monetizing slumber parties.

Monetizing off of Twitter followers. Monetizing off of newsletters. Monetizing off of podcasts. Content creation for the sake of profit is basically the main reason the Internet exists anymore.  If you have something you love to do in your life like the act of reading a book you better be willing to invest in a USB microphone and recording booth to start your audio book reading career because otherwise you’re just reading a book. You’re just playing a video game when you could be streaming yourself for all of your adoring fans and followers. I could be thinking, but instead I’m tweeting.

I do not respect the Hustle. I respect differences and a variety of lifestyles. I respect Passion and drive. I do not respect the Hustle, because the side hustle is just  a full-time job the capitalist system is trying to make you consider a “side” project. One look at this exhaustive CNBC “The ultimate side hustle guide for 2021”, and what they are describing is not a side hustle but starting your own small business. They are not the same thing. A side hustle should not require an immense amount of time, personal wealth, and the possible necessity of hiring a freelancer and tax analysts to start when you are already working a full-time job and/or participating in the American Breeding Dream.

I know that I am lazy compared to many over working Americans. I am already in my late twenties and still staunchly refuse to engage in American Adult Tie Sensitive Checklist. I would like to work, truly I do. I would love nothing more than to be in possession of a job in a safe and humane company that legitimately favored Human Kindness and Decency over the Grind. Working for a company that didn’t feel like the sole purpose of its existence is to make more and more money.. I am trying to minimize. I am trying not to let other people’s perceptions clutter and crowd out my mind. I am trying to survive through this pandemic that has completely melted what little brains and physical strength I had. I will not stop trying to do the Divine Hustle.

Let’s just appreciate this blurry picture of Divine being eaten by a lobster and call it a day.

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[ix]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst, A tiny bit of Smut summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 4.7k a/n: I think you will love this. I loved writing this so, so much. This is the final chapert, BUT we still have the Epilogue to come. I’m opening a vote for my new story, if you want a Ned Kelly AU pls comment a 🥵below and if you want a George Mackay GossipGirl AU comment a 🤭.

❝the  sea,  the  majestic  sea,  breaks  everything,  crushes  everything,  cleans everything,  takes  everything...from  me.❞                                                                                             ― corinne  bailey  rae

THREE ｅｉｇｈｔｅｅｎ ｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Being completely, utterly honest, you were one of those doctors who suffered the hidden pleasure of actually enjoying Grey's Anatomy. Guilty as charged. Not ony our life, you've understood the guilt some of the characters experienced —Meredith, per se—when a phone buzzed loudly, the name of the person they were supposed to be committed to flashing on the screen, while they were trapped in dreamland and in the arms of someone else.

Empathy crawled over you, though, the thirteenth morning in Namibia. Over the bedside table, your phone spun over the fake wood as the ringtone chosen and reserved for Ethan and only Ethan, sneaked into your dream, grabbed you by the toes, and its claws were so sharp that on their attempt to drag you out, you jolted awake.

However, you weren't able to sit up all sweaty and scared. You tried to, but you were unable. The limbs in your body felt extremely stiff, heavy, and the source triggered the alarm system inside you. Someone's strong, perfect arms were resting tightly around your waist. Said someone, muffled and whined when you carefully freed your body and sat up, every inch of skin flushed red.

As things go, conveniently enough, it was almost midday, and you've slept curled up against Bodevan's frame. With the head buried on his chest, his arms encircling your waist, your legs mingled together... the entire flipping night.

Great. Just great.

The worst thing is —and it is shameful to admit, you must confess— the reason why you decided to answer Ethan's call that morning, was the fact that the longer your phone rang, the most possible it would wake Bo up. And firstly, you enjoyed the view too much to give it up. Secondly, the last thing you wanted was Bodevan to realise your fiancée had called.

By mere instinct, while you murmured a groggy Hello! to the speaker, your eyes travelled their usual route towards the exquisite engagement ring residing on your index finger. Then, right then, hell broke loose. Because there, right there, was none ring to be found.

Your eyes went wide, wild, and almost jumped out of your face when frantically, you introspected between the covers, underneath the carpet, across the floor only to be met with no sign of it.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

"Hey baby," Ethan's voice was sleepy, deep, and the obliviousness on it made your eyes water. "Did I wake you up, sleepyhead?"

Yes, he did, and your head is killing you.

How many drinks did you share with Bodevan last night?

How many bottles?

How on earth did you lose your engagement ring?!

"Yeah... It was a long night".

"Hospital emergency?" He pressed on, "You forgot to call me. I waited."

"Sorry, E," The apology means so much more, it quivers as you speak. "I was at the birthday party I mentioned before."

Bo rustled in the sheets beside you. Your voice must have woken him up.

The laughter at the other side of the phone, robbed back your attention, "Completely zoom out on that. How was it?".

"Fun, I guess..."

"So it was crap?"

"Yeah," you lied. More so, you didn't lie entirely. It was crap that you lost your ring, and it was crap that you snuggled all night with a boy who is not the one you're going to marry —and it was crap that if you're completely honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit about it. Because you were certain, almost certain, you have fallen in love with another man.

As in, with the man in front of you with wild pillow hair and piercing blue eyes.

With Bodevan Cash.

This was madness. Africa induced madness! Surely, this infatuation was a result of the miles-away syndrome. You haven't seen your fiancée in two weeks, and you have spent the majority of your days in the company of the uniquely weird boy.

But what if... what if the loss of your ring was destiny talking? Perhaps it was written in the stars that the sapphire engraved item wasn't supposed to be wrapped around your finger.

Fate or not, you needed to find it. You couldn't just give up on it and on Ethan. It wasn't fair, and you weren't that kind of girl.

In such wise, you cut the conversation short and hurriedly hung up the phone. Ethan believed your excuse: you slept in, and you needed to rush to the hospital for your rounds.

After you were enchanted by the fact that under a morning sky, Bo's eyes really did match, and you giggled and blushed over breakfast with him —you didn't share pancakes, you wouldn't do that to Ethan. The meal of choice was waffles and sweet but dark coffee—you two embarked on the exhausting search for the ring.

The starting point was the clinic, under the patient's cot. Then you searched across the beach, digging in the sand as if you were looking for seashells. You searched all over your cabin, in between the sheets, under the bed, inside the drawers...On day fourteen, you and Peera turned the teepee upside down, pushing furniture to the corners, emptying the shelves, to no avail. On day fifteen, you asked the hotel plumber to dismantle your sink, in  case in your drunken state you'd washed your hands and didn't notice it going down the drain. On day sixteen, you gave up the pursuit. On day seventeen, you came to terms with it and gathered enough courage to break the news to Ethan.

Today, on day eighteen, you are ready. Or at least, you think you are. Bodevan will be here soon, like every day around 9pm to strum some chords on his acoustic guitar and then play that silly game you invented a week ago where either of you would close their eyes, while the other wrote medical terms onto your skin. Whoever wins, gets to choose dinner —and breakfast, because weirdly enough, Bo has been staying the nights. And he always wins.

Holding yourself, in seek of steadiness, you dial Ethan's number. The rain has increased, and you wish upon the stars it delays Bodevan's arrival.

Ethan picks up almost immediately, "Hello, you. I'm on my lunch break, so you're on luck today."

Here it comes. No filter.

"I lost the ring."

"What ring?" He's chewing something, an apple you presume. Ethan loves apples.

"The engagement ring."

"You did what?" He is not screaming, but his voice is sharp, and it cuts right through you.

"I-I lost it. It fell off the night of Danny's birthday party."

"I see." You know what it's about to come, you recognise the tone on his voice as the one he employs when he's aiming to hurt. "You lost your engagement ring the day you got wasted while partying with that excuse of a doctor you're working for."

"I was not-", you hurry, "I mean I didn't..."

"Of course, you did. I know you. I know your hangover voice, and I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Ethan, I-"

"Will you cut the bullshit?" he intervenes, "This is your revenge from what happened with Harper. I understand."

Your mouth falls open, at a loss for words, "Are you implying that I lost your ring on purpose, to get back at you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Rage curls in your stomach, "Wow. Real nice, Ethan. You really don't know me at all."

Ethan laughs. He fucking laughs. "I'm saying this because I know you." None of you talks for a minute, and then he breaks the silence, "I'll change your flight for tonight."

"No," calmly, you answer. "I'm not leaving until I find that stupid ring."

"Come on, you're never going to find it." Ethan sighs, evidently done dealing with your stupidity. "I will just buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," you say, still calm. You've been pacing back and forth concerning the decision you're about to make. Finally, you've made up your mind, and it's clearly the right choice. "I don't want an engagement ring, Ethan." The rest of the sentence goes quietly, "I-I don't want this marriage."

He sighs again, and you can picture him resting his fingertips between his eyebrows, tired of dealing with you and your feelings. Ethan has always been a cold man, and for a while, you thought the only person he was warm to was you. Such a fool. "Is this your way of saying you're still upset over my previous marriage?" asks Ethan. "Because you said you were fine, but I knew this would happen—"

"It's not just that," you confess, in part, you haven't get over it yet and eighteen days in Namibia haven't bought you enough time to do it.

"What are you saying?"

Your heart grows heavy. You hate this. But you have to do it.

