#i really like this piece despite losing my drawing ability for the last few weeks of the event i'm glad this was my last one

[zincbart]

i bet you feel fine! i bet you need money!

my final artfight attack! for @roarinsaurus

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[hughiecampbelle]

Being The Smartest Shelby Would Include:

Polly knew you were smart from the start

She said so when you were a baby, but of course no one believed her

Everyone thought their kids were special, but you really were

Born just a few years before Finn, you weren't the baby, but you definitely weren't the oldest, so it was hard to be taken seriously

It started with your homework

You spent a lot of nights trying to tell your siblings it was just too easy

You weren't just getting every answer right, you were finishing pages of work in minutes, faster than anyone in your class

Eventually, you moved on to your brothers work

Finding it discarded on the table, you recognized Johns scraggly handwriting

He'd only made it halfway through, so you decided to finish it, even fixing some of his mistakes along the way

You wanted to show them what you'd done, but of course no one listened

At least, not until you stood on your chair and demanded that someone look over your work

It was a bit dramatic, and made for an embarassing story later, but you wanted to be heard

They did, finally, and they were shocked

Tommy handed it to John, who passed to Ada, skipping over Arthur, who eventually got it to Polly

"Well?"

"It's right, all of it. . . ."

"Fuck."

It wasn't just math though. You were reading every book you could find, even the ones your siblings struggled to get through

You had a knack for puzzles, for figuring things out no one else could, able to pull things apart and put them together just in your head

Polly knew, and she was going to do something about it

Anything she could find to keep you entertained, occupied, your mind at work, she'd bring it home

You had an incredible memory too, remembering everything from the contents on the back of bottles you brothers drank from to entire speeches Polly gave when all of you were misbehaving

It was amazing, to say the least

You were a kid when your brothers went off to war, so it was mostly Ada and Polly who spent long nights with you at the table over homework

You didn't think it was fair, that you were forced to stay in school when none of your siblings were

Polly called it a gift, said you shouldn't take it for granted

She had big plans for you, the kind of career kids like you could only dream of

Finn grows up with you reading to him every night

Even helping him with schoolwork, though that didn't last very long

It still irks you Polly let's Finn drop school, not even getting past reading himself, but you know better than to push the subject

By the time your brothers come back, thankfully all in one piece, you've become a bit of a myth or legend around the Small Heath

Not only are you taller and with more acne, a young teenager, you've made a name for yourself, and a business

After school you could be found with a hat on the ground, getting pocket change for your "abilities"

Showing off and splitting the money with friends, you put on shows

Memorizing the faces of strangers, drawing them almost perfectly by hand, reciting lines of poetry from class all from memory, etc.

Sometimes you bring Finn along, promising candy for his silence, making him part of the act

Your favorite is showing off the languages you've lesrned, switching between Romani, French, Italian, and German (to name a few) without a second thought, so effortlessly

Arthur caught you once, but instead of saying anything, he simply cheered you on, laughing at the fact that your business was doing better than the familys

You spent a lot of time in the shop like Finn, growing up there, but never really allowed in on business, not even to listen

Instead you were ordered to be quiet and focus on your studies

And you did, for a few years, slipping notes to John about what you thought would improve business, pressing your ear to the door to listen, putting up with being categorized as "one of the kids" with Finn

And then you made an announcement, one that almost killed Polly

You weren't going to university, and instead you'd be joining the family business

Your aunt put up a good fight, but your brothers were more than happy to welcome you, with rules of course

Ada wasn't too thrilled either, knowing how smart you were, and how special it was, but she wasn't going to stop you

Pol was, or at least she was going to try

"You could be anything you want y/n."

"And I choose this."

"You're-"

"Wasting my potential? So you've said."

You'd be more behind the scenes, working on the business side rather than the side with razors and guns

Your brothers were more than happy to hear that, though you'd gotten more than a few comments muttered by Pol

If you really wanted to, you could always be a doctor or a lawyer later in life, for now this is what you wanted most

You were finally part of your family

Within the first week, you have a full list of what could be improved and you're center stage in the family meeting

To say that was nerve wrecking was an understatement

Tommy had his doubts, of course, but John knew you'd been keeping their heads above water for a long time

"Go on then, you've got our attention."

You were the one they went to check over the books, the numbers, catching mistakes no one else did

It wasn't just spelling mistakes or addition issues, you were taking stock in inventory, in all the bullets that were wasted, the little things that went missing that no one seemed to notice

It didn't take long for you to work your way up, prove yourself not only to Tommy, but Pol too, showing her this wasn't a waste of your time

She's still not thrilled, but you're as stubborn as the rest, and she knows it's a losing battle

At least you're being smart with your work

Tommy made you check over every contract and agreement he made, making sure he didn't miss a single detail that would screw them over

He brought you to the races too, working out probability, though your math was shaky at best under that kind of pressure and uncertainty

You were the one counting the profits and losses too, weighing the options of whether or not to invest

You're really the only one who knows just how much the family makes

That is a dangerous thing in itself

You make friends quite easily

Not only can you speak an array of languages, bonding with everyone, but you've got that Shelby charm and good looks, too

You're quite popular, though your brothers constantly get in the way of any potential relationship

You're smart though, and not just for their gain, but yours too

If and when you're ready to date, you'll find a way

Alfie adores you

Tommy drives him mad, but he'd have you over any day

Not only does he love the fact that you can keep up with him, witty beyond belief, but your Hebrew is perfect

"So, you're the brains behind the whole operation?"

"Something like that."

You're brought along to a lot of in person deals

You pick up on things no one else does, remembering the littlest of things that can and will be weaponized if need be

Their kids and spouses names, the way they look at you, how they speak and carry themselves

It doesn't take long for you to know exactly who they are

"They're lying Tom. I know they are."

"How can you tell?"

"They look away when they answer, their eye twitches, and they always lean forward when they're saying something true."

"You got all that from a five minute conversation?"

You're not only their beloved little sibling, but the perfect weapon

They don't teach you how to use a gun, but you've been watching for years, making note of every tiny detail

When you do use a gun, which is inevitable, it's a perfect shot

Arthur and Tom insist you carry something with you, but you're fine sticking with a simple razor

The guns can stay with them. . . .

Not only does it come in handy with work, but your family, too

You pick up on the way Arthur escalates, talking him down before there's a full outburst

You know the nights Tommy does and doesn't sleep just by the sound of his voice, the way he signs his name

You know when to check up on Ada if she's not doing well after Freddies gone, even if no one else can see the hurt in her eyes

That's the thing everyone seems to forget, is that you're not only book smart, but people smart, too

Constantly making fun of your siblings right in front of them

"Pol, y/n's making fun of me!"

"I am not! You don't even speak Russian."

"No, but I can guess."

He'd never admit it to you, but Finn really is amazed by you

Ever since he was a kid he always looked up to you

School and homework and all that never came easy to him, and it lead to him giving up, so the fact that all of this comes so easy makes him proud to be your brother

"Y/n, curse in a language we all know or don't say it all."

Along with learning weapons along the way, you pick up on how to be a nurse, tending to whatever it needed

From your nieces and nephews scraped knees to bullet wounds

"Do not get blood on my new shirt!"

No one really suspects you to be listening or watching the way you do, so when they need it, you go "undercover"

Gaining the trust of the enemy, pretending to be a stranger that just so happens to get their attention as if you hadn't been figuring out what makes them tick, distracting them with drinks and small talk

If anything goes wrong, you picked up on how to get away, how to fight without getting too much attention, and not just by watching

With a memory like yours, there are some things you'd like to forget and can't

A lot of things do leave you with nightmares, with flashes of panic, with this dreadful feeling in your gut like you'd seen it all before

At one point or another you've called your siblings and aunt in the middle of the night, just to check up on them, see if they're okay

Begging your brothers to be more careful

They rarely ever listen though

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"I can't go on a date."

"Nope, not until you're forty."

"Come on Arthur, you can't scare them all away."

Despite all this, you're still treated like a child

Your siblings still see you as that smart little kid correcting their work and growing bored of even the most complicated things

No matter what you do or say, you'll always be small in their eyes

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

It’s Wednesday?! *scoffs* Preposterous! 

Thank you @noire-pandora and @rosella-writes for the tags! I send you hugs and flowers and LOVE! >:3

Seriously though, this week has felt long to me, as have the last several weeks to be exact, and despite those long, long days, I haven’t really been able to write beyond this ongoing monster of a ‘short’ story. I wouldn’t really say I have writer’s block. I have ideas, I can write little bits and pieces, but I lose momentum from a lack of energy. *shrugs* If anything, I’m treating this story as an exercise to help me cement some of Fane’s inner workings and practice more intimate events. *waggles eyebrows*

So! Have a bit of a long snippet of Solas and Fane being sappy. They’re so fucking sappy, I swear. No shame.

“...What I’m trying to say is, titles have no bearing if you don’t let them. It’s easier said than done, I know, and that’s why I constantly need the reaffirmation of my name. The spiral is deep, and one syllable is all it takes to slow the fall.” Another sigh, this one far heavier, far more aged. “I know what it means, what it feels to have your identity shredded to ribbons, Solas. I know that so much it hurts. And that’s why I’ll say two syllables for you, so you don’t forget the first title; yourself.”, he stated, tone serious, but warm. “And no matter the other artificial titles, the good and the bad, you are you. Furthermore, you are my sky. Endless. Enduring. Unbending. Eternal. You were all of that to me before you were Fen’harel, or even Solas, or anything else. It may be just another title, but I hope, I hope, it’s one that matters to you because a sky matters more than anything to a dragon. Anything, and I won’t let the expanse that is you be taken from me as surely as the actual sky has been.”

Solas blinked at that waterfall of tender words, entranced by the look of earnestness on Fane’s ivory, but inked visage, the faded green lines almost seeming transparent due to how the setting sun filtering into their quarters bathed them in gold. He was lost, he was reeling, he was grappling between wanting to argue and wanting to relinquish his own stubbornness before letting out an airy laugh, shaking his head as the latter won out. How much more could his heart take before it burst? Such devotion, such pure, unwavering devotion was meant for better people than he, and yet, he couldn’t balk at it, usher it away. It would seem he was not the only one to have come so far. 

“...I do not deserve that. I do not deserve such a...christening as that.”, he said, despite his thoughts. He may have come far, but some habits were hard to break. “It baffles me how you can be so certain that your feelings will not change when you know what is to come, when you know what I will be called upon to do.”

“We, Solas. You’re not alone anymore because I won’t let you be alone. No amount of words or deeds will change that either. You know that.”, Fane said, voice harsh, deep, but caring in its timbre.

Solas chuckled quietly. “I know that you are stubborn. Almost infuriatingly so.”, he tried to joke and it had a bit of the desired effect as Fane rolled his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You walked into my domain centuries ago, elf.”, Fane growled, but it held no disgust or anger. “You poked a dragon and earned its heart, so suffer.”

Solas couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter?”, he asked, but he felt lighter, calmer. How easily the dread and the ice melted away. How such a thing could happen was beyond him, but he would be lying if he said that he despised this heat, this warmth of souls.

Fane smirked. “None at all.”, he retorted casually before leaning in to nudge at one of Solas’ cheeks, growl slipping into a quiet, but deep purr as their eyes connected, gazed into each other’s sunlit souls. “So, let me show you how I can be so certain, how you can be so deserving of what I feel.”, he said next within a heartbeat, eager, but even harsher with conviction before it dropped to a baritone whisper. “Let me show you how much I love you, Solas.”

Solas barely had time to fully process those tender words before Fane took all thought away, lips connecting with his own, warm and velvet, but somehow cool to the touch. The gentle suddenness of that connection had him startling a bit, so unused to the reserved man before him to be the one to initiate, but he relaxed soon enough, eyes falling shut and allowing tenderness and certainty to soak into him. 

Their lips moved slowly, languidly, but there was an ember to be awoken in their movements, to be sparked and set ablaze. However, there was no rush, no hurry to meet that bonfire. There was only gentle tending as one of Fane’s hands came up to loosely grip his jaw, tilting it just so to dive in deeper, etching his message of affirmation with tender kissing and soft, cool huffs through his nose. The other was busy kneading into one of his hips, a sturdy arm wrapped around to keep them close together. Solas weaved both of his hands into Fane’s head of slightly messy hair, drawing him closer, deeper into a spiral bliss, and humming deep in his chest as a velvet sweep of his dragon’s tongue against his bottom lip had his mind growing foggy.  

However, despite the fog of his mind, Solas kept his mouth shut, halting his movements of the kiss, and smirked against Fane’s lips when a resounding growl sounded. His dragon should know good things came to those who waited.

...Or rather, continued to push. He wanted to see how heavy a dragon’s passion could be, but first things first.

Solas pulled away a bit and smirked more when Fane attempted to chase, curling his fingers in snowy strands to keep him still. Another, deeper growl left those enticing lips at that, nearly making him let go and give in from his made his whole tremble with desire, but he remained steadfast, gazing calmly into smoldering, gold-emerald orbs with a hum.

“You may growl all you wish, ma’isenatha, but I will not relent that easily.” He chuckled softly when Fane almost appeared to be pouting. His heart truly could not take much more of this endearing, stubborn man. “Even so, you are becoming a force to be reckoned with. It won’t be long until I do relent to your will.”, he purred, chuckling a bit when Fane’s visage turned pink yet again from his praise, pout turning into a slight grimace of sheepishness. “Before that, however, I wish to continue where we left off, but you stated the endeavor of mindful connection tires you out. Extremely. Will it do so in this case?”, he asked, common concern threatening to ruin the moment and making his smile falter. He wanted to let the mood take the reins, but his dragon’s comfort came first and foremost.

Always.

Fane shrugged, clearing his throat of embarrassment and his own momentary excitement. “In the past, yeah, but that’s because I would try and force the link. Since I can’t even do that anymore, it’s not so terrible.”, he stated simply, leaning in to nuzzle just below Solas’ ear slowly. “It’s no different than sex, to be fair. Intense, and then an afterglow. I’ll feel tired afterwards, but not bone achingly so.” A growling purr, a mixture of thunder and a babbling creek followed after those words, housing more. “Other...actions will make that happen. We’ll make sure of that.” 

Solas hummed contentedly at the nuzzle, feeling how his chest began to quicken in its breaths at the heated words. “Mm, indeed we will.”, he murmured, a warmth able to be detected along his neck, cheeks, and ears. He was blushing. Lovely. It always threw him off when Fane would utter seduction. “But, I am curious as to how this ability of yours replicates sex.”

It was Solas’ turn to be pleasantly pleased with himself as Fane’s face flushed, pink shifting deeper to where his freckles were washed out and eyes were a titillating shade of ochre. Two could utter seduction, and after Halamshiral, he had pinpointed that Fane nearly dissolved if the word ‘sex’ was uttered from his lips. A dragon’s beauty had many layers, and while they were rare to be witnessed, his dragon was an open book during such carnal pursuits. The memory of the few times they had engaged physically and deeply nearly had Solas crumbling from shudders and soft pants, but the way Fane was now kissing just under his ear, face still flushed, but more from excitement now than a flustered disposition, was doing that also. How easily the mask fell and shattered from just a brush of lips, a glint of gold as two-toned orbs glanced up at him, a roll of thunder housed in a body so different, but so very much the same.

How easily the game could be tilted towards the other at any given moment.

