#even the clips used couldn’t fit because there isn’t a single shot in the show of rose looking regretful with Greg

[uglygirlstatus]

still fuming over a Steven Universe Good Luck Babe! edit I saw yesterday. they set the bridge to clips of Pearl and Rose as if Pearl was the one singing it to Rose like come on Rose didn’t have a single day of regret for choosing Greg ever at all she would NOT be standing Face to Face with I Told You So. Pearl made this edit to cope

[duuhrayliegh]

europe - request

pairing: sebastian stan x singer!reader (seb!pov)

summary: singer!reader writes another song, this one is about seb

warnings: suggestive content (*wink wonk*), language, the works ya know

a/n: this took so long bc im not lyrically inclined and there isn’t even that many lyrics in here. i can’t even guys this was a nice break though. i liked the concept, i hope i lived up to your dreams. :)

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are both open loves!

check out my other writing on my full m.list

Sebastian was doing a press interview for his new movie. It was his first on television interview. First time being back in the studio for The Late Late Show with James Corden. First time since you and him had gotten together. He was eager to see what James had in store for him.

He was wearing a bright yellow shirt paired with a red leather jacket. His legs were clad with a different pair that he wanted to wear originally because you couldn’t get quite enough of his thighs. Had he worn the other pair, there would’ve been a prominent wet spot on one leg where you rode him to your own satisfaction. The memory made him bite his lip and adjust his pants to try to quell his oncoming boner.

“Good luck out there tonight, lovey. You’re gonna crush it.” Your voicemail warmed Sebastian’s heart. He missed you a lot, but you were currently on your own press junket. Your new album finally came out and your manager had been running you ragged. Sebastian was so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Hi, Mr. Stan. You’re needed on deck in five minutes.” He nodded at the assistant producer who stuck her head in his dressing room. Sebastian ran his hands through his hair one more time before deciding enough was enough.

“Well, this is as good as it's gonna get.” He murmured to himself as he walked out of the dressing room. He rolled his shoulders, snuggling into the leather jacket encasing his back. Sebastian took a swig of a water bottle from the table backstage. He still got nervous when doing interviews, always worried that he’s going to say the wrong thing.

“And now I would like to introduce our next guest. You’ve seen him as Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe for the last ten years. He’s played the borderline psychotic Jeff Gillooly in I, Tonya, and the corrupt Sheriff Bodecker from The Devil All The Time. It is my pleasure to introduce the one, the only, Sebastian Stan!”

James stood, clapping as Sebastian made his way to the main set area. He raised his right hand, his left remaining on his stomach. As he approached James, Sebastian switched hands, his left coming up as an offer for James to shake. Afterwards, James held his hand out to the chair beside his desk, waiting for Sebastian to sit down.

“Hi, Sebastian! It’s so good to have you back.” James’ accent broke Sebastian’s name up into three distinct syllables, bringing a smile to Seb’s face.

“It’s good to be back, man.” He grinned big, waiting for James to ask the first question. Once they got into it, the interview went smoothly. Sebastian was able to avoid giving out spoilers for his new project, leaving just enough to the imagination. James was in a fit of laughter after Sebastian had told a crazy story from being on set. James wiped tears away from his lower lashline, calming down just enough to catch his breath.

“Okay, so I want to move onto something else.” Sebastian sobered up quickly, unsure of where James was taking the conversation. “We want all the juicy details about your relationship with Y/N.” Sebastian’s brow raised as he pulled a face at James’ question. He laughed to himself for a minute before answering.

“Ya know, we really have you to thank for that.” Sebastian pointed at James, before bringing that same finger to rub his eye.

“Really?” The man’s voice pitched up, brows hitting his hairline.

“Oh yeah. We were only introduced because of your show.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair, remembering that night with you. The two of you had gone out for drinks, talking for hours at the bar and then even longer in his hotel room. He remembered waking up with you wrapped up in his arms. You didn’t have sex that night, but you definitely did the second night.

And oh god, if  that second night wasn’t just as amazing as the first. The face you made whenever you climaxed danced it’s way to the forefront of Sebastian’s mind. Not good, definitely not good. He had to readjust himself in his pants again, crossing his legs to cover up his rather large problem.

“Yeah, we started dating that same week. Kept it quiet though.” Sebastian held his palm out in the air, bouncing it up and down.

“Right, right. And do you want to tell everyone how you did end up revealing that you and Y/N were an item?” Sebastian looked down at his lap, smirking to himself. “Or should we just play the clip?”

A clip played for the studio audience. It was Y/N doing her makeup for the Vogue Beauty Secrets Youtube video. Sebastian waltzed in the background of the shot. It then cuts to Sebastian kissing Y/N on the cheek, brandishing the hickey’s that she had sucked onto his cheek the night before. Mhm, I remember that night too.

Sebastian had surprised Y/N by coming to see her. He wasn’t doing anything and he missed you, so why waste a perfectly good opportunity. He spent the night there completely ravishing you until you begged him to stop. That night he proudly wore your thighs as earmuffs, burying his face in you. He really needed to stop reminiscing during an interview.

“How adorable. Was that planned at all? Or did you just do that because you could?” Sebastian shook his head, his right hand scratching at the stubble decorating his jaw.

“Oh, no. It definitely wasn’t planned. I honestly don’t remember if I knew Y/N was filming that morning, so I’m just glad I put on pants before I left the bedroom.” James laughed at Sebastian’s comment.

“Okay, so I’ve gotta ask your opinion on something though.” Sebastian made a hum of acknowledgement, signalling for James to continue. James leaned back, pulling out a cardstock of your new album. “So, this is Y/N’s new album, it just came out about three or four weeks ago?” The crowd clapped for you, and Sebastian cheered along with them.

“What do ya want my opinion on? If it’s the album, then I gotta tell ya, I loved it. Every single song on there is absolutely amazing.” James nodded, a smirk forming on his lips making Sebastian think he made a mistake.

“So you’re aware of the song Europe?” Sebastian smirked, nodding his head because he knew where this was going. “Would you like to tell us what that’s about?” James laughed as Sebastian stammered, looking for the right words. “I mean, let’s just read some of the lyrics.” James looked at the cards in his hands as Sebastian drifted into his thoughts again.

You had brought him into the studio before finalizing Europe. He remembers watching you twist your hands at your waist and continuously cracking your knuckles. Sebastian was curious because you hadn’t ever been like that when showing him a song before. Every question he had about your anxiety revolving around the song was thrown away when he heard it.

Europe was an ode to Sebastian, all of Sebastian. He couldn’t help pulling you down onto his lap by your waist as he listened. You were the only two in the studio, so the two of you were free to do whatever you wanted. The funny thing about that night was that there was a new track recording.

“Oh shit, Seb.” The dam broke afterwards, peels of laughter leaving your lips without explanation. Your right hand raised to your mouth, attempting (and failing) to quiet your giggles.

“Babe, why the ‘oh shit’?” You held up a finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet and listen. He strained his ears, waiting for his own ‘oh shit’ moment. Then, his own voice filtered into his ears, making him crease his brow in confusion. “What is that?”

“That’s the audio from when I first played you Europe.” Small giggles passed your lips again. “I was going to ask you if I could use, like, a sound byte from it for either the beginning or the end of the song.” Sebastian nodded, slightly amazed that you were so creative with your work. “But, I forgot to turn off the recording.” Sebastian’s eyes locked on your expression, waiting for him to connect the dots. He pulled a face and then,

“Oh shit.” His eyes widened, a huff of laughter escaping. “Wait, so it caught all of it?” Your lips rolled inwards, holding back laughs as you nodded your head. Sebastian raised a brow, his eyes flicking over your face. “Use it.” He had a few new hickeys after that night too, but not after decorating your body with a few of his own.

“Sebastian, I would like you to read a few lines from the song, please.” James handed Sebastian a card, a snort leaving Sebastian’s body involuntarily. He glanced at the cards, know the lyrics by heart already. He took a big breath, reading the lines that James chose. He threw him a look with his eyes, head tilting slightly toward the British man.

“Uh, okay, here we go.” Sebastian laughed to himself, blowing out a breath through clenched lips. He lifted the card again, “You know,” dropping his hand back to his lap while raising his other hand. “You know, she’s gonna make fun of me for this right?” James laughed, looking into the camera as if he was on The Office, then to the audience with a duh look on his face.

“Sebastian. We’re going to make fun of you.” The crowd didn’t hesitate to join in James’ amusement. Sebastian dropped his head into his hands, groaning loudly. “Do you need a little encouragement?” The audience began cheering and clapping for Sebastian.

“Fine, alright, alright.” He shook his head before starting. “Long nights with hickeys earned like a badge of honor. Teasing kisses, twisted sheets, all signs of true seduction.” Sebastian looked up from his hands, expecting James to say something. All James offered, though, was a wave of his hand for Sebastian to continue. “I never have to worry because all my sins are forgiven when I’m with you.” James held his hand up, stopping Sebastian from continuing.

“Okay, let’s dissect that, Mr. Stan.” James propped his elbow on his interview desk, placing his head at an angle in his palm. “What is this song about?” Sebastian’s lips curled inward, stopping himself from laughter.

“James,” Sebastian leaned forward against the arm of the couch. “I thought this was a family show.” The British man quirked a brow, sweeping both hands in front of his body gesturing to the studio.

“This is the Late Late Show, Sebastian.” He turned back to the audience, addressing them and the cameras. “And that is all the time we have tonight! Thank you to Sebastian for coming on the show with me tonight! And thank all of you for tuning in tonight. We’ll see you next time.” The producer beside the camera signaled that the show ended and Sebastian turned back to James.

“It’s a good song.” Sebastian smiled wide afterwards, saying his goodbyes to the crew. He was back in the safety of his dressing room when his phone started ringing.

“Hello?” He knew that it was you from the personally assigned ringtone you picked out when he wasn’t looking.

“The Internet is going to eat you alive.” Sebastian grinned as your peels of laughter trickled in through the speaker of his phone.

“Oh yeah, could you imagine if I told them that it wasn’t just random sounds at the end?” He could just imagine your smirk at his mention of your little addition to Europe.

“We’re gonna have to do that again.” Sebastian paused, waiting for you to explain. “Although I think next time we should do a visual along with the audio. You pickin’ up what I’m putting down Stan?” Sebastian smirked to himself, thinking about being able to watch himself bring you to the brink over and over again, even when you’re not together. His pants got tighter at the idea.

“I think we might have to look into that, Y/L/N.”

[elle9095]

So yesterday The Boyz’ Checkmate performance on Road to Kingdom completely blew my mind and it's been all I can think about for like 15 hours so I figured writing basically a dissertation explaining what I saw in their performances is going to help me make sense of life again.

The narrative that I got from the performances tells a story about the power struggles of monarchy, both literally and metaphorically, when you consider the industry. It’s also the concept of the show, giving these bands a chance to play in the same league as the so called kpop royalty.

It like the Boyz were on a show called Road to Kingdom and decided to make it literal.

First performance: Hwarang/ Sword of Victory

I think no one could've imagined what was to come when they made this performance. It was meant as an intro to the group so it was short and impressive and I’d say that it sort of set the style of their performance but not yet the general concept that has developed over the show.

Also I just learned that hwarangs were entertainers before they became a legion of warriors and later an institution, so they're basically old-timey boy groups turned soldiers.

How quaint when you consider the later performances.

Second performance: Danger

This is where it all started I guess. They went with the thieving concept of the song, decided to take inspiration from their first performance and bam now they’re stealing crowns and climbing walls.

Third performance: Reveal (Catching Fire)

So obviously referencing the Hunger Games which is a survival game but essentially a story of revolution.

Fourth performance: Heroine

This one's a bit different since it's a collab but yeah the whole performance is basically a person's journey to center stage, which is usually occupied by the winners/royalties.

Fifth performance: Quasi una fantasia

This one didn't look like it was going to fit the narrative with it being so ethereal and so hopeful, what with the branch slowly blooming, like a good thing coming to fruition, but this is the euphoria after you've made it and they sort of tell you in the title that yes this is basically a fantasy.

Final performance: Checkmate

This one is fucking insane okay? They start off with a deja vu: Yonghoon's with the hypnotizing watch again and you notice the blooming tree in the background but there's something uncanny and the watch stops, you get flashbacks of Juyeon taking down the king, wearing his crown, Q stealing the crown, stealthily sliding and passing it on to Sunwoo who seems like he's finally going to ascend to the throne and next thing you know he's falling and waking from a bad dream…

At this point I was already cursing and gasping and having a heart attack and they haven't even started singing. And it's like everything they've done so far was just a dream, the game is on let's start all over again.

And isn't it exactly like that? Because a game of thrones (though not explicitly referenced) is exactly just that: a game. You come to power but how long is that going to last? Sunwoo’s (literal) fall from power lasted a breath. You win first place on a music chart this week, you start all over again next week. And The Boyz would know that, having spent the the first weeks on top, but it only took a single performance in one episode for them to drop to third place.

And the chess concept is PERFECT. Chess is a game of war and strategy and the big picture and that's all they've been doing on this show: they've stolen, tricked, rebelled, and dreamed before they finally checkmate. All these performances make up one big picture and I don't know if they've planned this from the start but it’s fucking genius.

The Boyz are so good at coming with a concept and sticking with it, they make a song called checkmate and whoa they have a chess concept now, they have black and white costumes, dancers dressed as pawns, chess board effect and choreo, chess piece props… Which all seemed like obvious artistic choices but there's always MORE.

Like can we talk about that fucking table? I was like 'where did they find a three-way chess table omg it's gorgeous' and then someone's dancing on it and you see the glass tube thingy under the table and MOTHERFUCKER ITS A FUCKING CHESS HOURGLASS

Also for someone to be able to dance on it they flipped the table upside down and it's either like turning back time (rewind sound effect at the beginning) or starting all over again, but also I was like 'huh the tables have turned' and then 'OH FUCK OFF'

And it's all in the details in the performances, the small things that they reference, the same imagery that comes back again and again, every time I rewatch a performance I notice something I didn't before.

There’s the flower, something that's fragile and fleetingly beautiful, also the 'hwa' in hwarang. The moon, which is always changing, like an illusion, the full moon referenced in Reveal, which originally had a werewolf-y concept.

The fire, the sword, all associated with war and power. Even the tricks and optical illusions. The chess, the crown, the king. Everything came together so perfectly in that final performance and wrap up so nicely like HOW IS THAT SHIT EVEN REAL

I love how they have all the names of the song in the title cards (Thieves, Reveal, Paradise, Checkmate) and I’ve been thinking about the lyrics 'the show must go on' and 'the game starts again' and how Sisyphean it all is.

And it's almost like in the end they understand how futile the pursuit of power is but is still pushed by their drive to thrive for better, and in the end they realize being king isn't winning the game. Chess isn't about being king, you don't have to be king to win the game.

Their final card says 'As long as the moon shines, the king of all games is the Boyz'. They don't say 'we're the king' they say 'we're the king of all games'. It’s like 'yeah we're good at this and we're ready to go at it again' be it the hunger games, a game of thrones, or a game of chess.

DAMN THESE PHILOSOPHICAL REBELLIOUS BOYZ

These performances are inspiring and stimulating on so many levels, I mean yeah, the concept is mind-blowing, and of course the performances are just (literally) breathtaking but we haven't even talked about the technicalities.

Yes, I know these performances are great but more importantly I love how self-aware they are. They really seized the opportunity to do the kind of performance that they couldn't be possibly allowed to do anywhere else.

You can hardly do these things for a live audience, since so much rely on the camera work. You can't do this on music shows or music awards where people only care about the more famous groups.

And while these performances were created with the camera in mind, they still make the watching experience so incredibly live by making the performances so risky, upping the stakes to insane levels, and I don't just mean having to catch flying weapons or falling members, but like having a crazy domino choreography where one member's misplaced limb could ruin the whole shot, or using cool props and tricks that could so easily go wrong.

Like the branch that Juyeon was so upset about? The whole trick relied on everyone doing the right thing with the right prop at the right time right place TWICE all the while making it look effortless and seamless.

Can you imagine what kind of crazy you have to be to come up with that?

I personally think that mistake was a perfect imperfection when you look at the whole picture: something not quite right in this otherwise perfect dream that proved to be a mere fantasy, too good to be true.  

Watching the Boyz on Road to Kingdom was pure delight, and for people like me who get off on the thrill of live experience, performances like these are SUCH A TURN ON. And as a writer I'm just a sucker for conceptual plots, unexpected twists and experimenting with structures.

I’m currently torn by a mix of feelings: excitement for Kingdom, anxiety about the safety of the performers, dread of the inevitable end of the show. It kills me a little to think that we'll probably not see this kind of performances as much. That they don't get to perform like this again: go all out and not just tell a story but a fucking epic that will make Bertolt Brecht cry.

I hope they get their own comeback specials or that the company does like OK Go and makes all these crazy fun performance music videos. At this point I don't even know how to organize my thoughts to express my love for the creative team behind the productions, like someone there's got imagination to spare and I want to pick their brains so bad.

I didn’t know anything about this group before my sister showed me their Danger performance clip, and I’m 98% sure I’d never have discovered this group have they not gone on RTK but holy fuck am I glad that this happened because this is probably one of the best things that came out in 2020, making this disaster of a year almost bearable.  

So yeah, that's what I thought about the Boyz performances. Thank you for coming to my ted talk or whatevs

Also I have a second theory that the whole season is just Sunwoo getting over his fear of heights through exposure therapy.

[salmonthestoryteller]

Lover Man, Oh, Where Can You Be

1940s Carhop Roswell New Mexico AU Malex, with a hint of Kyliz

“A drive-in?”  The look Alex gave her oozed sarcasm.

“Don’t judge me.”  Liz told him.  “The food is worth it.”

“The food at a drive-in is worth it?”  Alex’s tone did not improve.

“Alright, so the food is terrible.”  Liz confessed.

Alex reminded himself that Liz was one of his oldest friends, and the battlefield medic that had saved his life during the war, so there were legitimate reasons why he’d agreed to go to dinner with her.  Even if he hadn’t felt much like going anywhere since returning to Roswell. "So why are we going to a terrible drive-in?”

“Because of their carhops.”  Liz told him.

“Their carhops?”  Alex gave her a suspicious look, as she pulled her car onto the next street.  “So we’re cruising for guys?”

“No… yes. Maybe.  One guy.”  Liz finally settled on.

“Liz, any guy who’d turn you down would have to be an idiot.  Besides, isn’t showing up with another guy going to make him less likely to think you’re available?”

“Our riveting conversation so far has centered around my dinner order, and medical school.”

“Your carhop that sends you is a fellow doctor?  Does he just carhop in his off hours?”

“His father died during the war, his schooling was interrupted.  He’s finishing his schooling now.”

“Who was his father?  It’s a small town.”  Alex was curious.

“Jim Valenti.”

“What?”  Alex hissed, but Liz was already pulling into the parking lot.

“Take a gander and tell me you regret coming.”

“I do regret coming.”

“You didn’t look.”

Alex sighed, glancing around the parking lot, and pausing when he saw that the carhops were all males, dressed in white shirts, tight shorts, and wearing cowboy boots.  Okay, there was something to be said for the aesthetic, he had to admit.  His eyes were drawn to one of the carhops specifically - toned body, a wild disarray of curls.  He’d even added a cowboy hat, which stood out among the others there.

“Now do you regret it?”

“I hate you.”  Alex told her.

“I can tell.”  Liz was grinning.  “That’s Kyle over there by the blue Frazer.”

Alex took a moment to glance at the other carhop.  He was also fit, and definitely good looking.  “He’s kinda short.”

“Don’t be a crumb, Alex.”

“His mom is the Sheriff, you know.”

“So I won’t date his mom.”  Liz rolled his eyes.

Alex decided not to go into why all the reasons dating Sheriff Valenti’s son was a bad idea.  Liz would have already gone over all of them herself.  She wouldn’t have asked him along if she hadn’t.  “So what’s your brilliant plan?”