"I can't marry you, E. I'm sorry. But I-I can't promise away my entire life with someone when I'm not even sure how I want to live it," you confess, voice breaking.

"Fallen out of love with me already, huh?" he questions, the pain sewed to his words, further breaking your heart.

"I love you. I'm just—It's been hard, this whole thing... we being liers, you being married, me being here..." You don't dare to say his name, but you think it. Bodevan. "I don't know what I'm supposed to know, but at least at this exact moment, I'm sure I can't marry you."

"Alright," comes the response, always calm, always composed. "Let's take a break. We'll talk when you're back."

"Ethan—"

"I'm hanging up now."

Before you could retort, he hangs up. You feel a strange sense of relief, even though something inside you broke with the knowledge of what you'd just done.

It isn't entirely over, you're aware. You still have to go back, and you have to face him, and return gifts, and send apology letters to the guests. But the confession is off your chest. You didn't want to lie to him anymore.

As you let out a deep, heavy sigh, you glance back and notice that right at the doorframe, stands your very own sun. Now you understand why it's raining and cloudy; sunlight is trapped in your cabin. Bodavan witnessed everything, and he is watching you, warily.

Plastering a smile on your face, you greet, "Hi."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I would ask if everything is okay, but clearly…"

Shaking your head, you explain, "It had to be done. I can't do this anymore. Pretend as if I love him like he loves me and spend the rest of my life with him. It's not fair to him, or to me."

Bodevan says nothing. For the first time in days, he looks incredibly flustered, ocean eyes avoiding any sort of contact with you. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but then he steals the words away.

"I apologise," he blurts. "It was inappropriate for me to spend so much time with you, and even worse t-to fall asleep with you in the same bed."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, shame. More so, hurt. "What are you saying? All of that was my choice, you didn't force me into anything. Wh-why are you apologising?"

"Because I have this... feeling that whatever just happened," Bo hurries his gaze away from you. "H-Happened because of me."

If there was a hole in the middle of your room, you would crawl inside and dig your way back to New York.

"It had nothing to do with you," you half-lie. "Nothing even happened between us," you snap, coming off rougher than you'd expected.

"Right," he murmurs, looking away. You can't fathom why the look on his face manages to break your heart more than cancelling your engagement had. "Let's play something then. W-Whats your favourite song?"

"Sweet Child O' Mine."

He smiles, "That's my mother's as well."

Bodevan shrugs off his wet jacket. He clears his throat and sits on the edge of your mattress, guitar resting on his lap. You hear the soft sound of his voice singing a much slower version of the song, and suddenly, you feel at peace. Absent-mindedly, you pick up Bo's signature mustard jacket, draping it over a loveseat so it can dry. Right off the bat, something silver and sparkling drops to the ground.

You gape. Lying there, on the floor, is your engagement ring. Looking undamaged and pristine. A smile would have curved your lips if it hadn't unmistakably fallen from Bodevans's jacket.

When you crouch down to pick it up, your mind begins to spin. Since when does Bo have it? Had he had it all along? Or had he found it and not told you?

The mere train of thoughts makes you sick to the stomach. You clutch the ring in your fist.

When Bo strums the last chords of the song, and his soft voice comes undone in a whisper, he looks up to find you standing there, features betraying the long lost smile.

You stare out at the bay, avoiding the gaze he refuses to haul away from you. His eyes are deep blue, as wild as the waves crashing the shoreline. Confusion is evident on his face, brows curved in the sense of bewilderment. Right now, Bodevan is a doctor, trying to diagnose your symptoms, and figure out what shifted inside you that has you bracing yourself against the biting gale off the water. And him.

You tug the yellow montgomery closer, but it is no use. Only one thing could warm you tonight, and he is out of reach. You miss the way he fills the circle of his arms with your body, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head —it should be an Anatomy case of interest, it seems to be customed as the perfect resting spot for his lips. But it is a good thing Ethan isn't here now. What he'd find out would leave a bruise on Bodevan's face, and it would be the last hit to turn you into pieces.

Bo's eyes drop to his jacket, your fist clenched around the fabric, and his face falls. Dr Cash found the disease, and it pains him, of course, it pains him. He just figured out, the source of your lack of well-being, is him.

"You know," he states, careful. The astonishment in his voice doesn't surprise you, yet you can't explain to yourself why it stings so much. You’re trying your hardest to stay calm. But a lump has formed in your throat, your stomach has turned into a thousand knots, and you can feel the tears building up inside your eyes.

"Why?" It is pathetic, really, how your voice breaks amidst a one-word sentence. The tears are free now, streaming down your cheeks. "I know it wasn't for the money. Unless you've fooled me on your Maoist shit as well."

"A fighter for the rights of poor farmers and landless labourers, seeking to overthrow the state and usher in a classless society? I am."

"Then, why did you do this?"

Bodevan looks away, clearly weighing his options. It takes him a second, and then he is down on his knees, staring up at you with big ocean eyes, and your legs turn to jelly.

"I know what you think, but I didn't do this to hurt you," he grabs your hand, and you feel his fingerpads as though they were burning through my skin. He takes your palm in his own, urging to open up your fist. "You have broadened my mind, you've helped me grow. The way you've opened me up —you've penetrated deep inside me. Like if you had cut me open in the operating table and filled my insides with you. And I know I penetrated deep, deep inside of you—" he stutters, with eyes still wide. If you weren't as mad at him, you would find the pink streak across his cheeks adorable, and you would find inside you the box of tenderness reserved just for Bo and his peculiar self. But Bodevan made sure to close that box, cover it in tape, and carry it all the way down to the basement in your heart. "Not, not like that. I-I would love to... o-one d..."

"Bodevan..."

"I did it because I am an idiot," he blurts out. "I'm an idiot for you. I-If you'll have me." Right on cue, you watch him suck in his breath, wishing to take back his confession. Clear as water, you can see the progression of his emotions settle in the crease between his eyes. Bo feels impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by his own forwardness. He always does this, too many times before.

"No," you whisper, remembering...always remembering... Ethan. Bodevan's lies. "I don't want to talk to you, and if you care for me at all, you won't say another word."

His ocean eyes drill into you. Bo steps back and crosses his arms over his broad chest —God, you'll miss watching his yoga routine in the morning. But this is his fault.

For a few seconds, he looks at you strangely, wondering whether to concede. You stand for a moment, gathering energy, it's stupid, but it is taking all of you to walk away from this misunderstood unique boy. But is time to let your feet drag you out of this air-consuming cabin, away from Bodevan Cash and his perfect long hair. Back ashore.

The moment you storm out, rain drains all over you. It soaks you in a matter of seconds, but you don't care, you really don't care at all. You're angry and upset and feel as if you're adrift in the middle of the ocean, with thunders in the horizon and strong winds moving your ship from side to side, without giving you a rest.

Bodevan chases after you. Ever so careful, he clasps his big calloused hand, around your waist and guides you to meet his eyes. It's puzzling, he has never done such thing, on the contrary, his gaze is always playing hide and seek with you.

"I didn't tell you because every time your anatomy appears in from of me, I run out of methodology," he says frustratedly. "Because this love no longer understand of reasons or advice and it feeds on pretexts, and it lacks pants."

With shaking hands, almost without noticing, you let the ring fall to the sand. "T-This love?" you ask quietly.

Bodevan doesn't let go of your wrist. His lids are squeezed shut. "I'm sorry. You have every right to never talk to me again."

"You didn't answer the question. Do you love me?" you ask again, heart hammering in your chest.

"By all means," he confesses, chest rising and falling. "I-I'm an idiot who somehow fell in love with you without realising it."

Dizziness overwhelms you. You share the same suffering than Bo. This love doesn't allow you to stand, it has broken your heels. Even if you get up, you'll fall again into it. Even if he hid the ring, you're still in love with him. Even if Ethan returns, you would still be in love with Bodevan.

You've transformed into a thing that does nothing but love him —fool, blind, deaf, brute. Bodevan Cash rules your thoughts day and night, withal how many times you've tried to bury him in your memory, you haven't figure out a way to forget him.

If you could exorcise yourself from his voice.

If you could escape his name.

If you could rip your heart out and hide, so you don't feel ever again.

Maybe then, you would be able to stop loving him.

"I'm stupid, you know? I always want the things I can't have" Bodevan stutters. "And now I've ruined everything."

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, "You haven't ruin anything."

Taking him by surprise, you untangle his grip from your waist and bring his hand to your waistline. His figure grows very still as you pierce through his blue gaze, his pupils nervous. "I gift you my waist," you whisper softly, pink mouth close to his bruised one. "And my lips, for whenever you want to kiss."

Both of you, nervous as hell, can't believe the promises that are rolling off your tongue.

"I give you my delusion," you giggle. "And the few neurons I have left."

Bo doesn't react and says nothing for a bit. It frightens you, but you find comfort in the fact he hasn't pull away from you. And then, he hums, "I gift you my silence."

You want to cry, of pure and golden happiness. Bodevan leans closer, resting the damaged skin of his perfect lips at the tip of your nose. And you say, "I gift you my nose too."

"I give you my bones, even," Bo interjects, voice deeper, rough. He is breathing heavily, forehead pressed to yours, and your mind flashes back to the first day you met him, and how you have been like this, near the sea. "But don't run away from me anymore."