“It’s a dance of thoughts, a waltz of wills.” The Elvhen dragon halted his kisses to whisper against the sensitive skin below his ear, breathless and husky, before giving it a firmer kiss. “You felt it after our sparring match, and that was just a dying connection - whisper of an afterglow. Rage had drowned out most of the euphoric intensity. But here, with us so close to each other, calm and willing...”, he trailed off, pulling back to level Solas with a solid amber gaze, abilities flaring to life with the emotions swarming around them. “...you’ll feel how deep the line runs, and so will I. After all, what’s more revealing and intimate than piercing each other’s thoughts? The connection of bodies is simple, but the mind... That’s more complicated and all creatures yearn for the depth of understanding.”

Solas let out an airy sigh, reaching up with a hand to stroke a deeply flushed cheek of freckles, ink and ivory. “So, it is a combination of thoughts, a glimpse into the inner when the outer offers no clear answer.”, he said, Fane responding with a tiny nod and pleased smirk due to being understood. “Is it like that if you were to connect with others, or..?”, he asked, a question born of more curiosity, not jealousy. He knew better than to harbor that type of nasty feeling with Fane. Devotion ran deep, as deep as the scar upon his heart’s face as well the scars upon his body. He was just once again fascinated to hear these thoughts and complexities of a being he had only been able to speculate on.

Fane shook his head, laying another kiss against his neck. “No. Most people’s minds don’t bend, their emotions locked up in fear and their minds cordoned off in their own ways. Mages, especially those like you, are easier to link up with, though.”, he murmured against the skin before running the flat of his tongue along his pulse. 

Solas let out a quiet gasp, clawing at a broad shoulder as the wet and warm sensation of Fane’s tongue nearly had him melting. That action always made him react violently, and his dragon knew it, chuckling against the column before continuing. 

“...Your emotions are potent, despite what you want people to believe. They’re attuned to being flexible and it was why during the duel I could begin the link. You were already reaching out, so I...exploited it.”, Fane admitted with a flash of shame in his eyes before sighing. “But, the sensation we’re about to experience is..” He pulled away from his neck slowly to practically gaze at him with a blazing smolder. “...only available when love is at the forefront. Your mind is willing before it even knows. You want me to enter. You want to share in the pain, the sorrow, the madness, and the passion, and I want you to, too. So, you allow me in. It’s an act of trust, and there is no one, other than maybe my sister, who I trust more than I trust you. And hopefully, you feel the same in regards to me.” A bit of uncertainty shuffled into dual colored eyes and a wry smirk, but they both dispersed as Fane shook his head a bit. “So again, no. It’s not the same for anyone else and it never will be.” 

Solas stared at the man before him with slightly wide eyes before a tender smile graced his lips. Leave it to his dragon to word such a serious matter so affectionately, so beautifully. Sometimes, it was hard to see anything but the beautiful creature he had met so long ago when such things were uttered.

It was easy to forget how much suffering and sorrow had laced a mind with crimson poison.

Despite those weighty thoughts, Solas brought his hands up to cup Fane’s face once again, stroking his cheekbones reverently as they gazed into each other. Amber orbs shone slightly from both the slowly descending sun just outside and abilities that were slowly regaining their full power with time, observing him with so much silent love that it made his heart squeeze and a small, warm smile form on his face.  

“Ar lath ma.”, Solas said, smiling more when the words of affection had Fane’s eyes darting away sheepishly, but there was a tiny smile upon his own lips. “And I do trust you as you trust me. Implicitly. Trust is a dangerous gambit, but in this instance, I will roll the dice. For you have already bet enough, my dragon.”, he whispered out tenderly before leaning to seal their lips together again gently, wishing to connect physically as well as mentally and emotionally. 

Yes, a connection. That is what he deeply yearned for. To understand and to be understood. To bond and be bound to in turn. To know every inch of the one who had seen him at his lowest and greatest, who worshiped him as the sky and nothing of the past that had thus far defined him.

A bit lengthy, but that’s what I’m good at! >:D I just like words. Woooords~ :D

Tagging (*sends cookies* :3): @oxygenforthewicked @little-lightning-lavellan @dungeons-and-dragon-age @the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @drag-on-age @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @dreadfutures @whataboutbugs and anyone else that’d like to share their endeavors! :D 

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

MASTERLIST Warings: My English. Pics aren’t mine. This has to be one of my favorite chapters.  Word Count ~ 3k. Prologue | Mercury | Delicate | Blue | Running | Aftermath | Stardust | December | Nightfall | Revelations

Chapter 11. Friends. 

      After that particular talk she had with Minerva, she felt lighter, as if the weight she was carrying on had been lifted from her chest, freeing her from the invisible tyrant. She had finally found someone she could be honest – she hated lying, even white lies put her in a hard position.      She was slowly learning how to be at ease when things falling apart and that she had to start over; how to trust those new beginnings once more, how to trust in the rebirth of things and people, including herself; that with every new beginning, she found another lost piece of herself, and with every new adventure, she fell  in love with something she  would never have thought she’d love. They were scary and confusing but they were also spectacular and extraordinary. Running away was not always the solution.       Slowly, but steadily enough, she was learning how to let new people in – how to reawaken her faith in people and their ability to love and their ability to open her heart again. And while she was dreading it, she was hoping that people could see all the different sides of her and still stay.        She was never big on trusting herself but she had to; she had to find the ability to trust all those tough experiences that left scars inside her heart or stitches inside her brain, all of that contributed to who she had grown to be. She had to finally understand that things didn’t always fall apart to give an ending, but sometimes they fell apart to present a new beginning. Couple of days passed her by, as she decided to do nothing at all but take of herself, occasionally talking about her secret with her professor and giving in to the pleasure of the beauty world. She was a 2020’s girl and could not, would not, compromise that for the makeup trends of the 70s and 80s. She hated the bold colors that were used without blending – the big hair and the extreme statements. She was a girl of her time, and that time wasn’t this one. Her things were cut-creases and winged eyeliner, matte foundation and contouring, perfectly shaped eyebrows and soft lips. She had to ask her professor for a couple of favors, but Minerva was more than happy to oblige, remembering her young years as well.       She had spent the last days, happily alone – of course she was thinking about everything. Her old life, however, seemed too far away from her now. Like a distant dream. She knew that it was more than just a possibility to never live in her time again, and even though that saddened her, she found herself relieved – she had formed attachments despite her initial thoughts of being distant and alone. Yup, that went well. 

The 29th day of December had arrived and she was still contemplating whether or not to go to the party. Thanks to Minerva, who was even more excited than she was, she had now a gorgeous dress and high heels but her gut feeling told her that maybe, she just wanted to go so she could see him. With another girl. And in the process, hurt Remus again. While all that time, she should be investigating everyone and everything so she could find a way to change the story and the outcomes. Oh, well, she was twenty-two, after all.         She was one of the very few Gryffindors who had stayed and she had the common room to herself most of the time – just like now; she was enjoying silence with a bottle of sparkling wine. She was ecstatic for not having to buy more bottles but simply conjuring more delicious wine – magic was helpful. Unknown to her, she was being stared at.       She had stars behind each eyelid and a galaxy in her soul that drew people to her endless heart, like the pull of a black hole, she was made of earth and fire, of wishes cast on shooting stars. She was a brand-new solar system, unlike the ones he had known so far, with constellations ever changing. No one could memorize her skies and he thought the thing for all of her previous relationships to do was bring her down to size. He could see, they had tried to shrunk the universe within her, told her that her vast expanse was wrong, that she should make her life much smaller, if she wanted to belong. But she had denied them that privilege over her and he was amazed by her strength.         He threw himself to the couch and she yelp in surprise. He was the last person she expected to see there. He was enjoying her loss of words very much, trying at the same time to convince himself that his visit was purely out of friendly interest. “What can I say? I felt bad for leaving you alone” he exclaimed rather provocatively. She sneered and arched her eyebrow. That was how they were playing at. “Don’t. I was having fun” she answered truthfully, pointing at her drink. He knew he was supposed to follow her hand but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a vision of heartache and blooded marches that hadn’t even started yet; a battlefield of blossomed roses about to sacrifice themselves to the Gods so that their love would survive. “What kind of a friend would I be then, huh? Speaking of, I didn’t know your birthday was a month ago. But guess who did… ouch” he said and even though it was a mockery, he did sound hurt, or rather jealous. She thought about the word he had used – friend. He wasn’t. Even though she so desperately wanted him to be, he wasn’t. “He asked, you didn’t” she fired as soft as a bullet hitting the petals of a rose. Raising her glass to a toast she never proposed, she saluted him and he knew she was in a mood, alright. “Careful there, you were almost being sweet” he provoked her further. She simply turned her entire body towards him, taking notice of everything, his outfit, his hair, his eyes. He could wear a rag and he would still look incredible. Of course, the leather jacket and the black biker boots were making her imagination run wild. She forgot what she wanted to say to him – probably something sarcastic – and instead offered wine, face masks and her room. Bold move – and a risk he accepted.         Sirius was a dilemma; a broken crown wanting to reclaim the throne; a shuttered mirror trying to depict life as it once was. She thought how childish he had been described in the books – but she kept forgetting that all of that was supposed to be parts of a book. He felt real, next to her, with a green tissue mask on his face, pretending to be a zombie and drinking wine. He was just a young adult and he had every right in the world to enjoy his life as much as possible – she wanted him to have those moments, for later he would lose all hope. “What is this? I love it!” he proclaimed his love to the bottle of wine he had also claimed for himself only. She tried not to laugh because she, herself, had a tissue mask on her face but it proved to be impossible. “It’s called Moscato d’Asti – and it’s my favorite” she told him as she laid on her bed, closing her eyes, not wanting to meet his. Next thing she knew, he was right beside her, his hand grazing her thigh. She swallowed hard and shot up – straight to the bathroom. Removing the mask and washing her face with cold water, she did a breathing exercise to calm her nerves but her stomach had been replaced by a knot. She looked at the mirror, a reflection she didn’t recognize. Taking a deep breath, she went out finding Sirius pacing back and forth. It would have been a rather serious scene but he still had his mask on, something he realized and looked down embarrassed.         After a moment or two in the bathroom, recollecting himself, he exited with a fake smile that made her guts twist, so she blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “I met your brother. Nice guy” she commented honestly but his cringed. Arching her eyebrow, and raising her hands up, she surrendered. He sat down next to her, eyeing her and wanting nothing more than to tell her the whole truth. “I will answer any question you have but let me give you your birthday present” he gave in once his eyes met hers. He was lying to everyone when he was pretending to be her friend – he wasn’t. Before she could register what was happening, Sirius had an entire tattoo kit to play with. Her mouth hung open, not even close to believing the scene unfolding. “No, no, no, no. First off, you’re drunk. Then I don’t trust you with a needle to draw something permanent on me and no!” she summed up quickly but he wasn’t listening. “I know what I am doing. Trust me” he informed her rather nonchalant. They did have a deal… She bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Fine. She had an excuse now, for revealing her tattoos to him. He hadn’t asked her too but she wanted. “Okay. But you have to see my other tattoos first” she carefully told him, watching hi prepare the equipment; his head shot up in the words. He had never thought she would show him her story – because each tattoo was a part of her story.       She had never been good at hiding her feelings… and here she was, swallowing her emotions, mutilating her own self for someone else’s sake. She saw the broken pieces in his eyes and wished she could tell him that he would heal in four months, or two weeks, or by next Monday if he really tried. But she couldn’t and that costed her. For if there was anything, she had learned about moving forward, about letting go, about becoming the person she wanted to become — it was that it happened in the quietest moments. Growth crept into her, it burrowed and it stretched, it cracked her open from the inside, and one day she woke up and she had to open her eyes. Maybe he would need more time or better suited people around him.        Slowly, she revealed each of her tattoos to him. She removed the spell concealing them and let him explore her. He was tracing his fingertips on her skin. He had seen the lotus flower and remembered her explanation. Her left ring finger was delicately decorated with a small rose. His hands traveled to the inner part of her forearm just below her right elbow, caressing the bracelet of the phases of the moon and the sunflower that reminded him of the sunflowers Van Gogh used to paint. Her shirt was loose enough for him to push the strips off of her shoulder to reveal the Arabic quote she had tattooed on her left collarbone. Before he could stop himself, he was fondling her inked skin – his hand was too close to her neck – he could see her pulse quicken, he felt her breath on his mouth. He knew she had more tattoos but stopped before leaning too close. “I didn’t run away to leave my brother behind. I was thrown out and I am haunted by the ghost of him. I know I have screwed up but they were right about one thing. I don’t believe that I deserve love – I couldn’t give it when I had to” he confessed, gathering his tools to create a birthday present for her that would last. She didn’t dare to move, looking at him as if any moment now, he would vanish. He carefully took her left hand and cleaned the inner part of her forearm just below her elbow with pure alcohol. With an eye contact to seal their deal, he begun drawing. It hurt but it was a sweet burning sensation that she didn’t really mind. “It’s a lie to think that you don’t deserve love if you aren’t able to love yourself. You deserve it. You deserve companionship and care and relationships that feel good and spaces where you’re cherished and valued. Even if you have days where you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear. Even if there are moments when you feel inadequate and unlovable. You don’t have to be alone just because you’re battling your own darkness. Carrying that weight doesn’t make you defective or too much or unworthy of love and belonging. It makes you human. It makes you someone who’s internalized judgments that were never yours to carry. It makes you someone who’s survived a lifetime of trauma and loss and pain. Someone resilient and inconceivably brave. Someone courageous enough to connect, despite the lies in your head. And there’s no shame in that. So please, don’t withdraw or close yourself off. Self-hatred doesn’t get unlearned through isolation. It’s unlearned through love. Through connection and care. Through having relationships and gathering evidence that you can be imperfect and struggling and still be valued. That you can hurt and be at war with your head and still be wanted. I know it’s hard to trust, but you belong. And no matter how much darkness you’re carrying, you deserve to love and be loved” she told him while he was still focused on the piece, he wanted her to have. His hair falling elegantly on his face, eyes silver as mercury dancing across her skin.         ‘There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in’ it read as the quote was mingling with the swirling blues and yellows of the Starry night. It was a bracelet as well but it made her teary – her favorite painting with some of the most meaningful words she had read. He wrapped it and sealed it close but she already knew how to take care of new tattoos. When his eyes met hers, the entire world seized to exist. It was just them and nothing could intervene. She didn’t stop herself from hugging him and thanking him – a whisper that made him melt inside her embrace.   “There is a Japanese word; kinsukuroi. It’s the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. I find it strangely reassuring” he tenderly told her and she felt a blissful breeze of refreshing air calming down her lungs. “If you want to see the other tattoos, you can. It’s just that…” she trailed of and cautiously grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull it off. She knew it was too much – she could have just described them to him. But she knew it was a risk she was willing to take because the moment would never be perfect, the circumstances would only worsen and her heart would only break even more. He took a sharp breath in but didn’t stop her; quite the opposite really. He found himself helping her out of her shirt with shaky hands. His touch burned her but she could only look at him and see a future – it scared her.       His eyes stayed on hers but slowly they roamed her upper body and suddenly    they fell on the canis major constellation, tattooed right in the middle of her chest – underneath her bra. There was a small blue bird in the left side of her rib-cage, probably the one from Bukowski’s poem. He wasn’t able to do anything but stare at her and explore her body. She softly nudged her hair out of the way and his eyes traveled to her neck once again.       It was the most intimate thing he had ever done. She twisted her torso so he could see her back – a pair of antlers resting close to her hairline and the planetary system running down her spine. Not just any tattoo. It was almost identical to his. “How is this possible? The moon, the canis major, the antlers, the planets? How?” he asked disoriented, not knowing which tattoo to look at because if he looked at her face, he would kiss her, crush her in his arms. She shrugged and put her shirt back on. He knew those tattoos were done at least a year ago – she didn’t know them. “Maybe not in your reality. But is was in mine” she airily told him, leaving him with questions to which he did know the answer. The girl in front of him hadn’t simply fallen from the sky to his embrace. She had fallen through time. He was too close, his breath on her mouth, her hands on his arm, tracing the patterns of his tattoos. She closed her eyes, not wanting to collide. Not now. Not yet. But she couldn’t say no all at once. She placed a small peck on his cheek and thanked him again. “Care for a cigarette?” she mouthed too close to his lips. No, he didn’t. He cared about her. All the right ways – and all the wrong ones. He was hers in a way he never belonged to anyone ever before. A little. A lot. Passionately. Not all.

