#i couldn’t decide if i wanted it to have the false eyes or the gemstone eyes

[purble-gaymer]

morpho true form as promised :P

[ikeromantic]

Alarm Bells

A Mitsuhide Akechi story. This scene occurs toward the beginning of Ch. 8. Approx 1600 words, fluff and angst.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Intended Consequences

The days passed in a blur. Long stretches of boredom, punctuated by brutality and the occasional message from Kyubei. Mitsuhide endured one and looked forward to the other. He passed along requests to his vassal and he waited. 

His cheek still felt warm where she’d kissed him. 

In the dark hours, his mind wandered to fantasy. What life could be, had he chosen another path. His little mouse, a wife. Children. The worries of a warlord instead of those that weighed down an assassin and spy. It was a tempting dream. He could not help but plot what it would take to reach such a life, no matter how long the odds of success. Those thoughts got him through the worst nights, a distraction from his hunger and pain.

That was why, when Kyubei delivered his next message, Mitsuhide’s reply included a special request. A bellflower hairpin that once belonged to his mother. A sentimental thing, its only use to remind him of his family. It was among his meager possessions in Azuchi. And now it would serve as a promise.

He was still thinking about what that promise meant when the corridor lit up with the glow of a solitary candle. Footsteps hurried closer. Mitsuhide shook himself and stood, ready for this expected visitor.

A familiar figure stopped in front of his cell. Even in the dim light, it was impossible to miss the fine cut of his clothes, the costly embroidery, and the shine of gold. “It’s been some time, Lord Mitsuhide.” The man’s gaze took in Mitsuhide’s sorry state, lips quirking in an amused sneer.

Mitsuhide resisted the urge to smooth his stained, torn clothing. He simply nodded. “It has. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

“Am I to understand you’ve been expecting me?” His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise or perhaps, disbelief.

It was a wonder, Mitsuhide thought, that this fool survived so long as a spy when he couldn’t conceal his emotions. Though it could simply be that he did not see a need. This was a precarious place to be. Captured, his false allies might decide he wasn’t worth a rescue, and try to kill him instead. In that case, he was in a poor position to fight back. Not helpless . . . but far from ideal. It was his task now to prove he still had his uses. 

Mitsuhide smiled his crescent moon grin. “Of course. After all, it was you and your lord that conspired to put me in this dungeon.” He shrugged as if this was not important. “I’m sure your goal was to convince Nobunaga that I betrayed him to Kennyo. Leaving me few options - death, life as a fugitive or . . . service to your lord. And with the additional benefit of drawing attention away from my true purpose.” He sketched out their plot in language as simple as they were.

Fear flashed in the spies’ eyes. “H-how did you know?”

The only answer he received was a wider smile. Mitsuhide was not a man to reveal his secrets, especially not to fools.

“Well.” The man cleared his throat. “Now you know what will happen to you if you displease my lord.” 

“There was no need to waste the effort on my behalf.” 

As if reading from a badly written script, the spy replied. “You lingered too long with the Oda forces. Now there is no place for you here. Now it is time to prove your loyalty to his cause.” He tried to look threatening but the hard expression sat uneasily on his features.

“I have every intention of doing so.” Mitsuhide added a slight bow, gracious in his defeat.

The man fished a key from his pocket and threw it onto the ground in front of the cell, barely in reach. “Find your own way out.”

Mitsuhide knelt and picked up the key. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

“I will be returning ahead of you to my lord’s side. You may find us in -”

“Kyoto.” The silver-haired warlord stood, key in hand. His flat expression was unreadable, beyond a hint of distaste in the twist of his lips.

The spy flushed, his eyes going wide. “H-how did you know?”

“Dearest me,” chuckled Mitsuhide. “Did I get it right? I was guessing, of course.”

He took a step back from the cell. The candle flame danced along the walls and bars in his shaking hand. “I’ve heard rumors you’re some kind of demon. A satori. A kitsune.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not, are you?” He found Mitsuhide’s gaze and after a long moment of silence, turned away, afraid of what he saw there.

“Fear not,” Mitsuhide’s silken voice took on a darker tone. “Any powers I might possess will be used for the sole benefit of our lord.”

The man nodded but didn’t look back at the imprisoned warlord. “I will see you in Kyoto,” he said hoarsely. He practically ran for the exit, holding to only the barest shreds of dignity. 

A grown man afraid of campfire tales, Mitsuhide thought. Superstition lived in the hearts and minds of most, but some made it too easy a tool. 

He waited several breaths to make sure the spy was gone, and then unlocked his cell. His body ached from the long imprisonment, and his injuries were agonizing as he forced his arms and legs to work. This would be a long journey in so many ways. 

When Mitsuhide reached the door, he opened it as if he had every right to walk out of that place. Furtiveness would attract the eye, after all. He stepped out into a light rain. The cold prickled his skin. The drops of water slid down his face. He looked up and drank in the sight of a dark sky roiled with clouds. It was beautiful. Despite the need to hurry, he could only stand there for several heartbeats.

When he roused himself to move, Kyubei was waiting in an alley between two storage buildings. The sight of his vassal, still wearing a guard disguise, filled Mitsuhide with a sense of gratitude. There were few people in this world that could be counted on, but Kyubei was always one of them. 

“This way, my lord. We need to get you ready for your journey,” Kyubei said quietly. His intent gaze took in the state of Mitsuhide’s clothes, his wounds, and general condition. “You won’t make it far looking like a fugitive.”

“Did you bring it?” 

Kyubei nodded and tugged a silver and blue hairpin from his bag, just enough to show the folded edge of the gemstone flower at the top. “I still think it would be best if you let me deliver these. You should be on your way - sooner, not later. My lord.”

“I do not disagree.” Mitsuhide gave his vassal a wry smile. “But some things must be done oneself. If I never see -” he stopped himself. It was not like him to share the interior of his heart with anyone. “She deserves a goodbye from me in person. I am afraid this is one task you cannot do, Kyubei.”

His vassal nodded. “Then we should hurry. Your absence will be noted at the next guard change. We have, perhaps an hour.”

The two of them ducked into a storage building. The middle had been cleared out, and a large wooden tub took up the space. It was full of water. 

Mitsuhide quickly stripped off his filthy clothes while Kyubei filled a bucket from the tub.

“It’s not warmed, my lord. It would have drawn too much attention,” his vassal apologized. Then upended the bucket over Mitushide’s head. 

Wet and shivering, it took several more buckets of water and some determined scrubbing to leave the kitsune warlord looking, and smelling, human again. Satisfied, he dressed and then sat still as Kyubei cleaned and bandaged his wounds.

His vassal worked with deft hands, having treated injuries as bad, and worse, many times before. Kyubei often treated wounded spies, as they could not officially seek treatment. It would reveal their work and that could not be. 

“When I am gone, be cautious Kyubei. Keep your head low, and let the Oda forces do as they please in my manor. I trust there is nothing left for them to find?”

“No, my lord. Not a scrap.”

“Good. I do not want you caught up in this. You are nothing and no one in Azuchi - let it remain that way until my work is done.”

Kyubei glanced up at him, and Mitsuhide was surprised to see pity in his dark eyed gaze. “And then?”

Mitsuhide looked away, refusing to acknowledge what he saw. “After? Then return home. I have arranged for funds to be routed to your family. Wealth that cannot be traced to me. You will be well rewarded.” 

“That is not what I meant, my lord.” His vassal’s tone was reproving. 

“And yet, that is the answer you have. Also,” Mitsuhide stopped, thoughtful. “Please watch her. My little one. See that she is safe until she returns home.”

Kyubei did not reply, forcing Mitsuhide to look at him again. 

“That was an order, not a request.”

“My lord. If you are not able, I will do as you ask. I would have watched over her, regardless.”

Had Mitsuhide been another man, he would have embraced Kyubei. Yet he was only himself, and a kitsune’s affections were cautiously given. Instead, he squeezed his vassal’s hand with his own bandaged one.

Kyubei squeezed back before letting go. He blinked a few times and wiped his face. “Go now, my lord. Quickly.”

The alarm bells began to clang. Mitsuhide’s time was running out.

Next: Bellflower Blues

[lesdemonium]

For My Own

Rating: G Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 1404 Summary:   Geralt and Jaskier spend their first Yule together AN: this is a prompt for the @geraskierholidayexchange for kate/jaskierofrivia. i hope you enjoy!!

This is a combination of the prompts: 1. First Christmas together as a couple, spending it alone just the two of them (canon) 2. First time Geralt has ever actually celebrated Christmas, because it’s the first time he’s ever wanted to (because he finally gets to spend it with Jaskier) (Canon) 4. Spend Christmas together in the most exclusive, expensive inn in all of Novigrad, with a snowstorm raging outside, pressing expensive jewellery into (or onto 😜) each other’s hands(only sort of for the last two)

read on ao3

“Gods, it’s beautiful out.”

Geralt grunted noncommittally and Jaskier turned away from his look out the window to raise an eyebrow at the witcher. He was sat upon the bed, grinding some herbs to replenish a potion, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. Really, he should have said something about Geralt grinding herbs on their bed, but Jaskier supposed he could pick his battles. At least he wasn’t coming back from a hunt and leaving monster entrails all over the sheets. Again.

The inn they were staying at wasn’t anything particularly spectacular. Jaskier had angled them toward a better one, one with an actual comfortable bed and the ability to take a bath, because Geralt had made an offhand comment about snow possibly coming in, and Jaskier had learned long ago to trust Geralt when he said these things. Lo and behold, now it was far too snowy for them to continue south to warmer weather.

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, sitting beside Geralt with a heavy sigh, and reaching out to take the items from Geralt’s hands. “You’re supposed to be relaxing. With me. Enjoying the day.”

“Not much to enjoy about getting snowed in,” Geralt answered, raising an eyebrow. “We were supposed to be on the road today.”

Jaskier’s second sigh was loud and dramatic, and the longer it went on the more even Geralt couldn’t hide his small smile. Jaskier put the pestle and mortar on the table, and draped himself over the bed, his head in Geralt’s lap. “Geralt, you are the worst lover I have ever had,” Jaskier whined. “It’s like you do things on purpose just to torment me. Are you being deliberately obtuse? Do you not see the romantic implications of the weather, our togetherness, the time of year?”

Geralt smirked and ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Use your words, Jaskier,” he teased.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he pinched Geralt’s thigh, though through his trousers, he probably hardly felt anything. “We’re snowed in, together, during Yule, our first together I’d like to point out, and you want to do busywork tasks?” Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms. “When you suggested we spend the winter together, I thought there would be some consideration of the novelty of it all, but you are still the same as you ever were. I’m just colder and considerably less fattened up.”

The hand in Jaskier’s hair kept moving, and Jaskier closed his eyes as Geralt began to twist and possibly even braid the strands. If Jaskier had to be honest, he had been enjoying his winter with Geralt. Sure, staying holed up in a court and singing songs to rich nobles and dining on their expensive food was nice, and he missed the comfort of it all. Staying with Geralt, however, had made a peaceful sort of happiness settle within Jaskier. He much preferred this, but if he had his way, the following year they would make much better plans than simply continuing on the Path. Maybe he’d ask after Kaer Morhen, and try to force Geralt’s hand in that direction.

“If you’re missing attention, you could probably go downstairs and play for the others snowed in here,” Geralt answered. There was a smile in his voice. Apparently, this was funny.

“I don’t want their attention,” Jaskier said, opening his eyes again to scowl at the witcher. “I want yours.” He considered Geralt’s face, then felt his own heat up in embarrassment. “Should I have--you don’t even care about Yule, do you? Oh, bollocks. You didn’t even realize it was Yule.” Jaskier sat up. “I didn’t think to ask if you even recognized it or celebrated it or--”

“Jaskier.” Geralt cut him off with a hand at his elbow. “I know it’s Yule.”

“But you didn’t say anything.” Jaskier was well aware he was whining now. He didn’t mean to, but he was a little bit embarrassed and a lot disappointed. “Never mind, just forget it. This time, I cannot blame your lack of communication, because it was my own lack of communication that made for this false start of a conversation.”

Geralt’s fingers slid down to Jaskier’s and lifted Jaskier's arm. Jaskier fixed him with an unimpressed look--he did not want Geralt to try to distract him, mostly because he knew Geralt would succeed--as Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles. Then his lips trailed along Jaskier’s skin, stopping only to press a kiss to the back of his hand, then over the veins of his wrist as Geralt turned his hand over, then up his forearm, pushing the fabric of Jaskier’s loose shirt up as he went.

“Geralt, I don’t want you to--” Jaskier started, just as Geralt’s lips pressed against the inside bend of his elbow.

“So you don’t want your gift?” Geralt interrupted.

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed and he studied Geralt suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t celebrate Yule.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “No, you decided that when you were rambling,” he shrugged. “My brothers and I usually drink and exchange small, useful gifts. Extra potions, new whetstones, pieces of leather. Things like that. This is my first time… really celebrating it. You didn’t say anything, so I didn’t know if you would want to.”

With a small smile, Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face with his free hand. “Oh, Love. I do. I want to very much. There’s nothing I want more,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could.

“Good.” A moment later, Geralt retrieved something from his pocket, and he took Jaskier’s wrist again. He fumbled for a moment, then pulled away to reveal a thin golden chain around Jaskier’s wrist. It was small, delicate, with tiny yellow gemstones every few centimeters. Jaskier couldn’t help the way his face broke into a wide smile and he trailed the fingers of his other hand over the chain.

“Geralt, it’s beautiful,” he whispered. Jaskier looked up to meet Geralt’s eye and, for once, Geralt looked proud of something he had done. “You don’t get to buy pretty things often, do you? Such a shame. You’re very good at it.”

Now, Geralt’s smile grew sheepish, and to save himself the mortification of answering, Geralt pulled Jaskier in for a kiss with a gentle hand on Jaskier’s jaw. Jaskier wouldn’t complain, though he did finally have to be the one to break the kiss. With a great amount of regret.

“I have something for you, too,” Jaskier said, and stood up to retrieve his bag.

There, at the bottom of his pack, Jaskier had hidden a small box. There was no chance Geralt would go through Jaskier’s bag for anything short of an emergency, but Jaskier had been jumpy about it all week anyway. He removed the box from the bag, then turned to Geralt. For once in his life, Jaskier was feeling shy. Maybe even a bit embarrassed. No, definitely embarrassed. Incredibly embarrassed. He held out the box anyway.

“It’s silly and I know you aren’t really one for--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, holding up his hand to cut off Jaskier’s ramble before it could begin. Geralt opened the box and stared at the ring on a long chain. The chain was much sturdier than the one Jaskier was now wearing, one that wouldn’t slice through as easily during a hunt. And the ring on the end--

“It’s my signet. So that--so that even when we’re apart, you have a piece of me,” Jaskier said, flushing. He sat down on the bed beside Geralt, but did not look at him. “You aren’t one for jewelry, I know. But I thought you might--”

Geralt didn’t answer, but he slipped the chain over his head and under his shirt. He took Jaskier’s hand and pressed Jaskier’s palm to the bump of the ring, just over his heart, just beside his medallion. Geralt let go, but still Jaskier lingered, and drew closer. His hand was trapped between them as they kissed, long and lingering, and Geralt wrapped a warm arm around Jaskier’s waist.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s lips.

Geralt hummed, ran his thumb over Jaskier’s bracelet, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Jaskier’s lips again. “I love you,” he answered.

The snow continued to fall outside the window. But even Geralt, later, after the sun had set and they had started in on some spiced spirits, could admit that it was beautiful.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Secrets & Fury || Morgan & Blanche Feat. Agnes Bachman

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Bachman House Ruins

PARTIES: @harlowhaunted & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Blanche make contact with the past. The truth is not meant to soothe.

CONTENT: brief mentions of suicide

The only thing left of what had once been the Bachman House was a few outer support beams and a wall, sticking out of the ground in a way that wouldn’t have been possible unless the ground swallowed the house whole. Which, in fairness, it did. Blanche remembered Morgan, Cassie, and herself throwing themselves out of the home and into the adjacent garden as the ground trembled and swallowed the cursed house… Blanche had never asked Morgan where the house went. Was the house still lingering below the soil or had it disappeared somewhere else entirely? Blanche stared at the dirt, grimacing at the patches of weeds that had feebly tried to break through to no avail, and decided that she would ask ahat at different time. There were no spirits here, not this time. The cool chill that ran up Blanche’s spine from time to time was the cold December air… And the dark, leafless trees that loomed around the area as if they were watching her. As Blanche painstakingly drew the circle in the dirt, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was doing this in front of an audience. Like this was a final test to see if it was worth it -- if she was worth it.

The silver, jeweled barrette kept her blonde hair out of her face, and every once in a while, she would reach up to run her fingers along the smooth, teal gemstones encrusted on the trinket. It made her feel better. Blanche remembered what Jasmine said about Focal Points, and even if it was false, at least it gave her peace of mind. At least it brought her closer to the one she missed most of all. Even that made her feel more powerful than before.

This was what she was doing when Morgan arrived. Blanche glanced at her, her hand falling back to her side as she gave her a strained smile. “Hey,” she said softly, and she grabbed her pink lighter from her pocket. Time to light the candles. “You can put it in the middle of the circle. What you brought of Agnes’, I mean.”

Morgan had tried to come early. She hadn’t been to the old Bachman house for even a drive-by hello since it had tried to collapse with her, Blanche, and Cassie in it. She couldn’t see the place as a benign victim of circumstance after having to face off against Hannah Bachman, hearing the ways she mimicked her own mother in her brand of cruelty. Pulling alongside the street now made her feel as though the wood and nails had been as complicit as Constance in the horrible things that had happened here. What she had expected to find, to get used to, she wasn’t sure. All she knew now was that Blanche had beaten her to the punch and settled into a circle inside the ruins. That’s what happened when you got too anxiously punctual people together, she guessed. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said wryly. “Our appointment isn’t for another ten minutes, Blanche.” She reached into her bag and took out the arm bone she had stolen from Agnes’ grave, wrapped in fabric. Deirdre had been able to identify her with just a touch: thick dark hair like Morgan’s, large eyes that were brown instead of blue, and an anguished look as she laid down in a rickety bed and worked a pillow around half her face, a pistol in her hand. She had been crying, Deirdre said. Morgan couldn’t think of any other way she might have gone, not with what she’d been made to live with. “Genuine, banshee-identified great great grandma Agnes,” she said softly. Agnes’ family title sounded strange, knowing that she had died only a few years older than Morgan. They felt more like equals now, women who had been ground up and bent into the wrong shape, who were tired, who just needed to catch a break for once. Morgan sat down just outside the circle, careful not to disrupt any of the markings. “You um...when you bring them here, you don’t have to see how they died, right Blanche? I mean, she’ll look…” Like there’s a massive exit wound on the side of her skull. “How she did when it happened. But that’s not something you have to carry, is it?” Morgan asked.

“I’m nothing if not efficient,” Blanche replied. The grin on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes, though she was pleased to see that Morgan looked alright. Blanche had been here for forty-five minutes already, but she wasn't’ about to tell Morgan that - she sought out the flattest part of the ruins and spent an absurdly long time drawing the circle. She looked sharply at Morgan, the question burning in her throat. How did great, great Grandma Agnes die? Not that it mattered, because she would do the seance no matter what, but she couldn’t help but think of the bullet wound inside Sammy’s skull and Winn’s chest, and how Bea’s head never sat quite right on her shoulders… But Blanche shook her head. “I’ve seen some pretty gruesome deaths,” she said. Blanche didn’t know Agnes, so she hoped her appearance wouldn’t stay burned into her memory like her friends. There was some part of her that knew this wasn’t true, she remembered spirits maimed in all sorts of ways… But as Blanche finished lighting her candles, she stood, brushing the dirt off her jeans. “She’ll look how she chooses too,” Blanche said, “If she’s been around since she died… Then she’ll probably have learned to change her appearance by now. But if she hasn’t or she doesn’t want too…” Blanche reached to fiddle with the hair clip in her hair again, chewing on her lip in thought. “That’s her choice. It won’t prevent us from doing what we’re here to do.” She examined her circle for the upteenth time, looking for imperfections. She could find none. With a small breath, she looked back to Morgan. “Are you ready, Morgan?” She waited for Morgan to nod, before going to settle into the dirt.

Blanche took a few deep breaths, glancing over at Morgan to really make sure she was ready, before she began reciting the sanskrit. The power Blanche felt flowing through her and the circle was almost on par with the deep seeded resentment in her soul. It was strange and exciting and somehow different than when they had been in her apartment. It was a mistake, Blanche decided, to not have come here the first time. Wind howled around them, the flickering of the candles erratic but never going out as it circled them. She was clear headed, drawing her energy from the back of her mind - rather, the back of her head, she supposed, where her great grandmother’s clip lay. She focused on that as she opened the portal of communication, the chilling wind whining in protest as she pushed forward. It was tiring, but slowly, a woman flickered into sight. Slowly, her transparent form grew stronger, and Blanche could make out her features and the frumpy old clothes she wore. With a push forward, Blanche ended the opening of the ritual.

“Are you Agnes Bachman?” Blanche asked, glanced at Morgan for confirmation before anything else.

Morgan kept her eyes trained on the center of the circle, like letting her hair blow the wrong way might turn everything around for the worse. She heard the wind in her ears, saw the small candle flames surge on their wicks. Doubt gnawed in her stomach, she’s not coming, she’s not here and she’s not coming and I’m never gonna know what really happened. Shit, was she awful for trying to reach out with her will and pull her toward them? For wanting her to be stuck here all this time, just to have someone she could talk to? Morgan didn’t have time to find an answer inside herself. A silhouette formed in a circle, then a face.