Bodevan lands his lips into yours. Responsive, you entangle your hands in his damp locks, luring him closer to your body. His lips are igniting fire down your spine, and you discern now why he is your sun, and why his eyes are like the morning sky.

Dramatically out of character, he doesn't hesitate when you reach down to pull his shirt up and off his body, your small, cold hands resting on his toned, flipping fantastic chest. The rain continues, yet, neither doubts to turn your clothes into a wet pile dangerously close to the seaside. Bo lowers you onto the sand, kissing patterns into every inch of skin he encounters, tracing the entire shape of your body. Never in your life, have you felt this alive. Every part of you burns under his touch and his eyes, and you don't fear to be consumed by the fire.

Eyelids screw shut when you hear yourself gasp. Your bodies have entwined, and you hold him close, closer as you ever embraced someone, his minty breath misting your ears as he whispers your name.

"Bo..." lazily, you flutter open your eyelashes and watch him in adoration.  His jaw is clenched in concentration; his hard muscles contract and pull on top of you. Bodevan brushes your cheekbone with his fingers and kisses you twice before burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breath is staggering, hot and wild.

Bringing his face to yours, he opens his eyes, "You once asked what I loved most in the world..." You did. He answered, his siblings. "I lied. It's you."

As you smile, you recognise you're equally a liar. When he asked the question back, your answer was medicine. But it is him. It really is him.

The following morning, you wake up tangled in the sheets, a beam painting your face with pink shades as you remember why. Peacefully asleep and ever-so ethereal, Bodevan lies next to you.

Bo matches your smile as you kiss his cheek, your fingertips tracing the words you couldn't find yesterday, but the ones you're certain you feel. He's always been an expert, he always beats your ass, and you can tell he understands what you're writing with invisible ink across his back when he smiles, lids still closed. You love him, and although you can't vociferate it, you want him to know it.

Bo pulls you into his arms, "I'll wait for you. You have my words" he rustles. "But you need to go back to Manhattan. You need to go sort out if you really want a life in the middle of nowhere, with me.

"I do."

"You don't," he intervenes. "You have been here too many days, now everything is blurry. My dad, he—He never asked my mom if she still wanted the life she was living. And she killed herself." Tears run down both your faces, no matter how hard you're trying to stop them. "I would never do that to you."

You nod, "Alright."

Bo wipes your tears away with his thumb, "I will miss you."

"I will miss you too," you choke. "So much."

With one last look back at the boy with morning-sky coloured eyes, you step into the departures gate, taking a shaky breath as Bodevan waves goodbye. An ocean will be between you, and your heart drowns the entire flight home.

ｎｅｘｔ►

[sareenademon]

Bi Fang and Havik create mischief together! fluffy/weird/concerning

(Btw Havik might be a lil OOC or he might not be bc he’s the biggest wildcard in the mk universe.)

Bi Fang is the son of Bi Han and Sareena: Info on him (btw Bi Fang is inspired from Richie Tozier from Stephen Kong’s It, he curses a lot)

Once Noob Saibot got redeemed and rejoined the Lin Kuei he cut ties with all of his evil associates. This included Havik. Well kinda.

They don’t consider each other enemies and Havik still considers Bi Han his bestfriend! And sometimes he’ll randomly insert himself back into his life to cause a bit of chaos. He’s more of an annoyance to Bi Han if anything.

(Bi Fang is 10 at this point. And this before he meets Satoshi and Liu Jerrod)

Years later, when Havik found out that Bi Han has a son he became curious.

So, he decided to pay the boy a visit and meet him!

For a day, he stalked Bi Fang from a far.

Havik realized how powerful Bi Fang could be. The boy shared the DNA of a cryomancer and a demon. His ice powers could be legendary. It could be powerful enough to one day kill that bastard Hotaru.

He also realized how different Bi Fang was from his father.

Unlike Bi Han, Fang has a great sense of humor! Havik finds the boy’s pranks on the other Lin Kuei members to be hilarious! But he also notices the boy’s loneliness. He sees how the other children of the Lin Kuei shunned him.

So Havik decides he should take the boy out for some good ol, chaotic fun!

He appears to him when the boy is alone hanging out in a forest.

Havik: Hello Bi Fang, I-

Bi Fang: -AHHH! STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!

*Havik watches as he runs away towards the temple. He quickly teleports in front of him and grabs Bi Fang and puts a hand over his mouth to stop his screaming*

Havik: I am not here to harm you! I am here to fun with you!

Bi Fang: You do realize how fuckin creepy that sounds right?!

*Havik giggles and lets him go*

Bi Fang: Who the hell are you anyways?

Havik: I am the Cleric of Chaos! Me and your father worked together back in the day.

Bi Fang: Cleric of Chaos? You sound like a bad guy to me.

Havik: Well I wouldn’t say bad..It’s of no matter. I’m here to see if you’d like to come create some mischief with me!

Bi Fang: Why would I go anywhere with a fucking weirdo like you?!

Havik knew that the boy wouldn’t go with him this way, so he decided to use a bit of manipulation.

*Havik fakes a hurt expression, faces away from Bi Fang and starts sobbing*

Bi Fang: Hey, are you...crying?

Havik: *sniffles* I-i just hoped you’d be different is all.

Bi Fang: What do you mean?

Havik: Nobody wants to be my friend! They all think I am a freak! I thought you could understand what how it feels...to be rejected because you’re different...

*Bi Fang’s suspicious expression visibly softens*

Bi Fang: I do know how it feels...I don’t have many friends either, they all think I’m a freak too...hey I’ll be your friend, just don’t cry.

*Bi Fang hugs Havik*

Havik: Oh goodie! Now let us go have some fun!

Bi Fang: Where are we going?

Havik: Hehe, to create havoc of course!

So that’s exactly what they do. Havik teleports them to America, California where their disruption of the peace begins.

They run around pranking random people and they do every prank in the book.

They Teepee people’s houses, egg people’s cars, put a flaming bag of dog shit on someone’s front porch, put Whoopi cushions on the chairs of Starbucks, put bugs in people’s food, stink bombed stores, etc.

Havoc scares passerbys by taking his head off or breaking his knee caps or turning his torso 360 degrees. Bi Fang laughs his ass off at their freaked out people’s reactions.

They made this really buff big guy scream like a little girl and they laughed until it hurt.

Havoc was so delighted that he finally had a mini me. Bi Fang was way more fun than his killjoy father and uncle.

He would make a wonderful son and heir!

Of course, the cops were soon called on them and They soon found themselves surrounded by Stryker and Kabal, and a couple other cops.

Havik: Allow me to deal with these party poopers hehehehe.

(At this time Kabal and Stryker haven’t met Bi Fang yet and they don’t know he’s the Lin Kuei grandmaster’s son)

Bi Fang cheered him on as Havik made quick work of the squad of officers but when he went to finish off Kabal and Stryker. Bi Fang quickly intervened.

Bi Fang: Stop! You’re gonna kill them!

Havik: I know! It’s going to be so much fun to watch the life leave their eyes.

Bi Fang: ...You can’t kill them...it’s-it’s wrong!

Havik: Come now, Do not be so dull! Just think of the chaos it will cause in their loved one’s lives! Hehehe!

Bi Fang: Y-you’re starting to scare me...if you kill them...I-i won’t be your friend no more.

The chaos cleric glared at Bi fang for a couple of moments before he sighed and released the two beaten officers.

He didn’t want to run the boy off yet. He still had plans for him.

Havik: Very, well...say, all this mischief is making me hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.

*Havik takes the boy’s hand and starts pulling him away from the unconscious cops*

Bi Fang: Ya, I’m kinda hungry too, but where are we gonna eat? I don’t have any money.

Havik: Hehehe, who says we’re going to pay for the food?

So they go to a McDonald’s. All the employees look terrified of Havik and they don’t dare to stop him when he walks behind the counter and starts making a McFlurry.

Bi Fang decides to follow Havik’s suit and starts taking some chicken nuggets and fries. They run out of the McDonald’s before another group of cops can arrive.

It was getting late and Bi Fang was getting sleepy so the Chaosrealmer returned Bi Fang to his home. Before leaving Bi Fang asked if they could go have fun again tomorrow. To which Havik replied, anything for his best friend.

Once Havik disappeared, Bi Fang ran into his parents on his way to his bedroom.

Let’s just say, they weren’t too happy to learn who Bi Fang has spent the day with. Especially Bi Han, who was livid that Havik had the nerve to kidnap his child.

Bi Fang: He said you two knew each other.

Bi Han: That doesn’t mean he is someone good or trustworthy! You know you shouldn’t speak to anyone that isn’t Lin Kuei! You are to never speak to that freak again! Understand?!

Bi Fang: He’s not a freak! He’s my friend, and he likes hanging out with me! Not like you!

*Bi Han is about to scream at his son but Sareena steps in*

Sareena: Bi Fang, you do not realize how dangerous that man truly is. He is most likely trying to manipulate and use you.

*Bi Fang starts tearing up*

Bi Fang: N-no! You’re wrong! He’s like me-

Bi Han: -Enough! Go to your room! And do not come out until I say so!