___ Taglist: @nadinissavage​ @mycobrakai1972​ 

[wistfulcynic]

Their Way By Moonlight: Endings And Beginnings (chapter 18 plus epilogue)

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might  help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

AO3

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*draws deep breath* 

*slowly exhales it*

Okay. Okay. Wow. I can’t quite believe this is it. I’ve been writing this story for more than a year, and now it’s done. That is... well, it’s something. 

I have to take a moment to thank some people, people who helped me through when it felt like no one was reading this thing that was carving pieces out of my heart with each chapter, people whose support is the only reason the thing is finished, and that I’m even still writing. I was so, so close to giving it up but they wouldn’t let me and I am deeply grateful. 

Krystal, who inspired the thing in the first place and whose enthusiasm is a true joy to behold. Ro, whose wisdom and compassion are so vast and who was the shoulder I needed exactly when I needed it. Katie, who sees everything and understands it all, even the things I don’t say. Lisa with her amazing comments, Masha with her brilliant art, Alma with her generous soul. Devra, so insightful and thoughtful with her incisive analysis and appreciation of so many of the things I love. And Stephanie, my other half, I can’t believe I had to live forty whole years without you but this last one with you has made up for all of them. 

Thank you all. So, so much. 

-

a/n: this chapter is actually two chapters because it just got SO LONG, but I’m posting them together - or at least within a few hours of each other.

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Endings: 

The sea was calm, that peculiarly soft and eerie calm exclusive to the hour just before the day breaks, when the air is cool and the light is grey and mist shimmers over gently undulating waves, and even the birds know it would be a sin to break the silence. Across that calm sea a boat glided, smooth and true and though no wind filled its sails, quite remarkably fast. It was a small boat, made of wood with a mast, two sails, and an oar, just enough to suit one man in decent comfort for a journey far longer than most would wish to undertake in such a vessel, but Oisín—for naturally the man was he—was quite extraordinary in his way and crossing a wide ocean in a tiny boat posed no challenge for him. 

He was nearing the end of his journey now; the thick mist and low light obscured his vision but not the pull in his blood that grew stronger as his homeland drew nearer. It is a pull we all feel after long days or weeks or years, decades even, spent away, but for a man who counts centuries as beads on an endless chain the call is stronger still. 

He dipped his oar into the water, skilfully steering the boat through the treacherous shoals that shielded his island from unwelcome travellers and into a cove perceptible only to those who already know it’s there. The boat slid onto the shore with the rough whisper of wood over sand and Oisín’s soul sighed in peace. He was home. 

He stepped from the boat and tugged it up more firmly onto the shore, looped its rope around a slender column of stone sticking up from the sand and when he turned around again she was there. The mist embraced her and the sun even now rising over the horizon cast a gentle light upon her face. A face as young and ancient as his own, smoothed by magic and profound with the weight of ages. He drank in the sight. 

“Niamh,” he said. 

“Is it done?” she demanded, in a voice drawn as from the strings of a harp, melodious and resonant. 

“It is done.” 

“Our debt is repaid?” 

Oisín nodded. “He will still have challenges to face, some magical, some of the more mortal variety. But never again will he face them alone. I can see the threads of his life, of their lives, woven together to the end.” 

“Not too soon an end?” 

“Fewer years remain by far than what he has already lived, but that remainder is still generous for a mortal man. And they will be happy years, on the whole. For her as well. For all of them.” He stepped closer and stroked her silken cheek. “Worry no more, my love. He is free now of the demons that so long tormented him, and he will be happy.” 

She sighed, and smiled, and leaned her head against his hand. “Then I am happy too.” 

Oisín smiled indulgently, an answering platitude ready upon his lips, then blinked in surprise when he realised that what he planned to say was true. “As am I,” he said softly. “Very happy indeed. Now let us go home.”

~

When Regina and Robin materialised in the sheriff’s station they found the others still there and awaiting their return. Killian was sitting on the edge of one of the desks with Emma nestled between his legs, his arms around her waist and his cheek on her hair. Henry and Neal were leaning side by side against the wall of Emma’s office, talking animatedly, and Zelena lay unmoving on the cot in her cell, staring blankly at the wall. Despite herself, Regina felt her heart twist at the thought of her sister’s bitter loss. 

“Hey, Regina,” Emma greeted her. “How’d it go?” 

“Exactly as I hoped. The magic is back in the Enchanted Forest and dispersed enough to be harmless. I put a temporary seal over the portal. It’s done. The curse is broken and its magic is completely gone.” 

Henry ran over and threw his arms around her. “Great work, Mom. Both moms,” he said, grinning at Emma. Regina hugged him back, tightly, but a hard knot of apprehension still sat like a stone in her chest. The curse was over but that didn’t mean her troubles were. 

“We should get to Granny’s,” said Emma, pulling out of Killian’s arms and going to stand behind Henry. “My parents are there and probably most of the rest of the town. We need to let them know what happened.” 

“Yes. Of course. Um. You go. I’d like—actually, I’d like talk to you for a minute, Killian. If I could?” 

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded. “Aye, if you wish. Emma, why don’t you take yourself and and the others straight to Granny’s and Regina and I will follow on foot. We’ll meet with you there in a few minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

“Should I not come with you?” asked Robin, giving Killian a dubious look, clearly wondering if he could be trusted to keep Regina safe from whatever he imagined might threaten her. Regina’s tense expression softened. 

“You can, though I really need to talk to Killian privately.” 

“I’ll keep my distance,” Robin promised, narrowing his eyes at Killian. “But I’ll be there.”  

Killian gave him a single brisk nod. Though it was very clearly not reciprocated he felt an odd kinship with Robin. After all, if anyone knew what it was to love a headstrong woman who took no care for her own safety it was he. Robin’s protectiveness may be unnecessary in this case but Killian understood all too well what drove it. “I’ve no objection,” he said. 

“Okay.” Emma gave Killian’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll see you in a bit then.” 

“Aye, love. See you soon.” 

~

The noise in the diner was deafening and the scene chaotic as people shouted greetings from across the room and elbowed each other aside to get to friends and loved ones, exchanging hugs and handshakes and recounting their lives under this most recent curse at the very tops of their lungs. Snow caught sight of Red behind the counter and ran to greet her while Charming shook hands with the Merry Men and assured them that while no, he couldn’t say where Robin Hood was at that precise moment he was sure to be fine and show up soon. 

Gradually the hubbub began to die down and Grumpy once again raised his voice. 

“So you gonna tell us what happened with the curse?” he demanded. “Who is Zelena and why did she cast it?” 

“Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West, like we said before,” Charming replied. 

“Really though? Like with the flying monkeys and the big crystal ball?” said Grumpy.

“Yes. We don’t know how she cast the curse or why, but Emma does and she’ll be here soon. Until then, can we just… just….” He trailed off as a peculiar noise filled the air, a low-pitched hum like a distant swarm of insects, accompanied by a prickling sensation against his skin. Voices began to rise again, in consternation this time.  

“What is that?” growled Grumpy. 

“I don’t know.” Charming’s eyes sought Snow’s and she came to stand next to him, slipping her hand into his. 

“Feels like magic,” remarked Will Scarlet. “Magic sort of—loose in the air.” 

“It does kind of feel like that,” Snow agreed. “I’ve felt it before, when Regina does a spell.” 

The worried muttering increased, and Charming realised he was losing command of the situation. 

“Look, nobody panic—” he began, just as the door opened and Belle burst through it. 

“I don’t want to make anyone panic,” she said. “But there’s some sort of—something going on outside.” 

There was a moment of silence, then a rush of noise as everyone ran to the windows. 

“What the fuck?” snarled Grumpy. “Your Highnesses, you’d better come see this.” 

This was like nothing any of them had seen before, or rather nothing they had even not seen before. A sort of sideways tornado, a swirl of distortion in the air, invisible, perceptible only in the way it bent and refracted the light around it. It twisted and twined its way through the sky over the town, heading towards the forest. They all stood together and watched it go, every breath bated and each heartbeat quickened as they waited anxiously for something they had no idea how to articulate, and then, abruptly, it was gone. 

“Well,” said Charming heartily, attempting once again to regain control of the situation. “I guess that’s—well, that.” 

“Sure, yeah,” said Will. “Of course. But also what the bloody hell was that?” 

“I’m sure Emma can—” 

“Yes, yes, Emma can explain, so you keep saying. But where is this Emma?” 

“She’ll be here soon,” Charming insisted. “I promise. Until then, everyone please just stay calm.” 

The muttering began again as the crowd milled anxiously around and Charming was just reflecting on how much easier it was to lead a war council than a mob of disgruntled citizenry when white smoke swirled in the middle of the diner and Emma appeared, Neal and Henry at her side. 

Immediately the crowd erupted with a roar of noise, shouting questions and demanding answers. Emma ignored them, hurrying over to her parents with Henry close behind. 

“Grandma!” he cried, “Grandpa! I missed you guys!” 

Snow and Charming folded Henry into a double-hug, and Charming caught Emma’s eye over the top of his head. 

“You guys okay?” she asked. 

“We’re fine. Everyone else though...” He nodded to the crowd behind her. “Well, you remember that reassurance you were going to give everyone? Now’s the time.” 

“Right.” Emma turned to face the crowd. “Everyone!” she shouted. “Hey! Can you all please shut up for a minute!” 

The noise quieted as inquiring faces turned towards her. “Good,” she said. “Okay. Now I’m sure you all have a lot of questio—”  

“Is it true that Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West?” shouted Grumpy. 

“Yeah and why’d she curse us?” Sneezy piped up.

“Oh and why—” 

“How do we—” 

“When can I—” 

“ENOUGH!” Charming’s voice boomed through the diner. “Let her speak!” 

Grumpy opened his mouth again then closed it with an audible click of his teeth as Emma and Charming shot him identical glares. “Yes,” said Emma, “it’s true that Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West. She cast the curse to get revenge on her sister. Regina.” 

Shocked silence fell, broken just before it grew uncomfortable by Granny’s mutter. “The Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch are sisters? That’s a Thanksgiving dinner I would not want to be at.” Several people nodded their agreement, and then Grumpy piped up again. 

“So if Zelena cast the curse to get back at Regina, then the curse is actually kind of Regina’s fault even though she didn’t technically cast it,” he said. “Right?” 

“No,” said Emma. 

“But if it weren’t for her Zelena may never have—” 

“Okay maybe a little,” Emma interrupted, holding tight to her patience. “But the point is Regina didn’t cast the curse, and also she actually contributed a lot to breaking it.” 

“But—” 

“No going after Regina, Leroy,” said Emma firmly. “She’s on our side now and I for one would like to keep her there. She’s a lot more useful as an ally than an enemy.” 

“Fine,” grumbled Grumpy, and Emma extended her stern glare to the rest of the crowd. “Everyone got that?” she said, raising her voice so they all could hear. “No mobs. This curse was not Regina’s doing and Zelena is being dealt with. Just—let me handle it, okay?” 

No one replied. 

“Okay?” Emma repeated, louder still, and the crowd grumbled reluctant agreement.  

“Okay. Now, I know you must still have a lot of questions and so I’d like to propose that we all take a few days to calm down and think about what we want to do now that this curse is broken. I’m guessing a lot of you are going to want to change jobs, maybe find a new place to live. Think about it, and in a day or two we’ll have a town meeting to talk things out. Is that okay?” She turned inquiringly to Snow. 

“Um.” Snow looked startled. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, you are still the acting mayor,” Emma pointed out. 

“Huh. I guess I am.” She nodded. “That sounds like a good plan to me. All agreed?” 

There was a chorus of “ayes” and “yeses” and “I guess sos” and Emma smiled. “Good. Everyone go back home now, and if you see Regina remember no mobs.” She turned back to her parents with a relieved smile. “Ugh, I’m glad that’s done. I don’t know about you guys but I am dying for some onion rings and mint ice cream. Ooh, and maybe some pickles.” 

~

Regina took her time walking to Granny’s. Killian let her set the pace, clearly content to allow her what time she needed to collect her thoughts. They walked side by side with Robin trailing several feet behind, and Regina took advantage of the chance to look around. The streets were empty, and exactly the same as they had been before. The OG SB, as she imagined Henry would say. Curse 1.0. Her curse. 

 She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, trying to ease the tension in them. 

“So,” she said. 

“So,” Killian echoed. 

“So, ah, things might get a little unpleasant. At Granny’s. After the last curse broke, the townspeople were out for blood.” 

“Your blood, I presume?” 

“Yes.” 

She could feel his eyes on her, observing with curiosity but no censure. “And you’re worried they will be again?” 

She nodded. “I’m sure Emma will tell them I wasn’t the one who cast it this time, but—well, there are going to be a lot of angry people. And confused ones.” 

“And anger and confusion are a bad combination,” Killian concluded. “Aye. That’s a recipe for mutiny.” She glanced at him and saw his mouth twist with an expression she couldn’t read. She wondered what he could be thinking of.

They walked another block before he spoke again. 

“There are likely to be people out for my blood as well,” he said. “There generally are. And Emma’s parents… well…” 

“Yeah.” 

“Dave will be wanting my head, no doubt. And likely other parts of my anatomy as well.” He raised a wry eyebrow and her mouth curved in an answering smile. “Emma will fight for me, but I doubt that will do much to appease their shock.”

Regina nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Emma will fight for me, he said, with a casual assurance that floored her. She couldn’t imagine what that must feel like, to have such complete faith in someone’s love for you. 

“Regina.” She looked up to find him watching her with an odd expression, understanding and almost kind. “You know that Emma will stand up for you as well,” he said. “As will I. For whatever that’s worth.” 

She smiled. “It’s worth a lot.” 

They walked in silence for a few moments more. “I sense that wasn’t all you wished to speak to me about,” Killian remarked. 

“No.” 

He turned to her with an encouraging look. “Well?” 

“Do you—do you think they’ll ever really accept you? Snow and Charming, I mean. Do you think they’ll ever truly see you as part of their family?” 

“I don’t know. I hope they will. But perhaps the most important thing I have learned about this whole redemption business is that you can’t change the past or control other people’s reaction to it. Perhaps they never will accept me, and I can’t force them to. All I can do is apologise for the wrongs I’ve done and make what amends I can, and try to live better in the future than I have in the past.” 