“Coming here until he notices me?”

“You’re a literal genius, and that’s the best you could come up with?”

“...Yes.”

“Can I take your order?”  The drawling tone made them turn to where the curly-haired carhop had approached their car.

“Oh, we’re-”

“Absolutely ready to order.”  Alex told him, ignoring the scowl Liz threw his way.  She was the one who hadn’t thought this venture through properly.  She could ogle the Sheriff’s son from afar for the night.

He really needed to figure out the guy’s name, he decided when he offered a knowing grin Alex’s way.  He couldn’t call him “the curly-haired carhop” forever.  “Great.  My lucky night.”  The words were drawled out again, and Alex swore he saw a hint of interest in his eyes.  “What can I get you?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Honestly?  Absolutely nothing.  The food’s mediocre at best.”

Alex burst out laughing at that, and Liz even brightened up enough at the jest to grin.  “I don’t suppose you sell many meals with that pitch.”  Alex told him.

“You might be surprised.”

“The milkshakes are good.”  Liz offered.

“There is that.”  He nodded in agreement.

“Milkshakes it is then.  One strawberry, one chocolate.”  Alex ordered.

“Coming up.” He threw in a wink, before heading back to the building.

“Unbelievable.”  Liz crossed her arms.  “I come here to try to get a date, and you’re the one who gets made a pass at.”

“Nobody would be so obvious.”

“Don’t be sure - that’s Michael Guerin.  Isobel Evans' cousin?”

The Evans were also a prominent family in Roswell, but the name Michael Guerin didn’t ring any bells.  “And?”

“You’re hopeless.  Maria gave us the whole dope on it.  It was a huge scandal.  She broke up with her fiance, moved out of her parents’ house and in with her long lost cousin?  She owns this drive-in.  Ringing any bells yet?”

“Pretty sure I tuned all this out.”

“This is why you need me to drag you out of your house every so often.”

“I thought it was so you could ogle Kyle Valenti while waiting for him to notice you waiting.”

“You’re a crumb.”

“You’re a chicken. Go chat the guy up already.  He’s been staring at you for ten minutes straight.”

Liz glanced behind him, and the way she bit her lip told him she’d caught Kyle staring.  “My hair look alright?”

“You’re a bombshell.  Go get him already.”

“You’re the best.  You know that right?”

“You owe me, you know that, right?” Alex teased.  Liz shot him a grin before getting out of the car and heading over to where Kyle was waiting for another car to pull in.

“Where’d your date go?”  Michael asked, reappearing with milkshakes and a set of fries Alex was pretty sure he hadn’t ordered.

“Not a date.  Just an old friend.”  Alex told him.

“Oh, she going fishing with Valenti, huh?  Well, that won’t take long.”  Michael glanced behind him, and Alex let himself take in the view of him up close again as he clipped the tray to hold their food on Liz’s side of the car.  “Strawberry or Chocolate?”

“Chocolate.”  Alex told him, and Michael leaned in through the window to hand him the drink.  He nearly dropped it when he heard his next words.

“So sugar, are you rationed?”  The drawl to his voice added a hint of a promise to the words.

“Say that to the wrong guy, you’ll get your ass kicked.”  Alex told him.  Nobody had been close enough to hear him, especially with him leaning in through the window, but it was still dangerous to be so blatant about it.

“Well, your eyes were glued to my ass since you pulled up, so I thought I was pretty safe.”  Michael challenged him.

“Not always the truth.”

“I’d say it was worth the risk, but you haven’t answered my question yet.”  The grin Michael gave him was less cocky now, and more uncertain but hopeful.

“I’m single.”  Alex told him.

The cocky grin came back, full force.  “Don’t bet on that.”

End

This was written for two reasons, because of a picture I saw from a 1940s drive-in, and because I found out, “Hi Sugar, are you rationed?” was the slang for “Are you single?” and I had to use it.  I had too much fun looking up and using unnecessary old slang for such a short fic. I have no regrets.  Also, here’s the picture in question:

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “All that Glitters” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Looking for something to stay connected to the skating world during quarantine, Kurt decided to enter an Instagram contest. Sebastian agrees to help, because he would do anything for his boyfriend ... until they come across something that almost turns out to be a hard no. (1751 words)

Notes: Combining the anon prompts 'The boys during quarantine' (which will be more than just this one one-shot', 'Sebastian hates glitter. That has to come up during figure skating, right?' and ‘Blaine's crush on Kurt is showing'. I did the best I could. I hope you like it :) Blaine friendly.

Part 63 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you doing this?” Kurt asks stiffly, trying not to move too much and chance smearing the teal liquid liner he’s applying to his boyfriend’s right eyelid.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Sebastian replies, supremely uncomfortable in his current rigid sitting position, his wooden desk chair unforgiving against his numb behind. Still, he glows beneath his boyfriend’s praise.

“As much as I enjoy getting dolled up, I’m entering seven looks in this ISI performance makeup contest! The wear and tear on my face would have been substantial!”

“Can’t have that, can we?”

“No we can’t. The last thing I need during a frickin’ pandemic is to start developing wrinkles before I hit my twenties. As it is, I’m getting some serious dry patches on my cheeks.” Kurt caps his eyeliner and puts it with the rest of his supplies. Biting his lower lip, he stares at his army of palettes, lipsticks, compacts, and brushes laid out on Sebastian’s comforter, deciding on the next product to apply to his face. “Thank you, by the way,” he says in a softer tone, “for not thinking this is stupid.”

Sebastian tilts his head carefully. Kurt put a considerable amount of highlighter on his cheek over a heavy dusting of blush. He doesn’t want to accidentally smear it onto his bare shoulder, force Kurt to start all over again. Though the thought of another hour spent with Kurt hovering over him, the two of them shirtless, Kurt’s lips kissing distance from his as he stares deep into his eyes has Sebastian seriously contemplating scrubbing his hands down his face and making a mess of Kurt’s masterpiece.

“Why would I think it’s stupid? And even if it was stupid, I’ve done far stupider things … mainly during the holidays,” Sebastian says, hinting at a vague reference to the fact that he’s let Kurt talk him into dressing up as an inflatable snowman for their ice rink’s annual Christmas show … twice.

“I don’t know.” Kurt picks up a spoolie and starts tidying Sebastian’s eyebrows. “We’ve been quarantined for so long. We’ve been good about keeping up our training, staying occupied. We’re lucky. We have your rink to practice in but …” He shrugs “… I miss hanging out with our friends. They’ve canceled Regionals, Nationals, and Worlds, so all those people we only see three times a year? We won’t get to see them. These silly Instagram contests ISI puts on … I feel like they’re one of the only things keeping our skating community together.”

“I get ya.” Sebastian reaches for his boyfriend’s hips, massages with firm fingertips. “On my end, I’d do anything for you. I just want you to be happy.”

Kurt grins. “Well, it’s nice having a sexy male model to play with.”

“Is that why you asked Blaine to join us?” Sebastian asks sarcastically.

“Good Lord! Can we please go back to the part where you want me to be happy?”

“Absolutely,” Sebastian agrees with an easy smile, acting more casual than he feels. He’s not the biggest fan of makeup. He’s worn it before. It’s a hazard of participating in a performance sport. But he wouldn’t choose to wear it otherwise. No hate to guys who do, he just doesn’t like putting things on his skin. The eyeshadow alone is driving him to hysterics! But he loves Kurt.

Besides, after he found out Kurt had also asked Blaine for help and Blaine didn’t hesitate before saying yes, Sebastian couldn’t say no.

“All right-y then,” Kurt says, the smile growing on his lips as he contemplates his work. “You’re almost done.”

“Almost? What else could you possibly fit on my face?”

“Just a teeny bit of glitter …”

“Uh … glitter?” Sebastian backs his chair away with a tight laugh. “You … you didn’t mention glitter.”

“I didn’t mention it because I thought it would be obvious.”

“How? How is it obvious?”

Kurt looks pointedly down at his own bare chest coated in a generous layer of the stuff, then back at Sebastian with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t be such a baby. It’s not like it’s going to hurt.”  

“Isn’t glitter considered the STD of art supplies?” Sebastian says, scooting to the left and dodging Kurt’s glitter shaker.

Kurt pulls a face. “That’s disgusting!”

“Point made.”

“Come on, Bas! It’s made of seaweed. Like the stuff Lush uses. It’s eco-friendly.”

“Glad to hear it but that wasn’t really my concern.”

Kurt puts his hands on his hips, highly offended on glitter’s behalf. “Why don’t you like glitter?”

“Because it’s so … it’s so … sparkly! And it’s like sand. It gets everywhere.”

“Okay, Obi-Wan.”

Sebastian frowns. “You’re thinking of Anakin. Not Obi-Wan.”

“Anakin killed Natalie Portman. I refuse to acknowledge his existence.”

Sebastian stares at his boyfriend, at this stranger he thought he knew so well, but decides to drop this tangential argument and continue with the matter at hand. “Anyway, it’s impossible to get off.”

“It comes off lickety-split in hot, soapy water. I’ll help you take it off.” Kurt flashes a suggestive grin, but Sebastian seems to miss it.

“Please, Kurt? I’d rather not.”

“But … the look is called Summer Sparkle!” Kurt throws his hands up in frustration. “How did you not assume there’d be glitter?”

“Couldn’t you transition this into another look? Something not so sparkly?”

“Like what?” Kurt asks, clipping the single syllables till they’re razor sharp.

“I don’t know. I’m not the creative genius here---ooo!” Sebastian comes up with an idea way too quickly. “How about something along the lines of Lone Wolf at Midnight?”

“So …” Kurt says, followed by a loud click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth “… you’d rather I glue fur to your face than glitter?”

Sebastian swallows hard. He hadn’t considered that as a possibility. “Uh … you see … I’m trying to avoid gluing anything to my face.”

“Ugh! Sometimes you’re such a … a … a …!”

“An ass?”

“That’s the word!”

“Kur-urt …” Sebastian whines.

“I thought you said you’d do anything for me?”

“And if I absolutely have to wear glitter, I will. I’m just asking if I absolutely have to.”

Kurt sighs, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. “No, you don’t. If you don’t want to wear the glitter, you don’t have to wear the glitter.”

“Great!” Sebastian mimics wiping his forehead in relief. “Thank you. You are truly a kind and benevolent dictator.”

“Yeah, whatever … Blaine! You ready for some glitter?”

“Great!” Kurt says with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Thank you, Blaine!”

A shirtless Blaine peeks in from the hallway outside Sebastian’s room. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Going shirtless was a group decision. The focus of the photographs is supposed to be their faces, but they thought they’d take the opportunity to show off their rockin’ ‘made-in-quarantine’ physiques. A little bragging never hurt nobody. It’ll definitely help with the ‘like’ factor, which is how the contest will be judged. Besides, it’s psychological warfare - showing the competition that nothing, not even being locked down for three months, was going to knock them off their game.

“You’re … welcome?” Blaine replies, a little confused.

Kurt turns his jar of glitter over and gives it a shake, ready to add another layer to his own skin out of spite, but nothing comes out. He straightens, lifts the shaker to the light, and peers inside. “Oh no! It looks like I’m out of this one!”

“I think that’s because you’re wearing enough glitter for all of us.” Blaine snorts. Kurt’s nose scrunches when he does. He’d mentioned to Sebastian once that he thought it was cute when Blaine snorted.

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

Kurt taps a finger to his chin, thinking up a solution. One comes to him, lighting his eyes brighter than the glitter on his chest. “Wait a minute! That gives me an idea! Blaine, you’re a genius!”

“I … I am?” Blaine stutters, more than a little concerned, especially since he can feel Sebastian glaring at him, hot enough to melt his foundation.

“Absolutely!” Kurt smiles and throws his arms open wide. “Come here and give me a hug!”

Blaine’s face goes comically blank, but he rushes forward at the invitation anyway, never one to turn down a hug from Kurt. But Sebastian wastes no time blocking him, shooting to his feet and wrapping his arms around Kurt, pressing their bodies together.

“Uh … nope,” “Sebastian says, waving Blaine off. “No, no, no, not necessary. I’ve go this one handled, thank you.”

There’s a lot Sebastian will put up with in regards to his boyfriend’s relationship with Blaine.

Shirtless hugging isn’t one of those.

After a full minute of awkwardly sandwiching their bodies together, Sebastian steps back to survey the outcome … and groans. “Look, now, see?” he comments dryly. “There’s not enough glitter for you, Blaine. Sorry. You’re going to have to get yours somewhere else.”

Blaine chuckles at Sebastian’s discomfort. “I can see that.” He takes a seat on the end of the bed and waits patiently for Kurt to beat his mug. He realizes it will probably happen under the watchful scowl of Sebastian Smythe but it’ll be worth it.

As awful as it sounds, Blaine enjoys getting under his skin every once in a while.

Blaine respects Kurt and Sebastian’s relationship more than anything, even if he can’t help harboring a crush on Kurt. Without the two of them, he doesn’t know where he’d be right now. Honestly, he’d rather not think about that. But a great deal of his safety and security he attributes to Sebastian’s generosity - a generosity that may only exist because of Sebastian’s love for Kurt.

So Blaine’s not about to step on any toes.

But Sebastian makes it too easy to get on his nerves. And the more Blaine does, the more fun it is.

Having Kurt’s full attention, their faces kissing distance the way his was with Sebastian’s? The next hour should be a hoot.

“See?” Kurt runs a light finger over the spattering of glitter covering Sebastian’s skin. “Is that so painful?”

“Yes,” Sebastian mutters, looking down in disgust at the iridescent specks starting to itch. He looks over at Blaine - shirtless, tanned, and muscular Blaine, sitting on the edge of the mattress, awaiting his turn. He’d been so quick to jump on the glitter grenade, which makes this coat Sebastian is wearing a casualty of war. “Yes, it is.”

[kumeko]

A/N:  Chapter 2 for my @marveltrumpshate fic for @quillofchoice! I wanted to try alternating between Brock’s and Jack’s PoVs a bit. I’m not sure if I made him too soft, but my research has given him the image of a soft house husband. XD

Summary: Jack never expected to find himself in the middle of a children’s toy aisle, looking at Barbie Dolls. When Hydra promised new experiences, this was not what he was expecting.

…

…

…

…

In the years they’ve known each other, Jack had gotten used to Brock’s temper tantrums (for lack of a better word). The man was a walking volcano, just waiting to erupt, and every now and then he would explode in a fit of rage. Usually it was on a mission, sometimes it was during sparring (Jack had long gotten used to the bruises), and occasionally it was during something mundane like eating dinner (which led to bruises of a different nature).

 Yet, for all of his experience, this was a strange outburst. In front of him, a miniature Brock paced across a desk, tiny firsts clenched tightly. Scattered around him were shredded magazines and distorted paper clips. When you were the size of a finger, there were very few things left to take your anger out on. That said, Brock had managed to leave an impressive trail of destruction. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he actually killed someone in this form.

Oddly enough, as deadly as the image was, Jack couldn’t help but find it cute.

 Not that he could ever say it aloud, least he wanted to be the dead person. Despite whatever label he would put on their relationship, Brock was never one to let feelings get in the way. Jack didn’t have that level of detachment, it was beyond him.

 “What is taking them so fucking long?” Brock growled, his usually deep voice coming out a high pitch.

 Again, very cute. Jack had never thought he was one to like cute things, but, as usual, Brock was an exception to that. “It takes time to process things,” he pointed out.

Brock glared at him (adorable) before letting out a chain of expletives. The angrier he got, the worse the words, and by now Jack was starting to feel awkward listening to them. It was a small mercy that no one else was in the waiting room with them. When Hydra had shuffled them off to one of their post-mission check-ups, they had ensured privacy. Whether it was out of respect for Brock, out of fear for what he’d do, or just to keep word from getting out, Jack wasn’t sure but he was grateful nonetheless.

 It had been a long check up, with two doctors putting Brock through every kind of test and machine possible. Or at least, tried to—most devices were configured for human-sized bodies, not dolls. Jack had waited patiently in the small, white waiting room, idly flipping through old magazines. After two hours, a tiny Brock had marched out of the doctor’s room, looking not a wit taller and a fuckton angrier.

 “Maybe they got some Pym particles off you at least?” Jack suggested with a shrug. “Then the mission won’t be a write off.”

 “That is not—”

 The door opened, cutting off Brock’s high-pitched growl. A man with a white lab coat stepped out, looking incredibly ordinary for a doctor who looked after mercenaries. He skimmed the clipboard in his hand, flipping through pages, before looking down at Brock. And then even further down, because god, Brock was tiny. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay like that for a while.”

 Brock’s expression grew dourer. “The fuck.”

 “Fortunately, the change isn’t permanent—after a few weeks, it should wear off. However, we don’t have the capabilities to force a change. You will just have to wait,” the doctor continued, ignoring Brock’s reaction. “Come back for a checkup after that, I would like to see if there are any alterations to you after the fact.”

 “Alterations?” Brock stomped forward, each step shaking the table. “I’ll show you—”

 Jack groaned and leaned back into his seat.

 -x-

 “No.”

 After three hours, Brock’s voice had gone from endearing to downright annoying. Jack glanced furtively to his left and right, scanning the toy aisle for any witnesses. Fortunately, it was midday Wednesday and the Toys R Us aisle was deserted. The only people to watch on to this argument were the hundreds of Barbie dolls lining the shelves, rows upon rows of blankly smiling dolls that sent a shiver up his spine.

 He had never been good with dolls.

 “You don’t have a choice,” Jack argued back softly, gesturing at the Kens stacked behind Brock. Despite standing on the shelf with them, no one could mistake Brock for them—he was slightly shorter and the scowl on his face was downright bloodthirsty. “There’s nothing else your size besides a Ken doll.”

 “They are nowhere near my size,” Brock scoffed, patting one of the dolls at the crotch. He leered. “But you’d know that, right?”

 There was nothing remotely arousing about that when he was that size and Jack bit back a frustrated sigh. “Look, just pick a few, okay? You don’t want to stay in that for weeks.”

 “You need to do better than that to get in my pants.” Brock leered once more before turning to the Kens. Rolling his eyes, he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Hawaii Ken, with this pastel, floral shirt. “Do you seriously expect me to wear that?”

 “It’d be a change of pace,” Jack snarked, grinning. He picked up Ballerina Barbie and dangled it in front of Brock. “Or you could always wear these.”

 “Didn’t know you had that kink,” Brock shot back dryly. “I’ll make sure to buy you one later.”

 Jack didn’t drop the Barbie, but only just. He nodded at the Hawaii Ken once more. “Only if you wear that.”

 Brock kicked the doll with a surprisingly amount of strength for his size. Ken crashed on the ground, bending in a way dolls weren’t meant to bend. “Try again.”

 And he was back to angry. Jack rocked back on his heels, scanning the dolls. Finding a Ken that looked like he belonged in the 90s, with his leather jacket and black jeans, he held it out. “What about this?’

 “That’s a fucking boy band. Do I look like a boy band?” Brock grimaced, swatting the doll away. Yet another casualty. Jack wasn’t going to pay for them.

 “They don’t really have an ‘army’ Ken,” Jack muttered under his breath, irritated. “Or—oh.” Sitting on the second highest shelf was a Ken with camouflage print. “They do have one. They really do have every profession covered.”

 “Stripper?” Brock suggested, leering again.

 “We’re trying to get you more clothes, not less.” Jack rolled his eyes, picking up a box featuring Barbie and a carriage. There were other ones, with motorcyles and horses and even a huge dollhouse. Brock would need a bed too, right? Somewhere safe he could rest without worrying if he got squashed. Tiny forks and plates so he could eat. “Maybe we can get one of those sets?”

 When he didn’t get a response, his eyes flicked up to the shelf Brock sat on. Or rather, had been sitting on because he wasn’t there anymore. “Brock?”

 Footsteps to his right alerted him to the reason his commander had disappeared. “Do you need help with anything, sir?” a kind but curious voice asked.