“Oh, shit…”

Agnes Bachman didn’t have a hole in her head. Her wavy hair hung just below her jaw, styled in waves Morgan had seen in fashion panels from the 1910’s. She had loose housecoat, or maybe it was just a regular day coat that had been retired after getting too big and patchy, hung heavy on her frame. (Morgan couldn’t figure out how that worked, the woman before her didn’t have a body, so how could anything be loose or tight or anything in between? And yet just from looking at her, Morgan could imagine the pointy ends of her joints and the ridges on her stomach from going hungry on and off for years.) She had a bemused half smile, one that was way past surprise, and a face that looked hauntingly like the one Cece had pulled out of the magic trunk. “It’s you,” Morgan whispered. “This whole time, I’ve been looking at… Agnes.”

“Is there someone else I would be?” Agnes asked. She had a high, tired kind of voice, not unlike the wind that had swelled around them only a minute ago. It was a reedy voice, torn up from too many cigarettes. Smoking was unladylike in Agnes’ time, but maybe she’d stolen her husband’s cigarettes, or bummed some off people with more money. Maybe after a certain point she had decided not to care. She looked around, taking in what was left of the house, the hole in its core, the stars above and the jagged, splintered ruins reaching through it like so many broken fingers. “I remember this place.” She scoffed, smirking. “It feels a shame I’m not more surprised to see it in pieces. You’re supposed to bond with the place you grow up. It’s how you maintain your ties with the earth.” She turned back to them, gesturing self consciously around her temples. “Is anyone gonna tell me what this party’s about...?” The smile she gave each of them was thin, like she was afraid something bad was going to happen. How often had she been blamed or yelled at for Constance’s mess? “One of you has to know something, if you’re pulling me cross-country to my old house.”

“Y-yes. I mean...we...uh…” Morgan fumbled for words and gaped at Blanche, silently asking for help.

Awestruck by her success, Blanche stared at Agnes in a sort of wonder. The wind grew calm around them, still lightly tugging at loose hairs and flame to let them know it was still there. She had done it. She pulled Agnes Bachman back here. Blanche gaped right back at Morgan, suddenly speechless herself. All coherent thoughts flew out of her head and suddenly she forgot how to speak any language whatsoever.

“Wha-” Blanche stuttered, and then realized she was the one supposed to be running this ‘party’. She almost leapt to her feet, but stayed rooted to the spot so she wouldn’t jostle the circle. “Agnes,” Blanche tried again. “My name is Blanche Harlow. I’m a local medium in White Crest. This is Morgan Beck, she’s your great, great Granddaughter. I’ve… We, rather… We’ve contacted you because we want to ask you about the past, specifically relating to Constance Cunningham.” Her words were formal, but they were at least confident.

“Is it alright if we ask you a few questions?”

Agnes hadn’t stopped looking at Morgan since she’d appeared. Morgan straightened her shoulders under her gaze and angled her head this way and that, trying to find the angle that would give her the most ‘respectable impressive descendant’ look, not that she knew what that was. Agnes smirked at Blanche’s fumbling and Morgan noticed an array of little smile wrinkles that gave her some comfort. She must have been happy, or something like it, for a little while.

“I should tell you,” Agnes said, leaning in with a conspiratorial look, “I told my kids not to settle down, so they maybe wouldn’t have any of their own. But I’m not surprised they didn’t listen to me. Kids never do, so don’t get any ideas.” She squinted taking in more of Morgan. “But that’s not going to be a problem for you, is it, sweetie?”

“No,” Morgan whispered. “I mean, I have a...I haven’t really discussed it with my girlfriend, we’re gonna wait fifty, maybe a hundred years first. That’s the kind of family planning you get with a zombie and a banshee!” She laughed, shrill and pained. Was this how you were supposed to talk to your grandmother? Did it matter when she only looked five years older than you? “I died. Because of the family curse. Seven months and change, so I’m still adjusting. But it’s fine! I mean, it’s not, but it will be.” She gripped her wool skirt, fighting the urge to crawl closer to Agnes.

“Girlfriend, you say? I’ve seen things get better for some girls like that in the last hundred years. I should’ve figured it ran in the family. Mama was right about something after all.” The smirk she gave was bitter, scratching an old scab on her heart, and if Morgan hadn’t already heard about Hannah Bachman’s dismay from Leah, she would’ve seen the cut her response had left in Agnes’ face. “Your death, sweetie, does that mean the magic doesn’t touch you anymore? Whatever you and your girl do, are you safe from it?”

Morgan nodded, eyes beginning to well. “Yeah, we are. The curse didn’t follow me after. We’re good. It’s just uh…” She looked sidelong at Blanche. “It’s Constance? She’s here and she is…” Evil. Cruel. A walking nightmare. “Really, really determined to make up for what her curse can’t do anymore. And I...we were wondering...if you could tell us what really happened. I read Lucrecia’s diary, but I want the truth from you. And before you say anything, I don’t blame you. I don’t know where it started in the family, but I know you didn’t deserve to carry this like it was all your fault, and I don’t blame you for what she did.”

Agnes straightened up. “I can’t talk about Constance,” she said flatly. “And the person who started that story was me, because it was true.” She turned to Blanche. “Can you put me back somewhere? It doesn’t have to be home, I don’t much like my new grave. But somewhere else, please.”

Blanche thanked every God that may or may not have existed that she had excellent memory recall. She backed off of Agnes, ready to do what she, as a private investigator trainee, did best: listened. The true extent of the Bachman curse had been made apparent to her when Morgan died violently in the middle of town and became a zombie, but Constance never put into thought that there could be life after death… Funnily enough, Blanche hadn’t put that much thought into it either, before she met Remmy. Blanche rested her hands in her lap, leaning forward on her knees as she concentrated on keeping the line of connection open.

“You can’t talk about Constance? Or you won’t talk about Constance?” Perhaps Blanche’s voice was a little sharper than it needed to be, but she wasn’t here to pull punches. She was here for the truth. After the truth was known… Well, then she could deal with Agnes. Agnes, from what she felt, would need to move on. But one ghost problem at a time. This seance wasn’t for Agnes, it was for Morgan. And, to an extent, though Morgan could never find this out, it was for Constance too. Constance deserved closure and peace - the last thing Blanche wanted for her was to Cordelia or Lauren Langley.

Blanche leaned back, her head tilting to the side slightly as she examined the ghost. “Don’t you want to make sure the right one is known?” Maybe she didn’t, though. Blanche pressed her lips together for a moment. “I won’t be sending you anywhere,” she said, “Until we get some answers. And I’ll have you know… I’m very persistent.”

“Is there much of a difference as far as you’re concerned?” Agnes asked. Her squinting gaze turned on Blanche, running up and down to appraise her. Morgan’s mother had a similar look when she was trying to worm out of a conversation she didn’t want to have, but Morgan didn’t get the sense that Agnes was looking for points of weakness or ways to hurt Blanche. It looked more like she was working a puzzle. “If people think badly of me, it’s because I got the ball rolling. I don’t have any right to be sore about any tall tales that have gotten rolled into the truth.” She looked at Morgan again, smiling in a sad way that made the zombie’s heart lurch. “You should blame me. And I am sorry, I will always be sorry, for my part in your death. Even if it means you get to wait a hundred years to have a family with a woman you love--” she paused, staring off somewhere Morgan couldn’t follow. “It shouldn’t cost you what it has. Death is too high a price, especially after what you must have suffered. It’s not much of a life to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Morgan whispered. “I know you’re...yes, I was miserable and I didn’t get to do anything I set out to, but you didn’t cast the spell. You didn’t take one falling out and turn it into a hundred plus years of--”

“No.” Agnes’ voice turned to rock while somehow never rising above her quiet. “No, Morgan. I’m not going to discuss it in those terms. Or at all.” Agnes looked over at Blanche, checking to see if her point had been effectively made, but Agnes had never gone up against Blanche ‘I do what I want’ Harlow. She withered under the young woman’s look and pursed her lips as her position sank in.

“Listen,” Morgan said gently. “I’m going to get her back for what she did to you, to all of us. However hurtful, however awful or complicated, it didn’t merrit what she did for retribution. I’m going to make sure she…” Morgan winced, not wanting to throw her position in Blanche’s face. Of all her friends, she had been the most honest, and the most kind, about her position. “I’m going to make us even.”

Agnes’ face dropped with horror. “You what? You can’t. Sweetie, whatever you’re up to, you can’t do that to her. You have no idea what she--It was my idea to run away! I made her take all the risks. Crafting the glamours that would make us look older, hiding the money I’d stolen in her tree, hiding travel clothes, securing our transport. My mother watched me at all times, I was afraid we wouldn’t stand a chance if I slipped away somewhere I couldn’t explain. I was selfish and I was scared and I made her do everything for me, and then I--” She looked helplessly at Blanche again, her wish transparent in her eyes: please, please. “I let her fall for me too,” she said. “We were caught, the morning we were set to leave. Constance told the truth and I--I didn’t. She had given a story and I knew we were sunk and I wouldn’t see the light of day for weeks unless I did something different. I--”

Agnes’ reedy voice seemed to snap. Her silent appeals to Blanche were going nowhere; the medium only stared her down harder than before. And every, “hey,” and “you don’t have to be afraid,” that Morgan gave only seemed to make her more desperate.

“I said she was kidnapping me. That she’d hurt me.” Agnes said at last. “We had stolen pistols from the Logan’s house to protect ourselves. I told my mother to check her reticule, where I’d told her to put them and she thought it was proof. I didn’t know they were going to tell everyone or turn her into a pariah. I thought she would be run out of town, dropped on the nearest cart, never to return. I had no illusion of being forgiven, but gods help me, I did not know my mother would leave her with nothing and make her live like some poor animal. When I realized, it was too late.” Agnes clenched her airy fists, fighting the impulse to cry. “I would like to go back now. Send me back now and have done with it.”

Morgan tried to reach for her, forgetting everything except how badly she wanted to know the woman in front of her. “No, you can stay, Agnes. It doesn’t matter what happened before—”

“Now. I want to be gone now. Please. I will not answer anything else. I won’t.”

Anger was an emotion Blanche was used to, and the more Agnes said, the more angry she got. Fury and disgust twisted into her stone faced expression as she sat there, her arms crossed as Morgan and Agnes conversed. Finally, with a wail, Agnes turned to her, begging to be set free. “Coward,” Blanche said unkindly. “You’re a coward.” Blanche pushed herself up to her knees, as if she was going to move to stand. She didn’t, however, because her energy was being spent in keeping the connection open. Still, Blanche’s eyes flashed angrily.

“I’m not naive enough to say Constance is blameless. Constance is to blame for a lot of things -- Morgan’s death and the subsequent death of others in her path for revenge - but you…” Blanche shook her head, “You chose wrong and you lied. You lied to save yourself and threw the one you loved under the bus.” Blanche scoffed in disgust. Never before had she felt such anger towards another ghost. The closest that came was Lauren Langley, but even that held a different sort of anger than the rage that bubbled in the pit of her stomach now. If she could, she’d throw a fist in Agnes’ face.

“You are not to blame for Constance’s actions,” Blanche said, folding her arms over her chest. “She is able to make her own decisions and do what she will but… You are to blame for hurting her. You are to blame for lying. You are to blame for the misery that was thrust upon her as punishment for a crime she did not commit. You lied because you were a coward. And that -” Blanche jabbed a finger at Agnes. “- Is what you should feel remorse for. That is what you need to reflect on. And then you’ll be able to move on.” While Constance was on a warpath for vengeance that would end up destroying her. It was hard not to blame Agnes for everything.

With a sweep of her hand, the wind howled around them, growing louder as Blanche recited the end of the ritual that would close the communication with Agnes. She didn’t want to hear what Agnes had to say, even as her pain stricken face was seared into Blanche’s mind even as she disappeared from the circle. The wind quieted and the candles surrounding them extinguished. The ritual was over. Blanche slumped back into the dirt, exhausted, but too angry to give in to sleep.

“All of this…” Blanche said, sneering at the place Agnes once stood. “Because of a cruel lie…”

Morgan flinched at Blanche’s words as if they had cracked against her skin. She called out her name, trying to interrupt, “That can’t be the whole story, there has to be something else…” But Blanche’s fury had found its target, and though Morgan couldn’t fathom why, she understood that it would not let go. “Don’t be cruel. Blanche, please!” But please only got Blanche to say the words that would send Agnes back to wherever she had been before. Morgan grasped at the air as Agnes vanished, her face shut and clenched with shame. Something in the air lifted, like heat diffusing a cold room. Morgan continued to stare into the circle. There had to be something else. Maybe Hannah Bachman was the real culprit, for making her daughter so afraid that she wanted to run away in the first place. Maybe Agnes had sensed something unstable, even dangerous in Constance and took her change to back out rather than run away with someone who was willing to sign off on the misery of generations of people. There had to be something, because if Morgan’s family had been right about Agnes, then how was she supposed to split her vengeance between them? Who was she destroying Constance for besides herself if Agnes had tried so hard to beg her not to? Morgan’s gaze dropped from the air where Agnes had just sat and down to her own hands: discolored around the nails because she was between meals, protected by gold cuff bracelets on her wrist, so no one would see the bite that made her what she was. Ruth Beck hadn’t cared a wit that she was going to be avenged, Morgan wasn’t even sure if she believed it. Morgan’s father had lost his last tie to the earth when he saw her happy with Deirdre. Deirdre herself insisted the choice was hers to determine. And now the memory of Agnes’ horrified face stood frozen in Morgan’s memory. Was it still fair, and still enough, if this was for her satisfaction and hers alone?

“She was just…” Young? Stars above, could Morgan really say that without it getting thrown back in her face two seconds later? “She was scared. She didn’t know what was going to happen and we don’t know why she really…” Threw someone she supposedly loved under the bus. If Hannah was so dangerous, enough to run away from, why wouldn’t Anges have figured out that Constance was going to suffer without her protection? Wouldn’t that have been obvious? Was her ignorance to the consequences just another lie too? Morgan shivered, frowning into the ground. She was long used to disappointment, but she hadn’t thought that meeting Agnes would leave her more confused than when she’d started. “I don’t know,” Morgan sighed. Nothing she put together in her mind fit the way she wanted it to. “Whatever, why-ever she really did anything, she paid for it with her life and a hundred years of being hated.” Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Blanche, scrutinizing her expression. She had seemed more invested in Morgan’s family drama than she had before. Morgan had taken great care to keep her out of it as much as possible. “What was that all about, just a minute ago?” She asked gently. “I’ve never seen you like that with a ghost before. Is everything okay…?”

She was just - Blanche almost snarled the word ‘young’ right back at Morgan. Constance was just as young. She was nineteen. Blanche could remember, back in high school, where her only long term boyfriend broke up with her and how devastated she had been. If that situation had been anything like Agnes’, which it hadn’t, and Logan had wronged her in some type of way, Blanche would have wanted to curse him and his entire family too. The thought was snide, and filled with anger. She realized, with a start, that she was two seconds away from defending Constance’s honor, and that wasn’t right either. Constance had done wrong, Blanche reminded herself, her palms suddenly sweaty. She hadn’t meant to, mostly, of course. Maxine had been an unfortunate accident, and the incident with Nell… Blanche wanted to believe that she really didn’t know that Nell had been in the car until it was too late. And Morgan had said intentions matter. Blanche wanted to believe that, and she wanted Constance to give up this calling of vengeance on Morgan’s family because at the end of the day, Morgan hadn’t done anything wrong. Morgan hadn’t done this to Constance. Agnes, she thought the name with disgust, started this.

But that didn’t make Morgan’s target goal right either. She had the cold reminder that Morgan’s end goal was to torture and erase Constance from existence. The thought of her being in pain made Blanche… Well, it made her sick to her stomach. Constance didn’t deserve that. She needed to be at peace while she was still able. At least, then, she would be happy. She would be able to move past what Agnes had done, and it wouldn’t have to lock her into a toxic storm of resentment and fury.  At Morgan’s question, though, Blanche’s palms frew more sweaty, and she wiped them on her jeans. “I wasn’t wrong,” Blanche mumbled to her shoes, shaking her head. She refused to look at Morgan, instead turning to start gathering her things in her back. Her face had flushed, but it had been a little pink already from the anger she burst out with during the seance and from the exhaustion the clung to her. “In order to move on, Agnes needs to come to term with her choices she made while she was living. She can’t do anything to change them, not now,” Blanche’s lip curled in disgust as she carefully stuck the candles in her bag, straightening to sling it over her shoulder. She went to the magic circle she had so carefully carved into the dirt with a sharp stick and some chalk and destroyed it. While Blanche hadn’t listened to Granny’s teachings, she did remember that Granny said to never leave a circle unattended, just in case. Finally, she reached up and pulled the jeweled, silver hairpin from her hair, letting her blonde hair tumble down. Carefully, she put that in a separate pocket of her backpack. Her shoulders slumped tiredly and looked at Morgan, “I’ll talk to her again soon,” Blanche said, decidingly. “I’ll call upon her again and speak her more closely, once… this is all over.”

Silence froze and bristled around them; Morgan held her tongue. Blanche’s ire was hot and sharp as a needle fresh out of the fire. She didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know she was angry at her too. For Constance. For being “unfair.” Maybe if she wasn’t the one crushed over her whole life and promptly murdered, Morgan could understand these good for nothing principles, or whatever strange projection was going on from Blanche’s angle. She’d confounded people on moral questions before. Only the stars above knew how many passes she gave Deirdre, and that was just for starters.

“No,” Morgan admitted quietly. “But I never said you were. That wasn’t my point.” The point was that Agnes’ mistake should have only destroyed two people, at most. Tragic, but contained. Constance had driven Agnes to the kind of misery that made her want to end her life. And then proceeded to do the same to every other Bachman descendant, those who weren’t horribly killed by her meddling out right. It was unbalanced to the point of grotesque. What pity, what understanding was there left when Constance’s last stand was with someone she’d never met, except to try and destroy? At least Morgan was taking a stand for her own family.

“If there’s another way to get Agnes to White Crest, some way she can be around without a circle, I’ll look after her so you don’t have to keep your hotel for ghosts open longer than you already have to. She’s my family, I should at least try to help her. I want to.” And she wanted to understand why Agnes was so opposed to her finishing this ugly game Constance had turned their lives into. Seeing Ruth’s total apathy at the news had been one thing, but Agnes’ horrified face sat heavy and sick in Morgan’s stomach. She shouldered her bag and dusted herself off, looking down at Blanche with guarded concern. “I still don’t know why you’re so determined to help me, but thank you, Blanche.” She reached out a hand to pull her up. “You need anything right now?” She asked quietly. The differences between them felt as strong as the similarities in this moment, certainly nothing that could be solved with a trip to a diner or a few twenties stuffed into Blanche’s bag. But Morgan was tired of losing people, and she had a sick, prickly feeling in her stomach, almost like guilt, and she was desperate to be rid of it.

It was a strange fury that had settled in Blanche’s stomach, and she didn’t understand it. Blanche knew Morgan held different opinions on the whole subject and that their end goals were different, so she wasn’t understanding why she was so upset at Morgan’s insistence that Constance was the only one in the wrong here. It wasn’t fair - none of this was fair. Perhaps Constance had been right in that the Bachmans - that Agnes Bachman and whatever that thing Cassie, Morgan, and Blanche had confronted in the house so many months ago - were the evil ones. Whatever that meant made Blanche’s head spin because she also knew that no matter what, killing Morgan was inexcusable. How was it possible to care so much for a ghost that did something so horrible to a friend? And was she so determined to help Morgan, or was she determined to help Constance? Couldn’t there be a way for her to help both? Why was the answer one or the other? Blanche was sick of having to choose and she was sick of having to ask herself hard questions and she was sick of having to think.

Not for the first time, Blanche felt that fuzzy, static feeling in her head.

“You could summon her, or she could travel herself,” Blanche finally said, her tone devoid of any true emotion. “What I just did isn’t anything other than opening a line of communication. If I don’t close the line, she could get stuck in the circle. That’s why, even after you dissipated wrong Agnes, I had to close the ritual. But it’s not a permanent means of keeping them here.” She swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself as she shook her head. Blanche was quiet a moment as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and looked at Morgan. There were words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite find them. Confusion and anger melded together, and Blanche realized that it might be better to not say anything at all. “I don’t need anything, no.” Blanche said. “I’m going to go home though, I’m… I’m tired.” It wasn’t a lie, she realized. She was exhausted, and Blanche wondered if she hadn’t overdone it. There was supposed to be a balance so she didn’t feel like complete shit afterwards. But as she turned on her heel, giving a quiet goodbye to Morgan as she trudged back to her jeep, she started to think that maybe the energy she spent on the seance wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t feel well.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Liar Liar

how dare you make me chose between to cinnamon rolls!! 

Kirishima x Villain!reader

word count: 1,700 (about)

warnings: swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, fighting, angst, established relationship.

summary: you are a villain trying your best to live a double life, but one fateful encounter with Red Riot might just change your whole life.  

You stared at your husband’s sleeping form. his red hair soft and ungelled. you ran a finger over the curve of his jawline feeling the uneven skin of a new scar he had acquired. he let out a small noise and shifted slightly, his hand coming up from the covers to cup your own. 

“Did you have the nightmare again?” he grumbled, his eyes still closed.

“Yes,” the lie sprung to your lips almost instantly, it was easy to lie to Erijou, no matter what you said he never doubted you for a moment. he gripped your hand and pulled you closer, wrapping his big strong arms around you, making you feel safer than you ever had before. 

“Go back to sleep Baby, and remember no one is going to hurt me, I’m unbreakable,” he mumbled tucking your head under his chin. often times you staid up watching Erijou sleep, when he caught you, you lied and told him about a reoccurring nightmare where he died. you laughed a little at his stupid pun and wished you could believe it. That he was too strong to get hurt, but the scar the now resed on top of your head was proof otherwise.