Bi Fang runs to his room crying. Bi Han feels a bit regretful for upsetting him so much, but he has the Chaos Cleric to deal with first.

He, Kuai Liang, and Smoke go to the Chaosrealm and face Havik. Bi Han is on Havik’s ass before he could even greet them. Bi Han is strong enough to pin the Cleric to the ground and starts choking him.

Havik: Y-you...se-em upset...with m-me, Bi Han...

Bi Han: *growls* How dare you kidnap my son! I’ll rip out your heart!

Havik: W-as...not kidnap, h-he came willing-ACH

*Bi Han tightens his hold on Havik’s throat. Kuai steps in and pull Bi Han off of the cleric*

Kuai Liang: Why did you take him to America? What scheme are you plotting Havik? 

Havik: What schemes? I only wanted to show the boy some fun! Your child is a riot! He is the son I have always dreamed of! Hehehe!

*Bi Han lunges at Havik again but this time Havik evades him*

Bi Han: HE IS NOT YOUR SON! HE IS MINE!

Smoke: You expect us to believe you did this for fun?

Havik: ....Yes. Do you really expect me to make sense?

*The 3 Lin Kuei stare him for a couple moments and then look at each other*

Bi Han: I am warning you now Chaos Cleric. If you ever go near my son again I will rip apart limb from limb, and give your remains to demons and they will torture you for the rest of eternity...

Havik: Oh Bi Han, do not threaten me with a good time. Fine, I will leave your boy alone. You have my word.

*crosses his toes in his boot*

Havik was lying of course. But it was enough to get the Lin Kuei and Bi Han to return to Earthrealm.

Havik wasn’t going to give up on Bi Fang just yet. The potential of havoc that boy could unleash was amazing. Somehow, Bi Fang will become his son, and together they will plunge the realms into chaos.

(I’m gonna end it here bc it became longer than I meant it to be. Hope you enjoyed)

[kessielrg]

[KH+DA] A Life Forgotten

Summary: Inspired by @chibi-mushroom‘s Dragon Age AU for the Kingdom Hearts series, focused solely on Anora. [can be read standalone without knowledge of Dragon Age or Kingdom Hearts][oneshot]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,215

If you like the story, please reblog!

---

“Jump, Razzie!”

The little girl, no more than 5 or 6 years old, hesitated for a moment. Her short, raspberry red hair was gently tussled by the wind that passed by the top of the cliff. Her cousin, Kieran, waited for her at the base of the cliff with his arms outstretched. The smile on his face illustrated that this was nothing more than a game- like they were playing in a parlor with the girl about to jump off the table. But the distance was far greater than that. Quite a ways down, actually.

This was where most of her memories started. This cliff, her cousin patiently waiting for her, and her tiny heart beating in her chest like it wanted to come out. The memory was so old that it usually felt like a dream instead. She tried hard to hold on to it; it was all she had left of a life she never knew.

She took a few steps back, then started to run at full force before jumping off the cliff. She couldn't keep her eyes open as she fell. The wind stung if she tried. But there was a peace as she fell; it felt like the world was slowing just for her as she made her free fall. No one but her cousin could see that she was actually slowing her descent through an unconscious act of magic. To the outside observer, Anora Guinevere Ravishta was flying.

Even when her arms started to wrap around Kieran, it felt like she was trying to hug him, not holding on to him for dear life after making a fate-defying fall. Her sense of weightlessness immediately left when she had wrapped her entire little body around her cousin. She allowed her eyes to flutter open and was instantly greeted with her cousin's beaming smile.

“You did it Razzie!” Kieran happily cheered, doing a little jig as he held her. Anora was sent into a flurry of giggles from the movement. Her cousin's laughter mixed with her own as he slowly ceased dancing to press their foreheads together. What stopped this memorable moment between the cousins was the sound of someone clearing their throat not far from them. The duo turned their attention to a Templar.

This Templar wore an armor that would very soon be very familiar to Anora. The top portion of the Templar regalia as much like that of a regular knight, the symbol of their organization taking a prominent stance on the breastplate. The lower half was more like a blood red robe that stopped a bit ways from the ground. On the Templar's head was a square-like helmet that did not give any indication of what this person looked like under. Anora shrunk a little. She had yet to know the wrath of the Templar Order, but even now she felt intimidated by their armor.

“The young girl's father is here to see her.” the Templar told the two in a gravely voice.

For a small, subtle, moment, Kieran held Anora bit tighter.

“Tell him we'll be there soon.” he affirmed, regardless. The Templar nodded and went back to the main camp to pass the word along.

Kieran waited for the Templar to be out of eye range before setting Anora down. Hand in hand, the two walked back to the main encampment. Anora had decided quite early on that the Avvar were a weird set of people. They were a nomadic bunch, never quite staying in the same place for very long, and their houses were more teepees and tents than brick and mortar. Anora was more fascinated with the augur. The augur was a special mage that frequently talked to the spirits from the Fade- or, as the Avvar called it, the Land of Dreams. The augur talked to the spirits from the Fade, to whom the Avvar refeered as gods, and in trade the spirits watched over the Avvar people.

The Templars were not easily a welcomed (or even a familiar) party among the Avvar. Many of the Templars from this side of the mountain came from Ferelden. A feud between the Avvar and Fereldens was a long and bloodied one- the reminder of which came from one passing look at the glorified soldiers. Kieran and Anora were Ferelden as well, but there was a small exception to them that caused either indifference or quiet scorn. Kieran was a student from the University of Orlais, sent to train into becoming an ambassador of sorts for the Avvar people. The Orlesians were more welcome than the Fereldens, due to the former providing trade and goods that the Avvar could not make otherwise. Had Kieran not be the kind, easy going young man he was, the Avvar would have denied him the moment the empress requested him.

Anora had never quite been sure when the Templars arrived at the Avvar encampment. Despite all the talk then, there were only four of them. She would not understand until later how much danger a single Templar could carry, or what the Avvar did to train their kind's mages. She would not know that Kieran had tried to delay the Templars from finding her by having her with him. She never even realized that the Templar in charge had been her own father. Perhaps, in another time, Kieran would have been successful in keeping her with the Avvar. Maybe she would have become the augur's apprentice. But in this one, she was made prisoner.

Her father, like the other Templars, was dressed in the standard regalia. She would never know his face, but his voice was a lot like Kieran's.

“It is time to stop running,” he said, more to Kieran than the both of them, “Anora is being sent to the Circle.”

“I won't let you do that.” Kieran opposed. “She'll be safe here with the Avvar. You have no right to take care of her anymore.”

“She will go where I say.” Anora's father demanded in return. His stance was neutral, almost unnervingly so, as his voice rose to thunderous levels. “She is a mage, she is Ferelden, she must go to the Circle as per the Chantry's laws!”

Kieran was visibly shaking.

“Anora, go to our tent.” her told the little girl, his tone riddled with a harshness not intended for her. “Unco and I need to talk in private.”

If Anora had known then that this would be the last time she'd see her cousin for almost two decades, she would have put up more of a resistance. But, in this very moment, she looked from Kieran to the Templar before giving a small nod and doing as she was told. They both listened for the sounds of her tiny footfalls to fade before giving each other deadly glares.

“You're not taking her.” Kieran said first. “The Avvar have one of the better methods of letting mages begin their talents, and it doesn't involve keeping her held captive.”

“No child of mine will become an abomination to 'begin her talents.' It's a bloody miracle that we have no control over stamping out all of these undocumented mages. Anora is Ferelden, ergo we must-”

“It doesn't matter whether Anora is Ferelden or not!” Kieran thundered, stamping a foot to the ground and clenching his hand into a tight fist. “She's family! You can't abandon family to rot in some fancy named prison cell!”

Anora's father was silent for a long time. The air electrifying around the two men as both were too stubborn to agree on the other's solution.

“What would a boy like you know about family?” Anora's father then slowly asked. Hatred dripping from his voice with every chilling syllable.

“Apparently more than you! How could you even think about abandoning your own dau-”

Kieran never got to finish because his uncle had been so enraged that he slapped him. The young man immediately staggered backward, nursing his cheek as the wound throbbed. The Templar stepped closer, taking the young man by the scruff of his collar to demand eye contact.

“You understand little of the sacrifices it takes to be in my position.”

“But you always have a choice.” Kieran spat. “Don't you?”

Once more, a silence came between the two before the Templar set Kieran down. No other words were exchanged between the two as the Templar left. Neither of them even needed to say where he was going. It took Kieran a moment to process this, and when he did he let out an anguished yell as he started to charge after the Templar. He didn't get far because the augur had appeared directly in his path.

“Let her go.” the augur said to him in a soft, comforting, tone.

A spell had not being cast, but in that moment everything in Kieran paused. He looked at the augur with bitterness and equal exhaustion. With the traditional mask the augur wore that covered all but their mouth, it was hard to gauge just what expression the augur was giving the young man.

“Excuse me?” was all he could say. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, thankfully the augur gave a nod of silent apology.

“The old gods that protect our hold have spoken, young one. Her destiny lies at the Circle.”

For a moment, Kieran was too stunned to respond. When he did talk, his voice wavered; “You… you talked to your spirits about her, when we're not even…?”