 Jack bit back a groan. Helpful employees were worse than dogs and almost impossible to shake off. Clearing his throat, Jack turned to his right and tried to smile. The way the woman flinched told him he’d failed. “No, I’m good.”

 Sporting a blue vest and jeans, the employee clasped her hands behind her back, her expression nervous. A bright yellow name tag identified her as Linda. “If you do need anything, let us know.” She paused looking at the doll in his hand and then smiled up at him. “Buying a gift for your daughter?”

 Automatically, he shook his head. “No.”

 “Oh.” Linda guessed again, “Your son?”

 “I don’t have—” Jack paused, realizing just how strange it was for a single grown man his size to be standing in the doll department. “Yes…it’s for my…niece,” he lied. He could almost hear Brock’s laugh; he was terrible at impromptu lies.

 “Right.” She gave him a strange look, her smile strained. “Of course. I’ll be…leaving now.”

 Without waiting for a response, Linda fled the aisle. The second she stepped outside the aisle, Brock laughed in earnest, jumping out of the shelf and onto Jack’s shoulder. “Your niece? Why are you so shitty at this?”

 “Shut up,” Jack growled, irritated.

 “Seriously, you can’t even come up with a—”

 Having had enough, Jack flicked Brock away with his finger, listening to his tiny yell as he flew through the air. Unfortunately, unlike a bug he didn’t go splat. Picking himself up off the ground, Brock shouted, “JACK!”

 No matter how strong his body was, he was still insanely slow, and Jack dropped several dolls and a dollhouse into his shopping cart before leaving.

 And if he threw in the Hawaii Ken, it was not out of some need for revenge. No, he got that just by watching Brock struggle to catch up as he marched through the store.

 -x-

 Today was a day full of firsts, including Jack sitting in the middle of his living room trying to assemble a Barbie playhouse. When this was over, he was burning the whole thing. Scattered around him were garish, bright pink plastic pieces, all waiting for him to force them together in the shape of a house.

 “I’m not living in there,” Brock stated flatly, picking up one of the tiny plates. At least it seemed the right size.

 “You don’t have to, but you need furniture, right? A bed, a chair, a table?” Jack listed out, flipping through the instruction manual for directions. How was this harder than planning a mission? It made no sense.

 “You’re spray painting them,” Brock ordered, dropping the plate. Good thing it was plastic.

 “What, can’t handle pink?” Jack teased. He winced as Brock punched his thigh. “Fuck, how does that hurt more than normal?”

 Brock shrugged. “Science.” Neither of them had been hired for their academics, after all. He patted the mattress of the bed doubtfully. “These aren’t made for sleeping.”

 “Better than nothing.” He turned the directions vertically, his mouth twisting as he tried to figure out how to screw together two pieces. And after this he had to make dinner—what should he do about that? Get a normal amount and give Brock less? Did Brock have a normal-sized appetite or a tiny-sized? Would he need to cut rice into tiny pieces?

 Suddenly, he didn’t want to finish making the dollhouse. It was the easiest thing on the list.

 -x-

 At the end of the day, Brock had somehow swung back from irritating to cute. Maybe it was dinner—a single spaghetti noddle chopped up into small pieces with a few drops of sauce. Maybe it was the tiny doll’s cup he drank from or the way he washed his face with a bottle cap full of water.

 Or maybe it as the way he ignored, in typical Brock fashion, the bed that Jack had painstakingly made and opted to instead sleep on Jack’s pillow.

 Jack tried not to smile as he gingerly laid his head down beside Brock.

[floral-on-main]

I Would Dye For You

Summary: Lydia needs to re-dye her hair. She gets some help from the resident Ghost with the Most. It goes surprisingly well, all things considered. A sequel to Back To My Roots (No ship!)

Also on ao3. Words: 2279

Getting the hair dye was easy enough. No petty theft or step-mother begging needed. All it took was to ask her dad to pick it up on a grocery run. Then 3 to 5 business days later, Lydia had her box of black dye in hand. She couldn't help but think back to Beej's off hand comment about dyeing his own hair. She had no idea why a demon with color changing hair would want to dye it, but it couldn't hurt to indulge him.

Yes it could. Lydia knew it could, but this seemed relatively harmless.

So on her next mother-daughter bonding activity with Delia the two went to the mall. Of course Delia had to check out the recently opened shop of Spiritual Wellness. And of course Lydia had to go into the store that was blaring metal music and lined with walls with even more metal. She passed by another row of piercings before coming across a lone stand of hair products.

On the shelf was brushes shaped like skulls, neon colored hair clips, animal eared headbands, and a sizable selection of hair dyes. The majority were various shades of black, but a couple stood out with obnoxious packaging and color. Green, red, blue, purple, all colors she had already seen on BJ. She doubt there would be much of an impact if his hair  didn't look any different. It was then she noticed a single box of pink dye stowed in the back behind the red.

Before she could second guess her actions, she purchased the bubblegum pink dye. Delia was near the entrance of the store perusing the crystal jewelry on display. From the look on her face, it seemed she didn't appreciate how almost none of the jewelry had actual stones and was just colored plastic. For once Lydia had to agree with her.

The ride home was quiet, almost pleasant. Lydia and Delia still didn't agree on most subjects, but they were growing closer. A family disaster would do that to people. Lydia now near that Delia wasn't naive or air-headed, just sickeningly optimistic.

As she raced inside Delia wished her the best of luck. It seemed Delia always had to get the last word in when parting. Lydia threw the door open to her room to find it thankfully empty. She knew Beetlejuice would show up eventually, but she didn't want his help right now. She placed the box of pink dye on her bed before grabbing the black dye from her wardrobe. Before leaving, she made sure to leave a note besides the dye that read 'For you. DO NOT EAT'.

Gloves on and brush in hand, Lydia was ready to rid herself of her loathsome roots. The only thing stopping her was the sound of moping on the other side of the bathroom door. Looks like Beej found her note. She took a deep, calming breath before kicking open the door. The sound of a surprised yelp soothed something primal inside her. Serves him right.

Lydia and Beej glared at each other in various states of ridiculousness. One knocked on his ass in a grungy suit, the other in a black stained floral robe and cheap plastic gloves.

“Give me ten minutes and then I'll do yours.”

Beej gave her a thumbs up. With that, she shut the door and made quick work of covering her roots. Beetlejuice leaned against the wall beside the door. He knew he was being a nuisance and he reveled in it. But he honestly did want her to finish up so he could get his hair done. God-slash-Satan, he really hoped the dye stuck in his hair. His suit could stain and he didn't want to look like he took a dip in Pepto Bismol. Never again.

The door opened just a sliver. Lydia's eye could be seen from the crack. Beej gave her big ol' puppy dog eyes, complete with dog tags and being housebroken. “Come in. Keep still or I <i> will</i> tell Delia that you're the reason her crystals have been going missing recently.”

“I told you that in confidence! But I understand where you're coming from.” With a snap of his fingers Beetlejuice was hogtied on the floor.

“Why are you like this?” She rolled her eyes while placing the box's contents on the counter. She donned the crappy gloves and mixed the dye with practiced skill. Beej hovered over her shoulder to see what she was doing, now free of his conjured bonds.

“Sit down, BJ. This is gonna take a while.” With a theatrical groan Beetlejuice sat on the edge of the bathtub.

Despite his normal jittery behavior, Beej managed to stay relatively skill as Lydia brushed in the heavily pigmented color. He even stayed quiet until Lydia was done. “Now we just have to wait,” she checked the box, “thirty minutes”.

That broke the flood gates and the two fell into their usual conversation topics. The main highlight being the chaos in the Deetz-Maitland household.

“I don't see why Chuck got so bent outta shape about Ginger visiting. Her dancing could use some work, but as far as spiders go, she's harmless.”

All Lydia could do was nod in agreement.

“She has nothing on that giant motherfucker Donna found in the closet.”

“Weren't you the one that put it in there?”

“Yeah, but that isn't the point, Lyds.”

Lydia washed her hair in the sink while continuing their conversation. “Bertha got braces recently.”

“What did she break? I didn't take her as the cool type.”

“Braces on her teeth, asshole. Also, breaking bones isn't cool. It's painful.”

“I've broken tons of bones in the name of a good time. You breathers got plenty of bones, doesn't matter if you break a couple.”

“Just because bones heal and carpets can be replaced doesn't mean we should go crazy stupid.” A brief moment passed. “We need to wait until we're alone, at least.”

The timer on Lydia's phone went off. She grabbed the shower head and brandished it it like a knife. “Now lean back so I can wash that excess out of your hair.”

His eyes narrowed. “Over my undead body.”

Just as he made a move to get up, his face was doused in lukewarm water. In that instant Beetlejuice resigned himself to, he shuddered, getting clean. Or his hair getting clean at least. Only two people could get him to willingly bathe and they were both dead.

After seven minutes, Beej was released to shake out his hair. Lydia was honestly surprised that no one came up to check on the sound of a cat being drowned. Looks like everyone had gotten somewhat desensitized to their shenanigans.

The time on her phone said dinner would be ready soon. Might as well head down now and get the questions out of the way. She met Beej at the end of the hall. How the fuck did he manage to get his hair dry already? Whatever, it's probably demon magic.

The dye seemed to be holding in pretty well. There wasn't a single splotch of pink on his hands or his suit. Could all dead people dye their hair? Was a demon thing, a demon that was alive for thirty seconds thing, or just a Beetlejuice thing?

The two descended the stairs in silence, after a quick shove match.

Delia was the first to notice the pair. She set the salad bowl alongside the plate of what looked like green spaghetti. She quickly took a seat with the rest of the adults, mentally preparing herself for whatever would come next. At the same time, Lydia and Beetlejuice prepared themselves for what the family had to say.

The most surprised actually seemed to be Delia. If she thought Lydia was going to use pink dye on herself Delia was delusional. Charles did a double take, but aside from that he didn't act out of the ordinary. It seemed he had already gotten used to the unusual happenings of his family. Lydia and Beetlejuice would have to set something on fire next week to keep him on his toes.

The Maitlands had absolutely no reaction. No gasps of surprise. No lecture about dyeing a violent demon's hair. Not even words of enthusiastic encouragement. The two ghosts just sat at the table and made polite conversation.

Beetlejuice took his now customary seat across from the Maitlands. The three dead members acted just like they normally did. That was somehow the most strange and abnormal thing Lydia had witnessed all day.

The food was tasty, even the pesto pasta. Of course Beej made a comment about its resemblance to moldy worms. Dinner as usual.

The semi-awkward, semi-peaceful silence was surprisingly broken by Charles. “Your hair looks exceptionally vibrant tonight, Mr. Juice.”

For some reason, Adam and Barbra broke into a fit of poorly concealed giggles. Lydia shot a confused look at Beej. He shrugged, but clearly knew something.

She pushed the salad around her plate, acting as nonchalant as possible. “I helped him dye it earlier.”

That got a reaction out of the Maitlands. They both looked confused and then looked at Beetlejuice. Hopefully their couple's telepathy wasn't rubbing off on him. It was weird enough how they always seemed to know what the other was thinking.

“I figured Beej wouldn't want a color he couldn't replicate naturally, so I picked up some bubblegum pink. It was obnoxious enough to fit his personality.” While everyone looked at Lydia, Beetlejuice stuck his tongue out at her.

The Maitlands got a twinkle in their eyes. Now a more common sight since Beetlejuice started hanging around. Adam said, “Pink is a good color on you, cuddlebug.” After that, Barbra either winked or had a muscle spasm in her eye.

For awhile she had figured her ghost-parents had a thing for Beej (she knew he certainly had a thing for them), but this was the final nail in the coffin. She wanted to gag. It felt wrong, but also right, which made it feel even more wrong.

Lydia was pulled from her thoughts by Barbra making a comment. “So it was just dye. And here we thought you were just happy to see us.”

It was with dawning horror that Lydia realized the Maitlands saw a different side of Beetlejuice than anyone else in the family. A more romantic and caring side. The comical sight of the nastiest dead guy she knew with pink hair wasn't worth it anymore. She would never get back her childhood innocence.

After that dinner passed in a blurry haze. Before she knew it, Lydia was back in her room actually looking forward to doing homework. It was mind numbing work, but it was the perfect thing to take her mind off the romantic relationships of her family members.

Things were changing. Like the rug had been pulled out from under her. What if Beetlejuice wouldn't want to hang out with her anymore? What if the Maitlands stopped helping her with homework? Lydia knew it was irrational. Her family loved her and always would. But deep down a dark feeling grew somewhere behind her diaphragm. It was a sick feeling. One that told her she would be unneeded, unwanted. That her family would move on and forget about her.

As if on cue Beetlejuice appeared in her room, hair still as pink as when she first dyed it. He was smiling an impossibly wide toothy smile. Something was behind his back.

“Ta Da!” He held out a box wrapped in pinstriped paper. A slime green bow completed the look. “Happy six month friend anniversary!”

Lydia took the small box from his open hands. A whole different type of tears threatened to spill. She hastily ripped off the paper and ribbon to reveal a matte black box underneath. She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she removed the lid.

Inside, nestled among red satin, was a switchblade. She picked it up. The engraving on the handle's side immediately caught her attention. In curvy sliver writing it said, 'BFFFFs Forever'. She felt something warm bloom in her chest. Time to deflect with sarcasm. “ You do know you just gave me an implement to stab you with, dumbass.”

“Well, I was hoping you would stab other people. Y'know, for when I can't be there to protect you, ya little gremlin.” He reached out to ruffle her hair, a nasty habit picked up from Adam, but she managed to quickly move away.

With a pout Beetlejuice pulled his hand back. “Glad you liked the gift, scarecrow.” He tugged at his collar as if to stall for time. “And thanks for dyeing my hair. It really means a lot to me.” After that almost heartfelt confession he switched gears to cover up his vulnerability.

He patted down the lapels of his suit, slicked back his pink hair, and placed a hand over where his heart would be. “Now if you excuse me, A-Dog and B-Town wanted to speak to me about something. If you hear groaning and chains rattling just ignore it.” And with the toss of a smoke bomb, Beetlejuice was gone.

If Beej mentioned anything about his sex life she was definitely going to make use of that switchblade. Good thing his brain to mouth filter recently got an upgrade called Maitlands 2.0.

It seemed like some things never changed. Damn being alive was hard, but it didn't seem like being dead would be that different. Lydia just had to stick around and see.

[dxlansfxck]

Saints & Sins [G.D] - Part 1

Summary: there's nothing that pisses Y/N off more than her own life. her family is highly religious, wealthy and nothing she'd consider fun. her surrounding is boring, but once the new guy, grayson, decides to sit right next to her, Y/N enters a new world filled with romance & fun. little did she know that this kind of fun had his shadow side to it.

Warnings: DRUG ABUSE!, this story is all about drugs, sex & a toxic relationship, if you don’t like stuff like that, you probably shouldn’t read this.

00 - Prologue

„I don’t get it, y/n! What did we do to you? How could you end up like this?”, her mother broke down in tears while looking down at her dirty, probably disgusting smelling self, “You’re the worst that could have happened to our family! Just because you needed to fall in love with this Grayson guy. The devil has sent him to test you, but you failed. You sinned just to receive a bit of pleasure instead of listening to your god!” She’s talking herself into some kind of rage but she isn’t even listening, ignoring her own mother like she did the past few months.

God here, god there. That’s all her family talks about, this weird guy that seems to live in the sky and watches us living. But how could she think him or Jesus when her mind is full of other things. Like her next shot. “Y/N, I can’t believe it! You’re not even listening to your own mother. I need to call the church so they can send father Louis to us, he needs to clean your mind! He needs to get those demons out of your thoughts.”

Suddenly, she starts praying, which Y/N’s opportunity to get out of here. She slowly walks back into her room, ignoring the cold floor on her naked feet, closes the door and smirks at the beautiful boy that’s already laying in her dirty bed. “Took you long, babe. Did your mother tell you I’m the devil’s son again? That I came straight from hell to ruin your life? Why don’t you listen to her, angel? Why won’t you leave me for your own sake?”, his fingers trail over her lips, making her already weak to the bones. Grayson chuckles, his still very muscular chest rising. His voice is full of sarcasm while his lips form the devilish grin that made her fall for him long time ago. Meanwhile, he takes the old, rusty utensils from the nightstand and slowly pours the white powder on top of the spoon. As soon as she sees his actions, her mind goes crazy and her tiny, destroyed body starts to shake from the sudden pain she feels. But Grayson takes his time preparing his own shot, holds the lighter under the spoon painfully slow.

“For fucks sake, hurry!”, her raspy voice breaks, but she bets he understood what she was saying, he just didn’t want to listen. “Gray, I can’t wait anymore!” Her cold hands were starting to shake so badly, that she was sure she couldn’t even prepare her own shot anymore but she knew Grayson, he wouldn’t do it for her, the were far past this point and he didn’t even wanted her to start this anyway. “If you’ve got enough time to prepare it that slowly, hand it over! I need it now! You know that once I’m on turkey I can’t do it myself. GIVE IT TO ME!”, she tries to rip the improvised belt out of his hand, but he just pushes her away with his foot before ramming the needle in his veins. A few seconds later, his eyes were already closing while a soft smile appears on his lips.

“Fucking son of a bitch”, she mostly mutters to herself before pulling the needle out of his arm and starts preparing her own shot of happiness. She didn’t even bother to clean the needle, if they didn’t get ill from sharing by now, it’ll probably never happen.

Her hands won’t stop shaking while cooking the substance on the dirty spoon and it gets even worse while she was trying to get it into the needle. She nearly dropped everything while searching for a good enough vein, trying not to shoot into the scar tissue, but after a few misplaced shots, she finally gets a good one that beams her somewhere else before falling asleep on Grayson’s chest.

01 - Grayson Bailey Dolan

Her life is boring. Not interesting at all. She’s been in this Christian boarding school ever since she was 6. Now she had to change to a Christian college and to be honest: it really fucking sucks.

She needs to take religion classes every day, visit the college  church every Sunday and her parents seem to be the most boring humans on earth.

“Y/N, c’mon, we’re coming late to Biology!”

Have I already mentioned that her classmates suck as well? She’s never seen someone coming late to class, it’s always been her and always her. By her, I mean Y/N Y/L/N. Ugh, she knows it could’ve been worse, because there’s a guy sitting in front of her called Thaddeus, I mean… You probably know what I mean.

After lunch – strictly vegetarian, of course – and without any motivation left, she attempted the last class of the day. Her uniform was already loose because she had opened the first two buttons of her blouse, the tie hanging loosely around her neck. Which college had uniforms anyway? This was a fucking cult.

“Ms. Y/L/N, could you please put your feet back on the holy ground instead of the table? Or do you want to clean it afterwards?” Y/N huffs in annoyance, placing her feet back in front of her. Instead of mocking the teacher, she gets interrupted by the door swinging open loudly. None of those fuckers would come late to class, but nobody heard of a new student joining them. The guy that walks in seemed a bit older, he was taller and… built. He was a giant, broad shoulders, thick thighs and you could tell through his uniform shirt, that his chest was phenomenal.

“My lovely students, this is Grayson Bailey Dolan. His parents moved here from New Jersey, please don’t be rude to him! I bet he’d be glad to know all of you. Grayson Bailey, why don’t you tell the class more about yourself?”

Grayson Bailey Dolan, as the teacher told them, didn’t seem to be very affected by anything. He studies every single face, which gives Y/N the opportunity to study his. A mop of bleached hair, narrowed eyebrows and brown eyes that had the same annoyed look as hers. His plump lips were pressed into a line, probably hiding a rude commentary to his introduction.

“It’s Grayson. And I don’t see the point in introducing myself, wouldn’t want to make friends anyway.” His deep voice didn’t surprise her at all, while he begins walking towards the only empty chair – which of course led to be the one next to Y/N. She fought for this place for about two years, she would never share it. Not with him, not with anyone. “I want to sit alone”, she spat. “And I don’t care.”