It was a bad habit you had picked up, but the minute you had met him you had made a mental list of every weakness he had that you could exploit. Like now for instance, if you wanted you could have slipped a knife into bed before he crawled into bed and cut his heart out while he slept, or slipped poison in the food he wolfed down without a thought.

it would be so easy to kill him or hurt him. or it would be if you weren’t so weak. what had happened to you? you used to be ruthless, strong and feared now you were quite literally in bed with the enemy. 

Kirishima had been a useful little pawn, in the beginning, Detectives and heroes had been closing in on you for weeks but one chance in counter with him, and he was ready to defend you to the death. and why wouldn’t he trust you? as far as he knew you were just a clumsy quickness girl in need of saving. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Kirishima muttered 

“no, you can’t” you responded childishly. he ran his fingers threw your hair relaxing you instantly. you hated that he knew your weak spot, but you couldn’t push him away.  “that’s a dirty move Red,” you yawned already falling back asleep

“yeah I love you too baby,” those were the last words you processed giving in to the ink dreamless sleep that saught to capture you.

When you woke up, the sun was streaming in through the curtain and Erijou’s side of the bed was cold. You sleepily pulled his pillow to your chest and clung to it, breathing in his lingering scent. if you used your imagination you could almost pretend that Erijou was still with you and you got to keep him for once.

 your eyes flew open and you chucked the pillow across the room. thoughts like that were for the weak. “I need to brake something,” you decided, launching yourself out of bed.  you opened your closet and popped open to the false bottom before dawning the black leather catsuit inside. 

then you set about the morning chores, making the bed, doing the dishes, and staring on the pot roast that would serve as tonight’s dinner. the simple monotony of the tasks helped you relax, at least a little bit.  maybe you would hit up that new uptown boutique there were some gorgeous diamonds there. Again you thought about Kirishima. if it was really the diamonds you wanted, you didn’t even have to ask you knew he would be fine if when he came home you showed off all the clothes and jewelry you had gotten with his money.

you wanted the rush, the attention, the fight. you scowled to yourself and dawned the black helmet that came with your outfit that had the dual purpose of hiding your face and altering your voice. you clipped a beautiful purple whip your belt and that was that you were ready for the day.  you leaned out of your bedroom window and let yourself free fall. before you could hit the ground a purple disk materialized beneath your feet, braking your fall. and caring you swiftly to wherever you wanted.

Despite what Kirishima thought, you did have a quirk. Hover, a small disk levitated you off he groud and raced you through the air. you moved slow enough so that passers-by could catch a glimpse of you, the gasps of fear as you soared past them made you grin.  

you had been doing shit like this since you could remember, villainy was in your blood. you crashed through the window and unfurled your whip o it’s full length. 

“Everyone stays calm, I’m not going to hurt you. Unless you make me,” you laughed, your voice sounding robotic and unnatural even to your own ears.  you shattered the jeweler's case with a single crack of your whip and swooped down to grab the jewelry indiscriminately. the gold and gemstones glittered beautifully. it was enough but, you were greedy you moved to the dress section. and lazily picked out a red one. 

“oh, I know someone who will love this,” you laughed, then you were body-slammed off your platform. you whipped out at the do-gooder and watched in horror as the whipped struck Red Riots hardened skin. you’re stomach dropped, you had always known this was a possibility, or an inevitability really. fuck fuck fuck. he pounced on you and on reflex you kicked him in the neck, a spot he rarely thought to harden. you bit back a scream, you had to get out of here and fast. you summoned a new floating disk and hopped on. why did it have to be him? why wasn’t he off fighting some bigger villain? but Kirishima grabbed on and dug his heels into the ground effectively slowing you down. 

“can you fuck off?” you growled and stopped on his fingers, but all that accomplished was busting the heel of your boot.  if you didn’t do something quick you would be caught, and your secret would be revealed. Kirishima has fought much more imposing bastards than you. you halted your movements making him grin. 

“Finally going to stand and fight?” he asked. 

“I don’t know why you were so concerned with me when your little wife is in danger,” you said cooly, it was a low blow, and it would be hard to cover for but you were desperate.  for a second, his quirk faltered and his face fell. you sucker-punched him right in the nose probably breaking it before properly making an escape. 

you were happy to get home and peel the suit off as soon as you got home.  you were shaking. you quickly hid the outfit and took a few deep breaths, you should shower see if you could wash off the guilt. or vacuum to take your mind off of everything. or stress eat, something. your phone buzzed and you decided checking that was as good as anything else. 

11 missed calls from your husband and twice as many texts. all some variation of “where are you?” “are you okay?” “please answer me” you wanted to run, but you couldn’t it would only get worse if you waited. you called him, and he picked up on the first ring.

“(y/n)? are you okay?” he asked sounding desperate. 

“Erijou,” you croaked out before bursting into tears, wracked with pain and guilt. you have been getting soft for a while now, you were nowhere near the cold hard bitch you were years ago, but this was the straw that broke the camels back, you couldn’t keep lying and hurting people. and hurting Kirishima. 

“(y/n) where are you, I’m on my way please just tell me where you are,” Kirishima begged softly once you had paused to catch your breath. 

“I’m h-home,” you stuttered out. 

“Okay I’m almost there just stay with me,” he said, the way his voice was tremoring it sounded like he had been crying too. you felt so weak, too weak and pathetic to do the right thing or tell the truth or stop fucking crying, you were still shaking on the floor like a frightened child when Erijou came home and held you. at least in his arms, it didn’t matter how terrible you were, because he loved you anyway. 

“you want to tell me what happened honey?” he whispered once you had cried yourself out. you didn’t want to lie, but it was like breathing

“I was just shopping, She came in and attacked me, “ you muttered into his chest, he huffed annoyed

“Did she hurt you?” you showed him the bruises that he had left on you

“I’ll find her and make her pay okay?” Kirishima promised. wich only sent you into another wave of tears. Kirishima kissed your cheeks and soothed you until you stopped crying then he dressed your wounds. you couldn’t help but fixate on the bandage that covered his nose. it was your fault. Kirishima tenderly pushed your hair back and kissed your forehead. 

“what are you thinking about baby?” he asked. 

“you,” you admitted, then for the first time, in a long time, you told him the truth.

“you’re so amazing Erijou, I want to be like you, stronger and braver, I want to do the right thing,” you said. 

“come on (y/n), you are the kindest person I know if anything I want to be more like you,” he laughed kissing your lips, you knew this would be a turning point, you swore it and you would live up to his idea of you.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

We All Still Die (part four)

i literally burned myself out of all my motivation after Fractal Scarring and i fucking hate it. but i wanted to post, so have the next scene from We All Still Die that was supposed to be longer but this was all i had in my drafts

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

Ladies in waiting and maids in waiting alike were lined up in a large council hall, their light green and pale yellow and washed out red and faded blue dresses whisking slightly in the breeze slipping through the half open windows. And, before them, in a glittering silver gown, stalked Henry’s new wife.

She walked up and down in front of them, seeming more like the head of the guard lecturing new soldiers than the queen of England. She was as cruel as the head of the guard, though, as she had just fired a poor lady in waiting just because she was adorned in a green dress. Now, the other girl clad in green was fidgeting anxiously, waiting for her life to be ruined.

That wasn’t Joan, thank God. She was so lucky she decided to not wear the former queen’s favorite color and rather went with a grey and yellow dress. She did, however, have her prayer book on her and a necklace with a false emerald pendant, but she hid them both. Jane’s cold grey eyes slid right past her. For now.

A foot nudged Joan’s heel. She glanced away from the queen to look to her left. She saw Abigail subtly up to one of the window sills and dared to follow her gaze.

A beautiful black bird was sitting on the window sill. Its back was a galaxy of amethyst purple and metallic blue and golden yellow, glinting like melted gemstones in the sunlight.

“It’s a starling,” Abigail whispered.

“It’s pretty.” Joan whispered back, momentarily forgetting that she probably shouldn’t be talking.

“Isn’t it?” A smile ghosted Abigail’s lips. “They’re all over my family’s farm. We had chicks in our-”

“Abigail.” Jane suddenly materialized in front of them like a sparkling silver iceberg in an Arctic Ocean.

“Your Majesty,” Abigail scrambled into a clumsy bow. Joan snapped her head forward and saw the starling fly off, as if it had foresaw the oncoming storm about to erupt inside of the hall. She wished she could sprout wings and fly away, too.

“I do hope you are taking this seriously.” Jane said. She turned her gaze to scrutinize Joan, and she struggled not to squirm.

“I am, Your Majesty.” Abigail said, bobbing her head frantically.

“Hm.” Jane tipped her head. Her eyes narrowed and her glossed lips curled upwards into a wicked smile. “Since you’re so fascinated in the birds at your family’s farm, why don’t you go visit them? Permanently.”

Abigail froze. In the three and a half years she’s known her, Joan has never seen so much terror on her face before, not even when she got the news of Anne’s execution.

“Wh-what are you...”

“You’re done here.” Jane said coldly. “You will not be working for me. I don’t need ladies who are more fascinated in birdwatching than working. Get your belongings and go.”

Abigail opened and closed her mouth several times like a cloth-swathed fish out of water. She stared, dumbfounded, at Jane, who looked two seconds away from striking her across the face before she finally stepped out of the line and headed to the door. She didn’t walk with her usual pomp or confidence, but rather defeat and grief. She glanced over her shoulder one last time, then left the hall. And Joan’s life forever.

“W-wait!” Joan cried seconds too late. “Don’t punish her! It’s my fault! I-I pointed out the bird to her!”

“Do I look stupid to you?” Jane said.

“Illiterate, from what I’ve heard,” Muttered a voice further down the line. Jane whipped her head in that direction, but strangely didn’t pursue the offender. She just set her jaw tightly and craned her head back to Joan.

“No.” She said firmly. “You will do.”

Joan felt dizzy. The queen had approved of her? But not Abigail? Sure, Abigail was silly and loud, but she was so much better at sewing and cleaning and just about everything than she was.

“I-I-”

Jane smiled crookedly at her internal dilemma. Then, so fast Joan and a few others actually jumped, she snapped her head to the left.

Whimpering.

Sniffling.

Shaking breaths.

Someone was crying.

Jane stalked down the line and Joan leaned forward slightly to see her stop before a girl her age. She recognized her as Miriam, one of the girls who had defended her from Mildred when she first became a maid in waiting.

“What is wrong with you?” Jane spat.

“I’m- I’m s-sorry,” Miriam gasped. “I’m s-sorry, I just-”

“I don’t have time for this,” Jane rubbed her forehead impatiently, making Miriam cry even more and frantically blubber out apologies. “Go.”

The girl standing next to Miriam backed away slightly. Jane looked at her.

“No, not you, Patricia. You’re doing fine.” She turned her uncaring gaze back to Miriam. “Yes, you. Box. Your stuff. Out the front door. Courtyard. Carriage. Goodbye.”

“Will you stop acting like a mosquito-buggerer, Jane?”

All heads turned in to direction of the voice, which Joan recognized as the one that had spoken out before. A woman with sleek brown hair and the sharpest, most piercing ice blue eyes Joan had ever seen before stepped forward.

Gasps and murmurs swelled through the line of ladies and maids.

“It’s really her,” Murmured the girl who has taken Abigail’s spot.

“I thought I had seen her, but I didn’t know for sure,” Said the one next to her.

“What is she doing back here?” Whispered a third. “How was she allowed back?”

“I think the real question is: how was she not killed?” Wondered a fourth softly.

Joan had only heard of the grouchy, majestic lady in stories. It started when she overhead the phrase, “Bless’ee Bessie Blount” and when she had asked her fellow maids in waiting what it meant during one of their classes, it spurred all sorts of rumors about her. They swore she was so powerful she could knock down a tower just by breathing on it. They said Henry still snuck out to be with her once every month. They warned that she would climb into bedrooms and rip out the ovaries and eat the wombs of bad little girls who had affairs and committed adultery and had sex before they were betrothed. They said the only reason that that didn’t happen to Anne was because she’s afraid of the dungeon tower and refused to go anywhere near it.

But the woman standing before them all didn’t look like the type to pull out organs and eat them at all, although she did give off a very tough, aggressive vibe. Waves upon waves of anger radiated off of her, hot and flickering and burning like roaring flames. She was covered in damp, rotten vileness and her gaze held years worth of resentment and bitterness, and yet Joan could see warmth and love and care hidden underneath all those layers of ice and thorns. And then, even further beyond that, was locked away trauma and deep-seeded agony.

“Elizabeth Blount.” Jane spat the name like it was a curse.

“Bessie,” The woman corrected. “It’s Bessie.”

She stepped out a little more, and Joan was slightly shocked to realize that she was wearing a dark purple cotton tunic and tan trousers instead of a dress. She wore no jewelry aside from a single diamond-shaped earring that was the color of firelight, had no makeup on, her wrists were strangely blemished in symmetrical scars, and she kept her long, luscious brown hair spilled out on her shoulders and back, with her messy bangs drifting into her mysterious blue eyes. And yet, she was still more beautiful than the queen was and maybe even more than Anne had been.

Jane flared her nostrils and glowered at this woman. Bessie was definitely older than her, but quite a bit shorter. Plus, Joan swore she though she saw muscles rippled across her arms.

“Leave this poor girl alone.” Bessie said. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I don’t need sniveling mules in my court.” Jane said, curling her nose in indignation.

“She’s mourning.” Bessie replied smoothly. “Whether you like it or not, some of these girls were greatly devastated by the death of Anne Boleyn. You can’t expect them to bounce back instantly.”

Jane couldn’t appear to come up with something good to reply with, so she just just growled out, “Girl. Leave.”

“Girl. Stay.” Bessie said to Miriam, who had taken one step forward to scramble out of the room. The girl was bug-eyed, looking from Jane to Bessie and then back to Jane.

Bessie was arguing with her, Joan realized dizzily. She’s arguing with Queen Jane Seymour. She’s saying no to her.

Who was this woman?

“I’ll have you thrown out on your arse right now,” Jane warned lowly.

“You can’t do that.” Bessie said coolly. “Henry wouldn’t let you.” A smirk twisted on her pale lips. “He loved me more than he would ever love you. And if you dispose of me, that will just get lower and lower until you end up just like—” She then stopped and glanced around her, seemingly noting how many of Anne’s ladies and/or maids were still around. “Me.”

Jane clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She was working herself up to a proper temper, it seemed.

“I don’t even know why allowed whores back in the castle,” She hissed.

Bessie didn’t seem phased, but Joan swore she saw a flicker of pain and guilt and terror flash for a split second in her eyes.

“If that were the case,” She said, “then you wouldn’t be queen right now. Because I’m sure getting knocked up by the king on the day his wife was beheaded, mere minutes after, even, would count as impure.”

Small gasps and murmurs and even giggles sounded from across the line. Jane’s face turned dark red with embarrassment and rage, but she doesn’t strike back. Bessie raised her nose and exhaled a victorious breath. She stepped back in line, but not without noticing Joan ogling her.

The smile Joan gets sent a flurry of butterflies flapping wildly in her stomach.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: Robin’s Requirements Summary: The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. He was going to throw up.Robin number three wasn’t human and Bruce didn’t know how keep going after Jason’s death. They make it work (after a rough start). AN: I decided to put up all the chapters I’ve posted of this story so far in proper order on tumblr since some people prefer reading here. Here’s the AO3 link to the story! I update weekly!

Chapter 1

Summer in Gotham was almost unbearable. The smoke and ashes lingering in the air mixed with the heat radiated from the asphalt to create an atmosphere that made it difficult to breathe or even just move in. In-between the tall skyscrapers and the houses squished into spaces much too small for them, you got the closest you could be to the experience of boiling to death without actually dying.

Winter may freeze your limbs, break away one finger after another, but summer’s heat, similar to the blast of an explosion, burned away your skin.

The summer nights appeared to be the much kinder, softer counterpart to the day time for the poor creatures who had to make their way through dark alleys.

It was a farce.

Gotham wasn’t kind, she hadn’t been in a long time.

The coolness of the darkness lulled you into a false sense of security. You were exhausted already, scared of the shadows too maybe if you weren’t used to them, or if you knew what lingered beyond them, but at least death didn’t await you in the sun’s divine punishment.

A logical but wrong assumption.

Grim hunters stalked the dark, waiting for you to slip up, to make a mistake.

Or at least, they used to be there to sink their teeth into you.

For the longest time Gotham had been protected by three guardians, predators, but nowadays you only ever spotted one of them, and if you did, you were better off to slice your own throat, or so they said.

Nobody had ever attempted to deny that meetings with the Bat could get bloody, especially if you provoked him. Still, they didn’t used to look like a war zone, entrails spread over the grey asphalt as empty eyes judged you for all the horrors you committed. The Bat used to be kinder, more forgiving, more understanding.

He wasn’t anymore. He had broken like Gotham had so many decades ago.

He still protected the weak, the needy, the helpless, but he no longer fought for the damned.

Instead of being their ferryman, he brought them directly to hell. It wasn’t death, not yet, but by the time he was done, you would wish for it.

People wondered what had changed right up until the Joker nearly choked on his acid laughter in the Bat’s arms, laughing about little songbirds cut up so badly you couldn’t tell the red of their feather coat from their blood.

It made sense then that the Bat would start to lose control. Everybody knew that the little Robin was off-limits. You try to could hurt and maim him, or break him for sure, these were the rules of the streets, and if he wanted to fly through them, he had to acknowledge them, but only ever as long as the Bat was your actual target.

You did not target Robin, Gotham loved him.

(There was a price to be paid for his death.)

X

“Duke, honey, it’s time for bed!”

“I know, Mom! Just five more minutes!”

Duke Thomas considered himself to be a regular ten-year-old. He loved video games, Star Wars, his Mom’s cooking, his Dad’s jokes, and, above everything, Robin Spotting. It was so much fun to stay up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of that colorful uniform or hear the joyful laughter.

Duke had actually seen Robin once too, on his fire escape. The hero had smiled at him and then put his index finger on his lips, indicating for Duke to be silent. Caught up in his excitement, Duke hadn’t even been able to speak to the hero or do anything but stand at his window, jumping up and down. He had watched as Batman caught up with Robin and the duo had flown away, Robin pretty much glued to Batman’s side.

The alley beneath Duke’s window was dark and dirty, but the heroes had been able to light it up.

And now Robin was gone.

Duke couldn’t believe it.

The police hadn’t said anything about Robin’s disappearance. Duke checked the news every day when his parents weren’t watching him too closely, lest they start thinking he wanted to watch those instead of his cartoons, hoping to hear about something interesting that wasn’t economics. However, the papers had plenty to say about Robin. His Mom called them ‘gossip rags Duke was better off not paying too much attention to’, but he had read them regardless.

The papers claimed Robin was dead, said that the Joker had killed him.

Duke was sure they were lying.

Robin was magical, Robin couldn’t die.

(But the Joker rarely appeared to be human either.)

Maybe somebody just had to remind Robin that he was still needed here. Duke sometimes got so caught up in his thoughts, he forgot to do his homework. It was probably something similar for Robin

“Duke, lights out!” His Dad said when he passed by Duke’s room.

“Just one more minute!” Duke pleaded, not even looking up from his desk.

“Alright, alright.” Dad laughed. “But you have to tell me what you’re writing.”

He entered the room and stepped closer to take a look at the sheet of paper Duke had been writing on, but Duke quickly pulled it to his chest to hide his scribbles.

“No! You can’t see it! It will take away the magic.”

You didn’t show your parents the letter for Santa either, or it wouldn’t get to Santa. Of course, the latter wasn’t real, but Robin was. And honestly, there were rules about this kind of magic – his parents should know them.

Dad just raised his hands in defeat, still smiling in amusement.

“Okay, buddy, but tomorrow you have to share with the class.”

Duke frowned, unsure whether that would be enough time for Robin to get his letter.

“Later,” Duke yielded. “Once I know it worked.”

Dad’s smile softened and he patted Duke’s shoulder.

“Only one more minute, then bedtime. You have school tomorrow and I don’t want to get another call about you falling asleep in class.”

Duke huffed, but couldn’t hide his happy smile. “That was only once!”

“Once enough. Sleep well, kid.”

“Night, Dad.”

Dad walked out of Duke’s room, closing the door behind him so that Duke was staring at the Justice League poster pinned to the wood. Batman needed Robin, so Duke would remind the short hero that he had to come home.

He quickly finished his letter, packed it in transparent cover, and hid it away in his Super Secret Special box. It was actually just a shoebox he had painted yellow and orange and decorated with plastic gemstones, but Duke loved it. Then he turned off the light and crawled into his bed. Duke took his alarm clock from the nightstand and set the alarm for a few minutes before midnight. He wasn’t sure whether twelve o’clock really was the right time, but it seemed very important in a lot of movies, so Duke figured if he had to choose, he might as well go with this time. If he succeeded, he’d maybe write to the police as well, tell them how to contact Robin since the Bat-signal only worked for Batman.

Falling asleep when he was so nervous turned out to be a chore. It felt just like the evenings before his birthday when he could hear the blood rushing through his ears and it kept him awake for as long as possible.

Duke managed to sink into sleep sometime after his parents had gone to bed as well. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted off right until his alarm rang again and Duke woke up startled. Tiredly, Duke crawled out of his bed and put on his socks to minimize the sound he made. He picked put the box and began tonight’s journey.

When he opened the door, he winced at the jarring sound. Even if he tried to be as slow as possible, the door refused to stay silent. Duke halted to listen if his parents still slept. His father’s snoring turned out to be a rather practical way of measuring it. Thankfully, his parents also didn’t wake when Duke stole the house keys out of his mother’s purse. With his box in hand, Duke sneaked out of the apartment and headed towards the stairs leading up to the rooftop.