“The gods protect our hold because we give them gifts and offering, not because they have a fated loyalty to us.” the augur explained. “We give them what they ask, and in return they show us their wisdom. It has been this way for millennia and it will be that way for the next millennia.”

Hearing this, Kieran was even more at conflict. “Ser, in all respects, I think you fail to understand how differently magic is treated outside of the Avvar. If Anora goes to the Circle, then she may never get out. She may even forget that I'm...”

But the augur silenced him with only a gentle hand on Kieran's shoulder.

“The gods gave me a message for you- one of assurance. They said, 'kin has betrayed her, but love will protect her.' Trust the gods, young one, they know more than we could ever fathom.”

Kieran didn't know when he started crying. He knew his legs gave out before trying to hold onto the augur for dear life. The augur was patient, allowing the young man to let out his frustrations, fears, and sadness out. Only fate could guide Anora now.

. . .

They never even got to say goodbye.

The Templars left the Avvar clan within the hour. When Anora had come to realize that she would never return to her cousin, she cried a lot too. The Templars were not as understanding as the augur had been- telling her that she had to shut up. One Templar even slapped her, which only made things worse. By the time the company arrived at Kinloch Hold, Anora's face had become stained with tears. No Templar pretended to be kind as they moved her inside.

If she had noticed things a bit more clearly then, she would have realized that one of the four Templars never entered the hold. He had remained behind, contemplating the wisdom of his young nephew, while also wondering how he was request a change of station.

As Anora was brought into the hold, forced into several corridors she would come to recognize like the back of her hand, the company went past two new Templars and a girl just a year older than Anora herself. The other girl, sporting blue hair with matching eyes, suddenly stopped in her tracks to gap in awe at the new girl. One of the Templars noticed the blue haired girl's surprise, then took a look at the Templars. In seeing Anora, the Templar seemed to understand why the blue haired girl could not stop staring.

“It seems you may be meeting a new friend, Aqua.” the Templar said to the girl with a grin.

“I doubt it, Campbell.” the other Templar huffed. “She was among the Avvar when she was reported. May already be an abomination. I heard that after they collect her phylactery, she'll be sent to First Enchanter Mickey right away.”

“If her being an abomination is such a concern, shouldn't she see the First Enchanter now instead of later?” Campbell questioned with a raise of his eyebrow. Aqua looked up at the Templar with a curious tilt of her head.

“Why would she be an abomination?” the young girl asked- her voice sounding even more curious than what her expression was.

Both Campbell and the other Templar looked down on her in such a way, Aqua shrunk a little in her spot. It was Campbell who bent down to give her head a little pat.

“Keep to your studies, Aqua,” he assured her, “You'll find out on your own eventually.”

The seven year old still curiously looked at him before a wide smile stretched across her face. “Right.” she agreed with a confident nod.

But, still… just who was that girl?

[lancetuckershairgel]

Lost Boy

Starring: Chris Evans as Captain Hook, Sebastian Stan as TJ Hammond, and Tom Holland as Peter Pan (and Anthony Mackie as Mr Smee but he isnt in the story. He was...swabbing the deck or something)

Warnings: drug use, feelings

Word Count: 1,545

A/N: Ahhhhhh!!! This is my new favorite thing ever and it took a turn from TJ being Pan but still. Me likey.

Tag List: @southernbell91 @book-dragon-13 @marvelgirl7 @anxiousamandapanda @randomfandompenguin @louisianaspell @jobean12-blog @leisurelypanda @buckysforeverprincess @tranquil--heart @abovethesmokestacks @brat-in-a-teacup @marvelandotherfandomimagines @collinsstanharbour @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Another bullshit party where TJ Hammond fell under the scrutiny of his parents, their colleagues, and the press left him itching for a fix. He couldn't get out of that place fast enough and relief washed over him the second he stepped foot inside the sanctuary that was his apartment. He tossed  his leather jacket on the couch before he grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off on the counter, and made his way into the bedroom. 

He lost count of how many lines of white powder he had snorted. He didn't care. Anything to numb him and wash away the feelings. He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest and eyes glazed over. His fingers tingled and he felt the euphoric sensation of being high overcome him. Just as he was drifting away he heard a scratching at his window, loud enough to draw his attention back to the present. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at the frame. He didn't think his heart could beat any faster but when the window began to slide open he thought the organ would pound right through his chest. 

"Wh-who's there?" TJ whispered 

A shadowy figure crawled through the open space and heavy boots clunked on the hardwood floor with a thud. TJ couldn't move, the effects of the drugs causing his reactions to be hindered and response time to be much slower than normal. His eyes were wide as the man began to walk toward him and he shook with fear. 

"Don't be afraid." The man spoke "I won't hurt you, my dear boy."

"Wh-who are you?"

The man reached out his arm and TJ jumped but couldn't bring himself to move away from the man's reach. A shiver ran down his spine when something cold slid down his cheek and under his chin, tilting his head up. Blue eyes shown bright with fear and wonder as he looked up at the man. In the dark TJ couldn't make out much but he could see vague features. Long dark hair, a beard. The man was dressed in all black. Slowly, TJ lifted his hand to the object under his chin, his fingers curling around the man's wrist and sliding to his hand. There wasn't a hand. Instead there was a hook. 

"You..you have a hook for a hand!"

"Clever boy." The man chuckled "And now you have answered your own question. I am Captain Hook."

"Yeah right." TJ laughed 

"Don't believe do ya? Come, let me show you."

"Show me what? Your ship? A treasure?"

"Yes." 

"Sure, why the hell not." 

TJ shrugged and followed the man to the window, assuming this was a fever dream from his high. The wind on his face sure felt real, as did the man's towering presence next to him. 

"I suppose were gonna fly?" 

"We sure are. Go on, take my hand."

TJ curled his fingers around the hook and off the men flew, out the window and up to the sky. As they began to pass through the clouds the silhouette of a ship appeared in the distance. 

"This is one hell of a trip." TJ thought to himself as he looked over the shining lights if D.C. below him. 

Once the pirate's ship had set sail through the sky, TJ leaned against the front, wind blowing gently against his face. The man, Captain Hook, appeared next to him, leaning against the wooden edge and looking out across the stars. 

"Where are you taking me?" 

"Aye, my boy. See the bright star there?" Hook gestured with his makeshift hand and TJ nodded "That's the first star. We go straight from there and on til morning, then we'll be in Neverland."

"Neverland? You mean with Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and the lost boys?"

"My child, you are a lost boy." Hook sighed, not looking at TJ

TJ raised his eyebrows but didn't respond. Instead he stood alongside Hook and watched as they carried on with their journey. 

Upon arriving in Neverland, TJ followed the pirate off the ship and into the forest. Pixies, fairies, TJ didnt know what they were, flew overhead and he brushed their falling dust off his shoulder with a scowl. 

"They like you." Hook chuckled, drawing his sword to cut through vines 

"I don't like glitter."  

"It isn't glitter." Hook corrected "Pixie dust. It's special."

"Can I snort it?"

Hook paused his step and gave a sideways glance to TJ before carrying on.

"I wouldn't recommend it."

Soon the pair arrived at a campsite. Teepees and a fire, a pot of stew and wooden platter of bread, headdresses, everything one would expect at a Lost Boy camp, everything except the Lost Boys. 

"Where is everyone? Do I get to meet Peter Pan?" 

Hook laughed as he began to pour stew into a bowl. He handed it to TJ who sat on a wooden stump and began to eat. 

"The boys are off on an adventure."

TJ shoveled the food into his mouth, not realizing how hungry he actually was. 

"I want to go on an adventure."

"Oh but my boy aren't you already having one?" 

"Yeah, sure, but I want to wrestle a crocodile and pillage a village" TJ laughed "That rhymed. I want to find treasure"

"Well then, my lad, we can do all those things. Except maybe wrestle a crock."

While TJ ate, Hook told him tales of Neverland and how he became to be a resident. He debunked a few myths, such as he and Pan being enemies and a crocodile taking his hand. 

"So how'd you lose it?" 

"Aye, an unfortunate accident with the sword." Hook nodded solemnly "No matter. Are you done, Lad?"

TJ had finished his stew and felt pretty full. He thanked Hook before the pirate lead him away from camp. Through the woods and to Skull Island, dark cave with the rocks forming a skull. 

"Let's find treasure shall we?" 

TJ didn't know how long they had been in the cave. Hours. Days. He didn't care about the time, he was enjoying being a make believe pirate. He jumped from rock to boulder, climbing and exploring the cave. Eventually he found the treasure cove and his eyes lit up. Hook watched, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest, as TJ dove in. He tried on jewelry and pretended to drink wine from a gold goblet, he shoved diamonds and rubies into his pockets with Hooks permission. Last he picked up a crown adorned with jewels and placed it on his head. 

"How do I look, Captain?" 

"Like a proper young prince" Hook flashed him a smile 

On the way back from the island TJ began to get tired, his legs aching from all of the walking. Hook obliged in giving him a backride back to the camp where Peter and the Lost Boys were waiting for them. TJ took in Peter Pan, a young boy as expected, who had brown hair and big brown doe eyes. He had a complete innocence about him that TJ admired and envied. 

"Captain Hook! Who have you got there? Not another lost boy!"