“Alright, the seat next to Ms Y/L/N is empty as you already saw. Now, tell us about your hobbies, your favorite book, don’t be shy!”, their teacher still tries to make him talk, but Grayson just huffs in annoyance. “No hobbies, I don’t read, just look at the pictures, and for that I prefer the dirty ones, you know?”

“Oh, okay, well… Anyways, we’re going to start with our next topic which will be DNS and genetics. I’ll show you a little short film and you have to take some notes so we can discuss it later on. Have fun with our little friend Geni!”

With that, the teacher started some stupid clip of an alien called Geni that wants to teach genetics while being funny. Didn’t work out that well.

“Hey, is she always like that? She seems to be a bit sick in the head.” Grayson’s voice drags Y/N out of her thoughts, and she was surprised that he decided to talk to her. She shrugs her shoulders while muttering a quick “dunno”. She feels his eyes burning through her body while he was obviously checking her out, so she kept starring at him. “Is there something interesting to see? You should focus on Geni, our little friend, not my unbuttoned blouse.” With that, she continued studying his face, his jawline was very strong in contrast to his hallowed cheeks. His eyes seem to be tired because they’ve always been kind of closed while his gaze is starring somewhere else.

Just in the moment he was about to open his mouth, the teacher screams “Well that was fun! Never been so amused while learning important lections! Ha, Geni is a genius. I hoped you wrote down anything important so we can discuss them in the next lesson. Have a night evening and I hope everyone will be there to cheer on our hockey team, they have their first official match today!”

 Soon, the classroom is empty, and everyone is inside their dorms. Y/N changed into something more comfy before sitting down on her desk while painting with her new oil colors.

“Wow, damn! This is sick! Looks like some kind of a trip. Do you draw often? I mean, of course you do, it looks so fucking good!” Y/N got so terrified that she nearly fell out of her chair, then she realized it was Grayson standing right next to her, his eyes on the piece of paper in front of her.

“Ehm, hi Grayson? Nice to see you, I guess, but that’s my room?” “Hi, cool room. I like your style, fits mine”, he points to her pair of joggers while opening and unbuttoning his shirt. Then he sits down on the bed which hasn’t had an owner. Yet.

“Anyways, this college sucks. I mean, it really bloody sucks. Teacher and students. Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, but you know how it is. Everyone seems to be manipulated by god, it’s really scary. Well, I live here now, but I gotta go. See you later, alligator.”

He was soon gone and Y/N was more than confused. She was a girl, living in a dorm, not knowing there was any chance to have a boy as a roommate. Of course, sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend were able to share a room, but most of the time, it was strictly separated. Shrugging the thought off, Y/N prepared her stuff for a quick shower, still thinking about Grayson Bailey Dolan and the impact he’s going to have on her life.

 The next morning already starts with a surprise, it seems like Grayson Dolan hasn’t been in there the entire night. His suitcase and most of his clothes are still spread across his bed. This boy was such a mystery.

Not even an hour later, Y/N finds herself in the first class of the day, not listening to what the teacher said, drawing in her notebook again. “Do you always draw that stuff? I mean, yesterday, today, literally all the time. Not that it bothers me, I really like it. But I wanna know what’s in your head.” She was kinda pissed about Grayson’s presence that she couldn’t ever answer his question. “Oh c’mon, don’t act like you’re listening to that bullshit this nun is talking about. And since you’re a student here, you should be drawing churches or the holy ghost or I don’t even know. But for sure not that”, he points to the burning people she drew, burning in the purgatory and her cheeks got instant red.

“Where were you last night? When I woke up I found your suitcase on your bed, just like you left it yesterday. Listen, those professors are so fucking strict, I don’t want to lose this place, okay? And one of their simplest punishments is scrubbing the church floor – which I don’t want to do either because there will be 20 Jesus figures watching you. And..” “Y/L/N, Dolan! This lesson is more precious than your conversation, seems like I have to inform both of your parents. Detention, both of you!” Their fat, disusting teacher interrupts them.

After 4 more hours of maths and religion, Y/N practically runs into her room, Grayson Dolan right behind her. “Y/N, why aren’t you talking to me? Are you angry ‘cause of the detention? Listen, I’m kinda sorry, but it’ll be just two hours of sitting there, it could be worse. And why is the ugly rat calling our parents? Y/L/N are you even listening?” She feels Grayson’s large hand on her shoulder, but shrugs it off. “Hm? Yeah, sure I am.” “You’re weird, but oh well. Are you hungry? Should we head out to Subway or McDonalds? We still have a bit of time left before detention starts and I’m starving.”

The girl is looking up to him, confusion written on her face. “Leaving? The only time you’re allowed to leave is between 3 and 7. Lunch is in the canteen, but the food is vegetarian.”

Grayson’s eyes widen in shock. “Vegetarian? Seriously? Dude, this is torture! How are you even alive?” “Dunno, never had meat, never wanted to, it’s dead animals. That’s disgusting. There’s plants for a reason, y’know?” “Sick”, Grayson nods. “Hey, Y/N! Why can’t ants go to church? ‘cause they’re insects. In-sects! Understand?”, he laughs so hard that he needed to sit down on his bed, holding his stomach. Y/N on the other hand opened the bible on her desk. “Haha, funny”, she mumbled and began to write down the daily phrases they needed to hand in the next day.

“Have you ever drunk alcohol? Or smoked? Oh, you hesitated, you’re a literal virgin. In everything! We need to change that, but first: lunch!” He drags her by her tiny hands and almost runs into the dining hall. “What’s that smell?”, he scrunches his nose, looking confused. “I don’t even know, it always smells like cabbage, but there’s never cabbage in the meals. You need to get the vegetable burger, but never the vegetable sausages. Everything with noodles or potatoes is fine, salad is okay but the soups are disgusting, got it? We can go to the city later on and find something better for you.” They both decided on getting the burger and while Y/N bites into it, Grayson takes a bite of the fries, then scrunches his nose again and adds half a bottle of ketchup onto them.

“I can show you around then, but there aren’t any cool stores to buy clothes, I usually order them once I’m home”, Y/N managed to speak while chewing her last bite of burger. “You’re pretty cool, angel. Never thought I could meet someone I’d like in here.”  

[officialkmi]

Theory of Love Episode 2: Love Actually

I was really looking forward to this episode because, as those who read my first review may remember, I was lest than impressed with the first episode. It left something to be desired and I felt as though the plot was moving too fast for a single episode.

Episode 2 doesn’t fix everything, but I like it a lot more than the first one.

Emotions

The episode itself starts off really heavy. If you haven’t started the series yet and are going it, the start of episode 2 flowers nicely after the emotions of episode 1. However, the entire first half felt extremely heavy and serious, so it was hard for me to really enjoy it. The first episode instantly made me laugh so that I couldn’t help but cry with the emotional ending. This episode has me feeling pity for poor Third, which helps make the second half feel funnier and also more genuine.

Altogether, an emotional first-half does help, but it made the entire episode feel too heavy and I was left thinking the humor was lacking.

ENTER: The Love Rival (I’m pretty sure)

The love rival can also be called “the curse of the drama fan,” as they’re typically the one they’d rather win than the main character’s actual love interest. When the love rival is typically introduced, the main character’s actual love interest is a huge jerk and it seems like the main character has no chance. For our KDrama fans, I typically think of the drama “To the Beautiful You,” which has Minho’s character Tae-Joon appearing as a jerk towards Sulli’s character Jae-Hee. Even though we as the viewer know Tae-Joon will win, many fans still cheered for Lee Hyun-Woo’s character Eun-Gyeol. Of course, by the end, we do support the main love interest, but we still cheer on the second one.

I, personally, have found that the love rival works well to help trigger a change in the main love interest. It’s not always the case, but they can help ignite jealousy and possessiveness, and even to help the main interest realize that they have feelings for the main character.

Now, granted, our new character Un isn’t necessarily a love rival yet. However, considering what I typically see with love rivals, he seems to fit the bill. We have the main love interest, Khai, who seems to be oblivious to Third’s feelings and actually causes Third frustration and pain. He’s carrying about his life like usual, and then this handsome af guy comes up and talks to Third like its nothing. The characters explain that he directs (like Third), he can attract girls without doing anything, and he’s kind. They also mention he’s been hanging around Third since their freshman year (three years, the length of time Third has liked Khai). Oh, yeah, and did I mention he’s handsome? He genuinely makes me think of Forth from 2Moons, as they’re both really handsome and kind (and neither will end up with the main guy, though I’ve heard Forth+Beam should be a thing in season 2 of 2Moons). Honestly, I thought Un’s actor (Earth) was attractive when I saw him as Type in Love By Chance (which didn’t finish airing that long ago).

Basically, from what we know about Un (which is basically how amazing he is + that he’ been friendly with Third since their first year), it seems like he fits the bill and will help ignite the romance a bit.

Wingman Failure

Two has a good heart. I said in the last review that, just based on the preview for episode 2, it seemed like he’d be a key ally to Third. His attempts to help actually make for great comedic relief since he’s really bad at helping Third. One thing that’s apparent early on in the episode is that Two doesn’t quite understand Third’s mentality. Third has kept this secret for three years! He was ready to give up and move on and never tell anyone the truth. It was just luck that Two walked in on him breaking down after having his heart broken yet again by Khai. What does this mean? It means that Third won’t confess just because the timing’s good. This lends itself to the central conflict of this episode: Third’s confessions. Or attempts at them.

In this episode, he has about three good chances to confess to Khai. One is set up by Two, which is when they’re collecting ambient sound. However, he chickens out. And who can blame him? Why would he just confess out of the blue to Khai? It’s not until Khai seems to drop hints about being open to a confession that Third can actually bring himself to do anything (however, Khai is an idiot and probably doesn’t realize that’s the message he’s sending. I’ll get to Khai later).

The second confession is when Third decides to take Two’s advice to copy a confession from a movie. He chooses the film “Love Actually,” which is where the episode’s name comes from. However, this ends in failure because Khai just thinks that Third is trying to help him find ways to get Milk back.

The third confession is set up thinks to Two’s brilliant plan. Using the classic “plan doesn’t go according to plan, but still works,” Two has Third pretend he can’t pay for his apartment. He then says he can’t take him in, planning to have Khai volunteer. Instead, Bone offers. Now, the sight of Bone’s room pretty much makes it clear that Bone should not invite anyone into his room ever and he should probably throw 90% of what’s in his room away. Finally, Khai takes pity and stops Third from staying there, instead inviting him over to his own place. Finally, third makes his confession, which is cute and poetic. The problem is, Khai is stupid and doesn’t realize the poetic statement is a confession. He tells Third not to say that to anyone else, not even their friends, because they’d instantly fall in love. He then walks off, giving Third yet another failed attempt at confessing.

Khai: Redeemed?

In my last review, I made it clear that I didn’t really like Khai’s character. He feels like this character that’s hard to like, as he just keeps hurting Third over and over again. We’re given no info on him other than the fact that he’s an attractive womanizer. However, there is some bit of redemption and hope for the viewer to like him more as the series progresses.

Khai’s redemption actually likes in the fact that he’s an idiot who keeps dropping clues, whether he means to or not. He’s not as big of an asshole in this episode, but he’s also talking about no longer dating girls who don’t really love him. We also see Khai as doing the job he should as a friend: helping and comforting Third. He seems like his heart is more or less in the right place, but this is only episode 2 and I really doubt Khai will be able to keep this up. I watched the preview for episode 3, and that only seems to confirm my suspicions that he’s going to chase after another skirt, leaving Third to feel heartbroken again while not being able to mope around because he’ll have to see Khai and whoever Khai’s hooking up with no place to escape.

Pan? Un?

We meet two new characters in this episode, Pan and Un. I’ve already covered Un’s introduction, but I’d like to reiterate that he really is an attractive guy and we’re not given much info on him aside from his popularity and relationship with Third. Third also seems to genuinely enjoy talking to him, so I really think that he’ll be an interesting character to see develop.

Pan’s timing for her introduction isn’t the best, in my opinion. She’s introduced in the very last scene, which removes any “I want more” feelings from the viewer. We see her talk to Bone, and we see that Bone is clearly interested. Well...there goes my wish that Bone and Two will pair up. Granted, things could change, but the preview also shows an introduction to a female character played by Neen Suwanamas who is clearly known by Two (mydramalist has her listed as Lin, but our Sotus fans may recognize her as May). While I’m fine with Two and Bone both getting girlfriends, I was kind of hoping that the series would feature a second gay romance to help break up the story of the one.

While we get almost no interest on Pan, her being introduced in the last scene would typically imply she’ll be an important character. This especially would hint at her being a key player in the next episode, but it could also be a poor choice for the ending scene in general. For that, we’ll just have to wait and see.

What I Loved

There were a few things I liked this episode. One of the main things I loved was Third editing together the sound clips to say “Khai, I love you” while crying by himself. It was a really emotional scene, especially with the song playing in the background. These are words that we, as viewers, don’t know if Third will ever be able to actually say to Khai. That makes this scene that much more emotional. While the shot did feel long, even with the cross fades between shots, the song playing did help. Besides, the cross fade and slow tears made it feel more of a real pain. It wasn’t him overwhelmed in his heartbreak and swearing to move on, it was him acknowledging to himself that he may never say those words to Khai.

I also loved the scene when they sat in the theater watching the credits role. While they did talk about the movie itself at first, they still sat watching in silence after they finished talking. They were the only people in the theater watching the credits role, which could have simply been setting up a nice shot. However, for me it felt more significant since they are film students. One day, that could be their names in the credits. Also, they understand the hard work that goes into making a movie because of their major. It’s really nice, even though I may just be imagining the whole thing.

Finally, I loved how they showed Third imagining each confession to Khai when looking for a movie confession to use. Each time Bone recommended one, Third imagined it and it was honestly hilarious. It helped lighten the mood for the episode a bit more, which I felt was vital after the serious feeling in the first two parts of the episode.

In general, the mood really picked up after the first half. I especially liked how it showed them together in the apartment, watching a movie, both crying over it. It made the relationship feel more genuine, which is important if the viewer is going to cheer for Khai at all and support the relationship.

Final Words

I left this episode liking Khai more than I had after the first. Additionally, the pacing felt a lot better, too. However, some scenes didn’t flow well and I wasn’t left with that feeling of wanting more after the episode was over. Between episodes one and two, I was eagerly awaiting the subs for Episode 2. I wanted t see what would happen after the emotional ending of Episode 1.

Since we, as the viewers, don’t understand if Pan is anyone of importance, since this is her first appearance, it’s hard to really like her introduction as the ending of the episode. While I know not every episode can end in a cliff hanger, I would’ve liked a more satisfying end to the episode.

[lightsandlostbells]

Skam France episode 9 (S1 finale) reaction

Thanks to everyone who reads these things! I’ve gotten a lot of nice messages and comments since I started blathering my thoughts on Skam remakes into the void, which I didn’t expect, and it makes my day. Even if you don’t agree with me on something, I appreciate hearing your thoughts. I love talking about sad teens and their drama and it has been a grand time talking about sad teens and their drama with others! 

Also thank you to everyone who translates or helps increase accessibility to any of the Skam shows, I am truly amazed by the kindness and generosity of everyone who donates their free time to it. 

Episode 9

Clip 1 - Daphne peed on the wrong stick

Nice job getting in that shot of the condoms and water bottle at the beginning as if to say “I fucking told you so.”

There were apparently several real time errors in this clip in that French students should not have been at school that day, and Daphne mentions having gum at 10 am when the clip dropped at 8 a.m.

This doctor does not quite have the same quality of being from another planet as Dr. Skrulle.

Alex screaming to the heavens about no baby is glorious, but on the other hand, GIRL, you might wanna lower the volume about your friend’s pregnancy scare as people are clearly hearing you.

I love Daphne and think she did a really great job here of being bitter and resigned. I think Vilde was also great in this moment, but I think she was approaching it more from an outwardly (phony) sense of self-assurance. You don’t know want what you’re talking about Noora, I do. And though Vilde is pretty stunned by the doctor’s visit (and tbh I think part of her wanted the baby to be real … but that’s another conversation) you can see her starting to laugh and smile with the other girls before Noora pulls her aside. Then it feels more like cheerful denial that there’s anything wrong with what she’s doing. Daphne seems straight up miserable and defeated.

Clip 2 - Charles creeping again

MY BELOVED THEATER KIDS RETURN. One day they will get their day in the sun. One day. 

TBH Charles has more sleazy charm than William and I can’t determine whether that’ll end up being a good thing or a bad thing.

This clip is WAY better placed than the original, actually! It always seemed off that Noora would be taken in by William telling her she’s beautiful when she still thinks he’s knocked up Vilde. Now that they’ve determined this isn’t the case, it makes slightly more sense. At least that consideration is out of the way.

The only drawback about having the doctor clip before this clip is that it occurs to me that Noora’s conversation with Vilde is likely what prompts Noora tell William to apologize, since Vilde has internalized his words so much to the point of repeating them, and I find it harder to believe that Manon would give a single shit about Charles’ flattery after she’s heard how bad his words made it for Daphne.

Lmao at fucking Charles being like “What are you doing here?” and Manon being like “I go to school here, dipshit”*

* (100% accurate translation)

Wait, this is the same song for the Emma/Yann scene. Is this going to be a Skam France love theme? Will French Even sing it to Lucas?

My favorite thing Emma has done all season was the ensuing text conversation after this clip where she just replies to everything Manon says with “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Clip 3-  Emma and Lucas on the steps

The setup of this scene satisfies one of my burning questions, in that I always wondered what the vibe was between Eva and Isak as they walked over the the bench (awkward) and here Lucas joins Emma on the steps so I don’t have to wonder about their weird small talk or painful silence.

This is the first time where I bought Lucas’ acting. He’s still not exactly wowing me, but I thought he was fine here. Maybe he just needs that very large scarf to hide in to make him seem all vulnerable.

“You smoked at the cabin?” Emma, didn’t you literally see them smoking??

Wait, Tom was supposed to be Ingrid‘s brother? That’s what it sounds like, because why else would Yann contact Ingrid if he couldn’t get through to Tom, if Tom is just some unrelated dude who has weed? I thought her brother was some other guy because Elias was not Norwegian Ingrid‘s brother.  Surely Emma would know Tom as a result of being Ingrid‘s best friend for years, but I don’t think either of them said anything about that, unless I missed it or can’t remember it. At the cabin I didn’t get the vibe they were anything more than acquaintances via Yann. And if Tom is Ingrid’s brother, then doesn’t it make more sense that Emma would hear Ingrid in the background on the phone, and it wouldn’t automatically be a cause for suspicion? It’s not weird for Yann to hang out with Tom.

I think Tom isn’t supposed to be Ingrid’s brother, but this line of dialogue is confusing, considering they changed it from Yann not being able to reach Ingrid’s brother to not being able to reach Tom. It doesn’t make sense to get Ingrid to get in touch with Tom; the chain should go Tom -> Ingrid’s brother (who also has weed) -> Ingrid.

They changed a bit from where Isak owned up to being shady when Eva asked him about hearing Ingrid‘s voice over the phone, he implied that he kind of suspected it wasn’t anything serious and figured it had to do with the drugs, and he acknowledges that he could’ve told Eva this, and he gave her bad advice to ask Ingrid about it. Lucas says he swears he didn’t know, which is kind of funny because IMO, Lucas seems way sneakier and more plotting in that scene than Isak did.

I do appreciate changes to the material but since they’re keeping most of it the same, I wish that they left in the line about karma being a bitch and Emma understanding how Ingrid would’ve felt, because I think that was a thematically relevant line. 

Aw, it was sweet to see how Yann smiled and seemed so happy when Emma called. It’s a shame I like him so much more away from this relationship. He seems so pumped for their meeting. I think Yann is a little needier than Jonas and it affects their relationship positive and negative ways, like I think maybe he’s a little more attentive than Jonas, but he also seems to get more threatened by potential obstacles to their the relationship.

Clip 4 - The Emma/Yann breakup

Yann is so sweet and charming here, like I get why Emma fell for him.