The air inside the staircase was stuffy, receiving no circulation whatsoever. On tiptoes, Duke walked past the doors of his neighbors, being exceptionally careful when he passed the apartment of Ms. Norrington. She was, in the words of his usually calm and kind mother, a mean old witch, except she hadn’t said witch, but another word starting with a ‘b’ that Duke was too frightful to repeat. The old lady and her ugly little dog always watched Duke and his friend with her mean big blue eyes, especially when they were carrying toys. In Ms. Norrington’s opinion, there was nothing more terrible than children playing and having fun. One of these days, she wouldn’t even wait until Duke had made a sound, she’d just snatch his football away as soon as she would spot him. Therefore Duke needed to pass her without alarming her.

One step, another, a third and a fourth and Duke had done it. Victoriously, he rushed up the remaining staircases to the rooftop. If his parents knew that he was up here, they’d ground him for sure. None of the kids in the apartment block were supposed to go upstairs because the fence surrounding the roof hadn’t been fixed in ages and someone could get hurt or, even worse, fall off the roof when playing.

Duke thought it was stupid. He wouldn’t ever be dumb enough to fall off a house. However, that hadn’t stopped the adults from locking the door between Duke and his goal. But for that purpose, Duke had snatched his mother’s keys. His own keyring only had the keys for the front and backdoor, one for his bike and one for his Cousin’s home. His mother, on the other hand, did possess a key for the top door.

The lock was rusty and the key wouldn’t turn properly when Duke tried to open it. Duke bit on his tongue in concentration as he twisted the key multiple times until finally, after what felt like ages, the door clicked and opened.

Duke slowly closed it behind himself again, as to avoid the wind pushing it into the lock again with a loud BAM! Certainly, old Ms. Norrington would wake from that. Duke would just have to hurry and be finished before she managed to get out of bed, put on her pink shoes, ugly old and gray bathrobe and made it to the door.

Gotham was an ugly city according to the news, but Duke had long since learned not to trust them. Sure, the city could be a bit cleaner, but monuments like the shining WE building or the green Robinson park in the distance were signs that Gotham wasn’t as shitty as people claimed. The breeze here up on the rooftop was quite enjoyable too. They should tell their landlord to repair the fence quickly so that Duke could play Batman and Robin with his friends up here. That would be way cooler than going to the playground. Here they would be up on a real rooftop and didn’t have to pretend the monkey bars were the top of the Crystal Palace. Thinking of his two heroes, Duke reminded himself of his mission.

He looked around for the best spot to put his letter and settled on the water tank. A short ladder was leading up to it and so, with his box secured under his arms, Duke began to climb. He slipped nearly once or twice, but always managed to catch himself at the last second.

Once he reached the top, he allowed himself to sit down just to catch a quick breath. He was working on a schedule after all.

Duke set his box down next to him and took off the cover, revealing his letter to Robin and his most prized possession: a Batarang.

He’d found it in the trash a while ago and ever since he had the supreme right to always play Batman if he wanted to. He hadn’t told his parents about it because he knew they’d take it away, even if Duke didn’t take it outside his room usually. Why would he? He didn’t want it to get stolen by others!

Duke reached for the Batarang and then traced its edges with his fingers. It was still sharp, if he wasn’t careful he’d cut himself.

Duke didn’t have a Bat-signal, but he also didn’t want to attract that much attention. He was sure that if he just scratched something in the wooden surface of the water tank, Robin would spot it sooner or later. With the sharp side of the weapon, Duke began to scratch a big R into the wood. He made sure his carvings were deep enough that they’d be seen from above.

Then, with as much might as Duke could measure up, he rammed the Batarang through his letter into the wood so that it wouldn’t just fly away when left unsupervised.

There, his work was done.

Content with himself, Duke allowed himself to observe Gotham for a little while longer, forgetting Ms. Norrington for a moment. He wouldn’t get a sight as neat as this one again in a long while.

Duke climbed down from the water tank and returned inside. He made it past Ms. Norrington’s door and slipped into his apartment and room, his parents still sound asleep and none the wiser of Duke’s little adventure.

Yawning, Duke pulled his blanket over his head. It was sad that he had to give up his Batarang, but maybe he’d get a new one once Robin returned. And Duke didn’t mind playing other heroes.

After all, now it was really just a question of time.

X

Beneath him, the city was wide awake, even during such late hours. He should probably return to the Cave for tonight, he didn’t have any supplies besides the one lone Batarang. While he was sure that his wit alone would suffice to support Batman, a utility belt filled with all kinds of tricky equipment would be immense support, never mind much more fun.

He was already on the move, heading home for the first time, when Gotham started screaming for help. Her shouts spoke of fear, of a terrified mother scared for her children’s safety.

Somebody was threatening her - who?

Batman wouldn’t approve of it, he was sure, but generally speaking, it wasn’t his job to listen to Batman. He was there to support the Bat and, more importantly, keep Gotham safe. He couldn’t do that from the Cave.

With a wild grin, he jumped from the rooftop, executing a perfect landing on the balcony of the next house. Quickly he moved forward, making his way through the cold September air to come to Gotham’s aid.

He was Robin.

He had been born for this.

[floweryfreelance]

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER TWO

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

-

    Alois had only spent only an hour at home reading before he couldn’t help but start getting dressed. A royal blue ensemble he had chosen, caked in golden trim and dripping with gemstones on the buttons. Alois dripped wealth once again. He had thrown his clothing from the earlier part of the day in the fire, burning his memories with it. Forget about France, forget about Jean, forget about Alice - that whore. He was home, he was back, and he was going to dinner with his real love. It was the first time he’d danced in ages, telling Claude he was excited to tell off the bluenette or plot against him, or- oh, hell, it didn’t matter. He could stack his lies again. He was unbothered. 

When the carriage pulled up to the manor, he couldn’t help but betray his excitement. He stepped out, assisted as usual, but positively buzzing.

“Master,” Sebastian spoke through a cracked bedroom door. “Our guests have just arrived in their carriage.”

Ciel joined his butler and servants and fiance just inside the front doors, everyone seemingly taking position to prepare to welcome their guests. Ciel rarely invited guests, he never wanted anyone in his home unless he had no choice. For this evening, he chose his nicer evening attire, a deep blue ensemble with black lace trim along the sleeves and ends of the coat, with trousers and black boots to match. He adjusted the patch over his eye, nodding to Sebastian as a cue for him to open the door.

Lizzie slid her arm through his, squeezing him softly. “You don’t need to be so nervous, my love.” She cooed to him, a comforting and motherly tone coating her voice. “It’s just Alois.”

Ciel let his eyes fall shut for just a moment before opening them once more, turning to Lizzie with the most subtle of smiles on his face. “I know.”

Dinner was served rather quickly once the guests were welcomed. Alois and Ciel sat opposite of each other, while Lizzie took her place adjacent to the two young men. Placed before them were heaping plates of richly seasoned pork with sides of roasted potatoes and vegetables, accompanied by both a water glass and one of wine. The table was decorated with extra pieces of the fine China, as well as softly lit lavender candles to calm the atmosphere.

Excited to hear his stories, though trying to keep her proper composure, Elizabeth wasted no time in poking and prodding at Alois. “So, Alois,” She started, flattening her cloth napkin over her lap. “You said you went to France to attend a boys’ school, didn’t you? You must have had loads of fun when classes were over.” She giggled.

Ciel locked his gaze on his plate, eating small bites quietly.

Placed now across from the other man so close, Alois looked over the spread before him. Decadent food was a memory from times past, but the wine was familiar. Thin fingers curled around the stem, eyes unsure but smile bleeding out. It felt oddly like home, though it was a frame from an old movie now, dressed in fine china. His gaze lifted to the woman now, sinking into a character of himself. 

“Loads of fun.” He specified, secretly hoping it would perk Ciel’s ears. “It was beautiful there. I simply realized I wished to see the world I’d been reading so much about at home, I suppose.” He paused to take another sip of wine and picked up his fork. “Though it was only a matter of time before I came home.”

Excited by his answer, Lizzie lightly clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew it! I haven’t been to France since summertime four years go. I’ve been dying to go back. Their parties are always so lavish and the people so extravagant. Don’t you agree, Ciel?”

Ciel nearly winced at the mention of his name, secretly praying he wouldn’t have to partake in this dinner. “Yes,” he agreed in a monotone voice. “Very lavish and extravagant. You fit right in, Mr. Trancy.” He stated flatly, eyes only briefly looking up at Alois at the mention of his name.

Elizabeth shook her head at his mannerisms, smiling softly. “Ciel hasn’t been to France in ages either. When he went last, he had a beautiful portrait painted of himself.” She poked at her food. “I do wish you would hang it, my love. It is such a lovely painting.” She cooed to her fiance.

My love. “You were the one who convinced me to have it painted,” Ciel said. “I don’t have any need for self portraits.” He continued in a slightly quieter voice, hand coming up to his eye patch for no more than a second before returning to his lap. Half the time, he only knew what he looked like because Sebastian checked. He didn’t usually enjoy looking at himself.

Alois smiled at the glance, leaning back ever so slightly in his chair. False comfort suited him well as a man, clearly grown-up now and only slightly better at holding back the things he really wanted to say. Stories bubbled behind his lips, but he offered few. 

“I agree. I’ve never seen it, but should it betray any of your looks- as a couple,” he added, as if an afterthought, “I can imagine the French did you well.” 

The man smirked, toying now. He took another sip of his wine before placing it back down with grace and cutting off a piece of his pork. “If you ever get the chance to go again, I recommend Provins. The trade fair there is simply to die for.” 

Provins, the city where Jean and himself shopped for meats and vegetables every weekend. Alois swallowed, the light in his eyes dimming for only a second. He wondered if any of the others could tell - something happened in Paris.

Ciel inhaled a bit of his wine upon hearing the Earl’s underhanded nuance. He coughed lightly, setting his wine glass down and dabbing at his lips with his napkin, shooting a piercing glare across the table at him. While he wouldn’t admit to himself that he missed Alois, he most certainly didn’t miss these little games of his.

“It truly is such a lovely painting.” Elizabeth smiled at Alois, oblivious to Ciel’s minor coughing fit. She paused slightly, curiosity creeping into her thoughts, but worried she may overstep a boundary. “Alois, if you don’t mind me asking,” she began, placing her hands in her lap. “You mentioned you met someone while in France.”

Upon their first meeting, Ciel had been in such shock he must have missed that comment entirely. He had met someone? He quickly averted his eyes to his plate, trying desperately to push the intrusive thoughts from his mind.

Who was he? Or was it a woman? Had he fallen in love or just found another toy to use for his own amusement? How long had it lasted?

No, he didn’t care. He couldn’t dare care. It would hurt too badly.

Alois coughed nervously at the question, playfulness leaving his face. It was truly a sad story that he wanted his lover to know. However, he had to play it cautiously, for it was also a forbidden story, one that could in the wrong hands land him in prison. Or worse, cut off from his loved ones, the only few he’d ever found. 

“I supposed I don’t mind, no.” He took a bite of his dinner before a lump found its way into his stomach. “I did meet a woman. We… we were betrothed for a period of time. But she wanted another kind of life.” He said, soft for once. “I left her the house in Paris. It was right on the lake. Beautiful, really.” He paused, “it was the least I could do for her after seven years.”

Betraying this fact, he picked up his wine glass by the stem once again, forcing a smile to return to his face. “I haven’t decided what kind of life I want without her quite yet. She was…” Alois trailed off, unable to describe it quite yet. He ran off in the night, though Jean had asked him to stay. Jean loved them both, but Alois was possessive as all knew of him to be. The violent packing, the screaming, slamming doors and pretending it was a family squabble and not the ending of lovers. He really did leave Jean and Alice the house on the lake. It was not for the couple’s sake, but he couldn’t bring himself to ever return. At the very least, his histrionics had never left him. The blonde bit the corner of his lip nervously before returning his attention to his wine.

The air felt thicker suddenly. Elizabeth nodded slowly, feeling intrigued by the Earl’s story but also feeling pity for him, worried she may have crossed a line. A moment of silence passed before Ciel spoke up.

“It sounds like it would have been a beautiful life, nonetheless.” Ciel commented, a sudden wave of confidence washing over him as he lifted his head to look directly into Alois’ icy blue eyes. “I’m sorry things ended the way they did.” Something in his tone was off, and he knew it, and he wondered if Alois noticed it. In a way, he meant what he said, and he was sorry that Alois had endured such a romantic tragedy. But another part of him, the part tainting his tone, almost felt prideful that it hadn’t worked out.

Lifting his glass slightly, he proposed a half-hearted toast. “To new beginnings, if I may say so myself.” His eyes lingered on Alois’ for a moment before averting to meet Lizzie’s, a soft smile lighting up her face as she raised her glass as well.

Alois was taken aback, shaken out of his memory. He picked up on the tone to Ciel’s voice, once he hadn’t heard before. They locked eyes for a moment, Alois suspicious of the congratulation. In a way, it pissed him off. Cocky asshole. His lips set into a light scowl as he rose his glass with the other. 

“To new beginnings.” He echoed, lifting his glass to his lips. His tone was tinged with sour feelings - if only he knew how it had really ended. If only Ciel knew just how doomed he was to repeat the same pattern in every country he ever settled in. The blonde had made peace with his sexuality, but not his life due to it. 

He wondered just how much of this Ciel could pick up off of his sudden change in demeanor. The game was on once again, he decided as the alcohol clouded his mind ever so slightly. In the others’ eyes, he found his determination.

The remainder of the dinner was filled with light conversation, none of the three nobles taking notice of the rain outside becoming heavier and heavier. They drank and feasted on small desserts, making casual smalltalk. Most of this, of course, was Elizabeth milking Alois for every detail of France he could remember. Ciel simply listened, keeping his guard up and listening closely for Alois to step out of line.

It wasn’t until a loud crack of thunder and lightning boomed through the dining room, shaking the chandelier above their heads, that the three turned to look out the large window beside the table. The trees bent with the wind and the Trancy carriage rocked back and forth. Leaves blew by along the ground and the rain pooled in every crevice it fell into.

“Oh, how dreadful!” Elizabeth said with a small gasp. “I thought I smelled rain earlier. It’s just as I told you, Ciel, isn’t it? I knew a storm was on it’s way.” Ciel nodded silently, still a bit shaken from the sudden burst of thunder. Ever since he was a child, he always hated storms.

Elizabeth stood from the table, walking to the window to peer outside. Shaking her head, she folded her hands over her chest. “This won’t do.” She turned to her fiance. “Ciel, we can’t send them all home in this weather. The carriage will surely tip over with this wind.”

Ciel swore he felt his eye twitch beneath its patch.

Lizzie turned towards Alois. “Alois, you and your servants ought to stay here tonight.” She offered with a smile sweeter than honey. “There’s a spare room and plenty of space in the servants’ quarters, and-”

“Elizabeth.” Ciel stopped her, trying his best to withhold a glare. He wanted to scream no, but his manners kept him from doing so. “We- We would need to make certain preparations in order for a guest to stay. I’m sure they’ll be fi-”

“Are you sending me home as well, then?” She inquired. Despite their long engagement, Lizzie still lived at her own estate, only frequenting the Phantomhive Manor. She crossed her arms, staring him down expectantly.

She trapped him. Damn. His eyes briefly darted towards Alois, then back to his fiance. Damn it all. Doing his best to conceal his disgust for the situation, he stood, waving a hand. “Sebastian,” he called, his butler stepping forward from the corner of the room. “Prepare our two spare rooms, and fetch one of my bed robes for Mr. Trancy.”

“Yes, Master.”

Without another word, Ciel stood from the table, cane in hand, and made his way to the drawing room, where more fine wine, a fireplace, and an old chess set sat waiting.

“Hm… such a shame.” The smirking blond allowed, finishing his glass of wine before Ciel wandered off. Truly, such a storm made for a perfect situation for him. Plans began to form in his soured mind as he stood, fixed. “Claude, I need you to tend to the carriage. It looks like it’s going to be a long night.” He ordered, straightening his frock coat and wandering into the drawing room behind the other man. 

Alois emerged in the doorway, cocky and playful yet again. “A storm..” He began in a low voice, walking into the room and to the bookshelf. He pretended to peruse as Ciel looked on. “So, you’re… still unwed? After eight years?” He remarked with a light smile on his lips. “Hell, even I moved on.”

Standing in front of the fireplace, his cane by his side, Ciel stared into the flames and felt the warmth on his face. This was indeed going to be a long night.

“I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question for a guest to be asking.” Ciel turned his head towards Alois slightly, though he refused to look at him. “Especially after disappearing for so long. I’m shocked you even remember who I am.” He said sharply, words like razors coated in sticky tension.

A moment of silence passed them as Lizzie entered the room, saying she was turning in early for the night, as the long day had drained much of her energy. She thanked Alois for his company and lovely conversation, bidding him goodnight before leaving her fiance with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand. Ciel’s hand lingered on hers as she walked away, in an effort to prove his loyalty to his fiance in front of Alois. Not that that would be enough to convince him. And with that, they were left alone again.

While Alois noticed the prolonged contact, even he could read through it. With a comment on his sham of an engagement, he’d rattled the other’s pride and he knew it. The playful smile returned to his face, his fingers tracing the backs of books on the shelf as the fire’s light played in shapes on his back. Unfortunately, Alois enjoyed Lizzie’s company as well and the whole scene did nothing to shake him. 

“Guest or not, it’s true, isn’t it?” He prodded, pulling a book off the shelf to inspect the cover. “You fixated on a romance from ten years ago, and I’m still the one who shared a home with hi-. Her.” Alois paused, lightly sighing while he opened the cover. His fingers traced the leather with care, a distraction if nothing else. “I mean, I got somewhere.”

His words stung like alcohol on a fresh wound. But he was right, to at least some extent. Ciel had been putting off his marriage to Lizzie for as long as he could remember, and her pure soul remained ever patient, simply waiting for Ciel to be ready. She wanted a happy marriage with him.

Ciel noticed the blond stumble over his words, a small smirk appearing on his lips. So it was a man he met. He turned on his heel, moving to take a seat on the purple velvet couch in front of the fireplace as he formed a rebuttal.

“And how did that go for you then, hm?” He prodded, leaning his chin into his palm as he stared into the fire. “If it had really gone somewhere, you likely would still be in France, would you not?”

“Well, that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?” The other Earl replied, putting the book back and wandering over to the fire himself. Picking up the fire poker, he stabbed into a log and watched the sparks fly. Something about it felt nostalgic. His glance shifted to the other man. “Men like us never find happy endings. Be it long life or otherwise.” 

A double-entendre spoke volumes. While they were both aware of their connection, they were also both keenly aware that they were only alive for revenge and anger, nearly demonic creatures themselves by the standards of the society surrounding them. Alois pushed a hand through his hair. “The home is shared with another now, so I let them keep it. I’ll take it back after their life poisons the walls. Maybe tear it down.”

Ciel couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. “I see you still haven’t changed, even after all this time,” He stated bluntly, his words sharp. “Still destroying and abandoning everything you don’t like. Are you sure it’s been eight years?” He quietly scoffed.

He could taste the poison on his own words even as they left his mouth. But he knew deep down that, though the past eight years had been peaceful, they weren’t what he wanted. They were lonely. He grew to resent Alois for leaving him, even though he knew their options were limited. After nearly a decade, he was finally beginning to get used to his reality, and here he was again. Just as poisonous and beautiful as ever.

Alois let a smirk cross his lips. He knew that he was consistent, if nothing else. Though that consistency was tainted with flame and gasoline, it was that fire that kept him moving. He crossed the room to sit in the seat opposite his ex-lover. Placing his chin in his palm, his gaze found the other man’s. 

“Eight long years.” He repeated, looking a little more tired than usual admitting it. “I would’ve burned those two inside it if I had only the time.” Alois admitted under his breath, idly picking up the king on the chessboard and knocking over the queen with it.”I never get used to betrayal.”

Seeing that smirk on his lips sparked a feeling in Ciel’s stomach, one of longing and betrayal and anger.

“Was this all part of a plan of yours, then?” He spat, struggling to keep his composure as he had over dinner. “To just disappear for a decade, let me settle with my life as it is, and then turn up here again to tear it all down?” His voice almost cracked with his final word. He silently prayed Alois hadn’t heard it. Ciel cleared his throat, turning his head away and holding his head in his hand, fingers covering his mouth. “If you told me you controlled the weather, I just might believe it.”

Alois turned to anger at the suggestion that he wanted any of this to happen this way. He felt the fight coming from deep within, all the anger he felt for something that had only happened months ago. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be back in London in the first place. Had he controlled anything, he would have stayed. As much as he’d loved Claude when he was younger, that was also the demon that ripped apart his only known path to happiness. He swallowed a small amount of the venom about to cross his tongue. 

“What I wanted was a normal life! Claude wants you dead, remember?” He spat, taking a breath before speaking again. “And then I go away, find someone who’s willing to kiss me in our home, and they go and fall for some dumb blond whore who prowls my backyard! And to marry her-” He stopped again. Alois looked into the fire behind the man, wishing he’d set the French traitors ablaze. “If I can’t marry him instead, I can at least pretend I chose to leave.”

Ciel still refused to look at him, though he shuddered slightly at the sound of Alois raising his voice at him. Once his tangent had finished, Ciel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, and sat up straight, crossing his legs.

“Perhaps it’s time we both accept these are the lives we’re destined to lead.” He admitted quietly, despising the thought of it just as much as he believed it. “Forced to either be alone, or live a lie.” His eyes darted towards Alois’, not expecting for their gazes to lock. Cheeks flushing softly, Ciel stood from his seat, standing straight and strong as he looked down at Alois. This was his home.

“I won’t have any of your games during your stay here. Do you understand me?” Ciel spat in an accusatory tone. “I’ve moved on from this.” Lies. He could hear it in his own voice, all lies. “This is nothing more than a coincidence.” One that he had prayed for for years. “...Goodnight.” He turned on his heel, moving to exit the room before Alois could stop him.