“And what if you lost Emma? You’d still try to do that? You wouldn’t—er—” 

“Fall back into darkness again?” Killian’s jaw was tight, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side. “No. I wouldn’t.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

“Emma wouldn’t want me to, and even if she were gone I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. But it’s more than just that. I hated who I became, after my brother died and then Milah… I loathed myself for all the things I was doing but that only drove me to do more, worse things. I didn’t know how to make myself stop. ‘This is who you are now,’ I remember thinking. ‘This is the only way for you to be.’ And that, as I’m quite certain you understand, my Queen, is a terrible way to feel. It’s a terrible way to live.” 

Regina swallowed hard. “Yes.”  

“I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I didn’t want to live that life. Emma merely gave me an opportunity to walk a different path, showed me the way back to the man I had been long ago, a man I almost lost to vengeance. But I would still have wanted to be that man, for my own sake, even if Emma never came to love me.” 

He turned to her with an earnest expression, one she could imagine a young naval lieutenant may once have worn. “You have to want it for yourself, Regina, not for anyone else. If you’re trying to change for another person you’ll always resent it, and them. Do it for yourself alone. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, and because you deserve to be able to look at yourself in the mirror without shame. I’d like to think we all deserve that. Or at least a chance at achieving it.” 

"Thank you,” she said. “I’ll think about that.”  He’d given her a lot to think about. But Granny’s sign was looming less than a block away, and she still needed one thing more of him. 

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course.”

“This curse of Zelena’s... I still can’t quite figure it out. It was weird in a way I’ve never even heard of before, almost like it was, I don’t know, sentient almost. Like it could act for itself.” 

“Hmmm. What makes you think that?”

Regina frowned, trying to recall the exact words that had triggered her bizarre theory. “Zelena told me once she had spies and alarms everywhere, and she certainly always seemed to know what was going on but I never saw anyone actually working for her. Or anything. I don’t think any of her, er, flying monkeys were even here.” 

“So you think she meant the curse itself was her spy.” 

“Yes. Does that sound crazy?” 

“Not at all. This curse certainly had some peculiar qualities. There was that wind, for example, the way it seemed to follow us around.” 

“Yes! And the way I always felt I was being watched.” 

“I suppose there’s no chance of getting Zelena to tell us, now she’s defeated.” 

“Probably not, though I plan to do my best to get it out of her. But who knows how long that might take, so in the meantime do you think you could write down everything you remember about it?” 

“Aye, of course I can. I’ll make a log of my observations, and Henry’s as well. His input will be more useful than mine since he knew the old Storybrooke far better than I did.” 

“That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

They reached the gate of the diner and paused for a moment beneath the arch to allow Robin to catch up with them. When he did, all three exchanged a glance, and Robin took Regina’s hand. 

“Well,” said Regina. “Here goes nothing.”

~

Emma sat herself on a stool at the counter and placed her order with Granny, whose eyebrows rose almost to her hairline as she wrote it down. 

“I’ll get that for you right away,” she said with a probing look that Emma entirely failed to notice. She tapped her fingers absently on the formica countertop, smiling as she watched Henry greet all the people still in the diner and tell them eagerly all about how he had helped break the curse. 

“So,” beamed Snow, taking Emma’s hand and letting her thumb trail significantly across the ring on it. “Congratulations, you two.” She turned her head so her smile encompassed Neal as well. “I’m so glad you found each other again and can be a family.” 

“Ah,” said Emma, glancing at Neal. He gave her a shrug, and a smirk. “Um, actually—” 

“But when did it happen?” Snow was frowning now. “My memories of the curse are really foggy, but weren’t you both here the whole time? When did you have a chance to get married?” 

“Mom, it’s not actually—” 

“Who got married?” asked David, coming over to join them. “Emma?” 

“Yeah, actually I married—” 

A broad grin broke across David’s face and he took Neal’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Should I give you my protective father speech now, or is it too late for that?”

Considering our kid is nearly fourteen and was born when I was hardly older than he is now, I’d say yeah it’s a bit too late, Emma thought irritably. “Dad—” 

“We’ll have to have a celebration, of course,” said David, and Snow nodded eagerly. Emma felt the situation spinning rapidly out of her control and Neal, true to form, was being no help at all. 

“GUYS,” she shouted, drawing reproachful looks from Bashful and Doc, who were at the other end of the counter. “Please would you just listen.” 

Snow and David's jaws dropped in unison, and Emma seized her advantage. “I’m not married to Neal,” she told them firmly.  

“But the ring—” Snow began. 

“You’re still not listening, Mom! I’m not married to Neal.” 

Comprehension began to dawn on her parents’ faces. “But… who then…” stuttered Snow. 

Neal’s smirk deepened, and Emma took a deep breath just as the bell on the door chimed and Killian appeared, trailed by Regina and Robin. His eyes found hers immediately and she sent him a pleading look. 

“Killian,” she informed them, reaching out her hand to grasp his hook as he approached. “I’m married to Killian.”  

“What?” Snow cried. 

“Who?” asked David. 

Neal chuckled. “Hook,” he said. 

“Hook—” David frowned in confusion. 

“Aye, mate.” Killian came to stand behind Emma, his feet braced firmly on the floor and his jaw set. 

“Wait, wait…” David shook his head. “You’re married… to Hook?”

“To Killian, yes. For over a year now.” Emma slid off the stool and positioned herself in front of her husband, directly between him and her father, planting her own feet as David’s jaw worked and his eyes flashed. 

“But he’s… he’s…” 

“Don’t say ‘a pirate,’” sighed Emma. “Please. You always say that like it’s the worst thing anyone could ever be, and it’s really not.” 

“I mean, it’s not great,” said Neal. 

“And anyway he isn’t one anymore,” Emma continued, ignoring him. “He traded his ship for a magic bean so that he could find me in New York and bring back my memories, and now he owns a bookstore.” 

“He traded his ship?” 

“Yes.” 

“Really?” 

“Aye, mate, really.” 

“For Emma?” 

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Emma,” said Killian, trying to infuse his words with all the weight of the emotions behind them. “I love her.” 

David’s jaw relaxed a fraction, and his glare grew slightly less murderous.

“So hold on,” Snow said, placing a soothing hand on David’s arm. “Let me try to understand this. Are you saying you two weren’t cursed?” 

“He wasn’t. I kind of was? It’s hard to explain,” said Emma. “Or, I guess not hard so much as long.” 

“We have time,” said David, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Emma sighed. “Okay. So basically, Killian learned that I was in danger in New York and he did what he had to do to get to me as soon as possible. He restored my memories and together we figured out what the danger was, and in the process we learned that Storybrooke must be back. I decided to come here to investigate. He didn’t want me to, but I insisted. As soon as I crossed the town line Zelena appeared in the middle of the road and when I swerved to avoid her I hit a tree and was knocked unconscious. While I was out she dosed me with a powder that had a similar effect to the curse. It took my memories away and gave me new ones. Of course I didn’t know any of this until I managed to break through the effects of the powder and remember everything again.” She shivered as she recalled how awful it had been, believing herself married to Walsh. Unable to remember Killian when she was awake, or even give him much useful information in their dreams. 

“It took Killian a year to make the preparations he needed so that he could get into Storybrooke undetected by any magic, and during that time he lived in New York and took care of Henry. He had to learn all about how our world works, how to drive a car and use a computer and run a business. He did that all by himself because I wasn’t there with him, because I didn’t listen when he told me to wait.” Her voice broke as tears began to flow down her cheeks. Snow moved to comfort her but Emma waved her mother away, instead leaning into Killian when he wrapped his arm around her waist. 

“He never gave up on me, though,” she continued, “and when the time was right he came to Storybrooke, helped bring my memories back again, and then figured out what we needed to do to break the curse.” 

“He took care of Henry?” David’s expression had softened to something very nearly not hostile, just on the edge of accepting. 

“Yeah, Grandpa.” The diner had gone silent as Emma told her tale, and now Henry came to stand next to Killian, pressing close against his side. “He’s my dad. Stepfather, technically, but my dad in every way that counts.” 

Killian found himself swallowing over a lump in his throat, and blinking back tears, and the next words he heard nearly ended him. 

“He saved my life,” Neal said quietly. 

Every eye in the room turned to stare, and Neal, for once, did not smirk. “In the sheriff’s station, earlier today,” he explained. “Zelena and Hook and me both pinned down, and I couldn’t breathe. Emma was headed for Hook, to save him, and he told her no, she needed to save me first. If he hadn’t done that, I’d be dead.” 

Slowly the eyes shifted their focus, fixing on Killian, who flushed bright red. “I was never in any true danger,” he said gruffly. “Some time ago, Emma placed a number of protection spells around me. They’ve proven remarkably effective against Zelena’s magic. I knew I could withstand whatever she threw at me, but Neal could not. That’s, er, why.” 

“You still saved his life,” said Snow. “Whatever the reason.” 

“Well, yes. I mean of course I did,” said Killian, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

David’s face was stern but his eyes warm as he uncrossed his arms and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family,” he said. “Killian.”

~

Some time later, after Emma had finished her peculiar meal and was tucked into a booth chatting with Henry and her parents, Killian found himself at the counter again, this time with a tumbler of rum and his thoughts, when Neal appeared at his side.

“So, I guess I owe you thanks,” he said. 

“I told you, I was never in any danger.” 

“Still. Thanks.” 

Killian turned to him, unsure whether to feel hurt or angry or something else entirely. “Do you really think I’d allow you to be killed if it was in my power to prevent it?” he asked. “Really?” 

Neal shrugged. “I mean, we’ve certainly had our differences. In Neverland, and then with Emma. You might want me out of the way.” 

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Because of Emma? I can assure you there is no need.” 

“Yeah, trust me man, I’ve picked up on that.” Neal accepted a beer from Granny and stared at it in silence for a moment. “You really love her, then?” 

“Aye. I do.” 

Neal nodded. “I can see it. In her too. She loves you, and so does Henry. And I—I’m really trying not to be an asshole here, but I gotta be honest. It feels like you’ve stolen my family. Again.” 

Killian took a gulp of his rum. “I do understand how it might appear that way from where you’re standing, though I promise you there was no theft involved. Either time.” He cast Neal a challenging look. “You wouldn’t ever let me tell you about your mother, in Neverland. Are you willing to listen now?” 

Neal’s mouth twisted. “Will it help?” 

“I suppose that depends on the way you listen.” 

“I don’t know if there’s any good way to listen to you talk about her.” Neal retorted. “You realise that you’ve fucked both my mother and the mother of my kid. Do you have any idea how weird that is for me?” 

“I absolutely do.” 

“It’s just—it’s gonna take me a while. And I’m not making any promises. I don’t owe you anything and you sure as hell don’t seem to feel you owe me. Did you think about me at all when you were moving in on Emma?” 

“No, I didn’t. Because I never ‘moved in on Emma’ as you so charmingly put it. And because my relationship with her has nothing to do with you.” 

“Then why did you promise to back off?” 

“At the time I didn’t know just how connected Emma and I truly are. I knew how I felt, and that there was potential that someday she might feel the same. But I also knew that putting pressure on her to make a choice between us when she’d only just rescued Henry, and when not very long before she’d thought you were dead, well, there was no way that could end well for me. And as I told you then, I intended to play a very long game if necessary.” 

“Not that long though, was it,” Neal sneered. 

“Some of the longest years of my life, being separated from her,” muttered Killian to the last drops of his rum. “Especially this last one.” He glared at Neal. “I meant that promise when I made it. But truthfully, when I learned about the way things ended between you—how you left her by choice when all I wanted was to stay by her side forever—I regretted it.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t have a choice.” 

“I understand that’s what you think. But your abandonment hurt Emma deeply in ways she still sometimes struggles with. And I find that very nearly unforgivable. If it were anyone else, Bae, anyone at all, I wouldn’t even try. But for the memory of your mother and of the boy you were, and for Henry’s sake, I am prepared to wipe the slate clean. If you will as well.”

Neal snorted. “Why should I?”

“Just because you and Emma aren’t romantically involved, that doesn’t mean you can’t be part of her life, and Henry’s. They both care about you, as do I.” 

“So you want me to be part of your sweet little family?” 

“I have wanted that for literal centuries.” 

Neal’s scowl deepened as he fiddled with a loose bit of formica on the tabletop. “Tell me about my mother,” he growled. 

 “She loved you,” Killian replied. “That’s the main thing you need to know. She thought about you every day, told me stories of you all the time. But she was not the sort of person who was really cut out to be a parent. Can you understand that? How she could love you deeply and still not be able to be a good mother to you?” 

“I—” Neal frowned, thinking of himself, and Henry. “I think maybe I can.” 

"She was desperately unhappy in the life she had before we met. I’ve done some reading on the subject and I believe she suffered from what the psychiatry of this realm calls ‘clinical depression.’ She felt hopeless to the point of despair, and though she tried to disguise it with carousing in the tavern and seeking any sort of distraction from her feelings she could find, she knew deep down that it could never be enough. She was worried that her pain would drag you down too, and she couldn’t bear to see that happen. She thought that by leaving you with a loving father who would give you the best life he could that she was giving you your best chance, and she hoped very much that when you were older she could seek you out and you might allow her a place in your life again. I’m so terribly sorry that never came to pass.” 

“So you can barely forgive me leaving Emma for her own good, but you justify my mother leaving me for mine?” Neal snarled. 

“The circumstances aren’t entirely the same, but I take your point. I understand you find it difficult to forgive your mother, and me. But make no mistake, Neal, Milah intended to escape her life, one way or the other. I offered her a preferable alternative to some of the others she was considering, and I like to think she was as happy with me as she could have been. Sometimes there are no good options available and you simply have to take the least bad one.” 

“Like I have to choose between hanging around here and watching you be happy with my ex, or leaving and not seeing Henry anymore.” 

“Aye. Like that.” 

Silence fell between them again, heavy with resentment. Neal drank deeply from his beer, his knuckles white around the handle of the mug. When it was empty he set it forcefully on the counter and turned to face Killian. 

“I’ll take that clean slate,” he said. “I’m definitely not saying I’m ready for us to be happy families, okay, and I might never be, but I’m tired of holding on to this  anger. And hey, if you can stop being angry anyone can, right?” 

Killian nodded, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “Aye. I’d say they can.” 

-

Epilogue coming soon! (like later tonight soon!)  LINK TO THE EPILOGUE

-

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[aka-efirg]

of god and... god

dazai is free. dostoevsky is free. chuuya is not. after years of living with the god right beside him but always beyond reach, one week in the clutch of a self-proclaimed god suffices to break the barrier between the god and the human

triggers : non-consensual drug use ; implied/referenced torture ; implied/referenced rape

ao3

“It seems you’re lucid again despite the drugs.”

“It seems your drugs don’t work anymore. Maybe you shouldn’t have used the same ones for a whole week. You didn’t do your homework? My body takes around a week to grow accustomed to a drug.”

“How unfortunate. Maybe I shouldn’t have underestimated Dazai’s strongest piece.”

The sound of chains breaking can be heard and in one second the redhead is in front of Fyodor, a hand on his throat.

“Be careful with what you’re saying. Dazai and you think the game is solely between you and the lot of us are just pieces. You geniuses are so annoying.” While speaking, Chuuya moves and is now straddling the russian’s lap, his arms around his neck. “I’m no one’s strongest piece, neither queen, nor even trump card. And certainly not Dazai’s. I’m my own player. Both of you better remember that from now.”