So the final bit of this clip worked pretty well for me! 

I said in another post that the three scenes they needed to nail were the skate park, Ingrid in the bathroom, and breakup scene, and while I didn’t think this was as powerful (mostly because the season-long buildup didn’t make it feel as earned) I still thought this was a strong scene, definitely the strongest of those three.  

I loved the sweet moment of Yann holding Emma on the steps and them smiling sweetly at each other, and that was an aesthetically appealing, tastefully done semi-sex scene, especially the shot with their hands. Although I did find myself wondering if they sat on the steps and then smiled at each other like “let’s go have breakup sex” or if they banged it out, put their clothes back on, and cuddled outside. TRUE TO THE ORIGINAL in that regard. 

More Seinabo Sey songs, love her.

Clip 5 - Ending party

The Emma/Yann hug is really sweet and makes me think the breakup is going to be less fraught, more amiable. which, IDK, it kinda feels like it should be more fraught considering these two are supposed to be very much in love? But it also makes me buy them airing season 2 so soon after S1’s finale, if Yann and Emma are going to be on more friendly terms.

Also the general atmosphere of the scene is more lighthearted. The music too, not as much of a serious tone.

Lucas was all right acting-wise in this scene, too. 

INGRID AND EMMA NEED TO HOOK UP. I can’t say I shipped it in OG Skam but here … they should get together.

Ingrid, Sara and Imane dancing together is great.

Also Ingrid is there when Daphne tells Imane and Alex about Charles, awwww.

I love Daphne. I know I’ve said that a million times but she’s the MVP of Skam France.

The shot of Lucas with Yann definitely did not have that immediate SO THAT’S WHY HE DID IT effect. Yo, Skam France, remember how some of us were like “You’re telegraphing Lucas’ crush on Yann too hard?” Well if ever there was a time to project that shit from an IMAX, THIS WAS THE MOMENT. 

Forreal, Lucas is paying about as much attention to Yann as to the other dude standing next to them. Where is that OTT longing gaze? 

You’re holding a drink, dude, you could give us a dose of innuendo by slurping on that straw while you make eyes at your bro.

But then again, I guess no moment can be as OTT as when you have “Gay Bar” as your musical accompaniment.

There is a major continuity error in the scene because the other guy that is in the scene with Lucas and Yann can be seen behind Manon immediately in the next shot, so either he has a twin who dresses exactly the same or he teleported.

As much as I love Isak’s love of BUTT as the final moment, closing the season on Manon and Charles is a perfectly logical choice for leading into S2. Although lol, the lyrics being like “I’m just waiting for my day to come” are very creepy, Charles. “Cause something inside has changed” is better, though.

General comments:

They should’ve ended this season with the girl squad’s party, dude. Doesn’t that seem like a fitting finale? If the object is to gain popularity at school, shouldn’t they do it as soon as possible so they gain some capital before the popular senior guys leave?

One benefit about airing the next season right after S1 instead of taking a few months is that I can at least buy that they could have the party at the end of season 2. The longer they draw it out, the less it makes sense.

Lucas was definitely panicking and trying to be overly nice in that text to Emma post-Camille’s party. Emma was keeping it cool and Lucas was like I HOPE ALL IS WELL AHAHA WE’RE SO FRIENDLY :D :D :D oh god don’t tell Yann

Right now, I don’t have many thoughts about the season as a whole that I haven’t said before. Emma’s character arc is somewhat muddled, certain plot developments and characterization don’t make sense, the show overuses music, the girl squad dynamic is one of the show’s better qualities, marry me Daphne, marry me Ingrid, etc etc.

My main takeaway is that, out of the three remakes that have aired so far, Skam France definitely has less of a personal identity than Druck or Skam Italia. Even with those shows being early into their first seasons, I can already tell they’re more distinct adaptations with more done to fit their respective cultures. That’s not to say either of those versions are perfect or that Skam France doesn’t have its own strengths, but I would very much like to see Skam France develop more of a unique personality. Not sure if they can do that until S3 since they’ve already filmed S2 and can’t incorporate viewer feedback. It depends on how much it is going to reflect original Skam’s S2; judging by the trailer, it feels like the answer is A Lot.

[illyriantremors]

ACOMAF Parts 2.3-3.1: The House of Wind & Mist (Rhys POV)

Part 1 The House of Beasts: Chapters 1-13 Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27 Part 2.2 The House of Wind: Chapters 28-40

Part 2.3: Chapter 41: Rhys Decides to Steal the Veritas Chapter 42: The Court of Nightmares ;) Chapter 43: Rhys and Feyre Fight After the Court of Nightmares Chapter 44: Starfall Chapter 45: Rhys Takes Feyre to the Illyrian Camps Chapters 46-47: Training & Lucien Chapter 48: The Inn ;) Chapters 49-51: Rhys Injured Feyre Discovers the Mating Bond

Part 3.1: Chapters 52-53: Rhys Recovers with Mor and Cassian Chapters 54-55: Rhys and Feyre Mate ;) Chapter 56: Going Home to Velaris

So this is Chapters 41-56 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV. (aka, all the good stuff.) A lot of these chapters I wrote last year, but had to rework to fit the new material, and as a result, I am very relieved and proud of what it’s all turned out to be. I know I said I would do the whole book, but I feel for now this is a good stopping point. Maybe I’ll revisit again later, but for now, this is it until after ACOWAR. :D

@kitashiwrites And as always, thank you Kate. For being the best beta a girl could ask for!

Chapter 41

Summary: The squad returns from the mortal realms and fills Amren in how poorly meeting with the queens went. Deciding there is no other option, Rhys tells Mor they are going to visit the Court of Nightmares and that Feyre will have a special role to play that is a little too much for him to handle.

I Trust You

Our goodbyes with Feyre’s sisters were short. Nesta seemed glad to be rid of us, queens and all. I didn’t argue with her for once. Nor did Cassian.

No one spoke as we flew home. Not even Feyre, who I carried through the warm, dry skies filled with an angry sun that seemed to sense the anger rolling underneath my skin.

Those queens were damned fools and they were going to make us all pay for it. Make all of them pay for it - my friends, my family, Feyre. Watching them all fly home, it would be my fault if they never made it. My fault if the court fell into ruin because the queens didn’t trust me enough to hand over the Book.

I thought about everything I’d done as we landed at the townhouse. Every single way I’d defiled myself to save this city for centuries. Letting people think me a whore, a murderer, and a tormentor who delighted in less savory carnal acts. I set Feyre down and walked past an awaiting Amren, needing to look out on the city and know it was worth it, but as I sat by the fountain in the courtyard, I couldn’t face my people. My eyes found the ground instead.

A thick scratching noise scraped against the flagstone, as seats were pulled apart and my friends sat with me. “If you’re out here to brood, Rhys,” Amren said across from me, “then just say so and let me go back to my work.”

I had no retort to give her as I met her gaze, so sharp and piercing as ever. “The humans wish for proof of our good intentions,” I said. “That we can be trusted.”

Amren shot to Feyre in a blaze. “Feyre was not enough?”

Feyre winced slightly, and I felt the bond wobble between us. “She is more than enough,” I said, feeling rage snap through me again at the implications of what those queens had inferred of our meeting. “They’re fools. Worse - frightened fools.”

“We could... depose them,” Cassian suggested. “Get newer, smarter queens on their thrones. Who might be willing to bargain.” There was no trace of humor. It was, on the whole, a serious suggestion and one that we might have taken up in the past.

Because this was what my court did. This was what I did, to maintain peace for a single city in the cold mountains of Prythian. Murdered innocent people and it made me a monster even the humans knew and feared.

And still, I considered it before shaking my head no. My gut twisting that my reasons had more to do with logistics than the morality of it.

“One, it’d take too long. We don’t have that time. Two, who knows if that would somehow impact the magic of their half of the Book. It must be given freely. It’s possible the magic is strong enough to see our scheming.” I pictured every one of those queens - even the sixth and missing one - and hissed. “We are stuck with them.”

“We could try again,” Mor said. Finally, I looked up and found her warm eyes watching me, understanding me even possibly. “Let me speak to them, let me go to their palace-”

“No,” Azriel said, cutting across her. Mor perked up, undoubtedly unused to Az’s fixed opinion against her, but the shadowsinger was set - and I couldn’t blame him. The things he’d told me of the palace were more than simply dangerous.

That didn’t stop Mor from staring at him incredulously, her voice sharpening as she redirected her attention to him. “I fought in the War, you will do well to remember-”

“No,” Azriel said again, staring right back at her determined. Every muscle in his body seemed to flex. “They would string you up and make an example of you.”

“They’d have to catch me first.”

Azriel’s wings shifted. Cassian and I shared a look and both equally tensed. “That palace is a death trap for our kind,” Azriel said, halfway toward getting up out of his seat and sitting next to Mor if it would convince her - if it would keep her safe. “Built by Fae hands to protect the humans from us. You set foot inside it, Mor, and you won’t walk out again. Why do you think we’ve had such trouble getting a foothold in there?”

Mor opened her mouth to retort, but Feyre spoke first. “If going into their territory isn’t an option, and deceit or any mental manipulation might make the magic wreck the Book... What proof can be offered? Who is - who is this Miryam?” Mor’s mouth closed, the moment forgotten. History flooding back to all of us as we looked at Feyre. “Who was she to Jurian, and who was that prince you spoke of - Drakon? Perhaps we... perhaps they could be used as proof. If only to vouch for you.”

My heart slowed down, a weight pressing in. Whatever we did moving forward, it seemed all of our options would betray somebody.

“Five hundred years ago,” I said, “in the years leading up to the War, there was a Fae kingdom in the southern part of the continent. It was a realm of sand surrounding a lush river delta. The Black Land. There was no crueler place to be born a human - for no humans were born free. They were all of them slaves, forced to build great temples and palaces for the High Fae who ruled. There was no escape; no chance of having their freedom purchased. And the queen of the Black Land...”

I trailed off, Mor picking up the pieces my scars barred me from recalling. “She made Amarantha seem as sweet as Elain.”

“Miryam was a half-Fae female born of a human mother. And as her mother was a slave, as the conception was... against her mother’s will, so, too, was Miryam born in shackles, and deemed human - denied any rights to her Fae heritage.”

A cruel, dark blemish on the history of our kind was that era, no war needed.

“Tell the full story another time,” Amren said, clipped and rritated. “The gist of it, girl is that Miryam was given as a wedding gift by the queen to her betrothed, a foreign Fae prince named Drakon. He was horrified, and let Miryam escape. Fearing the queen’s wrath, she fled through the desert, across the sea, into more desert... and was found by Jurian. She fell in with his rebel armies, became his lover, and was a healer amongst the warriors. Until a devestating battle found her tending to Jurian’s new Fae allies - including Prince Drakon. Turns out, Miryam had opened his eyes to the monster he planned to wed. He’d broken the engagement, allied his armies with the humans, and had been looking for the beautiful slave-girl for three years. Jurian had no idea that his new ally coveted his lover. He was too focused on winning the War, on destroying Amarantha in the North. As his obsession took over, he was blind to witnessing Miryam and Drakon falling in love behind his back.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard Amren say so much in one go.

“It wasn’t behind his back,” Mor said, a near snarl. “Miryam ended it with Jurian before she ever laid a finger on Drakon.” She looked at Amren with a trace of that same regal warrior she’d stared the mortal queens down with. A queen in her own right, ready to defend her friends to the death - not against Amren, but in that war she’d lived through. I didn’t want to think of her fighting in one again.

Amren brushed her off easily. “Long story short, girl, when Jurian was slaughtered by Amarantha, and during the long centuries after, she told him what had happened to his lover. That she’d betrayed him for a Fae male. Everyone believed Miryam and Drakon perished while liberating her people from the Black Land at the end of the War - even Amarantha.”

Mor’s eyes flashed. She’d been there, marching through the sand and hell fires to help Miryam free her people.

“And they didn’t,” Feyre said, putting the pieces of the story together. “It was all a way to escape, wasn’t it? To start over somewhere else, with both their peoples?” Mor and I nodded simultaneously. “So why not show the queens that? You started to tell them-”

“Because,” I said, the words sounding tired - exhausted - even to me, “in addition to it not proving a thing about my character, which seemed to be their biggest gripe, it would be a grave betrayal of our friends. Their only wish was to remain hidden - to live in peace with their peoples. They fought and bled and suffered enough for it. I will not bring them into this conflict.”

“Drakon’s aerial army was as good as ours,” Cassian said softly, a thought more than a suggestion. “We might need to call upon him by the end.”

I shook my head.

No, not Drakon. Not Miryam. Not their armies nor their families, nor mine. And not the queens’ own lives forfeited for new ones. Each of those routes either ended with too much death or would not be enough to assure the queens of my own guilt.

If we were to get the book, I would have to take the risk again to right myself before them.

And I only knew one way to do that.

“So, what do we offer them instead?” Feyre asked. Everyone looked to me. “What do we show them?”

The queens wanted to know me - the real, true me. Then I would pay a steep price to give it to them if it would save us - save my city and my mate that I’d written so desperately about to those women.

I swallowed, my throat feeling raw. “We show them Velaris.”

“What?” Mor said. I couldn’t meet her eyes.

“You can’t mean to bring them here,” Feyre said hesitantly.

“Of course not,” I replied. “The risks are too great, entertaining them for even a night would likely result in bloodshed. So I plan to merely show them.”

“They’ll dismiss it as mind tricks,” Azriel said, no doubt thinking of those beautifully laid dangers he’d met in their court.

Finally, I stood. I was tired. I was hungry. And I felt empty. “No, I mean to show them - playing by their own rules.”

“What do you mean, High Lord?” Amren asked, her eyes narrowed. But I faced my cousin, and she saw me for what I meant. Her skin paled, another curse at my feet to carry forward in this fight.

“Send word to your father. We’re going to pay him and my other court a visit.”

To my side, Feyre’s head slowly lifted to meet mine. The bond pulled taut.

Just one more curse to carry.

“What about-”

“No,” I said, stifling a sigh as I stared at the dark red liquid swirling inside my wine glass. All of us save Amren sat the dinner table. Mor’s face was heavy. “That city is too far north - too near Illyrian territory. If my reputation proceeds me to the mortal realms, the proximity to Illyrian territory may very well also. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’ve all suggested half a dozen cities already. None of them will hold as Velaris will.”

Mor looked away tersely, her lips tight. Cassian sat on one side staring hard at her, concern urging him to do something. He’d been restless since we’d sat down to dinner - almost as restless as Azriel’s shadows, who’d leave soon to contact his spies now that the plans were set for tomorrow’s visit to the Hewn City.

“I still don’t understand,” Feyre said on my right, “why any city will work, Velaris or no. What’s the Veritas? Why will the queens trust it?”

I parted my lips to answer, but Mor’s voice rang clear across the table even if she wouldn’t look at Feyre - or me. “The Veritas is my family’s most ancient gift,” she explained. “The wielded holds the ability to show truth - to show the world exactly as it is anywhere, at any given time, among other things. It was forged and given to my family that our bloodline might share that power and merge it with our natural magic. It is why the queens could hear my story and know that it was truth, even if...” Azriel leaned forward across from Mor as she ran her lips together, staring hard at her plate. “Even if it didn’t matter in the end anyway.”

“With the Veritas,” Cassian cut across for her, “the queens will be able to see Velaris and know with absolute certainty that it is real, safe, and most importantly, that Rhys isn’t the evil prick they think he is.”

Cassian’s eyes darted quickly to me, as if I might take offense, but I shook my head. He gave me a short nod.

“And you’re positive,” Feyre asked, hesitantly crossing her arms on the table as she looked at Mor, a line creasing her brow, “that there’s nothing else we can show them? Nothing that would equally prove-”

“No,” I said. Her eyes snapped to me, considering.

“Even...” She swallowed, allowing herself to remember even as the vision of us wailing and crying out across Amarantha’s blood-strewn floor together flashed across the bond and caused us both to cringe.

“Definitely not,” I said, breaking my gaze off. I took a sip of wine and sat the glass back on the table, my fingers picking at the stem. “Velaris is the only way. Tomorrow, we winnow in close to the base of the mountain and fly the rest of the way. You three,” and I pointed to Mor, Cassian, and Feyre - wishing it wasn’t Feyre, “will help me distract Keir while Azriel slips out to get the Orb. We stay no longer than necessary to avoid suspicion.”

Mor stood up abruptly from the table. “If we’re done here, I need to start preparing.”

“Mor-” Cassian said, jerking at her motion, and standing quickly to follow her.

But my cousin only made it a few steps, muttered, “I need to write my father to let him know we’re coming,” and winnowed. Her skin was ghost white.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, his temper perhaps the only sentiment stronger in the room than my guilt. Azriel stood and walked over to his brother, placing a shadow-encrusted hand on his shoulder. “I’ll find her after I sort my spies out,” he said quietly.

“She’s not going to-”

“I know where she’ll be. And yes, she will.” They shared a hard look, one so private and intimate even to me, that Feyre and I both looked away.

A pause. And then, “Okay.”

Azriel left, Cassian not far behind with barely even a goodbye. A lengthy silence ensued before Feyre announced she was going for a walk. I didn’t object.

I had the table cleared with a snap of my fingers the second she left the door, my wine glass replaced with something much deeper and of a more amber coloring.

The house was too still and quiet as I poured a fresh glass. I thought of Mor and hated - hated - the way she refused to look at me before she left. It felt exactly the way losing Feyre’s first smile to Tarquin that morning she wouldn’t meet my gaze in Adriata had felt: broken and isolating.

I took a long sip of that drink, feeling it burn in my throat, just as it had when I’d received the blood rubies.

Tarquin.

Feyre.

Mor.

Mor.

She had told me many times over the years that she was not bothered to be a queen in a city that once made her a slave of its own liking. There were days she returned from the Hewn City looking empowered for having held court over the family she despised for what they’d done to her.

And then there were days like today, where I asked too much of her - to steal from her own family, to get perhaps too close to history. And it was only that sheer determination and duty to the crown Mor and I shared that kept her from breaking in two.

That, and Azriel. I hoped for both our sakes that he resolved his discussions with his spies and found my cousin quickly. Hurting her... was not something I wanted. Not ever. She deserved better than that for all she’d given our family since the day I’d met her. All of this city and more.

And yet... tomorrow she would wear the mask. We all would. Cassian the alpha male, dominating with his siphons and that aura that crackled like fire to fill a mountain top. Azriel, the phantom that would haunt and vanish like smoke, injecting fear into every heart he touched. And Feyre.

I did not want to think of what Feyre would have to become if she came tomorrow.

Feyre - who was out now looking at my city and possibly wondering if what she’d said about it when she escaped the Attor was no longer true. Feyre, who was now my friend. Would I sacrifice that friendship, that hope for more, to keep my crown - our crown, the bond begged me to think - safe? Could I?

I’d already forced the scene from filling out in my mind half a dozen times at dinner, knowing how she would hate me for the mask that I would wear tomorrow if she came. The one that had forced her to return to a place of pain and torture where I’d painted her body, drugged her, and splintered her bones. It wouldn’t matter why I’d done those things. Only that I’d done them at all.

Maybe Mor and Amren were right. Maybe I should... tell her.

I waited for her in the foyer near the stairs and wasn’t left waiting long. Feyre returned within close to an hour of her initial departure, her cheeks flushed from the walk and crisp air.

She took one look at me and halted, brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?” My heart sank.

Concern. My friend was concerned - for me.

“I’m debating asking you to stay tomorrow,” I said. Her chin jerked to one side brusquely, her arms crossing.

“I thought I was going.” Her eyes pleaded silently with me behind those few words. Behind that mind that thought I would lock her up like him. I could neither take her, nor leave her. Either way, I was damned.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to stay upright. The stairs looked inviting. “What I have to be tomorrow, who I have to become, is not...” Feyre’s chin dipped waiting, “it’s not something I want you to see. How I will treat you, treat others...”

“The mask of the High Lord,” she finished when I could not.