Alois, in a reflexive motion, shook himself out of his shock and stood quickly. Before thinking it through, his hand reached out, snatching Ciel’s hand and holding tightly. It was the first time they’d touched in years, the first time at all as adults with lives and pasts that contradicted everything he felt in that moment. It was as if they were kids again, discovering themselves in late nights and bedsheets that cost too much to worry about the future. That was the beginning of it all, but in the back of his head, the blonde always knew it wasn’t the end when he looked back at London in the rear-view window. 

“Do you think I would’ve come back if I didn’t know that?” He accused, grasp tightening even more. Pleading entered his tone, an oddity. “I know it’s all a lie. My departure was a lie, Ciel. You’re the only thing in this world I want to protect and not kill. So I did that. Hell, I lied to Claude to come back here too.” He paused, making sure the other man was looking at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m doomed to repeat this pattern until I die. But I would do it a thousand times with you. Do you realize just how much I thought of you while I was gone?”

The pounding of his heart was so loud, he wondered if Alois could hear it. His legs felt weak, and he grasped Alois’ hand just as tightly without even realizing it. Ciel stared into the piercing blue eyes of his former lover, his favorite and most terrifying secret, wide eyed and stiff.

He thought of him. How many times did he think of him while with that other lover of his, he wondered. How many times did he close his eyes and pretend it was his hand he was holding, his lips he was kissing, his bed he was sharing.

My love.

Lizzie’s voice echoed through his mind, snapping him out of his trance. He ripped his hand away from Alois’ grasp, only to reach forward and grab him by the color of his dress shirt. “Do you know how terrifying that pattern of ours was? It was like playing chess with Satan himself, one wrong move and all of your secrets would be revealed, your life ruined.” He was nearly out of breath, staring deeply into Alois’ eyes. He missed being this close to him. “I can’t do it again, Alois, I-”

He stopped, composing himself. Releasing Alois’ collar, he turned away again. “...Sebastian should have given some of my old night clothes to your butler. I’m sure he’s waiting in your room now.” He lowered his voice in an attempt to hide its quivering. “I’m sure you remember where the spare room is. Goodnight, Mr. Trancy.”

And with that, he left, leaving Alois alone in the drawing room in front of a hot fire, the sound of rain beating violently against the window panes.

Once his collar was released, the man flung himself back into the chair behind him. Defeated for once and tired from the weight of his sins, he slouched into the back and stared up at the ceiling for a while. Time passed as he watched the shadows dance on the ceiling the way he wished he could. 

Terrifying, huh? His whole life was just that. Everything he loved, up in flames for reasons of his own or otherwise. He’d found it ironic when he read of the Phantomhive tragedy in the papers for the first time. Both held history born of fire and only one lived as though he wasn’t doomed to perish in it. Alois knew he lived his life on the edge, but if he were to stop and attempt to find stillness in the web he’d woven his whole life, the web would stop weaving. Over the years, it would simply fall apart, a cobweb of lies and missed opportunity. While boasting a similar lifestyle, only one of the two could ever be wealthy. Unlike his ex-lover, he couldn’t pretend to love someone he didn’t for the rest of his short, doomed life. Unlike Jean, he couldn’t give up his own selfish desires for stability and peace. 

He spent at least an hour in that crushing room, watching the fire crackle until it finally burnt out. He even attempted to read to calm himself down, a pursuit that proved pointless. Finally, he chose to walk to his room and wait until sunrise. Perhaps he could slip out in the darkness if it would just stop raining. However, as he walked down the hall, he crossed Ciel’s room as well. He stopped in the hall, looking around for a moment while he decided to follow his impulses. His pale hand reached out in the darkness to the knob, turning it with enough force to wake the other if he had even been asleep to begin with. As he opened it, he slipped in quickly, shutting the door behind him and pressing himself against the wood. 

“You do not speak to me that way.” He said, though his voice was unsure.

Ciel, now in his warmest robe and tucked away in bed, hadn’t fallen asleep since returning to his room. He was just nodding off, pushing away the intrusive thoughts that used to keep him awake eight years ago, only just returning.

Shaken awake by the sound of his door opening, he sat up quickly, clasping his hands over his robe to be sure he was covered. His eye, stained with the contract of a demon, glowed softly from beneath his bangs, piercing Alois’ gaze from across the room.

Realizing now who had entered his room, he calmed down slightly, but still felt threatened. He had been in this situation too many times before; Alois sneaking into his room to try and squeeze more love and affection from his body, doing things to him that put them both in such danger of being found out.

He narrowed his eyes, not moving from his position. “Leave my room.” He spoke sternly, but softly. The pounding in his chest returned, flooding his ears with thundering noise as another flash of lightning lit up his bedroom for a split second, followed by the boom of thunder that shook the walls. He shuddered again, grasping his robe tightly. “Get...out, Trancy..”

Alois shrunk against the door, reconsidering for only a second. It had been such a long time since either of them were even in the same room together that his tone sparked uncertainty. But he quickly regained his rage enough to overpower it. 

“Absolutely not!” He gritted through clenched teeth. “You are not sleeping unti-” Cut off by thunder and Ciel’s remarks, he was brought to pause and without thinking, he walked closer to the bed in the center of the room. He sat at the end, recognition on his face of the other’s fear. The man looked out the window to watch another crack of lightning as it lit both their faces. Either he had forgotten or he had never known about this fear of his. Taken by concern, Alois’ gaze wandered back to Ciel’s as another crack of thunder rolled. Silence overtook the moment once the shaking passed through the manor. It was as if the building was an extension of the men’s thoughts itself, crushing and yet so empty, awaiting the next crash. 

“I… left for you. And I came back for you. And who knows, in the years, we could both be dead. I don’t want to spend that time pretending I didn’t know you.” He said softly, pleading now. It was the first sense of caution that seeped into his voice regarding the subject. He absolutely knew where it could land them. “I didn’t even do that in France.”

“I don’t believe you..” Ciel interjected, leaning away against the headboard as Alois sat on the edge of his bed. “I.. I don’t believe you came back for me. For all you knew, I could have been married by now. Or sickly, or dead, or far away from here.”

It was challenging to keep his eyes locked on Alois’. His gaze desired to wander, taking note of how the moonlight cast shadows on the blond’s clothes and face. The way his hair fell in front of his eyes, in this dark bedroom where so many nights had been shared between the two of them, reminded him of everything.

“We.. We were boys, Alois..” He tried to convince himself, voice threatening to break. “We were just boys, we..” Gather yourself. “I’ll call for Sebastian if I must. Your butler is likely wondering where you are.” No matter how hard he tried, Ciel failed to be threatening when his butler was absent from his side. He was helpless, and he knew it. He was caught in this goddamn spider web again, waiting to be devoured. It was all too familiar, all too desirable, and just as terrifying as it was before.

Alois sighed, looking tired once again. At this older age, one could tell that this was a man who knew tragedy, no longer a scared little boy. His thoughts grew more complex as the summers grew shorter and the winters grew colder. Years of rejection and loss were beginning to catch up with him and it was only noticeable in the light of a chipped full moon. 

“And now we’re men. What of it?” He grumbled under his breath, looking back out the window. “That crossed my mind. I would’ve gone to your grave every day, or slept beside you to keep you warm, come up with some lie, or found my way back home.” He leaned into his lap, placing his chin in his hand quietly. “Claude just thinks I’m here to trick you. But what use of that?” He rolled his eyes at the idea of it, remembering the lies he was already stacking just to sit here at the end of the man’s bed. Doomed was the only way to put it, the web he wove years ago even pulling his own self back into its gravity. “Childish romance, innit? I only stayed with that man so long because he reminded me so much of…” He paused again, this time longer as he calculated just how much he wanted to reveal. “Sure, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure if you still felt anything, but you’re at least still real.”

Ciel was listening to every word that left Alois’ lips, he truly was. With every pause, he eagerly waited for what was coming next, hanging onto each syllable. As Alois described what he would have done, even if Ciel was sickly or bedridden or on the verge of death, Ciel pictured every moment. Truth be told, he would give anything to die by this man’s side. Some might say he’s too young to be dwelling so much on the thought of death, but Ciel disagreed. He didn’t fear it.

Relaxing slightly as he saw Alois’ guard falling, Ciel sat up more, leaning in Alois’ direction but not too closely. His heart sank. “He.. He reminded you of me.. didn’t he..” He spoke in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

He looked down into his lap, shaking his head slightly as he rubbed his contract stained eye. “Our lives would completely crumble if we were found out. Even if anyone caught wind of our past, our lives would end. You realize that don’t you?” His voice raised slightly, becoming angry at the idea that Alois simply didn’t care. “What would we do then, Trancy? You obviously must have all the answers, since you’re so determined to pick things up where we left them nearly ten years ago. I couldn’t live with myself if-” He paused, swallowing hard as another crack of thunder and lightning made him wince. “If anything happened to you..”

Alois laughed darkly to himself, lacking any of the confidence he held as a teen. The years had made him uncertain of himself. Letting his guard fall as he felt the moment soften, he again gazed out the window. 

“He reminded me of you, yes. And at least with you, I know that your marriage isn’t a betrayal. Hiding me in closets, calling me a cousin, covering up our fights and letting him tell everyone it was a family home and not me trying to fix all our past-” He rambled, primarily to himself. “I have none of the answers, Phantomhive. Absolutely none of them. And yet, I’ve already ended my own life at least three times. I’ve still got to live my life even though I could end it again. And if yours ends with mine for the fourth, I’d call curtain and sneak us off stage.” He paused, nodding once to himself. “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I can’t die alone. I know I live recklessly, but regardless, I just can’t stay away for long.” 

There it was. Alois had made a web and yet, caught himself inside it instead.

Ciel felt a smile creeping onto his face, but suppressed it. As romantic as the young man’s words were, this wasn’t something to be happy about. This was scary and dangerous and secretive. He had sworn to himself once Alois left that he would seal away this chapter of his life and take it to his grave. And yet, here he was, face to face with the same man he once knew as a boy, just as in love and just as longing.

And then, for the first time since they had run into each other in town, Ciel reached out to him. He gently laid his hand on top of the blond’s, still cautious and unsure. Every fiber of his being was telling him this was a bad idea, that going any further would trap him and send him spiraling once again, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He lightly intertwined their fingers, his eyes till averted to his own lap. This felt so familiar yet so foreign. “I.. can’t afford to live recklessly, Trancy.” He said quietly, wishing he was able to give a different answer. “If things were different, if I didn’t have Lizzie to look out for, if..” There was more he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. Well, he knew the words he wanted to say; three dangerous words that should only be saved for when you really mean it, three words that he could never truly say to Lizzie; but they wouldn’t come.

Feeling the touch on his own hand, Alois felt a lump form in his throat. He knew it was wrong - it was a secret everywhere they were to go. They could cross the sea, they could drift away into the evenings together and never have a moment of truth again. However, Alois couldn’t remember the last time he’d told the truth to anyone aside from right now. Something about his ex-lover made him feel real unlike anything else. He turned to the other man, taking in just how beautiful he was in the moonlight. A smile crossed his lips without him even realizing it. 

“Lizzie doesn’t even know we’re both on borrowed time. You remember that, right? Passion is the only thing keeping us alive. And I know the only passion you’ve felt lately is rage. Isn’t this better?” He persuaded, closing the distance between them by only an inch or two. “I spent eight years wishing I was right here. Do you feel the same about her?” His smile grew soft, betraying the true warmth he felt for the other man in front of him. “We can keep the nights. Maybe the weekends. Holidays, here and there. I’ll play family friend just as I always do. I don’t have family pressuring me to marry. I can play along.”

His face grew hot as Alois moved closer, just inches away now. Ciel lightly squeezed his hand, eyes darting to his lips and then back to his eyes. He let out a breath.

“I.. love Lizzie. I do. Not in the way she wants me to but, she’s important to me Trancy..” He shook his head lightly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. “I.. I thought you were never going to come back. I thought I’d never see you again, be here, like this, again.” He was rambling now, unable to keep his thoughts straight. Another flash of lightning made him jump, his own forehead now resting against Alois’, skin hot and flushed.

How many nights over those eight years had he dreamt of this exact moment; the two of them, close and intertwined, basking in the moonlight under the soft silk covers of his bed, their bed, living as if no one else existed. He missed him. He didn’t know how much until now. Ciel would kill anyone who hurt Alois Trancy, he’d do it himself. The world was against them and he knew it, as painful as it was to admit.

“I missed you so badly..” He blurted out, forgetting for a moment he wasn’t locked inside a dream. Ciel’s eyes widened slightly, looking up into the sky blue eyes of his lover, cheeks flushing as he contemplated if he had really spoken the words aloud.

Seizing the moment, the blonde raised a hand to rest against the back of his lover’s head, playing with his hair. Though he poised himself as put together and sure, in this moment he was the exact opposite as the thunder cracked outside. He was embarrassed at his own gentleness for this man, this dumb, cruel, and yet perfectly matched partner. It was as if the world existed outside of them and only outside of this room. 

“I know.” He whispered, “because I never went to bed without you somehow…” He trailed off, pulling the other in impossibly close, so much so that their lips brushed while he spoke, “so stupid, thinking he’d just be you one day…” 

With that, their lips met in reunion as if there were magnets that tied them together indefinitely. Somehow, he knew he’d always end up back here. Jean was but a continuation of their story. A chapter left dusty in the attic as years went by and time passed, certainly. Jean was also a preview of what was to come in the future, but as he lost himself in this dream, that didn’t matter. It might matter tomorrow, or next week, but not right now. Minutes passed by, a pregnant pause that the world seemed to give them, just them. It was as if the universe was going to find them pauses in life so they could at least enjoy some of their lives happily. A moment lost in many, an absence of absence. 

If anyone saw them, they could both be killed. Alois knew that he would take that bullet, he would allow that wound. The only person he could ever fathom caring about in this way. Even Jean couldn’t have said that.

As the blond man’s lips met his own, every muscle in Ciel’s thin body seemed to release. He melted into the arms of his lover, his one hand refusing to let go of Alois’ while the other gently came up to rest on the other’s shoulder.

A million images and memories flew through Ciel’s mind; every night they spent together in their youth, all lips and teeth and tongue and sickeningly sweet whispers of their love for one another. A secret kept by their servants and kept from the rest of the world. Never once in those eight years did Ciel feel at home in this monstrous manor, not even with Lizzie seated by his side. But here, in this kiss and this embrace, he felt nothing but comfort, he felt right.

Pulling away slightly, the two caught their breath, still embracing one another and showing no signs of letting go. Ciel’s hand ran gently from Alois’ shoulder to the back of his neck, as if worried he would lean away and be gone forever once more.

“Stay..” He whispered, all needy and wanting. “I dreamt of this. I looked to the sky and prayed to a God who had never answered me before. Don’t leave me now..” He shut his eyes, their noses rubbing together gently. “Stay..”

The man chuckled softly, allowing himself to be caught in this embrace despite everything that would normally cause him pause. Somehow, it did feel right to both of them. If the world were more allowing, he knew that this is how they were meant to live life. He nodded. 

“I’ll stay here tonight.” He confirmed. “And I’ll cover for us in the morning…” He sighed, pulling himself away to lay beside Ciel’s spot on the bed, never once breaking contact completely and keeping him by the hand. “I am really quite tired, y’know..” he admitted, closing his eyes and tugging on his lover’s arm to pull him into the crevice of his shoulder. “But don’t think it was God who finally answered us.” He opened his eyes slightly to look over at Ciel, “God wouldn’t torture us this way. We’re damned. But if we’re to sell ourselves to demons, I’ll live in sin.” He paused, smiling to himself. “And isn’t that just our brand of sick happiness anyway?”

Following his lead, Ciel laid back into the soft pillows of his bed, curling up against the curve of Alois’ side, his head resting on his chest. He listened to his heart beating hard, just as hard as his own, and he felt comforted.

“I suppose you’re right,” He whispered. “As much as I hate admitting it.” He released a puff of air from his nose as he stifled a chuckle, tilting his head to look up at the man from his past and from his dreams. Ciel leaned up, holding his cheek in the palm of his hand as he directed him to another soft kiss, lingering for a moment to savor the taste of him again.

In his gut, Ciel knew this couldn’t end well. Even if they were able to keep this up for the next twenty years, they would never be able to fully embrace each other without facing the disgusted wrath of others. But for now, just in this moment, none of that mattered. Whatever was coming, he would deal with it when it confronted him. 

His eyes closed as he laid his head back down without another word. He felt he could sleep for an eternity in Alois’ arms like this, and for now, that’s what he would do.

Finally satisfied with his return, the man pulled his lover close in the dark of the night. Silently, he knew it to be a fact that this would be all their lives - darkness, silence, and secrecy. Of course, he didn’t enjoy that fact either. It could end in flames. It could end in losing everything they had and they could never share a home or a life truly. One day, Ciel would marry another and the lies would have to find a way to cover them up again. Their whole life would be a web of lies and sneaky ploys, sneaking away from events just to share a kiss in celebration for life events. And one day, he’d need a new reason to spend the night in Ciel’s arms. Despite this, the blonde fell fast asleep beside the other, tied in the silence of the dark and forgetting the fog he’d fought to get there.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

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Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.  

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

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“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

---

[siderealxmelody]

Havani: The Revolutionary

@nptperfect-indadseyes

@waywardlightbearer

@aprincess-and-herknight

@fallcnintohell

@charmed-redemption

Havani was no one. A young jinni of a forgotten clan. But then again, all the clans has more or less been forgotten. The royal family was what was important.

Shah Iblis was on the throne now. He had been foretold by the Harab Serpel fo bring peace and unity to their people.

For a time it seemed like he had.

When he wrestled control from his deranged nephews and killed them the people cheered. Iblis had stopped the civil war between loyalists to each brother from escalating.

But his tactics to remain in control didn't seem like something that a good Shah would do. He silenced critics and seemed more interested in wanting to forge relationships with angels and demons, than help his own people.

Restless grew among Havani's clan and neighboring states. It was by chance that Havani went with his father to the Capital, he had always wished to go. His father had raised him on stories of the City of Brass's beauty and people.

However, what he was saw was nothing from his stories. He saw crumbling buildings and tired people. But it's not like they could do anything. Their life was subject to the Shah's whims. He was blessed by Sibling, no other leader was. So they would need to make due.

The spark of fire in him flared. He felt a warmth spread through him and his father met his eyes.

"You have found your Purpose Havani. What is the Purpose that Sibling has shared with you?"

"To change. They wish I change it all."

Havani's father nodded and patted his shoudler as they continued into the city. Havani wasn't sure he had a Faith in Sibling anymore. What type of God allowed for this to happen? Still, he would keep it outwardly if only to achieve his goal - a world made for and by jinn. A world where royalty was a thing of the past.

For the next two decades he wormed his way to the top. He met with palace officials and Palis jinn - jinn who were the property of the palace for crimes they or their great great grandparents. Only allowed freedom if they were fourth generation or more removed.

He would do away with such things. He fell for a young Palis jinni named Opal. Palis jinn were given names of gemstones, not allowed a proper name.

She asked him one night what he would name her. He shook his head, it was up to get to find a name. He wouldn't - couldn't choose it for her.

Finally the day had come. He launched a surprise coup taking the palace and killing anyone loyal to the old regime.

The Harab Serpel was killed, their energy was ripped from them and their bodies hung from the palace turrets. There would be no more belief in false gods.

Iblis and his family fled to the mortal world. And Havani lead his fellow jinn in a chase after them. For five years they searched finally finding them in a small suburban neighborhood.

Havani gave Iblis an ultimatum death or humanity. Iblis and his wife decided humanity. At least this way their children would stay alive.

Havani nodded and took their power leaving them alone. Though he warned them, any rumors of Iblis trying to grab power back and they would all die.

For good measure he put a sigil on their hearts - any jinn always be able to find them.

Havani came back a hero, showing his people Iblis's bloody power. He told his people what was to happen. The power wouldn't go to waste. It would go to power a generator - they would rely on themselves alone.

No more would they be at the mercy of humans, angels, or demons.

The jinn around him cheered. They would finally be free.

That night Opal told him the name she had chosen for herself - Rata, meaning flower. Havani thought it fit her perfectly.

The next day they got married before the people on the steps of the palace. A marking of a new age, an age of equality not oppression.

[asymetra]

Proselytize

Artemisia is a wallflower at university and a burgeoning humanist.  She has dyslexia and chooses to go by her middle name, Rose.

An excerpt from Truth and Roses

Sunny California wasn’t always sunny along the coast.  Often, low clouds from the ocean rolled in, hit the hills, and sat there; except this afternoon.  Like many students, Rose, with liberally applied sun cream, laid on the grass enjoying the sun’s warmth.  The bright sunlight made it near impossible to see tablet screens, unless one was lucky enough to get some space under a shady tree - of which, Rose was not one.  Her broad hat provided shade, but reflected off the screen making it impossible to see so she was charging her tablet with a portable solar panel.  She actually spent time reading a school book - well, trying, the words were a jumble - and angling it in the shade of her broad hat so the bright sunlight didn’t reflect off the page into her face.

She hadn’t spoken to any other students in the three weeks she’d been at University.  No one commented on her first name or her age.  She wasn’t the tallest person for her age, but there were plenty of older students shorter than her.  She felt she had more free time here, but the workload was high.  She didn’t see how some people took up to six or even seven classes, always looking frazzled and rushing from class to class, then throwing a demanding social life into the mix.  She couldn’t do it.  She had the luxury of time.

She put the book away and just leaned back onto her backpack and closed her eyes.  She adjusted her hat to cover her face.  She was in a near doze when, “Eh hem.”  Betsy from her art class was looming over her.  Doesn’t she know about personal space?

“Hi.  Mind if I join you.”  She sat down facing Rose.

You just did.  “Uh… Sure.  I guess.”  Rose sat up, curled her legs underneath her, and arranged her skirt to radiate around her, placing her backpack between them as she put her book, phone, tablet and solar panel away.  She left the bag there.