Peter introduced himself to TJ and encouraged him to play with the lost boys. Seeing how young Peter and the boys were made TJ suddenly feel feel conscious and like he didn't belong. Hook noticed the long expression and put his arm around the boy. 

"What's wrong, my boy?" 

"I don't belong here. I'm thirty years old.Not a kid."

"Everyone is a kid at heart, some more than others.  Being a Lost Boy doesn't mean that you're a child, it means you need some guidance, love, and a little pixie dust."

"Yeah? I guess you're right."

TJ spent the rest of the night carefree. He played with the lost boys and had a sword fight with Peter. He ate more stew and met Tinkerbell who was exactly as he expected. When the sun began to peak over the horizon the lost boys retreated into their teepees and Peter climbed up to his treehouse for a long sleep. TJ yawned as Hook lead him back to the ship. 

"Do I have to go home?" 

"Aye."

"I don't want to." 

Hook scooped the sleepy TJ into his arms and carried him onto the ship, laying him in his bed. 

"You can come back any time. All you have to do is believe." 

TJ closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as Hook covered him with a quilt and stroked his cheek with the smooth edge of his hook. 

TJ awoke to light shining. He sat up and looked around, no longer on the pirate ship but instead back in his apartment. He looked over at the window and saw that it was not only closed, but locked as well. He frowned, unable to not feel disappointed by the fact that he hadn't really gone to Neverland with a handsome pirate and instead had experienced a wild, cocaine induced trip. He sighed and got up, making his way to the shower, by passing the window. If only he had seen the gold pixie dust print left on the windowsill.  

[erineverly]

            FATHER’S  DAY.  each  year ,  while  other  children  and  adults  hit  the  stores  looking  for  the  most  adorable  cards ,  colorful  bouquets  and  other  sweet ,  thoughtful  gifts ,  erin  attempts  to  ignore  even  the  tiniest  things  that  could  remind  her  about  the  loving  dad  she’s  never  had.  as  the  radio  stations  across  the  country  play  songs  dedicated  to  all  these  admirable  parental  figures  who  have  inspired  their  offsprings  to  achieve  great  things  in  life  and  the  commercials  on  the  tv  speak  only  about  spoiling  the  ones  who  have  taught  the  future  generations  how  to  be  better  people ,  she  pretends  she  doesn’t  hear  the  obvious  messages  they  carry  and  avoids  turning  these  two  devices  on.  she  even  goes  as  far  as  trying  to  convince  herself  that  everything’s  simpler  and  better  the  way  it  is  —  she  doesn’t  have  to  spend  hours  wondering  how  to  honor  her  dad ,  how  to  be  more  creative  than  her  siblings ,  how  to  outdo  herself  and  whatever  gift  she  gave  him  the  previous  year.  she  doesn’t  want  to  be  pitied  and  tries  to  play  it  cool  but  deep  down  it  tears  her  heart  to  pieces.  unfortunately ,  there’s  nothing  that  can  be  done  to  change  it.  her  father  has  been  gone  for  exactly  twenty  years ,  absent  physically ,  as  well  as  emotionally.  he’s  missed  all  of  her  birthday  parties ,  all  of  her  recitals  and  school  plays ,  wasn’t  there  to  teach  her  how  to  drive  a  car  or  fix  a  dripping  faucet  or  even  just  watch  her  fly  her  first  kite  at  the  shore.  all  he’s  left  her  with  are  thousands  of  scars ,  the  constantly  bleeding  wounds  that  refuse  to  gradually  go  away  as  time passes ,  and  the  only  lesson  he’s  ever  taught  her  is  how  to  question  every  person,  or  rather  every  man ,  who  tries  to  offer  her  his  LOVE.  he  doesn’t  deserve  to  be  called  a  father  and  for  two  decades  erin’s  tried  to  erase  this  day ,  behave  as  if  it  was  just  another  sunday  in  june ,  as  though  there  was  nothing  special  about  it.

            however ,  ever  since  learning  that  she’ll  become  a  parent  herself  this  november ,  she’s  been  thinking  a  lot  about  her  own  childhood  and  how  it  shaped  her  into  the  person  she  is  today.  her  father’s  absence  is  the  reason  why  she  constantly  questions  her  worth  and  worries  her  husband  will  one  day  abandon  her ,  too.  her  mother’s  authoritarian  personality  is  the  one  to  blame  for  her  shyness  and  anxiety ,  her  extremely  protective  nature  the  cause  for  erin’s  childish  and  naive  behavior.  her  parents  have  never  been  perfect  but  she’s  been  doing  her  best  to  try  and  understand  them ,  forgive  and  learn  how  not  to  repeat  their  mistakes.  she’s  been  thinking  about  all  the  difficulties  that  come  with  parenthood ,  all  the  struggles  and  tears.  it  terrifies  her ,  makes  her  wonder  if  a  person  as  broken  as  herself  is  fit  for  this  extremely  important  and  challenging  role.  the  only  thought  that  can  put  a  genuine  smile  on  her  face  and  keep  her  sane  today  is  the  one  that  crosses  her  mind  every  time  her  stormy  gaze  flickers  to  her  husband’s  bright  emeralds  —  their  child  will  never  feel  the  way  she  has.  they  will  never  feel  worthless  or  inadequate ,  unloved  or  unwanted.  their  child  will  have  someone  who  deserves  to  be  called  not  just  farther  or  dad  but  daddy  or  DADA.  someone  who’ll  truly  care  about  him  or  her.  although ,  the  first  few  weeks  have  been  nothing  but  a  gigantic  struggle  for  both  of  them ,  it  seems  that  they’re  finally  coming  to  terms  with  the  fact  that  their  lives  are  inevitably  changing.  this  giant  responsibility  has  landed  upon  their  shoulders  a  little  sooner  than  expected  but  she  doesn’t  want  to  pull  her  hair  out  or  cry  all  night ,  anymore.  she  wants  to  hope  for  the  best  and  enjoy  their  time  together  as  a  family.  

            today  is  an  extremely  special  day  because  not  only  is  it  axl’s  first  ever  father’s  day  but  also  the  very  first  father’s  day  that  erin’s  truly  excited  about  and  wants  to  celebrate  to  the  fullest.  their  baby  hasn’t  even  been  born  yet  but  her  husband  has  already  made  her  believe  that  he’s  a  better  man  and  a  better  father  than  don (  or  william ,  or  stephen ,  or  any  other  sperm  donor  in  this  world  ).  he’s  proven  that  he  can  be  the  kind  of  parent  everyone  wants  to  have.  he  hasn’t  left  her  alone  with  this.  he’s  been  extremely  caring  and  supportive ,  even  though  she  can  tell  that  this  new  role  isn’t  something  he’s  adjusting  to  easily.  for  this  very  reason ,  as  a  little  thank  you for  his  kindness ,  she’s  decided  to  give  him  an  unforgettable  day  —  one  that’s  solely  about  him.  first ,  she  let  him  sleep  in ,  get  some  much  needed  rest.  then ,  she  made  him  heart - shaped  waffles  for  breakfast  and  brought  them  on  a  wooden  tray  to  their  bedroom.  later ,  they  went  for  a  long  walk  with  their  dogs  and  got  ice  cream.  and  now  she’s  taking  him  to  malibu ,  to  their  favorite  spot ,  the  same  one  where  many  years  ago  they  had  their  first  real  date  and  realized  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  each  other.  if  she  closes  her  eyes  even  just  for  a  moment ,  she  can  still  see  this  young ,  bashful  boy  with  dreams  bigger  than  both  of  them  and  a  heart  so  full  of  affection  and  devotion ,  love  for  her  that  it  could  barely  fit  inside  his  chest ,  his  porcelain  skin  basking  in  the  sun ,  his  green  eyes  reflecting  the  color  of  the  ocean.  at  the  time ,  he  was  as  poor  as  a  rat  but  he  still  made  sure  her  stomach  was  full  and  her  mind  at  ease.  he  brought  homemade  food  and  even  somehow  found  a  picnic  basket  ( to  this  day  she  has  no  idea  where  he  got  it  from  ).  it  was  a  magical  date ,  one  of  the  most  memorable  dates  ever  for  sure.  it’s  hard  to  believe  that  shy  boy  is  going  to  be  a  father  in  a  few  months  and  the  third  sunday  of  june  will  always  be  all  about  him.