‘Whore...’

Both of us. We’d both be whores if Feyre went.

“Yes,” I said, and sat down, unable to stand any longer. The angle of the stairs felt sharp against my back, like the throne I would sit on in a matter of hours.

Feyre watched me from where she still stood, that momentary doubt and fire gone. “Why don’t you want me to see that?”

Tell her, Rhys. Tell her the truth.

Mor-

Tell her, damn it, or I’m not going tomorrow.

I sighed.

Alright, Mor - for you.

“Because,” I said slowly, “you’ve only started to look at me like I’m not a monster, and I can’t stomach the idea of anything you see tomorrow, being beneath that mountain, putting you back into that place where I found you.”

Feyre held my gaze, and... after a moment, I watched that crease in her brow release, felt the bond go soft and pliant. But her eyes - they were not afraid as they stared into the darkness.

“Let me help,” she said, resolute. “In whatever way I can.”

What would happen to that resolution if I brought her, dressed her up and objectified her before my entire court? “The role you will have to play is not a pleasant one.”

Feyre was walking purposefully toward me instantly, taking the small spot next to me on the stairs. She sat so close, our arms and knees brushed. That one simple touch meaning almost as much to me as the way she stared straight into my eyes past the stars and the bleakness and whispered, “I trust you.”

My friend - my mate.

My trust.

“Why did Mor look so disturbed when she left?” Feyre asked.

I swallowed roughly. By now, Azriel would be with Mor. And she’d be... better. I hoped.

“I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Feyre’s eyes went wide - and rightfully so. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor... begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

That day had been... horrifying. And Mor had not begged me to save her so much as wept and mourned and all but thrown herself off the edges of the world if it would save her somehow.

“What happened?” Feyre’s voice came out particularly tiny. I missed the amber decanter I’d left sitting on the dining table.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and... it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with out families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family... they...” A sharpness stung behind my eyes. I’d never forget the way she’d... how her stomach had... and Cassian, Azriel. My cousin - my Morrigan.

I scraped the pain off my throat enough to admit to Feyre, who sat dutifully at my side through every word, “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.” Feyre sucked in a breath. I’d never felt the bond so quiet since those weeks of silence in between visits from the Spring Court. “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.”

Mor-

She’ll be okay.

Still, I’d had to restrain my brother with magic to keep him from leaving her bedside and flying back to those woods of fall.

Thank you for finding her.

I would have gone to the ends of the world and back to find her.

Eyes like stone, he’d had that day.

I know you would have.

That was the day we’d become family - all four of us. I would not let it break. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Too much. It was always too, too much, it seemed.

Whether she felt the tension in my veins or simply needed to relieve her own, Feyre’s gently took my hand and allowed me the privilege of keeping it. Her skin was soft as I brushed idle strokes back and forth over her palm.

And then she told me in that same resolute voice that would not, could not be broken anymore, “Tell me what I need to do tomorrow.”

I sighed, but squeezed her hand and told my friend the role she would play in my Court of Nightmares.

[lenfaz]

Time Upon Once, ch. 9 (9/?)

Summary:  Killian Jones is a bailbonds man, living in Boston and doing his own thing. But on his 29th birthday, a kid knocks on his door and claims to be his son. What happens when Killian is forced to face his past along with a mystery prophecy about his own purpose in life?

Rating: M (eventually)

A huge thank you to @tnlph @businesscasualprincess and @blessed-but-distressed  for beta duties and @shady-swan-jones for the banner!

Tagging a few people that showed interest in this story:@lk0622@nowforruin@sambethe@xemmaloveskillianx  @l-e-x-a-xd @profoundlyfadedprincess @once-uponacaptain @icecubelotr44  @poetic-justice-96 @allietumbles @el-kelpo @jennjenn615 @leiandcharles  (want to be tagged? let me know and I’ll do it)

on Tumblr: I II III IV V VI VII VIII

ao3 ff.net

Chapter IX

It had been a couple of quiet weeks and Killian had gotten into a comfortable routine of running the Sheriff’s station and spending time with Henry when he could. He wasn’t sure if Regina had allowed it - or if she was merely turning a blind eye, but either way he’d been grateful. He’d also made a habit of spending his evenings with Mary Margaret, helping ease the loneliness it seemed to surround her and even convincing her to hit the local bar once or twice a week. He had yet to find a decent bloke for her, but he hadn’t given up hope. Killian was sure there were some suitable choices in Storybrooke that weren’t married. There had to be.

But the honeymoon period at the Sheriff’s office had to come to an end eventually and it wasn’t long before Killian found himself entering the local convenience store after a call from the owner about a shoplifting situation. The first thing that struck him as odd was running into Regina and Henry leaving the store.

“Henry, what happened?”

“Mr. Jones, must I remind you that genetics mean nothing. You shouldn’t be here. It’s all taken care of.”

Regina had a point, and Killian knew better than to go against her, but he couldn’t resist the words that came to his mouth. “I’m here because I’m the Sheriff, Mayor Mills.”

Regina rolled her eyes as if he were a nuisance she hadn’t been able to get rid of. “Oh, that’s right. Go on – do your job. Take care of those miscreants.” She pointed to the interior of the store as she motioned Henry out.

Killian focused his attention back to the store and the two kids that were looking at him with terrified expressions.

“Did you call their parents?” he asked Mr. Clark, the store owner.

“Uh, the number they gave me was disconnected.” Mr. Clark stepped into the back of the store to give Killian some privacy with the kids.

“Did you gave Mr. Clark a fake number?” He tried to give his voice authority without overdoing it, as the fear on the kids’ faces was almost palpable at this point.

They both shook their heads. He pressed for more information. “Then why’s it disconnected?”

“Cause our parents couldn’t pay the bill.” The girl’s voice was small, broken by fear and shame and it tugged at Killian’s heart. His eyes darted to the items lying over the counter. There were a few candy bars, but he could also see some necessity items in there. Food, toiletries. He could see all the signs. After all, how many times had Killian himself been in that same spot when he was young?

“You’re just trying to help out, aren’t you?” He gave them what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“Please – please don’t arrest us. It will just make things worse for our parents,” the girl begged.

He’d love to have a few words with those parents. Killian really wanted that, but right now, he needed to ensure those kids were not more frightened by life than what they already were.

He motioned with his hand as he reached for his wallet to pay for the groceries. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

/-/

It wasn’t a long ride until they reached the house. The children were sat in the back of the cruiser, holding the bags of groceries Killian had purchased for them. On first sight, the house gave him a bad feeling. It didn’t seemed inhabited. Not really. The structure was there, but the door and shutters were closed and nothing seemed out of place. Something didn’t quite fit. Killian turned around and looked at them.

“This is it?” They both nodded. “Alright, let’s go.” He took off his seatbelt and reached to open the door, but the girl - Ava - stopped him.

“Please, no. If our parents see you, they’ll be so embarrassed.”

Something in her voice didn’t seem quite right. Killian tilted his head and studied her face. “Did Henry tell you about my superpower?” When both kids shook their heads, he gave them a tight smile. “I can tell when someone is lying to me. So, tell me the truth - other than money problems, is everything okay at home?”

Killian knew it was a long shot, the children had barely met him and they seem to run like a tight unit, with Ava doing the talking while the lad - Nicholas - followed her lead. So it was little surprise that it was Ava who looked straight into his eyes and delivered the perfected lie.

“Yeah, we’re great. Can we go?”

He wasn’t born yesterday, but he also knew he was not going to get a single word out of them at this moment, so he simply nodded and watched them get out of the car. They went up the stairs and turned around as Killian turned over the engine. The children waved at him and seemed to be waiting for Killian to drive off, which he promptly did.

He didn’t go far. Killian turned around the corner and parked the car. He killed the engine and got out. The children were no longer on the stairs when he made his way back to the house. He tried the door, and it gave way easily. He opened it enough to pop his head inside the house.

Not only there wasn’t a living soul in the house, but there wasn’t much to begin with. Killian sighed as he entered the house, verifying his worst suspicious as he took a few steps and noticed that no one  - and nothing - lived there. Not for a good long while.

A singular noise coming from the kitchen - as if a door were opening - made him walk towards that room, his hand reaching to the gun he kept at his hip. But he quickly drop the hand when he noticed Ava and Nicholas coming from the basement, their backs to him.  

“Why’d you guys lie to me?” he asked in a clipped tone and watched as the kids turned around, a horrified expression on their faces. “Where are your parents?” he insisted.

And then Ava delivered the few words that were sure to rip out his heart. “We don’t have any.”

/-/

Unsure of what to do, or more accurately, hesitant to execute what he knew had to do, Killian made a quick stop at the Sheriff’s station to pick up any files they had on the kids before he took them to the loft. Mary Margaret hadn’t arrived yet - he recalled she had mentioned a teacher’s meeting at the end of her day -, and whilst Killian wasn’t a master cook, he could still throw a few things together in order to prepare a decent meal.

He glanced at the two kids that were looking at him with a mix of apprehension and fear, his mind taking him back to all the times he felt the same way when he was their age. Alone, scared, uncertain of his future, grieving. Killian sighed and tried to think of what type of food he could make for them that could at least put them at ease for a while.

And that is how Mary Margaret entered the loft to a sight of the three of them eating mac and cheese with juice.

“I saved you a ration,” Killian smiled shyly as Mary Margaret cocked an eyebrow at him, feeling like a ten-year old caught by his mother.

She sighed, running a hand through his hair before he grabbed a file and tilted his head for her to join him on the other side of the room, out of the kids’ earshot.

“Do you know them from school?” Killian asked when he was sure the kids were not able to hear him.

Mary Margaret look over Killian’s shoulder at the children with despair. “I’ve seen them, but… I had no idea. None of us did,” she sighed with defeat, as if she were berating herself for not realizing any of this, even if the children were not in her class.

Killian opened the file and read from it. “Ava and Nicholas Zimmer. They said their mother was a woman named Dory Zimmer. She died a few years ago. No one seems to know her or remember her.” He looked up to find Mary Margaret shaking her head and if she couldn’t remember the woman either.

“And the father?”

Killian sighed. “There isn’t one. At least not one that they know.” It seemed to be a dead end.

“What does Social Services say?” She asked with concern in her voice. Killian’s mouth opened, but no words came out of it as he winced and gave Mary Margaret a sheepish look.

Realization dawned on Mary Margaret. “You didn’t report them.”

“I can’t,” Killian sighed. “I report them, I can’t help them. They go into the system.”

“The system that’s supposed to help,” Mary Margaret stated, only to be met by his stern eyes.

“Mary Margaret, you didn’t grow up in there. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

She gave him a smile that had a hint of commiseration in it. If it had come from anyone else, he’d already be out of the door. But somehow, it didn’t bother him when it came from Mary Margaret. It made him feel cared for, in way that it was almost too scary for him to admit. “You - you had a good home.”

“But I was adopted when I was baby!” He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but he was failing and he knew it the moment his eyes filled with tears he fought off. “When the Joneses died and I went back to the system, it wasn’t nice… at all.”

“But perhaps for them-” she started but he cut her off.

“At their age, so close to the holidays, they won’t make it to a good home. They’ll get thrown into homes where they are a meal ticket – nothing more. These families get paid for these kids and as soon as they’re too much work, they get tossed out and it all starts over again.” His voice was nothing but a broken whisper. “Trust me, I know.”

He dared to meet her eyes again, almost ashamed of revealing that much of himself, even to Mary Margaret. All there was in her eyes was sympathy. “Killian, do you want to keep them?” she asked softly.

“I want to look for their father. They don’t know him. He may not know they exist.”

Understanding crept into her eyes. “You think if he knows, he’ll want them.”

He nodded, not being able to voice the thoughts he knew were showing on his expression.

I’ve always wanted Henry… I just couldn’t have him.

“I have to try. Because what I do know is hard enough finding foster families to take one kid that isn’t theirs, let alone two. It’s their best shot, or-”

The voice behind him cut him off. “We’re going to be separated?”

Killian and Mary Margaret turned to find Ava looking at them with tears in her eyes. Killian’s heart tugged at the image in front of him, so familiar for him that he’d lost count of the time he’d seen such despair in all the homes he’d been in.

“No,” he said reassuringly. “That is not going to happen.”

“Please – please don’t let it,” she begged with such desperation in her voice that broke his heart.

/-/

Killian walked into the public registry office and looked for the man behind it. “Excuse me, Mr. -” He took a look at the little plaque set on the counter. “Krzyszkowski?”

After being corrected on the correct pronunciation of the name, Killian introduced himself. “I’m Sheriff Jones. I’m hoping to take a look at the birth certificates of Ava and Nicholas Zimmer.”

He was instructed to fill in some forms - in triplicate - and he was immersed in local red tape as the man busied himself looking in the filing cabinets. Krzyszkowski turned around with an unalterable expression. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. But the documents have been recently removed.”

“By who?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the answer. “The Mayor.”

Luckily, it was only a short walk down the hall from the registry into the Mayor’s office in Town Hall. He didn’t bother with polite greetings as he barged into the office and found Regina standing by her desk, rearranging some flowers. “Did you take the Zimmer kids’ file?”

Regina turned and quirked her smile at him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. You can relax.” She walked around her desk and stood on the other side. “I’ve contacted Social Services. Turns out these kids are on their own. They need help.” There was a hint of something of a challenge in her voice, as if she was trying to see if he was going to falter at this news.

Killian tried to school his features, not letting Regina see how much this was affecting him. “I’m trying to help. I’m trying to find their father.”

“Well, he doesn’t exist.” Regina shrugged her shoulders in a dismissive way.

“He has to.”

She handed him the folder and Killian opened, his heart breaking at the “UNKNOWN” word underneath father in the records.

“Well, of course, biologically, he exists. But unlike you, there’s no record of him.” Killian could read in her words how much she’d preferred that he wasn’t listed on Henry’s birth certificate. “Which means we have no choice – these children need a home, so they will be put into the foster system.”

“Storybrooke has a foster system?” Maybe he could do some recon on the people, keep a close eye on them. Even if things went bad, he could perhaps convince Mary Margaret to-

“No.” Regina’s word put a stop to his hope. “I’ve contacted the state. Maine’s group homes, unfortunately, are filled.” Regina walked towards a side table by the opposite wall and pulled herself a glass of juice. “But they put us in touch with two homes in Boston – a boy’s home and a girl’s.”

No.  

“They’re separating them?” He couldn’t fight the emotion that was present in his voice or the way he knew his face was faltering.

“I don’t like it, either. But we’ve got no choice. You need to have them in Boston tonight.”

“Me?” As if life wasn’t already a cruel joke.

“You wanted to be Sheriff.” Regina played with the rim of her glass as she looked at him. “This is what sheriffs do. Yes, you’re taking them.”

“I promised them they wouldn’t be separated,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps you should stop making promises you can’t keep.” Her voice had a triumphal tone that made Killian shiver. “These children need a home. I’m just trying to find the best one.”

Separated foster homes were not the best choices, he thought. But at this point, he had little else to offer them.

/-/

Killian had spent the rest of the day poring over files at the station, trying to find a lead. But there were none. He was caught up reading when he heard the door to the office open. He lifted his head and found Henry walking in, carrying his backpack and the storybook with him.

“Any luck?” he asked as dropped his backpack on the floor and put the book over on the desk.

“No,” Killian sighed, running a hand over his face in frustration.

Henry opened the book and flipped through it. “I know who they are. They’re brother and sister, lost, no parents,” he found a page and turned the book towards Killian, showing him an illustration of two children in a forest. “Hansel and Gretel.”

He had to give it to Henry, the kid was good at relating real life stories with the fairy tales from his book. “Anything in there about the father?” Killian thought it was worth a shot to see if perhaps this could inspire a real life lead.

Henry shook his head. “Just that he abandoned them.”

“Great.” Killian stood up and headed for the filing cabinet, pulling some missing person’s reports to see if there was anything in there. “He could be anywhere by now.”

“No, he’s here,” Henry said with conviction. “No one leaves Storybrooke. No one comes here, no one goes. It’s just the way it is.”

“You left,” Killian pointed out as he sat again and opened one of the files. “I came here.”

“Because you’re special. You’re the first stranger here – ever.” Henry insisted as he sat over the desk and Killian wondered once again how bad the situation must have been that Henry had concocted all these fables in his mind.

“Well, if he’s still here, I will find him.” Finding people was what he did best. He just needed a bloody lead to start his tracking. Something. Anything.

“Speaking of parents,” Henry started and something in his tone made Killian lift his head. “Can you tell me more about Emma?”

Killian smiled at his son. “Henry, I-”

“Please?” he begged, his eyes wide with an aching need that Killian knew too well. It was the same he’d sported most of his life. “Were you together when you went to jail? What happened?”

It was all Henry had to say for Killian’s mind to drift to the night he’d pinpointed as the beginning of the end.

It was a few months after his 18th birthday that they stood in a soft embrace at the entrance of that motel room. They were still spending most of their nights in the backseat of the Bug; but, somehow, the night manager had taken a shine to them. She’d let them use of the vacant rooms once a week, so they could have a hot shower and a warm bed. If she realized how young they were - or how they seemed to get by - she didn’t mention as she slid Killian the key each time, along with a 20 dollar bill he always refused to accept.

But soon their hardships would be over. Once he succeeded in doing the pick-up Neal and August had told him about, his cut would enough to buy them a better life. He’d made sure of it when Neal and August had tried to negotiate with him.

“I still don’t trust them,” Emma whispered against his neck, her lips caressing the bare skin and causing him to shiver, his hand tightening his grip on her waist as he pulled her closer to him. “August is always acting mysterious and broody as if that makes him interesting -” Killian chuckled at Emma’s clear distaste for the cryptic man, whose theatrics hadn’t impressed Killian either. “And Neal-”

It was her time to shudder and Killian held her tighter. Neither of them liked Neal that much, but Killian especially didn’t like the way his eyes would roam over Emma. He had thought about quitting on this task a few times and just taking Emma and driving the Bug far away, but the possibilities-

“I know.” His voice was exuding a calm he didn’t quite feel as he took a step away from her embrace and met her eyes. “I don’t like it either but Emma, this can change everything. This will change everything.”

His fingers interlaced with hers. “I pull this off and then we can be out of here… we can start over in another city. We’ll have enough money to rent a place and we can work on getting our GEDs and finding jobs-” he trailed off, his other hand reaching to trail her cheek and she leaned in further into his touch.

“We can have the life we always wanted. The life we deserve.”

The life you deserve.

Her lips claimed his in a desperate way, as if she were pouring all her fears and hesitations in that kiss, in the way she pulled him further into the room and towards the bed.

“Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

“Aye, I promise,” he whispered as he laid her gently down on the bed and hovered over her, his lips never leaving her skin.

Killian cleared his throat, bringing himself back from the painful memories. “I made her a promise I couldn’t keep.” He met Henry’s eyes fair and square. “When I- when I went to jail, I was framed. Emma, she didn’t trust the men I associated with and she tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen to her. I promised her everything would be okay. And it wasn’t.”

I left her alone, the moment she needed me the most.

“I never meant to betray her, but I did.” He sighed, running a hand through the back of his neck.

“Did you try to look for her? When you got out of jail?”

“Aye… but I couldn’t find her, m’boy” His voice was thick with emotion, his eyes welling with tears as he witnessed Henry’s heartache.

“I couldn’t find her either.” He tilted his head in that way Killian was so familiar with. “Do you have anything from her? Other than the picture you gave me?”

Killian sadly shook his head. “I’ll tell you what. You can have the Bug when you’re old enough to drive. It was her car to begin with.”

Henry beamed at him and Killian wished with all his heart that he could have something - anything - left from Emma to give to the boy. Something to know how much Emma had cared about him. Because he had no doubt in his mind that Emma had cared for the lad, so much that she let Henry go so he could have his better chance. Something the lad could hold onto for the rest of his life, much like he had held onto his baby blanket-

His eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

“Henry, I have to go… I think I know how to track this guy.” He quickly stood up and reached to kiss the lad on his forehead before he exited the station and headed to the loft. He had an idea on how to start looking for this guy.