“You are now?” Fyodor is looking straight at the mesmerizing blue eyes. When he’s got his hand on the redhead, he has not planned things will turn this way. But it is far from being unpleasing for him. If not, it’s just making things more interesting. “Yet you seem to play by Dazai’s game.”

The look the mafioso throws at the russian is fierce enough to pin Fyodor to his chair. However his expression is openly interested, wanting to see how things will unfold. The redhead seems to catch his feelings because the frown on his face subtly deepens. 

“I play along, not by. You are threatening my city and the people I care about. So if following Dazai’s plan can ensure your demise, I’m willing to do it.”

“Such harsh words.”

Fyodor brings his hand to the other’s face and draws an imaginary line from the cheekbone to the jawline, reveling in the way the redhead seems to lean at the touch. Not unlike a cat, Fyodor thinks, amused. Sometimes biting and hissing. Sometimes demanding and purring. 

The second Chuuya realizes what he’s doing, he withdraws. Leaving hanging in the air the hand that was previously gently stroking his face. Fyodor even swears he hears the redhead hissing. Not that it will be enough to deter him. On the contrary. He grabs the mafioso’s chin and maintains his head so that their eyes are bored into each other’s.

Amethyst into sapphire. He takes several seconds to relish the sea of emotions, so vivid and captivating. How the the redhead is not afraid of showing them is a strange concept. It makes him wonder what it is like to feel so strongly. Is the mafioso not overwhelming? Is it not incapacitating to have so many emotions that can go against reason and logic?

How can one think rationally if they are filled with anger or despair? How can they hope winning if they can not do what has to be done? If one is not ready to sacrifice those beneath them, they are just going to die, along the very ones they want to protect.

So he doesn’t understand how the one before him can be an Executive and still feeling and caring so vigorously. You would think someone who works under Mori Ōgai and had Dazai Osamu as their partner would have learned to hide their emotions.

But no, because these very emotions that should not be in the open are flashing so fast in these so expressive eyes Fyodor is not sure he’s managed to catch them all, let alone identified them. 

“It’s such a shame we don’t share the same point of view. You’d be dazzling by my side.”

“By your side?” Chuuya snorts. “You would let someone stand beside you?”

“I certainly could let you.”

When Fyodor feels the redhead moving, he prepares for him to try to dislodge the grip on his chin and back away. Instead the smaller leans forward until their nose are only a few millimeters away. 

“And what makes you think I’d want you by my side?”

“Are you that hard to please?”

Chuuya moves his head back, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Like I said, I’m not keen on those who go after the people I care about. Plus you want to destroy Yokohama and I can’t be seen with someone like that, can’t I?”

Fyodor lets out an amused chuckle and lets go of Chuuya’s chin, only to place his hand on the other’s hip and press him closer.

“You’re awfully close to me right now.”

“But I’m not next to you.”

The glint in his purple eyes matches the smile which appears on his face. He presses the smaller closer with the hand on his hip and brings the other to the red hair. He starts playing with the fiery strands, enjoying the silky sensation. He then bores his eyes into the blue ones and can’t help but say. “Your look has changed, compared to last week.”

The hand on the hip is now resting under the shirt and starts drawing circles on the lower back. To his credit Chuuya doesn’t look fazed by the russian’s constant touching. “Maybe it’s because I’m not drugged anymore.”

“No. You have changed. I don’t know what has caused this change but something feels different about you.”

“What? You really thought no change would occur after being your prisoner for a whole week?”

“I wouldn’t know. Usually they break after only a few hours, or one day for the most resilient. The change is always for the worst. They certainly don’t become more dangerous than before.”

“Oh~ you think I’m dangerous?”

“It would not be wise to underestimate you. I’ve already done it and look at where it has led us.”

“Me on your lap?”

Fyodor chuckles. “More you out of your chains.”

“And what are you going to do about that? Your chains can’t contain me and your drugs don’t work on me.”

Fyodor’s hand stops playing with the red strands and comes to encircle the smaller’s neck, applying a little pressure. “I could always kill you. There would be one fewer opponent. A powerful one at that.”

Chuuya removes his arms from where they are and cups Fyodor’s face with his hands. “What are you waiting for?” He leans forward, increasing the pressure on his neck. His voice becomes smoother, hypnotizing as he talks.“I’m at the mercy of your ability. Heck, you could even gut me with the knife you’re keeping on you. So what are you waiting for? Are you afraid your ability won’t work on me? Or do you think I will use your knife against you?” One of his hand has gotten closer to the said knife and is now holding its hilt. Without looking away, he brings the weapon between them, the blade toward him. “There, you see. All you have to do is push.”

Fyodor watches with amusement as the redhead is leaning closer and closer until he’s sure the blade is nipping the mafioso’s skin. “Now I can see why Dazai is so interested in you.”

Despite the mention of his ex-partner, Chuuya cracks a smile, pure mischief perceptible in his eyes. No one should look that pleased after being tortured for a week. Fyodor think absently. You sure seem to enjoy yourself, маленький бог.

“Oh, you were talking about me in your glass prison?”

“Well, I don’t see who else will fit the most the description of ‘a barking dog who seems can not follow one simple order and will only end up being a disappointment’. Even though you’re far from being a disappointment. I suspect Dazai wanted to keep you as far from me as possible. I mean, I can understand why. Wouldn’t it be the worst scenario if you ended up being under my control?”

“I’m fucking going to kill him and throw his body in the middle of the ocean.” He leans backward and sighs. Fyodor can only watch with mirth the redhead growing more and more irritated. “Lose one game, one single game and you get this fucking nickname following you for the rest of your life.” He looks Fyodor in the eyes, frowning a little at the clear display of emotions into them. “Once I’m finished with you, I swear this shitty good-for-nothing mackerel is dead.”

“Wouldn’t it be like throwing away all your efforts to free him?”

“But it would be so satisfying to do so.” The not pout and the not childish tone are so alien to the situation, Fyodor can’t help but smile.

“I’m not denying it. But didn't you say you needed him to beat me?”

“Agh, you’re right. You’re fucking right. I hate geniuses.” Chuuya closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Why does he always end up frustrated each time his ex-partner is mentioned? He has other problems to deal with. Such as the russian asshole in front of him.

“Maybe we should stop talking about him.”

“You’re the one who mentioned him first.”

“Why are we talking about him as if he is your ex-something ready to come between us?”

“Us? Great, replacing one disaster sociopath genius by one distinguish psychopath genius. I’m over the moon.”

For sole answer, Fyodor pushes the redhead toward him with his hand, pressing the knife even more into the smaller’s stomach, and brings his head closer to his own. The mafioso doesn’t flinch in the slightest at the bite of the knife, nor at the sudden lips crashing against his own. The kiss is far from being sweet and slow, but is devouring and biting. Neither of them close their eyes and Chuuya quickly understands the kiss is not of lust and desire, but of domination and control.

So that is where Fyodor wants to go. Fine. Two can play this game. And Chuuya would be damned if he’s going to let the russian win. 

He lets go of the knife, leaving it rest between them, and brings his hand to the dark hair. He grabs the black strands ferociously and deepens the kiss. He feels delight in the subtle shudder his action causes to the russian. In response he feels the hand on his neck moving to his nape and the vicious grip that follows. Thankfully he is no stranger to this kind of action and has since learned not to react. Fyodor is not the first one thinking he can submit him like that. And the few ones who succeeded paid the price ten fold. 

As neither of them appear to want to let the other gain one bit of control, soon they both are left out of breath and forced to break the kiss. Fyodor’s eyes shine with ominous glee and hunger. A dark chuckle escapes from his lips which curve in a predatory smile.

“You weren’t that defiant the other times I kissed you, маленький бог.”

The glint in Chuuya’s eyes is dangerous as well. The man before him took advantage of the state he was in and the god in him demands retribution. One does not wrong a god without paying the price. And Chuuya is more than willing to let the god reclaim his due. 

Fyodor mustn’t have sensed his intents, or does not care, because the next thing he says sends fury in his blood.

“You were so pliant and begging for more.”

Amusement is painting his face and all Chuuya wants is to rip this smile in tatters. Torn those hands off and crush them until there is nothing left. He wants to take his soul and shred it. Again and again. To wrest all that makes him human.

Does Fyodor even have a soul? Is it already in tatters? Does it look human? Now Chuuya wants to know. Which one of them have the most human soul?

Despite his thoughts of death and shredding, Chuuya flashes a sweet smile and brushes Fyodor’s face with his finger.

“Oh I’m sure it was very satisfying to have a god at your mercy. Whimpering, meowing, screaming, begging. I hope you enjoyed it because it won’t happen again.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Drug me, chain me, torture me again if you must, I will kill you. Make me beg one more time and I will destroy and tear you apart.”

Fyodor strokes the skin of the nape under his hand with a sickening affection. “Is it a promise?”

When Chuuya senses the hand on his back getting lower until the finger are under his clothes, he clutches violently the dark hair while his other hand grasps the arm in a bruising grip. 

“Yes, it is.”

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #9: The Decline and Death of Brian Jones

I’ve probably made it no secret that I have a freaky-ass memory throughout the course of this series, and this won’t be an exception. Aside from many of the exact dates, I can remember exactly how I got obsessed with Brian Jones.

It started in May 2019 while I was goofing off in art class. I was trying to write about the 27 Club, being obsessed with Kurt Cobain at the time, when I found myself captivated by a certain other blonde in the club.

I don’t know what kept me around. Maybe it was the delicate features framed by silky blond hair. Maybe it was the complicated story of his life. Maybe it was his mysterious death, and my drive to find out what really happened. Or maybe it was that shitty movie they made about him in 2005.

Whatever the reason, I stuck around. I’ll even put it this way: “Came for the morbidity stayed for the music. “

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It took me about a week or two to come up with my first theory between wondering what the hell I was getting myself into and trying to decide whether I should watch Stoned. I found out very early on that Brian had developed asthma at the age of four after a bout of croup. Knowing that asthma attacks can result in death, I didn’t think it unlikely that Brian could have drowned as a result of an asthma attack. In my research, I found an article stating that chlorine mixing with organic material can trigger symptoms of asthma attacks and allergic reactions.

I knew I’d need more evidence though but given that I didn’t want to be too intrusive this early on, that would be a slow process. If there was one thing I held on to, it was my firm resolute to not fall for another murder conspiracy so soon. It didn’t end so well for me the last time.

As I was trying to piece together what exactly happened to Brian Jones, I was also beginning to find out the story of how he got to that point in the first place.

There are many reasons I have love-hate relationships with Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and their treatment of Brian Jones is by far the biggest one.

Where the story of Brian Jones’ decline really starts is at the Ealing Club on 7 April 1962. It was here that a young Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Dick Taylor saw Brian “Elmo Lewis” Jones take the stage for the first time. The next month, Brian put an ad in the papers for musicians to come join a band he was starting. He quickly brought together Ian Stewart, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Dick Taylor, and Tony Chapman. The band, which Brian dubbed “The Rollin’ Stones,” gave their first performance on 12 July 1962, though there seems to be some confusion over who was playing drums that night. Bill Wyman replaced Dick Taylor on 7 December 1962, and Charlie Watts replaced Tony Chapman on 9 January 1963.

In the early days, Brian served as the Stones’ manager. It ended up being this very thing that led to the first cracks in this fortuitous partnership.

First thing’s first, Andrew Loog Oldham came along, and in May, he became the Stones’ manager. He only really had eyes for Mick and was one of the ones who led the subsequent whispering campaign against Brian. Not helping anything was when, on 13 October 1963, the others found out that Brian had been paying himself an extra £5 ($5.58). These were expenses he deducted because he believed that should be his pay, considering he was doing much of the work at this time. (I can sort of relate; I’ve suffered through high school group projects).

On the economics side (lord knows, that’s more Mick’s thing than mine), Bill Wyman has since stated that the Stones were making £193 ($215.38) a week. Adjusting for inflation, Brian was deducting roughly £87.26 out of £3,608.53. For the Americans in the crowd, that’s roughly $114.20 out of $4,722.66, once adjusted for inflation. Granted, across the board, that’s roughly 2.5% of the band’s total income at this point. Still, even that much might matter when you’re a bunch of starving artists.

When Paul Trynka summarized why everybody was pissed in his book, Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones, he said that for Mick, it was because he was a student at the London School of Economics. Five pounds is five pounds. Meanwhile, Keith was pissed because he, like everyone else in the band, was under the impression that they were earning equal pay in this group effort.

Pro-tip: If you start a band and feel you should be paid more because of how much of the work you’re doing, please disclose this with your band and work out an arrangement that will be beneficial to everyone. Otherwise, shit gets ugly.

Brian also didn’t help his case by insisting on staying in fancier hotels than the others (he was a bit of a neat-freak and a narcissist).

Keith later said, “He had an arrangement with (Eric) Easton, that as leader of the band he was entitled to this extra payment. Everybody freaked out. That was the beginning of the decline of Brian. We said, ‘Fuck you…’”

Meanwhile, Ian Stewart (who had been ousted from the band earlier that year) stated, “When we started playing outside London, Brian said, ‘I’m the leader of the group and I think I’ll stay at the best hotel. All the rest of you can stay in a cheaper hotel.’ Of course, the rest of the Stones just laughed at him, and that was it from then on. It was all over for him as the leader. He started to isolate himself because of this attitude.”

With one little five-pound note (and an ego trip), Brian had set in motion his entire downfall.

It might seem petty to myself and plenty of other Brian Jones fans, but lord knows, I’m not Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, or Andrew Loog Oldham. Besides, I have no idea how I’ll feel about all this in five years.

Meanwhile, I must confess that I almost did fall into that mindset of believing Brian was murdered. In June 2019, I was in Paris, on a trip across France led by my French teacher. Somewhere between trying not to lose my mind in a big city and taking awkward selfies at Jim Morrison’s grave, I, being overly chatty, started talking to one of my peers about music-related topics. I told her Brian’s entire life story as I understood it at that time, having been obsessed with him for a little over a month at that point. In my haste though, I unintentionally managed to convince her that Brian had been murdered. Despite not meaning to, I did end up entertaining the possibility, both for her and myself, for at least the rest of the night.

Besides, at the time, I was drawing blanks in trying to find hard evidence that Brian wasn’t murdered. I had one (water-logged) book saying he wasn’t, and a (shitty) movie and another book saying he was.

And then, at some point, I regained my senses, and not because of how ridiculous Brian’s death was when depicted in the movie Stoned. (For fuck’s sake, there was a shooting star in the sky at the moment of his death and he showed up as a ghost in the last five minutes). It really had everything to do with how much I regretted believing Kurt Cobain had been murdered.

I once again gathered my resolve and decided to go back on the hunt for more clues.

The second part of Brian Jones’ decline undoubtedly involves his tempestuous relationship with German-Italian actress Anita Pallenberg. The two started dating after a Rolling Stones concert in Munich on 14 September 1965 and developed a close bond, thanks in part to Brian’s ability to speak German. She gave him the confidence he needed to go against Mick and Keith and helped him become the fashion icon he is still remembered as today.