“I’m Betsy.  We’re in art class together.”

I know.

Betsy extended her hand to shake, holding it palm down.

Rose righted it as she took it and gave it the expected shake.

“Artemshya, right?”

She can’t even say my name properly.  Rose resisted the urge to correct her.  “I prefer Rose.”

“Oh yes.  Houdini’s girl.  I know about him.  He was famous for breaking out of things and fooling people with magic.”

“He was a famous escape artist,” Rose said. “And knowing magic tricks gave him an edge when looking for deceptive practices by spiritualists.”  She cringed inwardly.  Betsy was the religious girl.  It was being reflected in her art.  Why did I just give her an inroad to talk about religion?

“Spiritualism, with fake pictures of spirits and funny seances lifting tables.  Like any of that was real.  I want to talk to you about our Lord Jesus?”

Why me?  “Sorry, I already know all about Christianity.”

“Oh!”  She smiled.  “Then you can join us at Christian Campus.”  She pulled out a pamphlet and offered it to Rose.  Rose took it politely.  “We have organizations at schools all across the nation and welcome members of all faiths.”

“Even Jewish?”

“Jews for Jesus.  Certainly.  Are you Jewish?  You don’t look Jewish.  I don’t mean to offend.”

Of course not.

“I have a tract here for you.”  Betsy began rooting through her bag.  “We are all believers of The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

“I’m not Jewish.”

“Oh, phew.  Are you Mormon?”

“And do you have a tract in there for me?”

“Certainly.”  She began rooting again.

“Except I’m not Mormon.”  She thought of fooling with Betsy, but then decided not to.  She recalled the words of James Randi, Be kind.  “Look, to be honest, I don’t believe in the Christian god any more than you or I believe in the gods of the ancient Greeks, Romans, Norse, or Egyptians.”

“None of those gods were ever real.  They were just mirrors of their culture, what with making war and adultery, they were just made up tales of human endeavors.  But God doesn’t possess those human traits.”

“God gets angry and jealous,” Rose countered.  “Those are very human traits.”

“They are divine traits bestowed upon mankind when he breathed life into Adam.”

“What about when Hera gets mad at Zeus for cheating on her?  Is that jealousy and anger not divine?”

“It might seem like it, but it’s not.  We inherited divine traits from god.  They get filtered through the human soul into our minds – which are not capable of handling such divine emotions – and we passed them on as human traits to false gods and idols.  We don’t even experience the full capacity of god’s divine emotions.”

“Couldn’t god have just made us capable of handling such divine emotions?  He is all-powerful.”

Betsy said, “Our souls can, but the limits of the flesh prevent us from experiencing it.”

“I see,” said Rose.  “I think it would be nice to have a god that was more human than not.”

Betsy god excited, “Oh!  But He is!”

Rose already knew the answer, but asked anyway, “How so?”

“Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.  He came down from Heaven and lived as a human.  He died on the cross for our sins so that we can be saved.”

Rose had heard it all before.  How had this not sounded so foolish then as it does now?  “How can god be human and not human?”

“Through the trinity.  God the Father is separate from his Son, Jesus Christ.

“But aren’t they the same?  ‘I and the Father are one.’”

“John 10:30. Yes, you understand.”

“How can something be the same and different?”

“The trinity is like a tub of ice cream.”

What?  “You mean like pistachio ice cream?”

“Yes.  The ice cream is god and the pistachios are the father, the son and the holy ghost.”

So, Jesus is nuts?  Betsy really didn’t see the implications.  “And together all the nuts and the ice cream itself make up the flavor that is the Trinity.”

“Yes.”  Betsy nodded.

She’s really not seeing it.

“Through Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior, God gathers all believers to his abiding love in Heaven where eternal happiness awaits us all.  All you have to do is believe.”

To forestall the coming invitation to accept Jesus, Rose asked, “And what happens to those who don’t.”

“They go to Hell where they burn in a lake of Sulphur and demons torture them for eternity.”

You forgot to mention the pitchforks.  “But aren’t the demons supposed to be tortured for disobeying god as well?”

“Their separation from God is torture in itself.  They know God exists, whereas we can only believe.  Belief and knowledge are not the same thing.  And the knowledge of their eternal separation from God is the torture itself.  God only requires faith from us.”

You’re treating faith like knowledge.  “So, the demons and Satan can never enter heaven?”

“No.”

“But didn’t Satan enter heaven to make a bet on whether Job would curse god?”

Betsy hesitated.

Got you.

“God is everywhere, so Satan wouldn’t have to go to Heaven to see God.”

Damn those weird rationalizations.  She had rationalized things to fool herself and justify her beliefs and excuse peoples’ actions.  She smiled inwardly.  “Then isn’t god in Hell where the demons reside?  If he’s everywhere, then he’s in Hell.”

Betsy paused.  So did Rose.  “He’s everywhere except in the hearts of those who are disobedient and don’t believe in him.”

And the dodge.  “Demons have hearts?”  This was a new one to her.

“Not in a physical sense, but in a spiritual sense.”

Rose shifted, moving away just a little.  She finally knew just how stupid she sounded during her deconversion.  She was going to thank Connie when she got home.

“God is important to us all, whether we accept it or not.  He is coming and we need to prepare ourselves and remain blameless before him.  We need to prepare the world for His arrival, so He can establish His Kingdom on earth.”

If her brains were ink, she couldn’t dot an ‘i’.  Rose just asked, “When will that be?”

“No one knows,” she shook her head gravely, then perked up, “But it will be soon.” It’s always soon. “What will god’s kingdom be like?”

“After the Time of Tribulation, when God returns and overthrows the Antichrist, he will establish a heavenly city upon earth and make earth his new throne.”

“City?”

“Heavens, yes!” Betsy nodded vigorously.  “It will be fifteen hundred miles on all sides.”

“All sides?  Even up?”

“Yes!  It will have streets of gold.  Buildings made from platinum with diamond windows.  Ruby lampposts and silver sidewalks.  Everything will be made with emeralds and sapphires, and every precious gemstone imaginable and even more that we can’t imagine.  You can move in all directions, even up.  You won’t need elevators or airplanes.  Just will it and you will just rise into the air.  Kings and princes will serve God’s favored people.”

“The Jewish?”

“Heavens no,” she looked incredulous.  “They killed God’s son and will burn in hell for their transgression.”

Rose adjusted her legs, not quite finding comfort on the soft grass.  There was more wrong with that statement, and this whole conversation, than Rose could – or was willing to – address in the short time she was willing to put up with this moron.  Hey, she thought, an m short of Mormon.  Betsy’s racism and bigotry were appalling, but Betsy was completely unaware of it.  She felt worse for having believed much of the same tripe herself.

She pulled out her water bottle and swilled it around her mouth before spitting it to the side.  “Sorry, I just got sick in my mouth.”  She put the water bottle away.  “Look, Betsy, you’re a very fine person.” F’d up, insecure, neurotic emotional. “But I’ve already been down that road.  It messed me up.  I’m still recovering from what I suffered and I never want to be subjugated to it again.  I cherish knowledge, but was never allowed to ask real questions.  That never seemed right even when I believed in what you believe in.”  Her gaze wandered to anywhere Betsy wasn’t.

“Don’t hate god for what agents of Satan have done to you.”

This is a FINE – F*** It Never Ends – situation she was in.  “I can’t hate something that doesn’t exist.  And those agents?  They were well-intended Christians who lied to me about who they were and who I was.  I was abused and violated.”

“It’s all part of God’s plan for us,” Betsy appealed.

Rose cocked her head in disbelief, her eyes firmly planted on Betsy.  She was bowed up now!  “Rape?”

Betsy nodded.  “We cannot know the mind of God.  He sees the big picture where we cannot.”

Betsy had blown her chance to back off.  Rose stood up and swung her backpack onto her shoulder.  “Thanks a lot.  That makes is all okay now.  He was only fulfilling god’s plan by planting god’s seed inside me.  O cum all ye faithful, in righteous enjoyment.  I’m sure glad he never suffered for it.  Wouldn’t want to punish someone for doing god’s righteous work. Thanks.  I can see now that it was Righteous Rape.”

“Just look in your heart,” Betsy pleaded, “and you will find God waiting there.”

“God doesn’t exist in the hearts of non-believers.  Remember?”

“You once believed.  He’s still there waiting for you.”

“Not any more.  I gave up believing in myths.  Excuse me, I have a class to attend,” she lied.  What she really wanted was a shower.  Just talking with this box of rocks made her feel soiled.  Rose turned her back on the dimwit and walked away without so much as a glance back.  She crumpled the pamphlet and threw it in a trash can as she passed.

There were greater dangers to redheads sitting out in the sun than skin cancer.

[hazelmariewrites]

The Witch’s Burden: Chapter One

I’ve edited chapter one for draft two and I decided to share this snippet with you guys! Of course this might not be the same as the final product, but I’m happy enough with where it stands now to put it out into the world.

***

This fairy is being a huge pain in my ass. I know she did it—I can feel her guilt undoubtedly burning through my senses. I can also feel her trying her hardest to charm me, but the interrogation room had has prepped with iron in anticipation of this. There was a law passed years ago prohibiting the use of iron handcuffs on fey, but nothing saying that we couldn’t keep it in the room to weaken their resolve.

To anyone else she would seem harmless. Her petite body, blonde curls, and big brown eyes give off no hints of danger. Unfortunately for her, she reeks of fey. I had recognized it before I even laid eyes on her. The euphoric sensation, smell of lilac, and glittery haze had enveloped me as soon as I stepped foot into the coffee shop where she had been working in an attempt to pass as human.

My intuition is a unique ability that has fostered success as a detective at the Chicago Supernatural Police Department. Most witches have a specific skill that they are more gifted with than others, but a few—myself included—find themselves further equipped. I’m able to recognize other supernaturals, and different breeds present themselves to me in different ways. 

“I know you’re just doing your job,” the fairy says, “but I didn’t do it. I loved him, and my heart is broken by what happened to him.”

Her eyebrows pull together, and her eyes immediately begin to fill with false tears. A man had been found dead of apparent suicide on the upper East side, but the CSPD had reason to believe that there was supernatural involvement. When I discovered that his girlfriend was a fairy, it made sense. Fey are notorious for jealous violence.

“What did he do to deserve it?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat. “Was he seeing someone else on the side? Forget your anniversary?”

She shakes her head solemnly, but I can feel her anger boiling, so I continue. “Maybe he just got bored, then. Human men have the shortest attention spans, don’t they?”

I felt a shift, and her tears immediately stop. I push harder. “Maybe he never even loved you. Maybe he was just using you.”

Her face twists into a horrible expression as she begins to scream furiously. “He brought it on himself! I did everything for him. I broke laws to give him his dreams, and he repaid me by leaving! He thought he could do better! He’s better off dead!”

I sit back and let my shoulders slump in exhausted relief. She continues to scream as the door to the interrogation room opens and two uniformed officers unchain her to escort her to a cell. Jack comes over the intercom, “Good job Rebecca. Meet me in my office.”

Jack is my captain and mentor. When I first joined the CSPD seven years ago I was a meek, self-conscious girl with little knowledge about Chicago’s supernatural population. I knew only that there was a side of myself that I needed to attend to, and Jack helped me do just that. Jack himself was a warlock, so he took me under his wing. He helped me fine tune my abilities and grow into a half-decent witch and detective. 

When I get to Jack’s office the door is cracked open, so I knock lightly as I push it open further. He’s sitting at his desk, his head bent over a scattering of paperwork. As I enter his head shoots up. “Rebecca,” he greets, pushing the papers aside. “Congratulations on cracking that fairy. I was starting to worry, but I don’t know why. Doubting you never seems to do me any good.”

I smile with pride at his comment. Jack and I have butted heads a few times as I’ve been working to find my place at the department, but ultimately I’ve earned his trust. He stands and motions to the door, shoving the paperwork into his bag.

“Let’s go to Len’s,” he says, referring to our usual bar. I nod in agreement and follow him out. It’s well into fall, which means that it’s cold as hell outside. I zip up my puffy coat as we step out onto the street, but it does little against the biting wind.

“It’s a damn good thing Len’s is only a block away,” I grumble, earning a laugh from Jack. Jack’s best skill is fire, and as a result he’s able to warm himself with little trouble. I feel a wave of heat as he extends his magic to me. “Thank you,” I sigh in relief.

When we reach Len’s I’m glad to see that it’s namesake is nowhere to be found. The owner of the bar runs a tight ship, but when he’s gone our favorite bartenders sometimes give us special deals for being easy customers. We slide into our favorite booth just as a leggy brunette comes up to greet us.

“Hey there you two,” she says, grinning down at me. Shit. Bailey. I was supposed to call her after our date last week. I try to give her a genuine smile, but I’m worried that it comes across as more of a grimace. I’m not good at awkward situations, or at hiding my true emotions. 

Jack and I both order the same beer, as tall as we can get them. When Bailey walks away, Jack glares at me. “I see the tension, kid. Don’t you dare ruin this bar for me.”

I wave him off. “It’s not a big deal, I’ll call her later.” Jack rolls his eyes but doesn’t push me further. We talk about the fairy case for a while until Bailey brings us our beer. She hovers for a moment, but when she realizes that I’m not going to explain myself—at least, not in front of Jack—she finally leaves.

“Here’s the thing, Rebecca,” Jack says after a long drink. “I didn’t just ask you here because you did a good job today, although you did. A damn good one, actually.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. “There’s another case, and I’d like you to take charge on this one.”

Color me interested. “Go on,” I prompt, taking a drink from my own beer.

“There was a vampire attack in Logan Square last week,” he explains. “There had been several disappearances in the area, so now we’re starting to wonder if there’s a connection. If there is, we need to follow it and find the missing people.”

“You had me at vampire,” I say darkly. Jack knows my thoughts about vampires, as well as the reasoning, which I’m sure is why he’s chosen me for the case. He knows I’ll do just about anything to take down a bad vampire.

“That’s my girl,” Jack says, holding out his glass. I touch mine to his and we both take a long drink. “Aaron, the rookie, is the one who came across the vampire on a patrol. Maybe talk to him, and of course interview the vampire.”

I press my lips together. I don’t love the idea of being in such close quarters with a vampire, but I’ve done it before. In fact, the last time I checked I had the highest number of vampire arrests at the precinct. Not that I discriminate—I’ve never arrested one who didn’t wholly deserve it. My ranking is purely due to the fact that I’m one of the only ones in our department who has the guts to face off to a vampire in the first place.

Jack and I finish our beers and order another round as we discuss other things. I talk about a concert I went to see a few days ago, and Jack tells me about his great-great-grandson’s first spell casting. Family is important to Jack, especially as he’s getting older. At three-hundred and sixty-two years old he only has about another century and a half left in him. 

I’m the first to leave, citing Mike, my dog, as an excuse. I do have to get home to feed him, but I’m also ready to crawl into bed and process everything that’s gone on today. Jack gives me the stack of papers he was reading when I got to his office. They’re all articles about the disappearances. I take them eagerly and leave the bar. I barely make it a few hundred feet outside before I hear Bailey calling my name.

I stop, curse to myself, and turn around. Great, she’s chasing after me. I was really hoping she would just give up so we wouldn’t have to have this conversation. The smile on her face makes my chest constrict.

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she says, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat. She looks adorable, her nose just starting to turn pink from the cool air.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just been a long day.”

“Is that why you haven’t called me?” she asks. “Lots of long days?”

I sigh and shift on my feet. “Look, Bailey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you but I’m just not good at this, okay? I’m not good at relationships. I should have told you that sooner.”

Her smile starts to fade. “Oh,” is all she says.

“You’re amazing,” I assure her. “It’s nothing to do with you. I just have a lot going on and I should have known better than to start something I couldn’t follow through on.”

Bailey’s face pinches, like she’s holding back whatever emotion really wants to show through her features. “Yeah, you should have,” she says before turning to walk back to Len’s. I think about calling out to her, but I don’t. What’s the use? Instead I turn the opposite way and start back off toward my apartment.

Before I can even fully open the door to the one-bedroom where I live, Mike shoves his nose through the opening and pushes it the rest of the way. He jumps up, hovering on his hind legs in greeting. I smatter him with scratches, kisses, and sweet names before pushing past him to enter the living room.

My apartment isn’t fancy, but the fact that I’m able to even afford anything in a safe neighborhood on my CSPD salary is nothing short of a miracle. It took a lot of research, negotiation, and meditating with my green aventurine gemstones.

I microwave leftovers, because I don’t have the same affinity for heat that Jack does, and settle in the floor in front of my coffee table to dig into the food as well as the stack of papers that Jack gave me. The articles are all similar. Since crime isn’t at all unusual in Chicago, the first article details three people—two women, one man—missing from the area. If gives the basic run down of who they are and why they were in the area, and goes on to pose theories about what could have happened. They propose that maybe this is the product of gang initiation, or that maybe the disappearances are drug related. As the count rises, however, the articles gradually steer toward the conclusion that this is a case of serial kidnapping.

The disappearances span over only three months, making them hard to ignore. The Chicago Police Department—the vanilla one—has continually insisted that they cannot make any statements at this time without putting the case in jeopardy. That’s code for they don’t have shit. They only advise that people be cautious, travel in groups, and don’t spend time in the area if they don’t have to.

The kidnappings only take place at night. Of course they do, because vampires are burned by sunlight. It’s one of the classic myths about them that actually turns out to be true. They can eat all the garlic they wish and have no aversion to silver, but one step into the daylight and that’s it.

I take a too-big bite of an egg roll before standing and going to my book shelf. I run my index finger across the many spines until I land on a book that Jack gave me when I was still in training. Vampyrica: A History of the Living Dead.

I sit on my couch with my back against an arm and open the book as Mike jumps up and settles in at my feet. I thumb through the various chapters, looking for anything that might give me an idea of how the vampires are managing the kidnappings. Vampires don’t age, vampires have no reflection, vampires do not turn into bats…

Certain vampires, though few in number, have the ability to compel their victims into following their commands. These vampires are often high leaders, as their ability makes it easier for them to feed and become stronger.

I dog ear this page and slip the book into my work bag, planning to question our vampire about his coven’s leader and their abilities. Not that I can be sure he’ll share much.

It’s not that I’ve never partnered with double-crossers. In fact, I’d done so fairly recently when we were tracking a werewolf pack in the suburbs. It’s that I have a deep-rooted distrust and hatred toward vampires that’s been fermenting for twenty-three years. Something that I’ve never even considered budging on.

I’m the one who found my parents afterward. I knew something was wrong, but was too young to realize how exactly I knew. Looking back, I recognize that my intuition began at an early age. I felt wrong, and I wanted my parents’ comfort, so I went looking for them. They were in the kitchen. Their bodies were sprawled across the floor.

I called out to them. They didn’t answer. I approached them, and I’ll never stop wishing I hadn’t. I screamed before running upstairs to my room. I hid for what must have been hours, then remembered what they had told me to do if they were ever hurt or if someone broke into the house. It took a while to build up the courage, but eventually I sprinted to the wall phone in the hallway and called 9-1-1.

I lived with my grandmother after that. Before, I hadn’t gotten to see her much. I know now that it’s because my father wanted to keep me sheltered from our heritage. He himself was not a warlock, because in our family it’s only women who have the gift. He knew enough, however, that he and my mother had decided before I was born that they didn’t want my grandmother’s influence around me. I can’t imagine the life I would have lived if they hadn’t died.

I open my eyes and groan, frustrated that I can’t seem to clear my negative thoughts. Mike lifts his head and gives me a concerned expression. I lean over to give him a reassuring pat, then force myself off the couch to clear up my mess. In the kitchen I brew a sleeping potion, knowing that I’ll need quality sleep to prepare for the day ahead.

Tag list: @clarissalopeswriter@cloudyskycloudymind @snowdropwrites @writerfromthesea@vhum @blueinkblot 

[bapyess1r]

Sum’n Bitch: pt3

|2 years later…|

“Why won’t you just tell me what to do, Steph? Just tell me! I’ll do whatever you want. But I will not let you treat me like a damn carpet. That I won’t go through again.” I could hear my father say behind the door. I looked over at Nicole and sighed.

“Do you think they’re gonna get a divorce?” She asked me. I shrugged.

“It’s possible…” I frowned.

“Good. Then I won’t have to have a freak like you for a sister.” She snarled, turning on her heel to go to her room.

2 years ago, I got in trouble for making Nicole bald. My father and her mother went out to dinner to discuss our punishment. Instead of discussing punishment, they ended up talking about each other’s lives and found that they were kinda similar. They continued talking for a while and they soon began to date. Knowing my father, he’d propose to her once they reached a year. He moves quickly that way. My sweetheart of a father. He fell for Stephanie’s elegance and humor. She fell for his strong arms and big heart. The thing about my dad was that he was always there to listen to you and regardless of whether you wanted to talk or not, he managed to get it out of you and make you feel better. Stephanie was a good cook and was pretty. Overtime, she would take Nicole and I shopping for dresses to go to formals and dinners. She didn’t like the fact that I did magic though. Throughout my school years, I had gotten stronger and started practicing physical magic like binding, immobilization, telekinesis, false memory; but the trouble came as I practiced levitation… This particular night, I was practicing levitation on myself. I had gotten the hang of levitating simple things like books, pencils, dressers…. my bed even; so I decided to try it out. I sat on my bed, crossing my legs and whispering incantations, white candles lit all around me. I focused on my breathing and relaxed my muscles, thinking to myself “light as a feather” repeatedly. The words spilled past my lips like a prayer. It was quiet and peaceful…..until I heard her scream.

“OH MY GOD! MOOOOOM!!!!” Nicole was hollering bloody murder, running down the halls. My heart was pounding and I was terrified. I didn’t want anybody to find out anything yet. Especially my father. I flopped on the bed from midair and ran after her.