He was halfway down the block when he realized it was the first time he’d kissed his son’s forehead.

/-/

He retrieved the box with his meager mementos and headed downstairs, where the children were eating milk and decorated cookies - Mary Margaret really had a knack for hosting.

“I want to show you something,” he said as he pulled his blanket out of the box where it was laying carefully next to a little box that carried a few mementos. It was a white one with blue ribbons and his name embroidered in blue as well.

“What’s that?”

“It’s my baby blanket. It’s something I’ve held onto my whole life. It’s the only thing that I have from… from the people that gave birth to me.” He couldn’t bring himself to call them his parents. Not even in this moment. “I’ve spent a lot of time with kids in your situation and they - we - hold onto stuff.” He gave them an encouraging smile as their eyes widened at his confession. Aye, a lost boy trying to help another set of lost children. “I want to find your father, but I need your help. Is there anything you’ve held onto?”

Ava gave him an inquisitive look. “I might… but if I give it to you, you'll make sure we stay together, right?”

“Aye.” He was going to do everything in his power to keep that promise.

She pulled an object from the pocket of her sweater and handed it to him. It was a compass secured to a chain.

“Our mom kept it. She said it was our dad’s.”

He took the compass with the reverence it deserved. “Thank you.” He turned it in his hands to examine it for possible clues.

“Did you find them?” Ava’s voice broke him out of his focus.

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

“No. I found people that raised me as their own until I lost them. After that, I knew it wasn’t worth looking.” He knew it was not the best tale, but he had to tell them the truth. “But I will find yours.”

/-/

Dealing with Gold was always something that Killian despised, and dealing with the man when he needed something from him always left him with a sour taste in his mouth. But alas, after some gibberish speech about craftsmanship of the piece and a request for forgiveness - Gold had to settle for tolerance because Killian wasn’t interested in much more - Killian had walked out of the pawnshop with a name.

Michael Tillman.

It was quite easy to find the man working at his garage. What wasn’t easy was convincing him he’d fathered twins twelve years ago.

“It can’t be possible.” Michael held the files with Ava and Nicholas’ pictures in his hands, but refused to believe it.

“Aye, mate, but it is.”

Michael handed them back the files. “Dory wasn’t my - it was just once.”

Killian tilted his head. “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

“I met her when I was camping… it was a fling. It can’t be. I don’t have twins.”

Killian had enough of the man’s reticence. It wasn’t the first time he’d found it in his line of work. “Yes, you do.” The firm tone of his voice caught Michael’s attention. “You have twins that have been homeless ever since their mother passed away. You have twins who have been living in an abandoned house because they don’t want to be separated from each other. You have twins who are about to be shipped off to Boston, unless you step up and take responsibility for them.”

“I can barely manage this garage. I can’t manage two kids. And why are you so sure they’re mine?”

He was going to punch the guy, God help him. “Besides the timing?” He took the compass out of his pocket. “Perhaps you’ve lost this, I don't’ know - twelve years and nine months ago?”

Michael froze as he took the compass and Killian felt sorry for the man. “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“What would you know? It’s not like you took care of yours.”

Killian clenched his jaw and tilted his head, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, mate.” There was enough threat in his voice to make the other man recoil a few steps. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s not easy. The son I consented to give up for adoption showed up at my doorstep a little over month ago, asking for help with… something. And I ended up moving here for him.” It was unbelievable that it’d only been a month since his life had changed so drastically. Only a month of meeting the one person - the other person - he knew he’d never leave in his life.

“Staying in town, it’s a lot different than taking him in.”

“You have a choice, I didn’t.” Killian met Michael’s eyes. “Those kids didn’t ask to be brought into this world. You brought them into this world – you and their mother. And they need you. And if you choose not to take them, you are going to have to answer for that every day of your life. And sooner or later, when they find you – because believe me, they will find you – you’re going to have to answer to them.”

But no matter how much he was trying to get through the man, it was a fruitless attempt. “I’m really sorry. I am. But I don’t know anything about being a dad. If it’s a good home you’re looking for, it’s not with me.” He handed the compass back to Killian and turned away from him.

He knew he should just let it go, just walk away and drive those kids down to Boston and hope they end up in a place where they were wanted. He should just do his duty as the Sheriff of this town.

And yet- Killian closed his fist over the compass. “I didn’t know anything about being a father either, mate, but that doesn’t mean we leave our children to their fate when they need us.”

/-/

He couldn’t face coming back to the loft. Heartbroken, he made a phone call to the one person he needed to talk with at this moment.

Mary Margaret quickly met him outside.

“He doesn’t want the kids,” he sighed in defeat.

“And you don’t want to tell them.” Mary Margaret was getting really good at reading him like an open book.

“I can’t tell them. I’ll be breaking their hearts.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll be yet another adult that gave them false hope and lied to them.”

“Are you talking about them - or you?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow at him. “Killian, the truth can be painful, but it can also be cathartic.”

“I have yet to see the cathartic part.” Killian offered with a quip, trying hard to control the turmoil of emotions he was feeling with this entire case. “Perhaps we can hide them, just until we find someone in town willing to take care of them?”

“The Sheriff talking about hiding two twelve year olds. This is a great plan, Killian.” It had to be the first time she was this sarcastic with him.

“Do you have a better idea, darling?” He snapped back. “Something that doesn’t involve separating those kids and break their hearts?”

If Mary Margaret had a plan, she couldn’t say because they were interrupted by the Mayor.

“Sheriff, shouldn’t you be on the interstate by now?”

“Keeping tabs on me, love?” Killian knew he shouldn’t be talking like that to the Mayor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Seeing to it that you do your job, that is all.”

“You don’t have to check up on me, Regina.” He took a couple of steps and invading her personal space, having the satisfaction to see her step back. “I know what I have to do. I’m quite good at it.”

This was a terrible - terrible - idea. He was playing with fire. Regina’s eyes avoided him for a second before she took a hold of herself.

“Have them in Boston tonight, Sheriff Jones.”

/-/

Killian couldn’t even make eye contact with the children as he drove them towards the town exit, Henry’s warning about them not being able to leave town still lingering in his mind. It was then when the patrol car started slowing and the engine making a few alarming noises. He pulled to the side of the road just in time, as the engine cut out and refused to start again. He gave it one half-hearted try to see if the engine would respond. It ‘didn’t’.

Oh, well. He had no option but to call in a tow.

It wasn’t long until Michael Tillman showed up and the way his eyes widened at the two children sitting in the back of the patrol car said everything Killian needed to know.

“That’s them.”

“Aye. I just wanted you to see them. At least once.” Killian swallowed, pushing his fears aside. “I didn’t think I could do it either. Henry’s birth mother and I, we wanted to give him his best shot. When he came to me, and I saw he wasn’t as happy as I wanted him to be, I couldn’t leave. Not until I knew he’d be okay. But now, now that I know him, I can’t go back. It’s all or nothing now.”

He met Michael’s eyes. “I’m sure the car will start again if I really get into it. I have to take them to Boston.”

“No, you don’t.” Michael quickly made his way towards the patrol car and Killian’s heart got a little rest from the turmoil of the past few days as he saw father and children fuse into an embrace.

It was a long day and by the time he finally made it back to the loft, he was knackered. Mary Margaret was sitting on her bed, folding laundry. Killian threw himself down on the bed. “Their dad showed up. Changed his mind.” He offered as explanation, but nothing seemed to get past Mary Margaret.

“Just like that?” There was that tone that probably would make eight year olds confess to the pettiest of crimes. And it seemed to be working on Killian too.

“I might have given him a little nudge.” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, perhaps a shove.” His eyes focused on the ceiling, letting his own buried hopes and dreams come to the surface. “I’ve always wondered, you know? What it would be like to find them. After I lost my adop - my parents, I always thought perhaps my birth parents would find me… explain to me why they left me. But they never did.”

“You don’t need to find your birth parents, Killian. Not if you don’t want to,” Mary Margaret offered empathically, her hand squeezing his.

Killian propped himself up on one elbow. “No I don’t,” he gave her a mischievous smile. “And according to Henry, I already found them.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes twinkled with mischief, as she made an act of studying him carefully. “You do have my chin. And my hair.”

“And your undying optimism. Oh no, wait!”

They both laughed for a moment or two. “Yeah, maybe not that.”

Killian sighed and forced himself to leave the comfortable bed and the warmth of the loft. “I’m going to go see Henry.” He gave Mary Margaret a final smile. “I’ll see you later?”

“Don’t stay out too late!” She called after him in a motherly tone.

/-/

Killian and Henry sat on the bench, drinking hot chocolate and talking about Ava and Nicholas, when the sound of an approaching motorcycle made them both tilt their heads in confusion.

“I don’t recall anyone having a motorcycle in town… Henry?”

Henry shook his head in confirmation of his thoughts. “This is weird. No strangers come into town.”

As the bike came closer, Killian’s blood ran cold. He’d seen that motorcycle before, and worse - he thought he knew the man who sat astride it, his face hidden behind that helmet. His heart stopped and his worst suspicions were confirmed the moment the bike slowed to a stop in front of them.

“That is no stranger, lad,” Killian said as he stood up from the bench and pushed Henry behind him.

As he feared, as the man lifted the helmet off he found the familiar face of a brown haired man with blue eyes staring at him.

“Killian,” the man started but Killian didn’t let him finish, taking two steps and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What in the blazes are you doing here, August?”

[reallyveryclueless]

Thoughts on Doctor Who Season 11 Episode 1

So the new season of Doctor Who started recently and I’ve been excited for it. I was glad we were finally getting some new blood, I was excited to see myself represented in a female doctor, and I was glad we were going to have a consistantly larger TARDIS team. Unfortunately I ended up struggling with this episode. I didn’t really like it, and at first I couldn’t tell why. I felt bad that I didn’t love it because it seems like everyone else can find no faults in this episode. I’ve now watched it multiple times and I think I’ve figured out why it didn’t click with me.

First, some obligatory warnings

This isn’t an entirely negative post, a lot of it is just pointing out things that surprised me and it still remains to be seen as to whether these will be good things or bad things

I will still continue watching the show, maybe it just takes them a while to get their feet considering there’s been so much change and the direction they go ends up being great

Capaldi is my favorite doctor, so there’s probably some part of my struggle to connect with this new character that’s because I don’t want to let him go

Everything Has Changed

New Doctor

I really wanted to like Jodie Whittaker but she didn’t quite click for me from this one episode. There were a couple of moments when I really liked her (like making the screwdriver) but there were a lot of moments when she felt strange to me. Having never seen Jodie act before, I was a bit surprised. The way she handled the role wasn’t exactly what I expected from her announcement or from seeing pictures of her. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, there’s a lot of potential for her to be funny and develop her own portrayal into something unique.

It’s a bit strange to see that everyone instantly clicked with this Doctor while I didn’t. She was a bit more childish or campy than I wanted, and while I like that she’s a bit more personable than Capaldi, she hasn’t yet shown me that she can pull off friendly but still incredibly old and tired of people dying. I’m happy to let that develop though, I’m far more worried about how the writers will handle a female doctor (because if they make it too much of a big deal in story I’m going to scream) than I am at how Jodie’s going to handle this role.

We also have an entirely new cast of characters

I expect it will take a while for us to really get to know the new characters but it was still a bit weird to be starting with a completely new group of people. I did think there were some great moments hinting at who our companions will be as people so this didn’t really worry me much. I feel like I’m really going to like the group we’ve got. Yaz seemed awesome, and Graham’s practicality was a nice change.

There are new writers, and you can tell

The way certain things were written made me do a double take. The pacing and the jokes written into the script were a bit... different and some of it didn’t quite work for me. There were also some super convenient solutions to things that hopefully won’t continue for the rest of the series, I want clever writing.

I think the biggest choice of the writers that stuck out to me was not drawing out the time the Doctor spent clinging to the bottom of the crane trying to climb up. It did feel a bit unrealisitic to me because doing a pull up with that grip is actually super tricky, and from past experience with the show drawing out moments where the Doctor might fail I was surprised that they skimmed right over how she got up there and just continued on.

The new budget / cinematography is so noticable

You can tell just from the way the shots are framed and the blur of the background and the colour scheme that this is both a much bigger budget and a different team. I wouldn’t say I disliked this, but it lacked the Doctor Who vibe to me because I wasn’t used to it at all.

The music.

This is the first time in all of new who (well second but shhh) that they’ve used a different composer for the main sequence. From what we heard of it in the credits scene, I don’t like it at all. There’s something about the bassline being played on what sounds like a timpani that I cannot stand.

The title sequence

From what we saw of the background during the credits, it seems like they’re going to appeal much more to classic who vibe which is interesting. I don’t know quite what to think of it yet.

The “next time” preview

It was handled so much better than it has been the last couple of seasons. This is probably the biggest plus for me, I really liked how little they gave away about what was coming up. A bunch of people have complained throughout the past few seasons that the next time previews have been giving too much away, so this time instead of playing clips for the whole season they just used close ups of actors faces. It gave a little bit away, with some costumes / sets hinting at more historical episodes and some hinting towards more futuristic ones, but it didn’t give any actual events away.

The diversity.

I am so happy for the diversity growing in this show. Not only are two of our companions not white, but there was another side character (the guy who’s sister was taken) who wasn’t white when he totally could have been with no change to the plot. It made me so happy. And when they were showing some of the actors we could expect later, there was a full run where we went like 5 actors without mentioning someone white. I was really pleasantly surprised by that.

Figuring Out Who The Doctor Is

It did feel like this episode was written while the writers were still figuring out who the Doctor was. They grasped some of the broader stokes, but didn’t necessarily use them in the most effictive way. There were some scenes where it felt like the writers didn’t quite grasp who the Doctor was.

I get that the scene above is meant to be an easy way to show that the Doctor’s still against violence, but it kind of meant nothing. The knife part of a swiss army knife is rarely used for combat, it’s used to cut ropes or open plastic packaging.

There was also that moment on top of the crane when the Doctor had already pretty much killed the villain by getting him to detonate bombs that had been planted in his own flesh (which I do kind of question... you can’t just say “full physical transfer” and expect that to explain stuff away) but this villain was standing there with all his DNA being unwritten. So this other guy who is scared decides to shove him off the crane, and the Doctor has this whole “I’m the Doctor and I say no to violence” moment (”you had no right to do that” is the exact response) but it kind of lost it’s impact considering the villain was already dying. What’s the difference between them dying from having all their DNA unwritten and them dying from falling off a crane? Especially when the villain teleported away regardless. I just didn’t think it was the best way to show off the Doctor’s morals.

There was also the moment above which I didn’t really get... why would they have the Doctor say “I’m looking for a doctor.” The only way I can understand it was hinting that her memory was kind of a mess... but we already knew that. Otherwise it kind of implied to me that she wasn’t really the Doctor yet... which ?? Plus this scene, the whole “smart, biology” moment just didn’t work for me when Jodie Whittaker said it. I feel like it was a Tennant / Smith type line and for me it didn’t fit the sort of persona she had.

I didn’t really feel like Jodie Whittaker had a moment in this episode where she shone. Like in comparison to the complete sucess of The Eleventh Hour where by the end everyone was rooting for Matt Smith, I feel like this was a weak introduction episode.

There was also this whole speech that the Doctor gave, which was so obviously just a message directly to any fans that were doubting the new direction that the show was going in. The emotional tone of the speech didn’t really fit the rest of the scene, like I get the argument but I feel like the speech was far too melodramatic.

My One Big Problem

Tim Shaw. How does no one else have a problem with this? The Doctor I love would never refuse to correctly pronounce an alien’s name. Yet this alien repeatedly correcting the Doctor to try to get their actual name to be acknowledged is treated like a joke. I don’t find it funny at all. And I’m kind of shocked, because in a way this was meant to be Jodie Whittaker’s big funny moment but to me it read more as insensitive and a tiny bit racist. Anglicising a character’s name so that it can be more easily pronounced by other characters, fans, and media outlets (and yes, every single review I’ve read of this episode refers to him as “Tim Shaw”) is not okay.

I don’t know whether the writers are trying to justify this by him not caring about humanity or being the villain, but I’m not okay with it. The writers spend the whole episode unable to decide whether this character is actually a threat or whether they’re actually there to be made fun of, which is really confusing for the viewer. The previous seasons of new who have put a lot of effort into creating this feeling that no one is just “evil” because everyone has to make difficult choices and sometimes people make bad choices or even have bad intentions but that doesn’t make them irreversibly bad people. If this episode is setting the standard for how villains will be treated by the new writers, I’m not so sure that will continue.

Season Predictions

I think it would be really cool to have a third doctor inspired season where the TARDIS is missing / unusable and the Doctor has to deal with more small scale things on Earth, but I don’t think that’s the direction this season is going.

I have heard someone suggest that the Stenza may come back as a larger villain (which sounds a bit too similar to Class’s overarching unstoppable villain for my liking) because the Doctor mentioned “if I don’t stop you, you’ll just keep doing this.” While I agree that having the Doctor basically ignore / forget that an alien species is using Earth as a hunting ground doesn’t seem realistic to the character, I’m not that interested in having more Stenza episodes so I hope that doesn’t happen. I did enjoy the idea of them as a one time villain though.

I’m pretty sure the writers have hinted (confirmed??) that there isn’t an overarching plot this series which I am in two minds about. I actually really enjoy having the overarching plots, and while some of them haven’t been the best executed I do think it adds something interesting to the show. However I think if done right, having a bunch of stand alones could be good. And I’m glad there are no two parters because after it being all two parters in season 9 (most of which kind of feel flat for me) I am looking forward to some more simple plots.

I hope that there will be more unique alien species introduced, with a lot more unpredictability in the episodes. I feel like we kind of reached a point where a lot of the episodes were kind of similar (like Smile in season 10 felt a bit like a throw back to The Doctor’s Daughter in season 4, Oxygen in season 10 reminded me of The Impossible Planet / The Satan Pit in season 2), and we could pretty easily tell who was going to die and what the plot twists were going to be.

[anonemyss1]

Eternity’s Ending (our version of events) - a literary cover novella Chapters 1 & 2

A three-part love story about a reincarnated man’s search for forgiveness from the love he left behind.

Chapter 1 - Xander

“Did you feel that?” my head whispered to my heart.

A shared experience would make the occurrence more real.

“I did,” replied my head with a serenity that comes only from finding the place where you belong.

Moments earlier I shot into his arms; closing the weeklong gap between our last goodbye and current hello. I refused to let go of him. I clung to the possibility of enduring love as tightly as I clung to his neck.

I eavesdropped on boastful arms swapping tales of the pleasure derived from holding him. The elation in their tone fought to compensate for the limits word imposed on the expression of their feelings. I wanted everything love could possibly offer and so much more. But I suppressed my greed; settling instead for his touch.

No fault was found in our embrace, despite us both being men. I inhabited the moment, banning all thoughts of past mistakes and future plans from encroaching on our fleeting coexistence. He felt right and at this time and in this place, he was mine.

I prayed he felt the same. I prayed he was consumed solely by me. All the while, I silently sought absolution for the possibility of my hunger conflicting with his wishes. The security of his hold convinced me no such forgiveness was required. I was grateful. Through blind luck or sheer genius, I had asked for and received the one whom I would never regret. As I inhaled him, I vowed to capitalize on the chance I had been given.

 I grope the buttons of my alarm clock in search of a way to quiet the morning chatter. Three hours of sleep no longer does it for me. I used to be able to party until sunrise, power nap and attend my 7 AM lab without looking like shit. Now that the spring chicken phase of my life has ended, three hours of sleep only pisses me off. It’s someone’s fault, probably mine but I’m not accepting the blame. That leaves one person to take the fall.

I roll my eyes at the redundancy of my nights since meeting Vincent. It’s always the same damn dream. It always leaves me with the same bittersweet feeling of needing something I do not want. And it always, always, always makes me feel like I’m supposed to experience the reality of the dream with Vincent.