The Who’s Pete Townshend later had this to say: “We hung out a lot from about 1964 to 1966. Part of the time he was seeing Anita Pallenberg. She was a stunning creature. I mean literally stunning. It was quite hard to maintain one’s gaze. One time in Paris I remember they took some drug and were so sexually stimulated they could hardly wait for me to leave the room before starting to shag. I felt Brian was living on a higher plane of decadence than anyone I would ever meet.”

However, their relationship was also highly abusive. They would verbally and physically abuse each other. In fact, one time, Brian broke his wrist while the two were on a trip in Tangier. Though Brian said it was the result of an accident, Christopher Gibbs and Bill Wyman have both stated that it resulted from an altercation with Anita (though sources vary about whether he broke his wrist on a metal window frame or her face).

Of their relationship, Keith had this to say, “I would hear the thumping some nights, and Brian would come out with a black eye. Brian was a woman beater. But the one woman in the world you did not want to try and beat up on was Anita Pallenberg. Every time they had a fight, Brian would come out bandaged and bruised.”

I’d go so far as to say that the one good thing that came out of their relationship was the fact that Brian composed the soundtrack for her movie Mord Und Totschlag (A Degree of Murder).

As I’ve previously written about, when Mick and Keith were charged with drug possession in February 1967, lawyers told the Glimmer Triplets (Mick, Keith, and Brian) that since they were the most visible of the Stones, they should leave the country. So, Brian and Anita left Britain, heading for Morocco. However, Brian was already in no condition to travel, and he fell ill with pneumonia in Toulouse. He ended up spending a few days there (including his 25th birthday), while Keith and Anita met up in Tangier. There, she started an affair with Keith behind Brian’s back (Keith even confirmed in his autobiography that she made the first move).

When Brian finally arrived, he could tell that there was something going on between Keith and Anita. Keith was apparently shy around girls at this stage in his life but was more confident around Anita. Meanwhile, Anita was now a bit more open around Keith. Not much is certain about what happened next. What is known is that Brian paid for the services of two prostitutes and that there was an incident between him and Anita that night. Keith said that he threw food at her and humiliated her. Bill claimed that he beat her to the point where she was scared for her life. The less said about Stoned, the better.

Regardless, whatever Brian’s actions really were, it was over between him and Anita. Keith convinced her that if they didn’t get the hell out of there, Brian might try and kill her. The next day, Mick, Keith, and Anita fled Morocco, leaving Brian stranded for the next two days.

Brian’s father later blamed his son’s downward spiral on Anita breaking his heart. Others, such as Linda Lawrence, suggest that it was Mick and Keith’s betrayal that hurt him far more than Anita’s.

In either case, he never really forgave Keith. Beyond that, his drug and alcohol consumption only worsened.

This part of the Stones’ history is… tricky. Of course, I can’t condone Brian for his behaviour, but Keith, and especially Anita weren’t entirely in the right in this situation. Ultimately, Keith and Anita stayed together until 1980 and had three children (one of whom unfortunately died in infancy). Besides, I understand Keith’s actions the most out of everyone, given that he had a noble intent in getting Anita away from Brian’s increasingly toxic behaviour. Of course, it’s also important to note that Brian and Anita were 25 and 24 respectively at the time of this incident, and beyond that, they were young and impulsive, with unfortunately predictable results, given that they both could be volatile.

I may have an infatuation with Brian, but sometimes, something’s got to give.

Fifty-two years after that clusterfuck, I was continuing my research into the life of L. B. H. Jones as the fiftieth anniversary of his death came and went. A week or two later, I decided, despite some reservations, to get Bill Wyman’s book, Stone Alone.

Say what you will about Bill (I know at some point I’ll be commenting about the travesty that was his relationship with Mandy Smith), but I figured that if I wanted to know about the early Rolling Stones, he’d be one of my best sources. At the very least, he’s the only one who’s given Brian any sort of credit for his accomplishments instead of solely focusing on his failures like Keith tends to do. As I was flipping through random pages, I learned that Bill had written about one of Brian’s many illegitimate children. He called her “Carol,” for the sake of anonymity, and in it, he discussed the matter of her being diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy. She and Bill even applied some of her symptoms to things Bill observed when he was with Brian. In that one instant, what happened to Brian the night he drowned seemed to make perfect sense.

One of the things that had made putting the clues together so difficult from the very start was that Brian had punctate haemorrhages (tiny bleeds normally found in shaken baby syndrome) in his brain, which indicated that he’d been thrashing around quite a bit in his final moments.

Temporal lobe epilepsy can’t be cured, but it is manageable to a degree with medications. Brian, however, was never diagnosed, which is why we can’t be certain that he had epilepsy. There is no doubt in my mind that if Brian did have epilepsy, it would’ve gotten worse over time, given that Brian received no treatment. Carol speculated that Brian likely chalked up many of his symptoms to being hungover. Even then, he might not have realized that something was happening with his brain.

While I was typing up my theories though, I remembered that I’d found his toxicology report not long beforehand. As I read it, I found out that the drug that was in his system was likely Mandrax, which he had been prescribed in the days before he died. When I looked up Mandrax, I discovered that it was a brand name for Quaaludes. It can cause mental confusion, ataxia, seizures, and impaired decision-making, among other negative side-effects. The impaired judgment would explain why Brian decided it’d be a great idea to go swimming after he’d had sleeping pills and alcohol…

I still didn’t consider my work done, but this was the closest I’d come to having answers yet.

Speaking of Brian and drug abuse, the third key to understanding what happened to Brian, is to look at his two drug convictions.

However, I already talked about this (quite recently too), so I’ll try and keep this section brief.

As Mick and Keith were formally charged with drug possession on 10 May 1967, Brian found his home being raided by police. Although he’d been tipped off about their arrival, they still managed to find a handbag with cannabis in it, as well as methamphetamines and cocaine. It could be argued that the evidence was planted, but there is no way to prove this. In court, Brian confessed to doing cannabis but denied doing anything stronger (even though there’s pictures of him tripping on LSD early in 1967). The Stones’ new manager, Allen Klein, told him to stay away from the other Stones. However, this had the effect of further isolating Brian when he needed his bandmates the most.

On 30 October 1967, Brian was sentenced to three months in prison for cannabis possession and another nine months for allowing cannabis to be smoked in his home. He was additionally fined. After a rough night in prison, he was released the next day, awaiting appeal, though he was left shaken by that experience.

On 12 December, Brian went to appeals court, where his psychologist argued that Brian would become suicidal if he went to prison. Brian was sentenced to three years’ probation and ordered by the courts to seek professional help.

Lord knows, at this point, Brian might have been making an honest-to-God effort to get off drugs, but on 21 May 1968, police raided his house again. This time, they found cannabis hidden away in a ball of wool in the process. This usually inspires more impassioned arguments from Brian Jones fans that the evidence was planted. Brian himself said that he would swear until the day he died that he didn’t commit this second offense. Because he was still on probation at the time of this second arrest, he was facing a long jail sentence if found guilty.

On 26 September, Brian was found guilty of drug possession for the second time. However, the same judge who sentenced him to a year in prison the first time took pity on him. Instead, he fined Brian and gave him a stern warning to not show up in court again.

As you can see with the attached pictures though, the trials only helped speed up Brian’s downward spiral, and he shut down mentally.  

Honestly, I think the trials are a large part of the reason Brian went downhill as fast as he did.

Meanwhile, back in the present day, it was September now, and I was starting to get into the swing of being a full-time college student. While I was procrastinating, as usual, I was messing about on Google and I happened upon Brian’s autopsy report. Fact about me: this was far from my first time reading either autopsy reports or death certificates, so I decided to give it a look. After all, I could understand quite a bit of the medical jargon, which I blame on the fact that I loved reading medical books in elementary school. Couldn’t hurt, right?

Was the report perfunctory? Yes. Were there mistakes? A few that stood out, such as Brian’s height being given as 5′9″ when he was 5′6″, and his age being listed as twenty-six as opposed to twenty-seven.

However, that report did reinforce my most recent conclusions that Brian had overdosed on sleeping pills, which was exacerbated by alcohol.

I knew now that Mandrax had once been prescribed to treat anxiety and insomnia, which Brian likely suffered from following the stress of two drug trials that both resulted in convictions. This was also a time before doctors realized the addictive properties of Quaaludes. For all I know, Brian might not have been keeping the best track of how many pills he was taking (which is also how Keith Moon died).

Going back to the long, sordid story of Brian’s collapse, the fourth major reason he found himself being kicked out of the band he founded was that he stopped contributing to the Stones’ music.

In the documentary Crossfire Hurricane, Mick stated, “You certainly didn’t know if he was going to turn up and what state he was going to be in and then, what he was going to be able to do in that state. What job could you give him? And then, one time, when we sat around, on the floor, we played, in a circle, playing “No Expectations”. And he picked the guitar and played a very pretty line on it which you can hear on the record. And that was the last thing I remember him doing that was Brian. Or, the Brian that could contribute something very pretty and sensitive and it made the record sound wonderful.”

Some people have compared Brian to someone who wants to quit but doesn’t want a confrontation (Brian, believe it or not, wasn’t exactly keen on confrontation). Instead, he puts in the smallest effort he can, if that. In fact, Brian had wanted to leave in 1967, but Mick convinced him to stay.

Perhaps Brian’s fate might have been different if he’d gone with his gut in 1967.

Brian still contributed to much of Beggars Banquet. By 1969 though, it seems as if he’d completely given up on the band he’d founded. He stopped showing up to the studio, and if he did come, he’d be too intoxicated to play. In fact, there were points where Mick and Keith would turn off his amp, if not tell him to just go home. It got to the point where he (barely) appears on two songs on Let It Bleed: “Midnight Rambler” and “You’ve Got the Silver.”

Frequent Stones collaborator Jack Nitzsche later said “Brian came up to me, looking pretty shaky, and asked me what I thought he should do- he didn’t know where he fit[ted] in. I told him to just pick up a guitar and start playing. Then he walked over to Mick and asked, ‘What should I play?’ Mick told him, ‘You’re a member of the band, Brian, play whatever you want.’ So he played something, but Mick stopped him and said, ‘No, Brian, not that- that’s no good.’ So Brian asked him again what to play and Mick told him again to play whatever he wanted. So Brian played something else, but Mick cut him off again- ‘No, that’s no good either, Brian.’”

Marianne Faithfull, Mick’s girlfriend at the time, told a friend that Brian had sent Mick several letters over a period of several weeks while Mick was away. One that she’d opened said “Please let me come back in. I’ll play bongos, anything, but please let me come back in.”

…I need a moment to recollect myself.

Some fifty years later, I was still trying to make it through my first semester of college. I got myself a book about the 27 Club, figuring there might be something that would aid me in my research. There, I learned that, reportedly, Brian had not only been taking Mandrax, but also Piriton (hay fever medication), black bombers (which had been prescribed to him a mere ten days before he died), and Valium. That’s on top of an inhaler that would later be found to cause heart palpitations.

A couple of months later, I decided to look up the side-effects of every drug that Brian had ever taken, be it proven fact or allegation. That part of my research isn’t quite finished yet, but what I’ve found with the five medications that Brian was taking around the time of his death proved to be particularly shocking.

For the sake of brevity, I can’t list every side-effect. What I did notice is that some included side-effects of tachycardia/bradycardia, confusion, loss of coordination, impaired decision making, hyperactivity, seizures, and stomach problems. Some, like the uncoordinated behaviour, were noted by those who were there, such as Janet Lawson, who realized that Brian had taken sleeping pills that night, based on him muttering that he’d taken “sleepers”. Others could be a no-brainer, given that Brian had an enlarged heart and liver, in addition to suffering from bronchial troubles and pleurisy.

My immediate thought was, “Jesus, Brian, what the hell were you doing to yourself?”

And now for the final part of Brian’s story: the last twenty-five days of his life.

The Stones wanted to go on tour again, this being their first in two years. Due to Brian’s convictions, Stones management discovered that he probably wouldn’t be able to receive a work visa in the U.S. On 8 June 1969, Mick and Keith drove down to Cotchford Farm to tell Brian that he was fired. They brought Charlie along in case Brian decided to put up a fight. However, Brian agreed to back out gracefully, possibly knowing that he’d burned too many bridges at this point. The next day, Brian released a statement, which painted the decision to leave as being his own. He capped it off with “We had a friendly meeting and agreed that an amicable termination, temporary or permanent, was the only answer. The only solution was to go our separate ways, but we shall still remain friends. I love those fellows.”

As I’ve said though, how Brian truly felt about this turn of events will forever remain a mystery.

In the days before he died, it has been suggested by those close to him that Brian was planning on starting another band. Some believe he was going to bring in Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon. Jimi’s camp has since denied that Brian ever approached Jimi. There are also lingering questions regarding whether Brian had given up hard drugs or if he was still taking them. I doubt the latter, considering the well-documented stress of the drug trials.

The picture above was taken nine days before Brian died. Honestly, I do believe there was still some hope for Brian (I can even see it in his eyes). Whether he would’ve recovered or not and whether he’d still be alive today will forever remain up to conjecture, as that’s another possibility that followed Brian to the grave.

Wednesday, 2 July 1969 was host to hot, muggy weather that exacerbated Brian’s asthma. He spent his last day alive with at least three people: Anna Wohlin, his 22-year-old, Swedish girlfriend, Janet Lawson, a registered nurse who was dating Stones minder Tom Keylock, and Frank Thorogood, a 43-year-old builder who’d been doing work on Brian’s property at the time.

Details of Brian’s final day are sketchy, and there are some disagreements over what exactly the people involved did throughout the day. For example, there are disagreements about whether they watched television or not. Some would argue that this is clear evidence that Brian was murdered. I would posit that three of the four parties involved had been drinking. Even if everyone was sober, in a situation such as this, human memory can be extremely unreliable. For example, hundreds of witnesses were interviewed on the night Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, but no two accounts are alike. What we know had to be stitched together from witness accounts in which everyone claimed to have seen or heard something different.

What seems to be the most agreed-upon version of Brian’s death is that he decided to go swimming. Anna was reluctant and had to be persuaded to join in. Janet, the only sober person among the group, decided against swimming, most likely to keep an eye out for everyone else. Janet said in her witness report (recorded on the morning of July 3, 1969) that she strongly felt that Frank and Brian were in no condition to swim. She also recalled that Brian had great difficulty in standing on the diving board, being helped not-so-successfully by Frank. Even after that, his movements in the water seemed sluggish.

I don’t know, but if that were me, I would’ve called emergency services right there and then.

According to Janet, Anna was the first to return to the house, followed by Frank about ten minutes later. When Janet next went out to check on Brian sometime around midnight, she found him face-down in the deep end, and “immediately sensed the worst.”

She ran back to the house to get Frank and Anna, and with their help, got Brian out of the pool. She immediately began resuscitative efforts, despite knowing Brian was already dead. Anna later claimed that she felt Brian’s hand briefly grip hers. However, when paramedics arrived, they pronounced Brian dead in the early morning hours of 3 July 1969.

Brian’s official cause of death was given as drowning by immersion in fresh water, partly as a result of liver damage and the ingestion of drugs and alcohol. To be precise, 1,720 micro-gms of an “amphetamine-like substance” and the alcohol equivalent of three-and-a-half pints of beer were found in Brian’s system.

In short, it was death by misadventure.

As seems to be the case when a young celebrity dies under tragic circumstances, conspiracy theories have since risen regarding Brian’s death. The following list is taken from Paul Trynka’s book. For the sake of brevity (such as it is), some of these will be combined into one section.