“Christ, Nicole, what is it?” Stephanie asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, my dad looking at me with worry. This happened often, Nicole telling on me. However, tonight felt different. This wasn’t any regular terrorizing moment….

“Maya’s a freak! Mom we can’t stay here anymore! She’s a demon! She’s possessed- fuck I don’t know! Something’s not right with her!” She cried grabbing my father’s arm.

“Dad I’m not-”

“She was floating above her bed just now!” She shouted.

“Steph-”

“She’s a devil worshipper, mom!” She said and I began to panic.

“Daddy, help me!” I cried, hyperventilating uncontrollably. I shook my head as I backed away, the ground beginning to shake like an earthquake. I was terrified. Nicole latched onto Stephanie and screamed. My father tried his best to get us to calm down so he could quickly think of an evacuation plan. But once I stopped crying and my anxiety calmed, the ground stopped vibrating. I looked at my family with confusion and terror. I was genuinely afraid of myself.

“You did that? You did didn’t you?! I knew it! Mom see I told you! She worships Satan!” Nicole screamed, pointing at me.

“Nicole, relax. She’s not a devil worshipper.” My father said rushing to me, holding me close to large chest.

“Are you positive, Virgil?! She’s always got her head stuck in some weird leather book and it’s in a language I don’t understand!” She exclaimed.

“It’s not the bloody book of Satan!” I screamed.

“You guys I swear! You have to believe me!” She cried. “She was like four feet off her bed when I went in there! Candles were lit, there were a bunch of weird rocks out-”

“Daddy, they’re cleansing crystals!” I shouted.

“Ok that’s it! I’ve had enough of this.” Stephanie said pushing by us all to go upstairs into my room.

“Stephanie, what are you doing?!” I yelled, running after her. But my father paused me.

“Maya, stay right here.” He said running upstairs after her.

“Like hell I will!” I exclaimed, running up after them. By the time I had gotten to my room, the door closed in my face. I banged on the door until my fists hurt. “Don’t touch my shit!” I screamed. I could hear them shouting things that I couldn’t make out beneath the sound of clutter and movement. Then I heard something large hit the floor, causing a loud noise. I jumped. I was genuinely worried about what was happening behind my closed door.

“What are they saying?” Nicole asked sinisterly, instinctively I turned and punched her in the gut, not feeling even the littlest bit of guilt, before turning to place my ear to the door again.

“This is against God in every way, Virgil, and you just let her do this?!” I heard her shout.

“It’s books, candles, and a couple gemstones, Steph! What’s wrong with that?! She’s not hurting anybody!” I heard my dad defend me until his second marriage fell apart and that hurt my heart.

“So everything Nicole had been telling me was the truth and I didn’t believe her… I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to be against my own step daughter!” Stephanie yelled, rummaging through my things.

“So then don’t!” my father snapped.

“Spell books, Virgil?! Really?!”

“They’re white spells! They’re innocent!”

“Jesus Christ…” They went on like this until they stopped arguing about me and started arguing about each other. Nicole and I sat by the door until it opened. She would leave and come back when things sounded interesting but I stayed by the door faithfully. When it finally did, Stephanie looked at me with a never before seen look of hatred. “Nicole, pack your things. We’re leaving.” She said before walking away. The look on my father’s face was heartbreaking. I glared at Nicole with tears in my eyes.

“What did I ever do to you?” I croaked, trying my hardest to breathe. “I hate you….” With that, she stood and walked away, her lip trembling. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness. But I wasn’t alright after that… I turned to look at my dad and his eyes were filled with sadness as he looked back at me. I curled into a ball and began to cry. I didn’t do anything but why did I feel so guilty. I also felt slightly privileged to have a father that would accept me and protect me regardless of whether he was married or not. “Dad… I’m sorry…. I never meant to….”

“This wasn’t your fault, baby girl…. You have to believe that…” he told me, engulfing my small frame into his arms, kissing the top of my head. Even though he said that, I couldn’t believe it. I knew it was my fault. By the time Nicole graduated, she and Stephanie had moved out and I had transferred to a new school. We moved to the middle of Butt-Fuck-Nowhere, Kansas. I had to say goodbye to Louise and I cried a lot that day. I hated Nicole Healy for destroying everything good in my life.

|Lawrence, Kansas|

It was a week before my senior year began and we just moved into our new house. When junior year ended, it was the greatest gift I could’ve ever received. Being 19 was a breeze. My summer had come and gone rather quickly though. I had one year left to complete in an entirely new school. No one knew me at all. It was awful. I didn’t know anyone in Kansas. ‘What would I even talk about with these people?’ I thought as I decorated my new room with succulents and candles. I groaned at my new surroundings. It was nothing but farms and small town communities. Something like a fall postcard. Had my situation been a little different, I might’ve loved it. There was nothing interesting here. I set up my plants along the windowsill and hung up trinkets from the ceiling when the doorbell rang. I looked outside my window (just to be nosy) and saw the prettiest black car sitting in the driveway. The very same car that I begged my father for when I got my license but all I got was a stupid, beat up junkyard Ford truck. I almost didn’t notice my name being called whilst admiring its beauty. I looked in the mirror to fix my big, coily hair, adjusting my red checkered shirt as I made my way to the front door. I was greeted by a tall man with dark hair and a salt and peppered beard. He was tall with kind brown eyes and a friendly crest white smile played across his lips. Standing behind him was the most gorgeous pair of young green eyes that I had ever seen. His jaw was chiseled and he had short, classically spiked sandy blonde hair. His face bore a look of confidence and I also picked up hints of obnoxious cockiness. I didn’t know how to feel about that trait just yet. He was broad shouldered and his wide, muscular chest was covered by a thin grey tee shirt; his arms long and probably the size of my head. He was a bit shorter than the other man but I could tell he was at least 6 feet even….

“Maya. This is John and Dean Winchester. They’re our neighbors.” My dad said in a positively toned voice.

“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” The older man whom I believed was John put out a large hand for me to shake with a warm smile. Shyly I took it and shook. My eyes wandered to the 1967 black Impala but the younger one locked eyes with me, interrupting my train of thought and line of sight.

“Hiya, princess.” Dean smirked with a quick wink. He may have been cute but I could always smell trouble when it was presented to me and Dean Winchester was the epitome of trouble.

“Howdy…” I said, completely unamused by his greasiness. I tried once more to look at the Impala and he turned to see that I was ogling the vehicle.

“Y’know, it looks a lot better up close if you wanna check it out.” He said and I looked at him with a closed lip grin, nodding immediately. “After you…” He said gesturing the way. I looked at my father biting my lip and squeezed between John to run towards the shiny beauty.

When I got to it, I peaked my head inside to view the beige leather interior, smiling from ear to ear. I walked around it, admiring every dip and curve of its shape. “Is it yours?” I asked.

“Nah, she’s my dad’s. We work on her together.” Dean stated proudly, sitting on the hood of the car.

“She?” I asked raising my eyebrows.

“We call her Baby.” He chuckled.

“That’s hot.” I joked and he laughed.

“Yeah. It catches on.” He smiled. He was damn near a perfect human being. His eyelashes were long and brightened the seriousness in his eyes a bit. The cocky smile played across his smooth pink lips as he watched my hands slowly glide over Baby’s shiny black coat of paint. “You wanna ride?” He smirked. I whipped my head to look at him with widened eyes, my face burning red.

“Y-You mean the car right?” I stuttered. I was completely flustered. ‘Of course he meant the car, dumbass!’ I thought, mentally smacking myself for my stupidity as he hopped off the hood.

“What did you think I meant?” He grinned as he stood towering a whole extra head and shoulders above me. The wind blew, pushing my hair in different directions as I bit my lip hard, trying to think of something to say. I decided to just not answer the question.

“Hey dad! We’re gonna take a ride!” I shouted to my dad, jumping into the passenger seat of the Impala as he and John held their doorway conversation.

“Oh- ok. Be- Hey! Be safe! Wear a seatbelt!” He shouted.

“I know, daddy!” I chirped.

“Aye, Dean! Keep it under 80, buddy!” John yelled with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah!” He said as he pulled the keys from the front pocket his dirty jeans. He climbed inside and sat down with a grunt. He jammed the keys in the ignition and turned the volume all the way up on the radio, “Immigrant Song” blasting obnoxiously loud. I smiled and began to bounce up and down in my seat with excitement as I heard Baby purring beneath the music. I could feel the engine running from where I sat. “YOU ALL SET?!” He shouted above the music with a grand smile.

“HELL YEAH!” I chuckled.

“Hell yeah!” He laughed as he stepped on the gas.

We drove down the street at lightning speed. We may have been going a bit faster than 80. The wind blowing at my face, the roar of the car, the attractive company… I felt like my day was starting to turn around. During our adventure, we stopped at a gas station and bought a ton of snacks and a case of beer. “I won’t tell anybody.” He said to me with a toothy grin. We bonded over our choice of snacks: mini pies, bbq chips, the mini pizzas that you cook in the store; all the way down to the gummy bears and sour gummy worms. We took our snacks and drove all the way out to a secluded area by a lake where we decided to kick it and shoot the shit for a while. Dean and I got to know each other rather quickly. He wasn’t much older than me. Only 21. He loved his family. His face lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he brought them up. Like me, his mother passed away and I still remembered the sting when my mother took her own life. His mother passed in a fire though, which was arguably worse. However, I believe that losing a mother is the worst thing that could happen to a person in general. Our father’s were there though. And Dean had a brother about my age. He just recently went to college. He didn’t leave on the best of terms, but I could tell that Dean was still proud of him. I told him all about my interest in magic and that I was a witch in practice as I sat on the roof of the car with my legs crossed, devouring my cheese puffs. His face contorted a bit as I spoke and that worried me; I feared that I might’ve messed up a friendship. “What kinda magic do you do?” He asked me, casually sipping on his summer lager before continuing to eat his nachos.

“What do you mean ‘what kind’?” I said, knitting my eyebrows together. He took his lager and sat it in the roof next to me, taking a couple steps back from the car to look at me.

“Y’know. What kind? Like do you practice black magic, Hoodoo, Wicca spells, campy magic, alchemy, ceremonial magic…” he listed them off and I got more and more confused. Maybe I didn’t know as much about magic as I thought I did. “You don’t even know?....can you even do anything?” He chuckled. Maybe he was taking me for a joke. Maybe he didn’t think that I was serious.

“Well...yeah-”

“Mmmmm. And what is it that you can do?” He said sarcastically.

“I can levitate.”

“Pansy shit…” he coughed.

“Excuse me?” I chuckled.

“I said we need...some fans n shit. Because it’s hot out here.” He chuckled nervously.

“You’re so full of shit!” I giggled.

“And so are you! Show me your levitation.”

“I can’t do it on command….. I need my candles….” I pouted as a corner of his lips pulled up.

“If you’re a real witch, you should be able to do it no problem.” He teased as he approached the car, resting his forearms on the roof. He was absolutely right. “Look… I’m not gonna tell you to stop doing what you love. I’m just sayin’ dig deeper.” He said grabbing his beer to take a sip. “You don’t need candles to cast spells. Candles are there to raise inspiration. Now there are a few spells that require a candle but that’s because someone probably made this candle with ingredients used to cast a spell.” He explained. I just listened, soaking up all the information he had to give me.

“How do you know so much about this stuff anyways?” I asked scooting to the edge of the roof to dangle my short legs off the side.

“I uh…. I like to read.” He said.

“Liar.” I chuckled.

“Seriously!” He laughed, smacking my calf. “Ok so maybe I watch a bit too much TV.” He said with a chuckle.

“I knew it. It’s all bullshit.” I laughed.

“It’s not! I promise. I may or may not have tried a thing or two.” He shrugged.

“And what do you know about witchcraft?” I smirked.

“You’re not in any position to judge me! You can’t even levitate without your candles.” He was mocking me. But he didn’t push me away at all. The more we talked, the closer he got to me. He was a fair bit of distance from me when we first got here. Now, he stood so close, grinning in my face. He began to open up to me about his feelings and told me all about how he would go traveling with his dad and brother. We debated healthily over whether cherry pie was the best pie. He swore it was because it was his favorite but I knew for a fact it didn’t hold a flame to my dad’s sweet potato pie. It was beauty in itself. Then we would talk about music. He was a strong classic rock supporter and I was right along with him. For the first time in a long time, I found a kindred spirit almost identical to me in every way. Eventually, the night came and I had to say goodbye. After he drove me home, we traded numbers and stayed outside of the house continuing to talk a while longer. “So there’s a new burger joint opening in town and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go?” He asked me suddenly.

“You had me at burger.” I grinned. Eventually, dad opened up the door. He and John were drinking beer and watching a baseball game.

“So you finally came back, huh?” John joked from the living room as we came inside.

“Where’d you guys go?” My father asked.

“I just took her to Clinton. We grabbed some snacks, sat out there, got to know each other a little bit…” Dean answered. He looked to me and I just smiled. Not a fake smile but a real smile for once.

“Cool...cool. Sounds like you had fun.” He said, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Yeah, we had a good time.” I said. A moment of comfortable silence passed over and John groaned as he stood up to put his beer bottle in the trash.

“Well, Virgil. I had a great time. We’ll have to have you and your lovely daughter over for dinner some time, yeah?” John smiled as he and my father shook hands.

“Sounds like a plan.” My dad smiled.

“Alright then! Guess we better be headin’ out.” He said. “It was nice to meet you, Maya. You guys enjoy the rest of your night. Dean!”

“Yup!” He said militantly. When it came to his father, he was like a soldier awaiting further orders. He looked at me and winked before following behind his tall father. “I’ll pick you up in the morning?” He asked at the last minute.

“Okay.” I smiled shyly.

“10 alright?”

“10’s fine.”

“Alright! I’ll see ya.”

My father and I waited in the doorway from the to see that they drove off safely and finally went inside. “What are you guys doing tomorrow?” He asked me as I went to grab a bottle of water.

“A new burger place just opened up. We’re gonna go.” I said smiling a bit too hard.

“Oh ok…. that Dean Winchester looks at you like he likes you. I don’t like it.” He joked, hugging me and kissing my cheek.

“Dad!” I groaned in embarrassment as I settled into his hug. He sighed.

“Do you like it here?” He asked me.

“I mean… it’s not Texas but…. it’s an adjustment.” I answered as honestly as possible. “I’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. I nodded.

[finding-jericho-blog]

6, 10, 15, 16, 17, 30, 35 (u already know which good bean :’) ), 54 ❤️

THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU

6. Favorite character you ever created.I have a lot of characters that are dear to my heart; I have a soft spot for them, especially because I created them when I was young and I’ve had them all these years, but they aren’t… GOOD characters by my (or anyone’s really) standards, so I don’t use them. I love by DBH oc Aurora, she’s a good little android babbu, feel free to ask me about her sometime, I love my other DBH oc Grace, though I had a falling out with the writer I was role playing her with so.. I kind of have a bad taste in my mouth about her at the moment. I love my Boku No Hero Academia oc Mitsuko!! She’s freakin rad??? But I THINK my favorite… has to be Bree.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.Um, I PICK YOU! Let’s write a DBH sequel! >:D

15. Where does your inspiration come from?Pretty much all of my inspiration comes from the various movies, shows, games, etc. that I’m into. It’s just so inspiring to see these fleshed out worlds and the characters that live there and that’s what aspire to do, to tell interesting stories with wonderful, life-like characters that people can REALLY get behind!

16. Where do you take your motivation from?I mostly take it from my own enjoyment! That’s kind of obvious though, because this is what I enjoy doing, and if I didn’t, I.. wouldn’t do it? XD But knowing other people enjoy what I do FOR FUN is really motivating, so that’s a big part of it!

17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?Depends on what I’m writing! If I’m working on d e v i a n t s (Lauren’s and I’s role play), then upwards of 3,000! For Empathy or Same Difference, it really depends, but.. I’d say around 2,000 before I quit for the day.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.What a terribly cruel way to catch deviants, she thought, to lure them into a false sense of security with such a kind and sincere looking face. She wanted to trust him; that was the worst part.

This was so hard to pick but… this line is from a role play with my character Aurora; she’s a WE900, designed to keep the company of high school and college students, so she’s kind of… just a kid, and Connor and the DPD has her cornered her; if she makes a run for it, they will definitely shoot her down and kill her right on the spot, and Connor, who is beginning to show signs of deviancy himself, holds his hand out and begs her to just go with him quietly and he’ll make sure they don’t kill her; not here, anyway. He begs her to trust him, and she wants to, so badly.

Unfortunately, this role play went nowhere and the partner stopped logging in, otherwise it would have been fun to explore a sort of.. brotherly/sisterly relationship between Connor and Aurora!

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story BREE.Hoh boy okay, hopefully people don’t mind me talking about Bree since she’s kind of a “cliche” and there are some minor changes to canon you and I decided on to make this work. Aubree Kamski is the daughter of Elijah, she was born at a time where Elijah was at his busiest, right on the verge of discovering Thirium 310; he wasn’t even there for her birth, and afterwards her mother just kind of fucked off to who knows where. Some of his associates at CyberLife actually took care of her until he finally successfully created Chloe, who then not only became his personal assistant, but became Bree’s surrogate mother. They made sure Bree made no mistake in thinking Chloe was her mother, though, and from an early age she realized that Chloe didn’t (couldn’t) actually LOVE her; she was just a machine. Despite the general lack of affection in her life, Bree always did what she was told, and a friend of Elijah’s, Carl Manfred, once said that she was the saddest, most lifeless child he’d ever seen and berated his friend for treating her like one of his creations. The only time Bree can remember Elijah actively trying to be part of her life was when he was teaching her things about his androids and his company (he assumed she would take his place one day), and studying her behavior for the purpose of creating the ‘perfect child’ android; for that reason, Bree has a soft spot for the children models, as if they are little siblings. The day she turned 18, Bree pretty much said fuck this shit I’m out and left, and hasn’t spoken to Elijah since, despite Chloe’s continual attempts to make contact. Basically, she was tired of being his show pony and got fed up with being the perfect daughter, but she didn’t go buck wild or anything; Bree just lived quietly on her own and spent most of her days sitting in a local cafe reading whatever book she could get her hands on. Due to her general mistrust of people, who were (in her eyes) only ever nice to her to get to her father, Bree never really made 'friends’ with anyone except the barista at this cafe, an android named Ross. One day, however, a certain violent WR400 thought it would be a wonderful idea to try and use her as leverage to make Elijah admit to the masses that androids are awake and aware…

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.Okay, bear with me on this one, because I saved this in my notes when I’d gone 24 hours without sleep and it might not make any sense! X’D

When especially cruel people die, they turn into dragons for a second chance; it’s a curse, they are turned into the worst, most fearsome creatures,  they cannot speak, and can only do their best to make up for whatever wrong they did. These dragons have a gemstone imbedded in their chest and their color scheme is based around that gem?? Kind of like steven universe I guess fuck me anyway the more acts of genuine kindness, the smaller a dragon is. So in other words, a HUGE dragon is incredibly cruel. But the bigger they are, the easier they are to kill, and the smaller they are, the more hardy they are.

When the dragon is very small, one more act of genuine kindness reduces them to only their gemstone thing, which depends on the returned act of kindness of people around them the take it to some temple or whatever for it to be concentrated. They can either chose to move on and release their spirits, or return to their previous human forms. If the human who finds their gem and is not kind, the gem can be crafted into a necklace/other jewlery and that person can USE that necklace to turn into a dragon, themselves?? idk

Also if a dragon is killed, they leave behind their gemstone as well and their spirits cannot move on, these gems can also be used to create necklaces, BUT. the spirit of the dragon can possess the wearer and turn THEM into a dragon???