He has been trying to understand why I just won’t stay the night at his place for some time now. I show up around 10 PM. I won’t sleep while I am there and I never stay past 1 AM without very good reason (and by good reason I mean marathon sex). He thinks I’m just afraid of letting people in. I can sense it in the patience he shows. He’s wrong. I don’t have daddy issues or abandonment issues. I just don’t like sleepovers or intimacy at all really. I like my sleep in my own bed and unless we are in the throws of it, two is a crowd.

But this dream I’ve been having doesn’t help Vincent’s cause at all. It’s just providing me with one more reason not to stay over. I don’t want him to find out about it. He’s too fucking perceptive not to piece something together, given the chance. And, I refuse to give him the chance to start thinking there’s some truth in the cheesy pickup line he swears won him my “affection”; his word, not mine.

“You loved me in a past life,” he said with absolute conviction.

He was fucking beautiful in a handcrafted to perfection, fit to be admired, let me have your baby because our children would be gods, kind of way. I don’t even want kids but I felt like denying the world the blessing of our offspring would be a sin. My mocha features matched with his golden sand complexion. Not to mention all of the things I would get to do to him during the baby making process. If I did love, he would surely be the recipient of it. I planned to tell him as much. I was going to tell him to lose the lame ass pick up life first. I cased his entire body from the ground up searching for the very best points of entry, as he stood there awaiting my response. Thank God for grown ass men who wear fitted clothes so I don’t have to work so hard to gauge what is underneath them. I took a few seconds to admire the way his shirt hung perfectly on what I imagined was an equally perfect chest before I looked into his eyes.

“Not if that’s the line you used,” I said, forcing myself to stay cool through my internal freak-out.

My tone was slathered in dismissal and I walked away without so much as excusing myself. I downplayed the familiarity of the faded blue eyes that seemed to know me by my soul. I labeled myself as crazy and labeled him as an asshole.

I called my best friend, Cassie, a few hours later because the encounter was still all I could think about. She would confirm the entire thing as pure foolishness. She would even join me in a laugh at his expense.

It wasn’t until I awoke longing for a feeling of completion I knew only he would give me that I realized the joke was on me.

He had, in one line, managed to weave himself into my subconscious and that wasn’t going to fly.

Chapter 2 - Vincent

“You don’t have to leave. You know that, right?” Xander reaches for her shirt. I snatch it from the bed before she can gain possession of it. “I mean, I don’t mind that you snore.”

“I don’t snore,” she extends her hand, sighing impatiently when I don’t grant her the instant gratification she is accustomed to.

“How would you know, you only sleep alone?”

“I know,” her tone urges me to proceed with caution but I refuse to heed its warning. She shoves her open palm in the direction of the shirt I hold hostage.

“You can’t possibly know. But I’m more than willing to help you find out.”

When she finally drops her arm and turns to face me, I know without question, I have awakened a sleeping dragon. I speak before she has the chance to unleash the fire sitting on her tongue.

“We’ll play my favorite game,” I pause to gauge her annoyance level. She doesn’t strike during the silence so I continue. “It’s called, ‘Are you a snorer?’”

I whistle and cheer as loud as a one-man studio audience can.

“Really?” she says flatly.

“You know it?” I try to combat the apathy of her tone with the excitement in mine.

“No, I don’t know it, Vincent,” she spits my name at me.

She is about to raise the stakes to a level where I can’t compete. I throw in my hand but she continues to play her cards.

“Why are you so adamant about me staying over? I mean, isn’t this every guy’s dream; stringless sex? Are you going to insist we cuddle too?” disgust stains her words so she pauses and cleans them up.

“Look, I’m diggin’ what we got goin’ here. Don’t fuck it up by being gay.”

She leans over to my side of the bed and hesitantly reaches for her shirt. Her actions assure me she is not looking for a fight but her hurtful words have rung the bell. I’m not sure I can return to my corner as easily as she returns to hers. I open my mouth to reciprocate the deep pain she has unknowingly caused me. My words are absorbed by her lips without ever seeing the light of day.

“I’m not gay,” I squeeze the words out between kisses hoping to bandage the wound she reopened.

“Maybe a little,” she whispers. I can taste her smile. “But it’s cool.”

She strokes out the argument I am preparing before her mouth becomes too busy to counter.

I let her get dressed without resistance this round, although a part of me is tempted to provoke her into more “shut me up” sex. But in our arrangement, fighting is an unnecessary and exhausting means to an end.

“Leave my money on the nightstand,” I say only half joking.

She smiles, digs $20 out of her pocket and places it next to my wallet.

“Go buy yourself a teddy bear. I hear they love to cuddle. I’ll even let you name it after me if it will make you feel better,” she turns, leaving in typical Xander fashion, without a goodbye.

I roll onto my back and stare at the blades chasing each other around the ceiling fan.

“What fools we are,” I say to them, “doggedly pursuing the unattainable.”

Memories eagerly fill the void she leaves, forcing me to relive my past.

 I filled my mouth with enough whiskey to turn my cheeks into liquid packed balloons. I let it sit for a moment before allowing it to escape down my throat. I wiped the few drops that trickled down my chin with the back of my hand and repeated the process. It would not be long before I reached the unconsciousness I so desperately needed. Unconsciousness was the only place where the pain of my heartache couldn’t reach me; the only place where I didn’t love him.

“I don’t love him. I can’t love him,” I argued, raging violently against the final truthful moments before the blackout.

“You’ll love him until you die,” taunted reality.

“I’ll love him until I die,” I repeated.

Finally, I understood. Unconsciousness only provided a temporary reprieve from the nightmare my life had become. Despite my most valiant efforts, I never could get drunk enough to get him off my mind; until that night.

Justifications left my thought process completely congested, forcing me to utilize the only explanation readily available to me. I scribble my thoughts on the back of the scrap piece of paper found tucked away in the drawer holding my handgun. I kissed the bullet that would pry my heart from his hands and loaded it into the clip. I put the gun to my head and took a deep breath. I squeezed the trigger but found myself unable to press hard enough to discharge the weapon. I laid the gun on the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. I spent my final moments alternating swigs and suicide attempts until both the bottle and the clip were empty.

 Hell is not fire and brimstone. Hell is the vastness of eternity choked with unfulfilled wishes to make amends for the lives you’ve destroyed. I spent a lifetime in hell trying to bargain away two wishes for the chance to be granted the single most important one; to be paired with the soul I abandoned. Time proved no match for the wounds I created.

Xander’s possession of Avery’s soul created an inherent distrust I constantly worked to overcome. On days like this when Xander is exactly who she is and not the person I used to know, I wonder if I would love Xander had I not loved Avery first. The answer to that question is inconsequential. Her soul was hardened by the damage I’d done. Regardless of how trying my attempts to love her became, I owed her the fight.

Eternity’s Ending (our version of events) available for purchase here! 

[aeyemenethes-blog]

Lathbora viran Ch. 1

This is the first chapter in my Solas x Lavellan fanfic that is on AO3. Here's the link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/22667927. I do have the chapter here is  well. It is in Solas 1st person POV.

Chapter One

Darkness swallowed up the world – cracking its structure into fragments – and the Fade cried out. The sundering shredded along my skin, blood and nerves, bringing a prickling of warm liquid to the corners of my eyes. In a snuff of a candle, lives beyond counting extinguished, reminding me of another day similar to this one in its passing.

The Veil stretched out before my eyes as a puckering scar still within the first hours of its making.

A sharp green glow stung my vision, drawing me toward the dead, and – on wobbly legs strained against a crudely shaped staff for support – I cut a path to the base of the mountain. Seeker Pentaghast would be waiting there with her soldiers just in case the Conclave went awry; though I doubted her forces could repair this. Echoes reached out first from the dead, and then the living, as I crossed the stone threshold into Haven.

“Follow.” The Seeker’s bark tore at my senses, and I caught her armored form tearing through onlookers in a mad dash. “Bring her.”

A small contingency of soldiers – no more than five – carried a lithe, limp body clad in ill-fitting clothing meant for comfort as much as camouflage. I stopped to watch them make their way to Haven’s Chantry and found myself rooted in two directions. Pressed one way toward the spirits drifting through the new vortex in the sky, and yet drawn to see who it was the Seeker and her men carried. A whimper tore at the back of my throat, more wolf than elf, but I forced my feet through the ankle deep snow. Numbness had replaced my uneasy relationship with the cold long ago until all I wore were the foot wraps, and not shoes, thankfully.

In the Chantry, people huddled – many in fervent prayers – both elven and human, while others wept openly and rent their clothing before the statues of a woman. I caught husky tones calling out her name as well as the name of their god – her lover – in supplication. Always the same no matter the era. In tragedy there was no division between race and class, just oneness in grief. Heavy smoke and incense from lit braziers of Andraste, and priestesses swinging pendulums belching fog permeated the room, deadening my senses further. In the haze, I could just barely make out the forms of the soldiers by the parting of the gathering crowd.

Seeker Pentaghast led her group down into the dungeons, and I slipped through the door behind them keeping to the shadows. Curiosity spurred my body despite still reeling from the sudden shock in the Fade. It happened while I visited the battle of the Hero of Ferelden against the former cultists who claimed Haven for a time. When the Fade buckled, I was shot out of the memory as if I became ice water thrown onto a blazing fire.

With the harsh reality of the living temporarily dampening my connection, I warred between terror and relief before resigning myself to present events. So many lives lost in a single second threatened to overwhelm me, and I touched my temple where I felt the tender blossoming of a headache beginning. It fluttered in tempo with my heartbeat – accelerated and shallow.

“Solas.”

Cassandra’s clipped tone as she spoke my name jarred me from thought, and I noticed her gaze hovering through the darkness in my direction. No reason existed adequate enough to excuse my hiding in the shadows like some Darkspawn Hurlok. Somehow I knew she was aware of that too. Curling my calloused palm tighter around the worn, leather binding of my staff, I took a tentative step into the torchlight. Cool eyes followed my movement, narrowing as I drew closer, but I dropped my gaze to regard the Seeker’s quarry.

A brow twitched and my jaw ticked as I saw a bloodless face, strained and slick with sweat. Gaunt from a lifetime of rationed meals and hard work. Refined, delicate features lay beneath a thick layer of blood and gore – most of which did not appear to belong to them – seized and jerked in pain and fevered dreaming. Curiosity gripped me again, and I knelt beside the prone figure careful not to touch them. Yet.

Precaution and, perhaps, warding were needed before I proceeded.

“What happened, Seeker?” I asked, wincing slightly at the hoarse whisper of my voice, though I doubted the human saw anything past a crease of my brow.

The question, however, sparked something in the woman’s eyes. Anger? Hatred? And she stabbed a finger upward – presumably at the sky beyond – her nostrils flaring. “Are you daft, elf? Did you not just see what happened to the sky… to all those…”

People. I finished silently but said aloud, “Even the blind can see the sky now, Seeker. I ask after the condition of this person.”

Pulling herself to her full height, Cassandra folded her arms just under the indent of the breastplate she wore. The way she puckered her lips into a frown tore at the scar down her cheek, as if opening the old wound, though only in illusion. “Many are dead or wounded so it shouldn’t surprise you that I bring one into the Chantry.”

I gave her a flat stare, letting her know I would neither back down from my inquiry nor fall for her baited trap. She couldn’t place the blame of whatever happened at the Conclave on my shoulders. I wasn’t even near the mountain top when that magic rent the sky asunder. Instead, I thumbed at my temple again, feeling the dull ache now throbbing. “Cassandra, I am only surprised you chose the cell of a dungeon as your base of operations when your patient requires healing.”

The ichor in her eyes simmered, and I felt the heat of her emotions fan over me. I braced for the inevitable boiling that usually accompanied her tirades, but her face softened to show a momentary lapse into sorrow. It hardened just as quickly.

“Save her, Solas.” Cassandra’s command was tinged with a warning. “She is the only one who survived the explosion at the Conclave. I want answers.”

Again my eyes slipped down to the unconscious woman, and feather light shivers ran down me as I saw the strange curls of greenish mana lacing her tattered body – congregating particularly around her left hand. It felt so familiar and nauseating. Wrong. Reaching forward – knowing what I would find, but needing confirmation all the same – I picked up the hand and turned it over, tracing a dispassionate gaze transversely on the glowing fissure carved into her palm. I forgot about the want for wards the instant the puzzle pieces fell into place.

Mine. There was no mistaking the Mark’s origins or how it came to be on this woman’s flesh. Now, however, was not the appropriate time to explain my knowledge of it. Not when admittance would beset the fangs of these rabid dogs down on me. I couldn’t fend off their onslaught in my current state. Soon, but…

Setting down the hand, I looked up to see the Seeker sneering, but with a questioning gleam in her eye. “You would do well to get a mage who excels at healing magic, perhaps Adan. My magic is better suited--”

“By the Maker!” Cassandra grasped her hand around my bicep and jerking me upward, the metal from her gauntlet biting through the cloth of my tunic to the skin underneath. Her face was mere inches from mine and – when she spoke – her breath clung to me hot, and damp. Uncomfortable. “This isn’t a request so you better succeed, Solas. Not just for her sake but yours.”

A growl pushed its way out of my nose, and I yanked my arm free, more annoyed that it would bruise, than angry about how she handled me. If our positions were reversed, I might’ve done the same thing were I a millennia or two younger. I didn’t blame her for her brusque manner. Fear laced behind those dark eyes not used to having the situation ripped from her control.

I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off a crashing wave of dizziness from my newfound headache. Then gave a soft sigh. “I can promise nothing but to try.”

Gesturing to one of the soldiers with a slight nod of her head, the man slipped out a sword from the scabbard at his waist, and pointed it at me. Inches from my chest. A part of me laughed at the act. If I was a little stronger I would have actually laughed out loud, but I just rocked back on my heels, and returned my attention to my new charge.

“See that you do, apostate.” Cassandra seethed through clenched teeth then turned on her heels, and left me with her soldiers – swords trained on me – and the pitiful, collapsed creature on the flagstone.

A sick feeling washed over me. Underground, the voices of the dead and dying – of the torn Veil and Fade demons spewing from the green hole in the sky – all were muffled and niggled at the edges of my suddenly weary mind. Except one. I sidled the woman's limp body onto my lap for better access, and called forth what healing magic I possessed.

The mana itched to the surface of my skin through veins and nerve endings alight by the rush of raw energy. All at once sensations of dread and arousal blanketed me as it did every time I summoned up my magic. Maybe it was the Veil filtering and dampening my connection that brought about these unpleasant emotions because they were never present before the Veil’s creation. But now I found I couldn’t deny my body the urgent addiction the very act of magic brought. Pushing down the ill-conceived thoughts into the precipices of my mind to pick apart later, I concentrated on the matter at hand.

Grasping onto the mana with a sharp, calculated tug, I guided it into the unconscious woman, watching her body pull onto the streams of faint light like it was dying of thirst. Working through the intricate system of a living creature came with some resistance, but in such a weakened state, I batted it aside with little effort.

The Mark on her left hand flared to life, and I felt it reach out trying to choke me. I cast a barrier around myself, and continued grafting the healing magic onto the areas she hurt the most. Her body was scorched and dry in so many places, and the healing soaked her like a wet balm along her desert planes. I hummed gently under my breath as I worked to knit flesh and restore blood. And when the blood and gore receded from her face, I looked upon her as if truly seeing her for the first time, and I gasped.

Inside me, the Wolf stirred.

[teeky185]

Sanders attacked some of Biden’s weak spots, but not strongly enough to make a differenceA stark contrast was on display on Sunday night, and both candidates on the Democratic debate stage knew it. Though Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders were united in their criticism of Donald Trump’s response to coronavirus, they clashed repeatedly on policy issues, and even their core messages on the virus were very different.For Biden, coronavirus is an isolated “national emergency” that needs to be dealt with before moving on to issues like poverty, minimum wages and the reform of the health insurance system. For Sanders, these issues are inextricably tied to the coronavirus emergency, because they exacerbate the suffering that comes during an epidemic. Sanders believes the spread of the virus is exposing deep systemic problems in the United States: the homelessness crisis, the need for single payer free-at-point-of-use healthcare, the precariousness of employment and the lack of paid sick leave.Sanders believes that coronavirus shows exactly why Medicare for All is so necessary: if Americans are having to worry about whether they have enough money to afford treatment, they won’t get the care they need, and more people will be put at risk. Biden rejected the argument entirely, saying: “You have a single payer system in Italy. It doesn’t work there. It has nothing to do with Medicare for All. That would not solve the problem at all.” Now Biden was missing the point here: single-payer does not eliminate pandemics or give the medical system infinite treatment capacity, it reduces financial hardship and makes sure people aren’t going untreated who could be treated, and one might well prefer to be in Italy than the US during a large-scale medical crisis.But while correct on the issue, Sanders did not make a sufficiently cogent case linking the present crisis to broader systemic problems, sometimes sounding as if he was trying to shoehorn in progressive politics to an “apolitical” crisis. That’s a shame, because Sanders’ policies are exactly what we need in an urgent moment.On the whole, Sanders delivered the kind of performance that he needed to at this stage, with Biden now the favorite to win the nomination. He had to deal Biden a knockout blow – to do unto Biden as Elizabeth Warren did unto Michael Bloomberg. He didn’t. The exchanges between the two were often contentious. But while Sanders raised some concerns about whether Biden could inspire young voters to come to the polls in November, and had harsh words about Biden’s legislative record and climate change plans, there was no “game-changing” moment that exposed or humiliated Biden.Sanders did, however, land some punches. When Biden claimed Sanders was supported by “Super Pacs,” Sanders challenged Biden to “name” them. Biden couldn’t, probably because Sanders isn’t supported by Super Pacs. In the night’s most memorable exchange, Sanders went after Biden mercilessly for having long signaled his openness to cutting social security benefits. Biden was evasive, refusing to admit something that is very well-documented, and Sanders wouldn’t let the issue go, telling viewers to go and look up the video clips of Biden saying precisely what he claims he never said.But Biden, it has to be said, put in a solid performance. In order to come out ahead, he simply had to avoid losing, and he did that. Biden has had a number of embarrassing gaffes and slip-ups over the course of the campaign, that have even raised questions about whether he is fit to take on Donald Trump. There was none of that on Sunday night. He was prepared for most of what came at him. Whatever slip-ups there may have been were minor and were shared in equal measure by both candidates. (Biden accidentally called coronavirus “Sars” while Sanders called it “Ebola”.)It didn’t hurt that Biden was willing to shamelessly mislead people about his own record. This is not an exaggeration: Biden claimed to have opposed the infamous bankruptcy bill he was an enthusiastic supporter of and even helped write. He also falsely claimed to have been duped by George Bush into supporting the Iraq war, and fudged his decidedly mixed record on abortion rights. After the debate, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was scathing about Biden’s falsehoods on Twitter, saying “the truth matters”.But just how much it matters remains to be seen. Biden has long been slippery with the truth, and pretended to have long been a progressive when he once bragged about being one of the most conservative senators. The moderators at this debate didn’t seem to care, and Democratic voters don’t really seem to either: current polls show Biden with a significant lead in almost all of the remaining contests. The Biden pitch is that he is the safe choice to take on Donald Trump, and all other considerations should be set aside in favor of “electability”. Tonight’s debate reinforced that idea.Of course, it’s not clear that Biden is the more effective candidate to take on Trump, and Democrats might be walking into another disaster like 2016 by nominating a weak establishment politician with a long record of blunders Trump can seize on. When Biden suggests that Sanders supports authoritarian regimes, and when a Biden adviser compares Sanders to the “kind of protester who often shows up at campaign events”, it becomes more difficult to see how Biden will convince Sanders supporters that he empathizes with them enough to be worth voting for. It is likely that with tonight’s debate, Sanders lost his last shot to take Biden down. But Biden did show the many vulnerabilities that will inevitably become Trump-fodder in a general election. Democrats should take note and be warned.

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