1. The most predominant of these theories states that Frank Thorogood drowned Brian. Whether it was second-degree murder or manslaughter as a result of rough horseplay will usually vary between sources. Brian reportedly asked Janet to get his inhaler shortly before his death. The story then goes on to state that Frank drowned Brian and participated little in the efforts to save Brian’s life. It should be noted that Janet did state in her original testimony that she’d asked him to call emergency services.

The main reason people will give about why they believe that Brian was murdered is that Tom Keylock claimed to have heard Frank confess on his deathbed to the murder. However, Frank’s daughter, Jan Bell, has denied that such an exchange could have happened. There was never a point where Keylock had spent any time alone with her father. Furthermore, he’d only been admitted with a respiratory problem, and thus could not have known that he was on his deathbed. She also claimed that on the morning of Brian’s death, Frank saw an argument between Mick, Keith, and Brian over the name “Rolling Stones.” During the fight, Keith allegedly pulled a knife on Brian. If this did happen, it was likely earlier in the year.

In addition, Janet and Anna have since claimed that Brian was murdered. Janet later claimed that much of her original testimony was suggested to her by investigating officers and that Tom told her to hide the fact that she was his girlfriend. Anna claimed that she was spirited back to Sweden in the immediate aftermath of Brian’s death, where she allegedly miscarried Brian’s child. One of Anna’s friends later said that her belief that Brian had been murdered was a recent development. It’s also notable that neither witness came forward until after Frank died. Many of Anna’s recollections about Brian, such as him being focused on music are also contradicted by others who were close to Brian at the time.

Keith later said, “I knew Frank Thorogood, who made a ‘deathbed confession’ that he’d killed Brian Jones by drowning him in the swimming pool, where Brian’s body was found some minutes after other people had seen him alive. But I’m always wary of deathbed confessions because the only person there is the person he’s supposed to have said it to, some uncle, daughter, or whatever. ‘On his deathbed he said he killed Brian.’ Whether he did or not I don’t know. Brian had bad asthma and he was taking Quaaludes and Tuinals, which are not the best things to dive under water on. Very easy to choke on that stuff. He was heavily sedated. He had a high tolerance for drugs, I’ll give him that. But weigh that against the coroner’s report, which showed that he was suffering from pleurisy, an enlarged heart, and a diseased liver. Still, I can imagine the scenario of Brian being so obnoxious to Thorogood and the building crew he had working on Brian’s house that they were just pissing around with him. He went under and didn’t come up. But when somebody says, ‘I did Brian,’ at the very most I’d put it down to manslaughter. All right, you may have pushed him under, but you weren’t there to murder him. He pissed off the builders, whining son of a bitch. It wouldn’t have mattered if the builders were there or not, he was at that point in his life when there wasn’t any.”

(You’re telling me he can apologize for telling Mick to get a vasectomy, but not for even a fraction of the shit he’s said about Brian?)

In 2005, this version of events was turned into the appalling movie Stoned, which featured Tom Keylock as an adviser and was based on claims made by Janet Lawson and Anna Wohlin. The director, Stephen Wooley, claimed to have researched the material for this story over a period of ten years. Really, it feels less like ten years of research, and more like one week. From what I could tell, it did seem that Brian’s death was manslaughter, but honestly, it was too confusing. Frank seemed damn determined to drown Brian in that moment. The movie (quite literally) drowned on arrival.

2. In 1983, Nicholas Fitzgerald wrote Brian Jones: The Inside Story of a Rolling Stone. In it, he claimed to have been a close friend of Brian Jones (his cousin, Tara Browne, actually was a close friend of Brian’s). Not only that, but he claimed to have seen Brian’s “murder.” He claimed that he and 19-year-old Richard Cadbury (who passed away before the story came out) visited Brian at Cotchford Farm the day he died. Allegedly, Brian told Fitzgerald all about his plans to start up a supergroup with John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix, saying “Don’t say anything… it could be dangerous!”

(As keen as I am about the idea of John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, and Brian Jones being in the same band, you can probably tell that I think this story is a load of bullshit.)

After Fitzgerald and his friend visited a pub, they returned to Cotchford Farm at about 11:15 PM, leaving their car some distance from the house. (Keep in mind, the coroner said that Brian died somewhere between 11:30 PM and 12:00 AM). There, he and his friend saw three men holding Brian under the water, whilst two other people stood by. Suddenly, a man, likely Keylock, jumped out of the bushes and told Fitzgerald to scram, lest he be next.

He refused to give a formal statement to the police. What I don’t think the dumb fuck was counting on was that police would investigate his ass, considering that withholding information could’ve resulted in him being charged with being an accessory to murder after the fact. The police determined that the evidence Fitzgerald gave was “bizarre, full of unverifiable claims that, he, too, had escaped murder attempts, that Cadbury might have been involved with the murderers, and that Cadbury, too, had died ‘in mysterious circumstances”. Detective Chief Superintendent J. F. Reece summarized it best when he said that Fitzgerald was a “Walter Mitty type person” and that he’d come up with the allegations to promote his book. In fact, the book itself had even more ludicrous allegations, such as how Tom Keylock had overseen the whole thing. It got to the point where Eddie Kramer called the story “silly.” John Lennon, meanwhile, believed that Brian was another victim of the drugs scene, and even dreaded him coming on the phone (another reason I don’t believe the supergroup was in the cards for Brian’s future, regardless). Also, Fitzgerald mostly relied on the testimony of those who had already passed away, such as Suki Potier, one of Brian’s girlfriends, who died in a car crash along with her husband in 1981. One of the few living witnesses Fitzgerald claimed to have run into, James Phelge, denied ever having met him.

Also, pro-tip, if you’re going to claim to have been a close friend of someone you’re claiming was murdered, don’t sell your story to the tabloid that got him busted for drug possession. Just saying.

3. In 1990, A. E. Hotchner published Blown Away: The Rolling Stones and the Death of the Sixties. In it, he claimed that Brian’s childhood friend, Dick Hattrell, and a random Cockney named "Marty” had knowledge that Brian was murdered. He claimed that Rich (sounds better to me than Dick) visited Brian shortly before he died and became worried about him. Later, he bumped into someone who claimed to have witnessed Brian’s murder. Marty claimed to have witnessed the murder, claiming that two other women were there, including Linda Lawrence (mother of one of Brian’s sons) who was spirited out of the country following Brian’s death.

In reality, she last saw Brian in 1968.

Similarly, Hattrell has since stated that the story was nonsense; he never visited Brian at Cotchford, and he never said Brian was murdered. Marty has since kept his mouth shut.

Really, it just doesn’t hold up when closely scrutinized.

4. David Gibson claimed to the Brighton Evening Argus that, while he was fitting carpets at Brian’s home, Brian and Anna were absent throughout the better part of the day. When they returned later in the evening, Brian begged Gibson not to leave. Gibson, meanwhile, believed Brian had been murdered and that Tom Keylock was responsible. Some, like Sam Cutler, claim that Gibson saw Princess Margaret at Cotchford Farm, which has led to speculation that Brian was killed to protect her reputation. Gibson never went to the police, and probably believed that he’d been subject to threats and murder attempts. However, aside from Brian’s paranoia and belief that someone was out to get him, Gibson’s story doesn’t line up with many of the other conspiracy theories.

5. Geoffrey Giuliano in his 1994 book Paint It Black claimed that a man named “Joe” said that he’d held Brian’s head under the water for shits and giggles (not something one would normally do for shits and giggles). The thing is though, Giuliano’s book largely recycled content from previous books on the subject, and beyond that, made elementary mistakes, such as claiming that Frank had fled the scene, when in reality, he was there when police officer Albert Evans arrived at about 12:10 AM. It was later found that the tape he’d sourced some of this information from was a fake, made for American radio programmes in New York.

6. Given that Tom Keylock was a bit of a dishonest/disliked character in life, it should come as no surprise that some of the theories focus on him too. In 2009, Sam Cutler claimed that after Brian’s death, Allen Klein (himself a sleazeball) hired some PI’s to investigate Brian’s death and that they’d discovered that Tom was responsible. While Tom did try to pin the blame on Frank and told Janet to conceal her relationship with him, and it is known that he apparently stole some of Brian’s belongings after he died, that does not make one a murderer. It’ll certainly make him a slimeball, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. Meanwhile, in 2013, Cutler claimed confusion as to whether the Klein report even existed. I think at this point, it’s safe to call it a hoax.

In addition, while it is more likely that Tom would have been the murderer instead of Frank, he does have a rather rock-solid alibi in that he was at Olympic Studios and was the one who received the call that Brian had died. Really, any theories that try to say he masterminded a huge plot to have Brian killed and make it appear as an accident tend to raise more questions than it answers.

Let’s all make no mistake though, the police did jump to conclusions rather quickly, there are several obvious mistakes in the autopsy findings, and not to mention, police failed to control the area, which is likely how Tom was able to steal Brian’s belongings and possibly have some destroyed.

Meanwhile, I myself believe that Brian’s death was accidental. Likely, it was the result of a cocktail of prescription medications, alcohol consumption, maybe a side-effect or two resulting from that, and possibly even heart failure or liver disease. Perhaps Brian fainted (which, I honestly hope for, given how painful it is to drown), and with no one around to notice his plight, he quietly slipped away.

I know there’s no way to prove this, given that the police don’t have a good reason to dig up Brian’s bones and it’s probably far too late for a second toxicology report, but given the available evidence I’ve been able to find, I believe this is the most likely version of events.

Truly, a sad ending for a man, who didn’t even have a chance to get back on his feet before fate (and a lifetime of drug/alcohol abuse) intervened.

Whenever I read about Brian’s life story, I always find myself interested by the mistakes, intrigue, and betrayal that seemed to plague Brian’s life from the outset. There are a multitude of what-ifs that honestly make this tale haunting, such as what might’ve happened had Mick and Keith not bullied Brian so severely. There’s also what might have happened if both the Stones and the authorities had better understood the effects of drug use and had the resources and compassion to better deal with Brian’s situation. Most hauntingly, there’s the question of what might’ve happened had someone been near Brian in his final moments and had the opportunity to save him.

I think the biggest reason I keep coming back to his story is that his life as a whole was very conflicting. It honestly inspires both condemnation and sympathy/pity, even in me.

Even if Mick and Keith would rather forget that Brian was ever a part of their band, it is my honest belief that people will continue to discover Brian Jones, whether it be through the 27 Club or through some other means, and I hope that they take the time to learn his story.

Sources/Further Reading: https://www.drugs.com/illicit/quaaludes.html https://asthma.net/living/swimming-pools-triggers/ https://www.drugs.com/sfx/ergotamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/valium-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/amphetamine-side-effects.html https://www.drugs.com/sfx/chlorpheniramine-side-effects.html Stone Alone by Bill Wyman Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Rock Legend by Laura Jackson https://clearcomfort.com/why-asthma-allergy-sufferers-should-avoid-chlorine-pools/ http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1963.html http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1962.html https://www.inflationtool.com/british-pound/1963-to-present-value?amount=5 https://people.com/music/anita-pallenberg-rolling-stones-keith-richards-brian-jones-love-triangle/ https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-lists/the-27-club-a-brief-history-17853/ https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-found-dead/ https://www.denofgeek.com/us/culture/music/281978/the-rolling-stones-and-the-mystery-of-brian-jones-death https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/brian-jones-sympathy-for-the-devil-182761/ https://www.mojo4music.com/articles/15989/brian-jones-it-was-murder https://ultimateclassicrock.com/brian-jones-murdered/ https://www.udiscovermusic.com/stories/just-why-was-brian-jones-so-important-to-the-rolling-stones/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/obituary-brian-jones-189861/ https://www.oxfordtreatment.com/prescription-drug-abuse/tuinal/

[rhysnrivers]

Odyssey to becoming a Published Author

(Note: with Odyssey being in the title, this is quite a long post.  The link to the facebook page that leads to where my novel can be bought from can be found at the bottom of the post, as can some of the initial artwork done)

So, despite never been a ‘blogger’ per se before, I’ve decided to write this article about my journey from having dreamed about writing and having my own works published, through to actually writing my ideas up and publishing them myself, as I’m sure that there are many an indie author and authoress out there who can relate and have been through the very same journey I have.

First thing’s first.  Rhys N Rivers is not my real name.  It’s a pen name.  There’s something in being anonymous when it comes to writing, almost like a sense of freedom.  This day and age of social media means that almost everything we do is recorded somewhere on the internet, and an opinion or action from ten years ago can be drudged back up to be ridiculed by the Facebook jury and/or the Karens of the internet, in line with the fashionable opinions of the day.  A pen name grants anonymity and to some degree, security.  The only people who know my identity are my immediate family and a few close, trusted friends.

When people embark on a new venture; be it a new hobby, learning a new language, travelling the world, changing jobs etc, the journey actually begins long before said venture starts.  Quite often, the journey always begins in the classroom, at home, in bed, in daydreams.  It begins as a state of ambition.  A plan that one day, will be put into action.

My authoring journey was no different.  Mine actually began around the age of eleven.  I was of the Harry Potter generation where I was the same age as the main characters in the early years when a new film came out each year.  J.K. Rowling got me into reading beyond in school, and I - being one of the cool kids, clearly - read a lot throughout my early and mid teenage years.  It was admittedly predominantly fantasy based, (Tolkien, Pratchett, Philip Pullman, Garth Nix) or Bernard Cornwall’s historical works before I branched out into people like Wilbur Smith and others.  When I was around 14 or 15, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code took the world by storm and I also ended up reading all of his works. School provided a sophisticated reading list, which included Dickens and Golding, and so growing I had read through a rich and broad variety of fiction.

Where actually writing was concerned, I think it was about the age of eleven or twelve that I realised that I wanted to write properly.  I think it was actually after reading William Nicholson’s Wind Singer when I decided, and I set to task in writing coming up with a fantasy novel.  I didn’t start writing the plot straight away; I actually started coming up with characters and places, even drawing out a world map.  That was really fun to do.  It had a sense of total control to it.  What I decided was what things were.  Where a kid may not feel in control of things in other parts of life (insecurities of school, friends, growing up, relationships etc), this was something totally different.  The ability to create your own fictional world, in whatever genre you go for, is a form of escape and release in which you can develop your talents and ideas.  

There were lots of elements to what I was planning out - which included ideas from Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, The Legend of Zelda, The Wind on Fire among others.  To be honest, I’m actually glad that ‘project’ didn’t get very far.  Poor Christopher Paolini, the author of the Inheritance Cycle quadrilogy of books, was slated by certain groups and reviewers for his alleged lack of originality and using of ideas from other stories.  In Paolini’s defence, he was only fifteen when his first book was published, which is something that most fifteen year olds don’t achieve!  But I think that had I completed mine, it might have faced the same criticisms - not necessarily from reviewers or publishers, but perhaps friends and family reading through it first.

School, in particular, provided me with a lot of enthusiasm and inspiration to write (clearly, I was one of the cool kids).  My GCSE English teacher was a great bloke (probably still is) and gave great, honest and constructive feedback to the entire class’ work.  Our first piece of English Literature coursework was a piece on creative writing and I elected to do a piece on the topic of an opening chapter/opening chapters to a novel.  Having just read Dan Brown I did my piece in his sort of style: bloke copping it at the start, trying to prevent some conspiracy from going ahead, then the reluctant hero of the story gets dragged in to solving it.  My piece didn’t revolve around religious groups or secret societies, but around a historical artefact.