[wiltingstardust]

Treasured Dream

I’ll never have you, but I’ll have you in my dreams. And that’s something I’ll always treasure. You are for a fact my most Treasured Dream, something I wish I could have in my terrible reality. You’ll never be mine as much as I’d wish you would be. You keep appearing in my dreams, making me feel like the Princess I’ve always wanted to be. So I think I’ll just record my favorite moments of you, my Treasured Dream. __________________ I’m walking down a wooded area, it seems very familiar to a rest stop for some reason. I walk along the path lined with trees naked from their leaves, I see them scatter down as I walk, dancing with the light breeze. The sidewalk is covered in the remains of leaves that were once alive and dancing happily in the air. Things seem well and I think I’m alone, until I look up to my right and see your smiling face.You look so happy and so handsome. You’re wearing your hat as you used to always do, with a tight black shirt. God seeing your smile made my heart flutter. It will never cease to make me smile along. Something about it is just calming and sends a vibration of happiness. You may have not smiled a lot when we were with others, but it always seemed that when we were together, your smile would be brighter than ever. I’d always have to control how hard I smiled back, fearing you’d catch on to my feelings. We were just walking alongside each other, nothing crazy but just that was amazing for me. We were talking and laughing and you seemed so comfortable to be around me. You’d start complimenting me and telling me how much you’ve missed me, saying how happy you were to finally have me to yourself. Because I know I can’t have you I continuously dismiss it all. Ignore you and say you were being ridiculous or didn’t know what you were talking about. I tried to hide that your words made my heart want to escape from my chest and jump into your arms. I didn’t want you to see the affect you had on me, it was enough that my smile wouldn’t go away, but if you saw how my eyes lit up with every word you uttered to me, it would’ve been game over. Man I’ve never felt so happy, it felt like I was finally reunited with something I’ve been missing. Could it be a missing puzzle piece? Or just the luck of finding another gem? Now that I think about it I think you’re a gem I’ve been lucky enough to find, but not keep. You’re like a citrine gemstone, one that is rare to find, one that people choose to mimic due to its high demand. It feels as though I was able to find the real deal, but I can’t keep it due to its rarity and it being locked away in an untouchable box. Sometimes I wish it’s lock would break so that you can fall into my hands as selfish as that sounds. Whether or not it’d feel like that in my shitty reality who knows, I’ll never know that’s for sure. Walking alongside you was an amazing feeling, and hearing your laugh and seeing your smile was like the best medication I’ve ever had. You expressed to me how happy you were to be with alone for once in peace, not having to worry about anyone getting in the way anymore. That little statement made my heart skip two beats, I felt that I was the only feeling that way, so having you say exactly what I felt out loud made me feel so happy. For once I wasn’t alone in my feelings with someone I felt a strong connection with. Although you said it out loud, I still had my doubts, and tried to convince myself that you didn’t really mean it, so that I wouldn’t get hurt. We continued our walk until I heard a commotion going on in the distance, I recognized one of the voices as being one of our friends. I looked back and saw it was our friend starting a fight while his wife stood on the side with a frustrated look. My eyes laid back onto yours, automatically being trapped into your stare. I loved it whenever you laid your eyes on me, it was an amazing feeling knowing I could get you to so much as glance my way. Everytime we locked eyes, I had to force myself to look away or look down at my hands and feet, again, in fear you’d see my true feelings. Laughing nervously so that I was able to break from the stare, I told you how I had to go and check up on my friend. You nodded your head and expressed how you also had to go somewhere else. I waved goodbye and smiled one last time at you but you wouldn’t let me go without something first. As I left you grabbed my hand preventing me from leaving. Looking back at you I laughed and asked what was wrong. With that beautiful smile of yours you asked me the weirdest thing. “Blow me a kiss.” “Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrow in confusement. My cheeks flushed red at your request. “Just do it” “Um…” My heart started beating faster than my chest could handle. At any moment my heart would break through my sternum with the intensity of it’s beating. My head was brewing with so many different thoughts I couldn’t keep track of what was really going on. Finally I decided to do just what you asked, I blew a kiss in the most awkward way possible but did it nonetheless. But right when I pursed my lips together, you came close enough to give me a kiss. My eyes widened at your actions because it happened so fast I couldn’t process what was going on. Your lips were so close to mine, only an inch or two apart. I’ve never felt your face so close to mine before, I just wished you had actually planted your lips against mine. You pulled away quickly and smirked telling me you can’t wait to finally kiss me. Goodness it made no sense! You just smiled and ran off leaving me frozen in shock from what just happened. What the heck did you even mean by that? Why couldn’t have THAT moment been our first kiss? To top it off you decide to run off leaving me frozen in my thoughts. My heart, already racing from the start, was beating so fast I might as well have been having a heart attack on the spot. My face red from embarrassment, feeling hotter than cement on a hot summer day. My legs were stiff not letting me move and my arm hands were shaking from the anxiety I had been feeling in that moment. In that moment all that I could think of was chasing after you and getting the first kiss I felt I deserved. Having to shake myself from the state of shock I was in, I finally thawed my legs by remembering to go check on my friend and the commotion going on. I finally ran up to her and saw her standing on the side with her arms crossed in frustration. In front of us were a bunch of the guys fighting, her husband in the middle of it all. Looking over at her exasperated face, I asked what was going on. “He’s just being stupid again” she shrugged, unphased by the chaos in front of her. “Oh...they’re being bitches again?” I joked trying to get her mind off it. Luckily it worked and she laughed agreeing to my statement. She finally let out a tired sigh. “Come on we gotta get going Vi.” she nudged me and started walking to the car where I followed behind. We had seemed to have carpooled there together. As we walked back to the car I hear running going on above us. The car was parked under a small walk bridge for people to cross, at first I ignored it until I heard your voice echo above me. Right as I was entering the car I see you above me trying to get my attention. Of course it made me laugh. “I’ll get to see you tonight and then we’ll have our first kiss!” You shouted towards me. Your words reverberated through me like an internal earthquake. I swear at this point your goal was to turn me into a tomato. It made me laugh from giddy, just hearing you say something so ridiculous. My friend turned to me giving me a quizzed look. “What’s his deal?” you asked with a raised brow. “I don’t even know at this point” I laughed shaking my head. Of course it isn’t anything you’d ever actually say or do. It’s just not in your character to be like that in my reality. But you are my Treasured Dream after all, so some things you do aren’t always going to be accurate to your character. It still makes me giddy though, just thinking that you could be so sweet. It’s not like you never were, but this is just a different level. Once I woke up everything faded to just a memory. It sucks waking up from something that will ever be. It’s just a false memory filled with false hope. You’ll just continue to be the gem that is far from my reach, you’ll just be my Treasured Dream.

[bluekayanite]

Rebuttal: Pearl Did Not Shatter Pink Diamond

So some friends and I were discussing the SU ‘Wanted’/Memoral Day episodes, particularly theories related to The Trial.  This is my opinion on the relevant theories regarding Pearl.  I’ll post my own theory shortly.

It’s fairly long (enough so that it seemed like the post window was starting to break), and spoilers abound.  So details are below the line if you’re up for it.

So you may have heard of the theory that Pearl belonged to Pink Diamond and used shapeshifting to shatter her, and that’s why Pearl doesn’t use shapeshifting anymore.  One of my friends stated that she was convinced of it, and even linked a very convincing Tumblr post about it by @gaygemgoddess - I suggest checking it out for context.

Personally, I find the more I think about it, the less believable it sounds.

First, possibly my biggest issue: Would Pearl have done it?

Consider what Pearl herself said back in Rose’s Scabbard:

Pearl: “Everything I ever did, I did for [Rose].”

So if she did shatter Pink, it must have been for Rose’s sake.  I can understand why Pearl would think Rose might appreciate if Pink was gone, but if she was so devoted to Rose, why would she frame her?  She must have known that whoever took down Pink Diamond would become Homeworld’s Most Wanted - even worse than before.  In fact, in Sworn to the Sword, it was shown that she’d much rather take the fall than have Rose suffer injury (even if it generally failed to do any good).

Garnet: “Back during the war, Pearl took pride in risking her destruction for your mother.  She put Rose Quartz over everything; over logic, over consequence, over her own life.”

Also, consider these scenes from Marble Madness and The Answer:

In both episodes the goals of the Crystal Gems are stated very clearly.  And dramatically.  Of particular note is how Rose and Pearl announced their presence before the battle at the Cloud Arena: they wanted everyone to know they were there.  They wanted a fair fight.  I doubt Rose would resort to, or approve of, sneaky, underhanded tactics - this is reinforced by something Bismuth said in Bismuth:

Bismuth: “I designed this sword for a fair fight.  It can cut through a Gem’s physical form in an instant!  Destroying the body, but never the Gem.”

And sure, Pearl was a rebel and boasted as much in Last One Out of Beach City, but she’s been shown to have a general preference for honesty and respect for rules.

Amethyst: “We went out and stole a bunch!” Pearl: “Grr!  I went back and paid for them!”

I especially doubt she’d want to break Rose’s rules, especially considering this line of hers from the extended version of the intro theme:

Pearl: “I will fight in the name of Roze Quartz, and everything that she believed in~”

“Everything that she believed in.”  Even if Pearl was reckless, I’d think she’d try to stay true to Rose’s values and wishes as much as possible.

About the only reason I can think of for Pearl to impersonate Rose would be wanting Rose’s name to be the one to go down in history.  Maybe it’s just me, but I think that wouldn’t be as important as keeping Rose safe and staying true to her wishes.  Even if she considered doing it, she could have done it in Rose’s name.  Besides that, in Sworn to the Sword, her tactics are much more reckless than thought-through.

And if Gem Heist is any indication, figuring out how to blend in isn’t really a thing she does:

Pearl: “Right… Like we could waltz walk in as an ownerless Pearl, a Fusion and, and you [referring to Steven].” Steven: “We just need disguises.  I’ll be Esteban Universedad!” Pearl: “Steven, it doesn’t matter what your name is!  We’re ALL going to stand out!”

Another detail: If Rose told Pearl nearly everything, and Pearl was potentially even more knowledgeable about swords than Rose was, then I find it hard to believe that Pearl would use a sword to try to impersonate Rose - the enemy would naturally assume that it was Rose’s sword, which couldn’t shatter Gemstones.  We also know that Pearl is persnickety about details.  For example, take this line from Mirror Gem:

Pearl: “Hmm… The asymmetry of this pile is really starting to bother me.”

If Pearl did decide to stop being so reckless and think through such a plan, she probably would have ruled out a sword as a possible weapon, just because she knew Rose’s sword wouldn’t actually work, even if Homeworld didn’t know that.  Heck, she might think it odd to impersonate Rose without one.

Another detail: Pearl’s bad at keeping secrets.  Remember this part from The Test?

Pearl: “If the spire had been crucial, we wouldn’t have used it as a test for you.”

I’m not sure Pearl is capable of pulling off something so stealthy, even if she wanted to.

The whole idea is just so wildly out of character for Pearl that, to me, she seems like one of the least likely candidates.  Yes, someone framed Rose, but I don’t think it was Pearl.

Second: Could Pearl (or any Pearl) have done it?

I think if you get into the details of the logistics, shattering Pink Diamond was actually not as simple as hiding in the palanquin until it was time to strike.

Yes, Rubies - and apparently Agates - aren’t very observant, but they’re not that unobservant.  Even if easily tricked, the Rubies still noticed that something was off about “Jasper.”  And after Amethyst dropped her disguise, all bets were off.

Not to mention that in Room for Ruby, Navy was clever enough to trick Steven, Peridot, Lapis, and even Garnet (though Garnet apparently noticed the possibility that it was a trick).

As for Sapphires, I’ll admit that if Padparadsha (a pink Sapphire) is any indication, they can get caught up in their visions, though I think she’s more of an exception than the rule.  The Sapphire we know is pretty observant.

Also, part of the argument on how Pearl might have done it is that the entourage (especially the Sapphires) were specifically keeping an eye out for Rose; why specifically Rose?  Any of the CGs could have been a potential threat to Pink.  I’d have thought they’d keep an eye out for threats in general.

One argument is that, because Pearl belonged to Pink Diamond, she would have been overlooked by the entourage because she’s thought to be just a lowly Pearl, completely trusted by her owner, and maybe even considered not to think for herself.  But then, consider this line from The Answer:

Garnet: “And there they were: Rose Quartz, the leader of the rebellion, and her terrifying, renegade Pearl.”

Pearl herself was a known threat.  A terrifying threat at that.  Homeworld wouldn’t have allowed Pearl anywhere near Pink Diamond.  Even if Pearl claimed to change sides (again), I doubt Homeworld would forgive her so readily.  Or trust her.

For Homeworld to trust her, Pearl would have somehow had to hide the fact that she was fighting for the CGs while simultaneously keeping up her job as Pink Diamond’s Pearl - something I don’t think she could do for 700+ years without getting caught.

Granted, if she’s not Pink’s Pearl, she could have disguised herself as such.  Still, there are other problems with this idea:

While we don’t know the exact size of Pink’s entourage, it’s implied to have been pretty big.  Big enough to surround Pink from all directions, looking out for danger from anywhere:

Blue Zircon: “I can’t believe these files.  Shattered by one of her own soldiers?  Ha!  In front of her entire entourage?!”

“Entire” sounds pretty big to me.  I suppose it’s possible that they were all looking outward.  However, consider the above quote, as well as these other lines from The Trial:

Blue Zircon: “Witnesses said Pink had stepped out, and taken only a few steps forward, when Rose attacked her from the front!”

Yellow Diamond: “They were with her, of course!  They saw the whole thing!”

These lines imply that at least part of the entourage - if not the whole thing - was actively looking in Pink’s direction when the event happened.  They clearly saw which angle the attack came from.  I think it would be hard for every single one of them to miss an attack that they could watch coming from the front.  In fact, I think it would be hard for Pink not to notice.

Also, note Holly Blue’s observation from Gem Heist:

Holly Blue: “Does your Pearl always walk next to you?”

Pearls always stay behind their masters.  If the guards were watching Pink, or the ground around her (since most threats would be shorter), they should have noticed if Pearl walked in front of her.  That would have raised some red flags.

In addition, consider how Eyeball described the sword:

Eyeball: “What I remember is her huge sword!”

Huge.  As in, considerably large.  Probably the kind of scale you’d expect from a Final Fantasy game.  Sure, Rubies are pretty small, so things would seem bigger by comparison, but I’m not sure a sword appropriately sized for Rose could be lifted by a Pearl, shapeshifting or no.  And so far, we’ve also only seen Pearl summon small objects from her Gemstone, so I question whether she even could summon something that large.  Even if she could, wouldn’t it be noticeable if it were summoned?  And it doesn’t look like there’s any place to hide a giant sword in a palanquin, especially since the walls have so many holes in them.

I’ll admit the physics of Steven Universe are loose, but I think if a single Gem did it, it would probably have required jumping really high, really fast, while carrying a huge sword, and without slowing down by the time she got there.  It doesn’t really seem likely.

Another argument is, as a trusted record-keeper, Pearl could have tricked the entourage by using her holograms to show them her (false) point of view.  However, if this were the case, then those who were around would be relying on second-hand information, rather than being actual witnesses, which they are repeatedly claimed to be.

And really, if Pink’s Palanquin being knocked over is any indication, Pink probably would have gone out with a bang.  Literally.  I’m not sure a Pearl - or many Gems, really - could have taken such a blast at point-blank range without at least poofing, or even breaking.  If the former, the Gem in question would be captured.

Actually, I question whether the scenario presented for Pink’s demise could have happened at all.  Though, as I mentioned, I’ll have my own theory on what may have happened, coming up in another post.

Third: Did Pearl belong to Pink Diamond?

I’m going to start with the biggest argument for this: Pearl’s flight suit has a pink, diamond-shaped emblem on it, supposedly implying that she’s showing loyalty to her Diamond.

However, consider this from Gem Heist:

Is Amethyst showing loyalty to White Diamond?  Of course not.  She’s just in disguise.  But that’s basically my point: there could be circumstances behind the emblem besides displaying loyalty to a Diamond.  Besides, why would Pearl proclaim loyalty to Rose, and then randomly show a nod to Rose’s greatest enemy?

Also, consider the known outfits Gems wore during the war, compared to modern ones:

In the older outfits, while there are some diamond-ish shapes involved, there’s no actual Diamond emblem anywhere to be seen.  If Ruby is any indication, they certainly weren’t required, and not as standardized.  The diamond-ish shape on Sapphire’s dress could be interpreted as an emblem, but it looks more like it’s just created by overlapping layers of fabric.  Even to say that Lapis’ outfit has one is a stretch since it’s broken up, is proportionally much larger than the usual emblem, and is a much darker shade than the emblems on all the other Blue Diamond uniforms.

Also, the first appearance of the flight suit is from Space Race, before any Gems with modern uniforms were seen.  At the time, Pearl might not have even known about the emblems, since she might not have seen them yet.

I’ll admit that the symbol on the flight suit is an odd detail that I don’t have a solid explanation for, but I don’t think it’s definitive proof that she belonged to Pink Diamond.  Or necessarily even one of Pink Diamond’s elites.

And if we’re judging by aesthetics, consider the other two Pearls we’ve seen, compared to their owners:

They say pets tend to resemble their owners.  Apparently the same is true with Pearls.  At least, I suspect the Diamonds would have their Pearls intentionally designed that way.  The Pearls’ traits resemble their Diamonds’ in color, clothing, hairstyle, Gemstone placement, and even some personality traits and mannerisms.  While Pearl tends to change her appearance, and we haven’t seen Pink Diamond on screen (and thus don’t have a clear example of her outfit OR personality) it’s still pretty easy to see that Pearl doesn’t match up.

However, that doesn’t mean she could have belonged to White Diamond.  Obviously, the Gemstone is in the same location.  And if the console in the Moon Base is any location, it’s possible that anything that falls under ‘white’ might have their main color be white, while actually having a variety of colors; just like Pearl.  And while we haven’t even heard White Diamond’s name mentioned, we might be able to extrapolate a few details from what we’ve seen:

She has more planets than any other Diamond apparently having around 12 while Yellow and Blue only have about 9, each.  (Admittedly, it’s hard to tell if some of those circles are planets or not.)  Between that, and the fact that her emblem is placed at the top of the four-diamond emblem, it’s implied that she could be the head Diamond - possibly the oldest of the four.

Her mural shows her holding what appears to be a ball of magical energy, having a large halo (though oddly, noticeably smaller than Pink’s), and what looks like a large aura, all implying great magical prowess.  And if she’s anything like most mage characters in fantasy (even if self-taught), she may be a bit of a know-it-all... like Pearl.

The “energy-ball” could also possibly be a planet (maybe Homeworld), implying a controlling nature (”the world is in my hands”).  Not to mention there’s what looks like a giant statue (or building?) shaped like her.  All of these suggest (if not scream) a great amount of pride.

Pearl has some controlling tendencies, and a good amount of pride.   If Gem culture in general is any indication, the tendency to want perfection is probably also something White probably shares, since she probably made most of the rules.

If the outline on the mural is any indication, White Diamond’s hair may also be toward the back, like Pearl’s.

It was also brought up how Pearl’s backstory is oddly vague and likely to be revealed soon.  You know who else don’t know much about, and that we’ll probably learn about soon?  White Diamond.

(And yes, I’m aware of the ‘White Diamond is a Fusion of other Diamonds’ theory.  It occurred to me, too, but I don’t think it’s true.  I might do another post to cover that.)

For another, non-aesthetic detail on Pearl’s possible relation to Pink (or lack thereof), consider how Pearl responds to Pink Diamond’s zoo, starting with what she says about it in Adventures in Light Distortion:

Pearl: “Back when I served… Homeworld, I saw it.  Pink Diamond’s insidious human zoo!”

Secondly, consider that she’s unfamiliar with the systems of the zoo.

If she were Pink’s, I’d think she’d have attended the zoo regularly, but these details seem to indicate that she was only there briefly.  If Pearl was there regularly, she probably have said something like “I was there” instead of just “I saw it,” and she should at least be more familiar with the doors.  Instead, I suspect she doesn’t know the doors how the doors worked because may have even been managed by another Pearl while she was there - the Pearl that belonged to Pink Diamond.

Still, I suspect that Pearl had ties, if only loose ones, to Pink Diamond.  Consider Pearl’s further description of the zoo:

Pearl: “A private menagerie deep in space…”

A private menagerie.  One that would have taken time to reach the with sub-light speeds that Gems used during Era 1.  To me, that implies that the zoo was pretty exclusive, and you basically needed to be in a sort of VIP club to see it.  Another Diamond would certainly be on the VIP list.

She also seems like she could be be fairly knowledgeable in general when it comes to Diamonds.  There’s the zoo, of course, where she even knew the exact coordinates to find it at.  And in It Could Have Been Great, she demonstrated knowledge of the Diamond base, and how it functions (e.g. inaccessible via warp pad).  Though she was oddly quiet after yelling at Amethyst for opening the door into space.

And remember Pearl she dodged telling the name of her previous owner?  I do think that she probably wouldn’t be so reserved about it if her owner weren’t particularly noteworthy - after all, in <i>Off Colors,</i> Rhodonite was quick to note that her owner was a Morganite.  And of course, who would be more noteworthy than a Diamond?

I think the evidence is stacked against Pearl belonging to Pink Diamond, though she may still have belonged to another Diamond… White Diamond.

(Extra note: If Pearl did belong to White Diamond, then I suspect White Diamond may have taken in Pink Pearl - something I’d be excited to see if it’s true.)

Fourth: Does Pearl avoid shapeshifting because she is wracked by guilt of the deed?

To the point: there’s no indication that Pearl actually feels guilt over shapeshifting, or that any dislike of shapeshifting is tied to Pink Diamond.  For starters, when she’s first asked about shapeshifting and describes it, she seems pleased, maybe even a bit proud.

And when Steven Tag is explained to her, there’s no indication of guilt or fear; only disgust or insult.

I also consider just a Gem changing outfits to be a minor form of shapeshifting, and Pearl has shown that she has no compunction against that, as evidenced by her wearing the flight suit.  Twice.

Speaking of which, if thinking of Pink Diamond’s downfall wracks her with guilt, why would Pearl wear an outfit that reminds her of it?   Assuming she’s not unaware of the pink symbol’s existence (which seems odd to me), it might be unrelated to Pink.

In addition, consider this exchange from Secret Team:

Pearl: “Amethyst!  Shapeshift!  Get small, or something!” Amethyst: “I can’t!  I’m freaking out!  You do it!” Pearl: “I can’t concentra-!”

Yeah, sure, Pearl is interrupted, but it seems that she’s being honest about not shifting just because she can’t concentrate.  This implies that, at the very least, she’d consider shapeshifting in an emergency.

I don’t think Pearl really has anything against shapeshifting, in of itself.  She’s probably just proud of her graceful form and considers the thought of changing it demeaning.  And hates when Amethyst uses it to show off and goof off.  In terms of raw ability, it may also be more difficult for her to shapeshift than other Gems, so it may be less convenient for her.  But I doubt she has any reason to avoid it completely.

Fifth: Does Pearl know something?

Maybe.

If so, it seems to be something no one else knows.  Judging by Bubbled, at least Garnet seems like she believes that Rose shattered Pink:

Steven: “But did mom really do it?  Did she really… shatter her?” Garnet: “She had to.”

I’ll admit that Pearl looks panicked when the bomb is first dropped about Rose shattering Pink, but when Steven presses the Gems about it later, her expression is a lot more mild:

If you ask me, this expression looks more like “Should I tell Steven what I know?”  It’s possible she saw what really happened, or Rose told her.  Or maybe she doesn’t know and there’s another reason why she gets upset.

My personal guess is she knows something, but she’s not feeling guilt for doing it herself.  Hard to say at this point.

But no, I really don’t think Pearl herself did it.

What do I think actually went down?  More on that coming soon. =)

EDIT: Post on what I think happened to Pink here.  Shorter, updated version here.