            as  they  stroll  along  the  shore ,  bathing  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  afternoon  sun ,  erin  can  barely  take  her  eyes  off  of  her  husband.  her  husband.  she  still can’t  believe  he  really  is  her  husband,  not  her  boyfriend.  husband.  while  she  continues  to  gaze  at  him  as  if  he  hung  the  stars  and  the  moon ,  she  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  neither  the  ocean ,  nor  the  blue ,  cloudless  sky  above  their  heads  can  compete  with  his  beauty.  the  corners  of  her  lips  twitch ,  a  look  of  sheer  happiness  passes  over  her  visage.  she  has  to  admit  that  despite  being  insanely  handsome ,  he  also  looks  a  bit  ridiculous  (  or  rather  ridiculously  adorable ) with  his  red  bandana  no  longer  tied  around  his  head  but  wrapped  tightly  a  few  inches  lower ,  covering  his  starry  eyes ,  preventing  him  from  peeking  and  ruining  the  surprise.  she  can’t  let  him  see  what’s  awaiting  him.  it  has  to  be  kept  secret  until  the  very  last  moment.  after  all ,  that’s  what  makes  things  even  more  exciting.  erin’s  right  arm  remains  draped  around  his  slim  hips ,  guiding  him  and  making  sure  he  doesn’t  lose  his  balance  now  that  she’s  taken  away  one  of  his  senses.  the  sand  is  warm  beneath  the  soles  of  her  bare  feet  (  she  could  barely  wait  and  took  her  wedges  off  the  second  she  parked  her  car  and  got  out  of  it  ) ,  tiny  grains  falling  from  her  skin  with  each  step.  she  blissfully  lifts  her  chin  a  little  higher ,  closing  her  eyes  for  a  second  as  the  salty  breeze  flows  through  her  dark  ringlets  and  kisses  her  rosy  cheeks.  her  blue  cotton  summer  dress  billowing ,  delicate  fabric  dancing  in  the  wind ,  threatening  to  uncover  what’s  beneath.  it  makes  her  giggle ,  has  her  feeling  all  carefree  and  joyous.  her  fingers  curl  a  little  tighter  around  axl’s  hip  as  she  pushes  herself  up  onto  her  tip  toes  and  plants  a  gentle  kiss  on  his  cheek.  she  wishes  they  could  spend  the  rest  of  their  lives  right  where  they  are.  ❛  alrighty !  it’s  right  in  front  of  you ,  ❜  she  softly  coos,  coming  to  a  stop.  ❛  are  you  ready  ?  ❜  to  finally  see  what  this  grand  surprise  is.  she’s  thrumming  with  a  combination  of  nerves  and  excitement  as  her  slender  fingers  carefully  work  on  undoing  the  knot.  with  his  red  strands  and  the  summer  wind  in  the  way ,  it  takes  her  a  good  minute  to  succeed.

            right  before  them ,  in  a  more  secluded  area  of  the  beach ,  with  a  beautiful  cliff  on  one  side  and  azure  waves  crashing  against  the  shore  on  the  other ,  erin’s  created  their  charming  picnic  spot.  all  she  needed  was  an  ounce  of  creativity.  when  combined  with  some  stunning ,  exotic  flowers ,  a  bohemian  teepee  tent ,  a  few  fire  logs  (  in  case  they  decide  to  stay  long  enough  to  watch  the  sun  set  on  the  horizon  and  it  gets  cold  )  and  some  sweet  treats ,  it  resulted  in  a  picture  perfect date  plan.  with  a  little  help  from  her  brother ,  erin’s  managed  to  make  it  look  more  than  just  decent  —  something  straight  out  of  a  movie  or  a  fairytale.  the  linen  walls  of  the  tent  are  meant  to  protect  them  from  the  wind  and  keep  the  bright  rays  away  from  her  husband’s  porcelain  skin.  garlands  made  of  lilies  and  peonies  adorning  the  entrance ,  their  smell  a  combination  of  sweetness  and  happiness.  inside  the  teepee ,  to  make  it  even  more  cozy  and  inviting ,  there’s  a  pile  of  soft  blankets  and  a  bunch  of  colorful  pillows ,  as  well  as  a  picnic  basket  with  all  kinds  of  delicious  teats  underneath  its  lid.  there’s  also  a  blue  bag  —  a  little  gift  from  their  unborn  child  to  the  greatest  daddy  in  the  world.  inside ,  among  torn  rose  petals  and  a  few  other  presents ,  he’ll  find  a  t-shirt  that  says  dada  bear  and  a  tiny  onesie  that  says  little  bear ,  an  album  with  pictures  of  them  and  captions  explaining  (  in  simple  yet  poetic  words  )  their  journey  together  from  the  night  they  met  to  the  day  they  found  out  they  were  having  a  baby ,  a  brand  new  video  camera  so  that  they’ll  be  able  to  record  all  the  precious  moments  with  their  son  or  daughter ,  a  tape  with  some  of  their  favorite  songs  turned  into  lullabies  that  her  brother  and  his  friends  had  worked  in  secret  for  weeks  on  and  a  red ,  heart - shaped  card  .  .  .  a  small  letter  from  their  baby  to  him ,  written  in  erin’s  handwriting :  

           happy  father’s  day,  daddy  !            it’s  the  very  first  one  that  we’re  celebrating  and  i’m  just  a  teeny  tiny  human  now  but  i  already  want  to  tell  you  so  many  things  !  first  and  foremost  — I  LOVE  YOU  SO  MUCH !  i  love  you  the  mostest  !  and  even  though  you  sometimes  doubt  yourself ,  i  know  that  you  are  the  best  daddy  in  the  whole  wide  world  and  i  am  so  grateful  that  it’s  you  i’ll  get  to  learn  from  in  the  future.  my  favorite  part  of  each  day  is  the  one  when  you  talk  or  sing  to  me ,  or  when  you  kiss  and  hug  me.  i  can’t  wait  to  finally  meet  you  and  fall  asleep  in  your  arms  or  on  your  chest  or  even  in  my  crib  with  you  watching  over  me  but  i  have  to  be  patient.  just  a  few  more  months ,  daddy.  i  may  not  be  able  to  give  you  many  precious  gifts  now  but  i  promise  to  draw  plenty  of  pretty  pictures  just  for  you  in  the  future  !  i’ll  bake  thousands  of  cakes  and  cookies  for  all  your  favorite  holidays  and  i’ll  sing  all  of  your  favorite  songs  in  the  car  with  you.  i  can’t  wait  to  finally  hug  you  back.  next  year ,  we’ll  do  all  these  fun  things  that  dads  and  their  babies  do  !  i’m  looking  forward  to  meeting  you  and  celebrating  many  more  father’s  days  with  you  —  the  coolest  daddy  in  the  universe  !              i  love  you  so  much ,              your  teeny  tiny  rose.

            clutching  her  husband’s  red  bandana  in  her  left  hand  and  squeezing  his  wrist  with  her  right  one ,  erin  carefully  studies  his  expression.  her  heart  has  somehow  left  her  chest  and  is  now  beating  within  the  confines  of  her  throat ,  not  even  the  delicate  breeze  can  carry  away  all  of  her  worries.  what  if  instead  of  making  him  happy ,  she’ll  only  stress  him  out  ? what  if  he  gets  upset  or  decides  the  gifts  she’s  picked  for  him  are  too  cheesy  ?  she  can  only  hope  it’s  not  too  much  for  him  to  handle.  after  all ,  she  wants  this  day  to  be  special ,  not  terrifying  and  stressful  for  him.  ❛  happy  father’s  day,  axy,  ❜  she  whispers ,  pressing  her  lips  to  his  soft  cheek  and  kissing  it  again.  her  hand  curling  a  little  tighter.  ❛  our  lion  cub  wanted  to  do  something  nice  for  his  or  her  favorite  dad  and  so  .  .  .  this  is  what  we  came  up  with.  we  know  you  like  picnics  and  the  ocean  ?  i  got  applesauce  and  peanut  butter  sandwiches  ?  happy  first  father’s  day ,  baby.  ❜

☆  ;  @thornrosed​

[teepeetentpicnicsandevents]

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Forty-Seven: Ajax

Two Out of Ten Stars on the Monologue

             Before Eris could set him down, something took her completely by surprise.

           A tree exploded out of the ground beside Eris and slapped her across the face. She lost her grip on him.

           Pax toppled away into someone else’s feet.

           This certain someone sprinkled another powder over his face.

           By this point, Pax’s instinct should have said Foreign Powder: Bad, but he didn’t have much choice in breathing. His mother’s concoction had left him gasping so heavily, all he could do was gulp up the flowery-scented air.

           Breathing became a lot easier. The fuzziness erased, so the world became a lot less weeeeee! and a lot more Oh, right, I’m in immense amounts of pain.

           When Pax looked up to see who he had to thank for this revelation, he remembered that he was a bit blind from the flashbang.

           Everything was still too bright. The flashbang should have warn off by now. Could it really be—

           “I LOVE LOW-CUT SHIRTS!” someone shouted from far above. The voice was so distant, Pax wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the spectral perv and wondered if demigods heard spectral pervs before they died instead of God. That seemed to fit Greek mythology to a T.

           When Pax blinked a few times, he could see the curtains of Nyx’s cape parting in the sky. As he’d been told not to many times before, Pax stared straight into the sun.

           While his eyes weren’t super fond of this decision, his brain was throwing a party: someone was driving the sun chariot.

           Pax had to wonder if Apollo had been released, but wasn’t so sure when he heard a figure from far above shout, “Looking good, Daughter of Demeter!”

           Apollo was creepy. But, usually, he was a bit more subtle.            

           However, Pax had to admit, Euna did look pretty awesome and terrifying.

           She stood over Pax, strawberry plants and grass growing wild around them, curling around Pax like a protective shield. She held Kronos’ scythe to one side. Her hand rested on it more like a hand on a friend’s shoulder than a hand holding a weapon that would sever Pax in half if her finger slipped.

           Black tar dripped off her arms and smeared her shirt.

           “Ew,” Pax said, “Is that Phobetor goo? Did you turn him into costume supplies? Oh titans, that’s not the powder you dumped on me, is it?”

           Real questions with disturbing answers.

           Pax tilted his head to glance at the camp. Sure enough, there was a weird sheen forming around the barriers. Normally, Pax couldn’t see the Mist at work, but apparently Mist repair was a bit more visible.

           The God of Nightmares had been keeping the Mist shield down. Euna must have defeated him. And then made motor oil out of him.

           A roar sounded in the distance. With Phobetor’s sleep magic gone, Pax had to wonder if a very confused dragon, Peleus, realized he’d been teepeed by campers during his nap.

           In the background, ghosts and ghouls screamed along with the roar. There was probably a massive Thriller retreat back to their graveyards with all this sunshine.

           Hope lifted his core and made it feel all feathery until Euna took a step towards his mom.

           Eris clapped her hands together, the flat edge of her knife pressed between her fingers. She tilted her head to the side and leaned her cheek against her hands like a giddy school girl. Eris didn’t look right in full daylight. In it, he could see the amount of damage that he and Axel had done to his mother: the way she could barely balance on her shredded ankle, how her torso curled towards the ichor spilling out of her side. The injuries didn’t match her expression as she said, “Oh, this is wonderful—it’s beautiful and perfect.”

           “You lost,” Axel wheezed out from somewhere nearby.[1]

           “But, I never had an objective to lose,” Eris giggled. Her round, dark eyes analyzed Euna gleefully. “Remember, I don’t really plan. I just set bombs and watch them go off. And you, my lovely darling, are a nuclear missile without a honing device.”

           Euna twisted the scythe in her hands. “I’m killing you now,” she decided.

           Before Euna could step out of his reach, Pax managed to grab her ankle. Upon registering Jack’s head—still mumbling angrily into a flower gag—Pax remembered last time he frantically grabbed Jack’s ankle to prevent Jack from killing Will Solace. That time, he epically failed in the preventative killing measure. “Please don’t make me an orphan,” Pax begged. Despite all of this, his stomach twisted at the thought. “I know those are the first steps to becoming a Disney princess, but I’ll give up that dream if it means you won’t kill someone else in my family.”

           Underneath his grip, he could feel Euna violently shaking. Regardless of her resolve, Pax wasn’t sure if she would have the strength to live through fighting his mom. Yea, they were both injured, but Pax imagined killing one god a day would earn a powernap. Killing two..?

           “We didn’t get to kill my sister, Hemera, and that’s a bummer,” Eris said, her gaze surveying the carnage around Camp Half-Blood, seeming satisfied. “But we got something much more fun: we get to find out whether parents really appreciate their children more when they’re gone—” Pax assumed she meant the dead demigods in camp, but Eris gestured to the black gunk on Euna. Huh. Hypnos baby. Gross. “We got a godly assassin that wants to murder all the gods. We got the seeds—” Pax wanted to giggle as his mother nodded to Euna again, but he felt a little too queasy. “—to make a third demigod group that neither of the others will trust. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you three sometime soon.”

           She winked at Axel, Pax, and Euna.

           And with that, Eris slowly stalked off down Farm Road. She didn’t even use a flash bomb or laugh manically. Pax gave her a zero out of ten for dramatic exits or proper villain monologues—a major let down since she and her gang had been doing so well.

           Euna’s shakes, meanwhile, became worse. She collapsed backwards. Her butt crushed the air out of Pax’s diaphragm, making pain explode in his shoulder. Jack made a mumble of protest through his gag.

           Pax squeaked when Kronos’ scythe sliced into the ground right beside his head.

           This felt suspiciously easy and anticlimactic. And he didn’t like his mother’s “this isn’t over” type speech. When Pax squirmed, the pain in his shoulder intensified. His opposite hand wouldn’t respond. He wanted to complain to Euna, but a loud snore signaled how thoroughly she’d listen.

           While taking a massive, mid-day nap sounded appealing—

           Panic seized him when he remembered Eris’ knife digging into the avatar’s chest. Axel was lying somewhere close, potentially dying, and he was concerned about his mom’s proper villain etiquette. Pax didn’t even know where his brother was.

“Axel, help. I’m being crushed by a beautiful, hot woman,” Pax said, figuring that was the best way to gauge how Axel felt.

           In the moment of silence that followed afterwards, Pax assigned an Axel rating system.

“Don’t objectify her” would be somewhere between 8 to 10.

“Ajax, shut up” would be a between 4 to 10.

A grunt: 2 to 4.

No response…

           “You’re a sore sight for tired eyes, Leonis Caput,” someone said before Axel could.

           Pax released a massive sigh of relief, something he never thought he’d do around a Roman.

           Reyna strode towards them. With that hint of amusement in Reyna’s tone as she approached, she couldn’t think Axel was too hurt, and Pax knew that comment wasn’t for him.

           Pax squirmed to look around when he heard Axel’s weak, slow response, “I take it it’s time to party?”

           Pax immediately stopped squirming when Reyna said, much more serious, “I think it’s time to finally arrest you.”

***

 Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I know this battle sequence might feel a little anticlimactic, but Mel and I agreed that if felt proper for Pax. Stay tuned next week for Calex’s chapter, A Punch of Home.

***

Footnote:

[1] Mel beta, “I just imagine him popping up with leaves in his hair and looking all frazzled and confused like a guy just popped out of the forest.”

[yeshawrites]

Prada Black

BINARY, an anthology. Chapter: Prada Black. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This is a series I’m starting about my personal life. Some of these things deal with implied rape, gender, sexuality, and abuse. This piece is no exception. Please read knowing both that this is my real life I am allowing on display, and also that it may have upsetting content. This piece is safe!

When I was little, every summer we would plant a small garden in the backyard. I don’t remember the particulars of most of the garden--that was lost on me--but what I do recall was that, when planting season came around, my mother drove plastic garden stakes into the earth like a teepee. Next came the morning glories.

And they were magnificent. The enclosure was too small for the adults, so I would slip in with a book. I don’t remember the smell. All I have is a vague sense of earth and rustling leaves and the memory of sweetness surrounding me. I spent hours dreaming and reading and considering the world around me. I thought about manners and fairytales and tea parties.

Mostly, I thought about love.

I don’t know where I latched on to the concept. It certainly wasn’t from my parents. Their eventual divorce felt inevitable even in the early years. I knew--knew, even as a child!--that they did not love each other. My father’s parents were little better (though when my grandmother got her own separation at the age of eighty-eight, that was a touch more surprising). If anything, it was my mother’s family that contributed to my fantasies. My Mimi and Poppop have been together since they were teenagers, both endlessly, lovingly frustrated by each other, forever laughing over card games and movie dates.

But I don’t think they were the spark. My imaginary romances were of a different kind. They were slower, harder, less easily won. Yes, I wanted to believe in love at first sight. Somehow I never did. I carried those flower-scented dreams with me, close to my chest, fluttery and full-bloom and battering at my ribcage. I wondered if that was what love smelled like.

But things die.

One of my best friends tells me that I fall for anyone who shows me kindness, and God damnit if she isn’t right. There lies a path to heartbreak. People lie. People pretend. And I--I, who had forever fantasized about that hard won romance that survived trial and tribulation, put myself in the middle of many a relationship I should have left. And it sucked.

The most brutal one was the best. I stayed for four years with someone who made me love like I’d never loved before--who made me laugh--who celebrated me--who lived with me--and who could never stay faithful to me. Not once. Not ever. And the first time he admitted as much, I remember looking at the bath bomb in my hands (gold glitter, jasmine and honeysuckle scented), and thinking I could never smell it the same ever again.

I carried that with me, too.

Moving on from what you thought could be forever rips a part of you away. I once thought--however stupidly--that he and I would be forever. I wanted it so bad that I could feel it in my heart, inhale it the same way as all those flowers. I could reach into my imagination and touch it. The dream didn’t collapse so much as fall apart at the foundation. I was left with the wreckage. He didn’t care enough to look.

I’m older now. Sometimes I look ahead and I see myself alone forever. I think about Stevie Nicks and how she never found someone, either, contenting herself with the company she has. Maybe that’s enough. I swipe through dating sites and think about everything that could go wrong.

And sometimes, I dream a little again.

There was one night I went on a date without realizing it. It was rainy. I didn’t feel quite like going out, but I was asked and he seemed nice enough, so I did. We talked at the bar for hours. We trekked around the drizzly city late at night, sharing his umbrella. And then he kissed me, and when he did it was like the whole sky opened up and fell back into my chest again. God, I’ve never been kissed like that. But he was there for one night, and only one night, and I knew it. His cologne was a halo around us as we tangled up together to talk on the attic carpet, teenagers again.

And then he was gone.

I texted him the next day. “What was that cologne you were wearing?”

“Prada Black.”

And it isn’t love. I know that much. I don’t know what prepped me to hold my sanity together--the wreckage of my last Great Love or the knowing that this was temporary--but I went out and bought a little bottle of it, spritzing it over my pillows. At night I curl up in the bed and bury my nose into the dusty scent. I imagine what it might be like, to feel that kind of connection to someone for longer, to have courtesy and kindness be the mainstay, to part ways with a smile and a kiss and another day not be a promise lingering in the wind.

It isn’t love. But I think about him and the place he came from, and I wonder to myself: given enough time and effort, does love smell like Prada Black?