Out of 54 marks, this scored 52.  I was more than happy with that.  I had no idea where the story was going to go but I was determined that I would one day finish the story.  To this day, I still have no idea where the story is going, but I am certain that it will be the last novel of a set of three, dragging the main character, a desperately-can’t-wait-to-retire detective, through painstaking research, learning about history that he wouldn’t usually be arsed about and running away from people, of whom he’s becoming more and more of an embuggerance (word-invention credited to Terry Pratchett) to.

For some reason, I really can’t remember why, but about a year later the option was given to my English class to rewrite that piece of coursework (we were about four out of five coursework pieces done by that time).  I was of course happy with my score but I saw this as an opportunity to try something new and see what ideas could again come spewing from my mind.

This time, again sticking with the opening chapter(s) option, I wrote about a start of a medieval conspiracy, beginning around the Battle of Crécy and going…err…I still have no idea where!  But this piece resonated better than the previous piece, earning full marks from my English teacher, along with the comments “…should come with an 18 rated certificate.”  Again, I vowed that I would complete this story one day and see it published.  This one I think I will try to make into a three-book story.

The summer after completing my GCSE exams I did the normal stuff: went on holiday with family, chilled out with friends, even attended the World Scout Jamboree that year.  But I also by then had a set of ideas in my head that I wanted to turn into novels, and wrote that list onto a computer, and saved it to my USB memory stick.  I have no idea where I last saw that USB stick…

After I left school I joined the British Armed Forces.  I’m not going to write too much about what I did, where I went etc (not because I was part of some uber-top-secret unit, but more-so that it just doesn’t contribute to this post) but my priorities changed.  I read a lot less and writing properly in the near term future just was not a possibility, or something that I wanted to concentrate on at that time.

In early 2017 I was considering a career change, and during that time I joined fanstory.com, under my real name.  The purpose of doing this was to put myself into an environment with other amateur writers, gain inspiration from other budding authors (and hopefully give some inspiration back), and be in a place where my works could be read among ‘peers’, giving me a good steer on things.

It was on this website where my first novel, Payment, was conceived.  There was a competition going for short stories up to 7000 words long in the horror genre (“Put your readers on edge or terrorize them”) and so I thought this was a good place to test out to see what people think and to  develop my writing style.

It took me a couple of weeks to put Payment together and submit it.  I had never considered writing horror before but this, again, was an ample opportunity to try something new and see what I could come up with.  I decided to go with a 19th Century narrative; much like Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker.  I prefer to think or the horror genre as the old neo-gothic styles of writing - the old ghost stories.  Horror, in recent years, both in writing and film-making, has taken more of a gore and shock factor turn.  Personally, I think that will turn horror more into the thriller genre.  To me, horror should be about ghosts, vampires, witches - the occult and the supernatural.  And that’s that I have tried to achieve with Payment. 

What surprised me the most during the writing of this were my decisions to use the first-person narrative - something I used to despise growing up, and the use of a one-word title.  For some reason it used to bug me no end that it was becoming more and more common that artistic projects, be they novels, films, dance, visual art etc, would use one-worded titles.  I used to think that was a cop-out.  But here I am with Payment - a novel told in first-person narrative…

I have always thought that my writing style was/is closest to Terry Pratchett’s.  I’ve never tried to emulate him but his style of using irony, dry humour and satire, whilst also plummeting to some very deep philosophical ideas.  But I couldn’t do that whilst writing Payment.  The thing is with writing horror, is that you have to be able to maintain that macabre atmosphere all the through.  That actually isn’t easy.  I found there always has to be a sense of the character’s isolation, a sense of doom and gloom, and a sense of something about to happen.  

I didn’t win the completion that I entered.  I don’t think it even made the top three.  The votes are cast by the other entries’ writers and maybe a few other people.  I can’t remember if you could vote for your own project but I think you could.  The entries placed above mine, although I thought their storylines familiar with ideas already done, were admittedly much easier to read than my entry.  A 19th century style of writing will always lose to simplicity when people have a number of works to read.

But that didn’t deter me.  I’d created a fictional work and was determined to show it to the world.  I didn’t go ahead with the career change at that point but decided to fully review Payment, at get it out there as a completed project.

Fanstory is a good platform, it really is.  I’m not sure why, but after only a couple of months and having written a few competition entries, I came to stop writing on it.  My old job was getting in the way and to be honest, I was getting impatient with writing on it.  I had the mentality that I wanted to be published right now sort of thing.

A couple of years later, I did go ahead in a change of direction career-wise.  This provided the opportunity to fully revise Payment and make it into a ‘novelette’, more than 7000/7500 words but fewer than 17,500.  I would then prepare it for editing, get the artwork sorted and then publish it online for maybe a couple of quid.

I was actually in Tanzania at the time when I thought that Payment had been expanded enough to put out as a novelette.  Once I’d finished writing, I showed it to a couple of the volunteers I was working with and they both enjoyed it.  Although I was pleased about that, I still wasn’t satisfied with it.  I had touched on quite a few themes in the work but I don’t feel like I had explored them all as much as I could have.  Although complete, it felt very much incomplete.  At the same time I wanted to expand the work into a full novel and also I didn’t - mainly because of the challenge of maintaining that horror atmosphere.

I decided that, in order to put more meat onto the bones and develop this short story/novelette into a full length novel, I needed a goal to work towards; something that has an end achievement that will make me work to expand on what I had already done.  And so I set about looking for horror writing groups and/or competitions on the internet. 

In not much time at all I came across the Horror Writers Association (HWA).  They are a group that cater for all things horror and occult in fiction.  There, you can advertise your works, read or recommend other people’s works and learn about events - namely the StokerCon.

But what attracted me to them the most was their sponsorship of the Bram Stoker Awards (“for Superior Achievement”).  These are awards that are given out to authors and authoresses who have had their works judged in certain categories.  The one that has caught my eye is the ‘First Novel’ category.  A quick reading of the rules informed me of the minimal word limit:  40,00 words.  Perfect.  There’s something to work towards, with a chance at winning what is described as ‘the Oscars of horror writing’.  When I returned from Africa I set about the task of bolstering a 17,000-ish novelette into a 40,000 word minimum horror novel!

I have read Edgar Allan Poe in the past, and even bits of Mary Shelley.  For more inspiration in keeping that spooky, Neo-Gothic atmosphere, I read some parts of Bram Stoker and H.P. Lovecraft.  Despite all of that, I initially found it difficult to write again on the same piece of work that I started almost three years previously.  It was only after reading Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black, where I became inspired by her power of description to turn chapters, paragraphs and sentences that belong in quick short stories to ones suitable for a long read.

In January, this  year, I had finally finished.  I expanded heavily on the ideas that I was before concerned that I was rushing through and before I knew it, my word count was well over the 40,000 words I wanted to achieve!  I read it all again myself, edited out any spelling or grammar mistakes that I had seen, and sent it out to beta testers (readers) for opinions and editing.

Following the last edit - of which there wasn’t relatively much to do - my debut novel stands at a word count of 53,850 words!  That isn’t considered very long by today’s standards.  To give a point of reference, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is estimated to be around 77,000 words long (depending on who is doing the word count).  But my novel is longer than The Woman in Black as well as other novels such as The Great Gatsby and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and considering it came from a short story of 7,000 words I am still happy with it.

Concurrently with writing the novel came the task of finding an artist/illustrator for the cover.  That was a more difficult task than I expected.

Not only did I want to find someone who could create a suitable cover, I also wanted that someone to be able to do ‘scene art’; by which I mean a picture at the start of certain chapters.  The reason for this is that I see a completed novel itself as a form of art, and scene pictures add to that completed projected.  In fact, I actually wanted a sort of teamwork between the writing/art found in the Edge Chronicles books by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell.  

I combed Facebook for a very long time, joining all sorts of groups and pages for amateur artists to show off their works, hoping to find someone who I thought was suitable for my work.  To my dismay, there was very little, I thought, that I could go off.

Around October time I put an advert on a freelancing work website, just for an idea of who else is out there and possibly able to take this up.  I did receive a fair few responses but, again, there wasn’t really anyone whose work suited what I was after.  A couple of them, one of them being an art company based in Central Asia, actually got quite nasty about it.  They were expectant 

It was when I was on a course in Spain that it was suggested to me to look on Reddit, as Reddit “literally has everything on it.”  I had never actually been a proper Reddit user before; I’d clicked the odd link from Facebook but had never really interacted with it before. 

The guy who suggested Reddit to me was right - Reddit has literally everything on it.  There’s so much information to be found on so many topics it seemed unlikely that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for on it, and so I combed through a few sub-reddits dedicated to (freelance) artists and checked some of them out.

So I once again posted out an advert looking for artists and this time the response were much more positive, and enthusiastic!  It really was quite uplifting to see and hear from so many people who were interested in taking up the project and I received so many messages.  Everyone who commented on the post and/or messaged me with links to their portfolios, I checked out their work.  I honestly don’t think there was a single person whose works of art that I wasn’t impressed by.  There is so much that can be found at deviantart.com and artstation.com and so much talent to be viewed and be in awe at!  Everyone who directly messaged me got a return thanking them.

One of the people I got talking to was a young lad from Sweden called Daniel Percy, whose artwork I also checked out.  My preferences came down to him and another guy from Germany, and after speaking with Daniel he agreed to take on the work.

Daniel does a lot of freelance art work, predominately doing concept art work for electronics companies (I want to say video games but don’t take that as gospel), but he still found the time to do this properly, compiling several drafts of the cover and inside sketches.  We collaborated quite often on what to change, ideas to put in etc.

The finished artwork is incredible!  I’m showing some of the initial first-sketch ideas here along with the final book cover, along with a couple of since-altered scene pictures, just for an idea of his talent.  You’ll have to buy the book to see all of the finished sketches ;)

And the final thing to think/worry/mull over until stupid o’ clock in the morning, was the publishing aspect.  Luckily, ever since I’ve thought about writing (as an adult), it has become increasingly easier to get your works out there.  The rise of the internet and social media age has made self publishing so much more accessible, and that is the route I have gone down.

At first, I wanted to go down the traditional printing route.  I - again showing cool I was as a kid - always liked the idea of a fresh and printed book in my hands.  But, there are two reasons why I haven’t done this:

The first one is environmental.  Even before the climate change debate became a fashionable thing to signal your virtues about, I was uncomfortable about the idea of trees being cut down for my creation, unless I could be 100% certain that exact same area would be immediately replanted.  It’s true, there are forested areas specifically for this kind of thing but the amount of bureaucracy involved, along with the middle-men, wouldn’t make it an immediate thing.

The second reason is that the majority of writers who send their works in get rejected by so many publishers.  Yes, people refer to J.K. Rowling’s story of being rejected twelve times (and again later by one of the same publishers when she first wrote as Robert Galbraith) before Harry Potter became a hit, but as the option of the internet is there, it makes sense to negate that possible rejection.  In the event that my works do get noticed and attract the attention of publishers, then great!  But if they don’t, at least by online publishing, I’ve still achieved putting my novel out to the world.

Finally, today, Friday the 13th (intentionally - it is a horror novel after all ;p ) of March 2020, I officially became a published author.  It is a fantastic, monumental feeling.  My story, my novel, my creation, is out there for people to buy, read and hopefully, enjoy.

If there’s any advice that I can give for anyone aspiring to be an (indie) author, it is this: just write your ideas down.  Sounds simple, if not downright obvious, but it really is incredible that so many people don’t achieve their dreams or aspirations simply because they don’t do them.  The world of authoring and indie writing is so much more accessible now than it was even fifteen years ago, that is takes a great lot of effort not to find at least one platform to get your works out onto.

It is also incredibly easy to find every excuse in the book to not write at all.  School, work, family etc, being the big ones, and they are legitimate reasons.  But they are only obstacles themselves to an extent, before you yourself make them obstacles.  Start small.  Set yourself half an hour on an evening.  No more, no less.  Half an hour to start getting your ideas onto paper and then after a week, you’ve spent three and a half hours writing.  You’d be surprised at how much you’ve achieved after three and a half hours of concentrated effort.

If you need motivation, there are plenty of people out there, particularly on the internet, who give great examples of motivation that apply to all disciplines.  Joe Rogan, for just one example, has plenty of people on his podcasts who talk and give advice on self-betterment, and it can apply to anybody.  If you want to write, you will find the time and means to do it.  It doesn’t matter how long it takes; everybody finds their ways at different times. 

As to my next works, what am I going to be writing next?  Well, shortly after writing Payment as a short story I thought of another idea to write about, and use that particular project to actually develop my writing style.  This next one, of which the first ‘act’ as such does already have a skeleton outline to it, is a light hearted yet philosophical at times medieval adventure, combining humour and seriousness together.  I’m not going to divulge ay more information the storyline because, although it’s a simple idea, I believe it’s one that no-one’s done before and some smart-arse with more time on their hands than I can easily bash something together using my idea!

The school coursework pieces?  They are still on my ideas list and will no doubt be developed into their own proper projects and they hopefully will also be published just as Payment is!  The fantasy that I started aged eleven?  Absolutely no idea.  Whilst I would certainly like to do fantasy, going for originality is going to be difficult, as the standard format (young hero finds out he’s the ‘chosen one’ and goes on a long quest) has been done to death, as have a lot of fantasy ideas already.  George R R Martin had the idea of using the idea of old English houses warring against other in the past, and that was used to great effect even before he threw in the ice zombies!  So that one is going to be a case of properly allocating some time to sit down, think and decide how I’m going to go about, but make no mistake, I will go about it!

Thank you all for taking the time to read through this!  I hope its provided at least some entertainment or light (ha!) reading, and I hope you’ll feel interested to buy my debut novel!

My Facebook page can be found at:  

https://m.facebook.com/Rhys-N-Rivers-Writing-101015961412385/?ref=bookmarks

All the places where Payment can be bought from can be found there.  I thought it better to post one central link than the individual ones.

[taexual]

BTS / Mafia AU - Their S/O is in danger / Part Two

ANON REQUEST: Pleeeease consider doing a part 2 for your BTS MafiaAU where their SO is in danger...I would love to read a continuation for those, especially the cliffhangers! Thx love!

PART ONE of this request is HERE

OTHER MAFIA AUS: BTS / EXO / GOT7 / MONSTA X / SEVENTEEN

WARNING: angst, explicit violence + strong language

Jin

In all truth, despite seeing Jin kill someone right in front of you in a way that wasn’t exactly popular in the twenty-first century, you probably weren’t as terrified as you should have been. However, he insisted you stayed home for a few days, thinking that you were stressed because you’ve been attacked, and not because, essentially, that man was dead because he chose the wrong person to threaten.

Had it been someone else, your attacker would have probably only been arrested but he would have still been alive.

“Is it still bothering you?” Jin’s voice surprised you as he entered your shared bedroom, carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it. He really didn’t even let you leave the bed to get a drink. “The attack, I mean.”

“No, it’s n-not the attack that’s bothering me,” you decided to say. It’s been a couple of days, maybe it was time you admitted what was really on your mind. Jin sat down on the bed, placing the tray in front of him and giving you a curious look that prompted you to continue, “I… I was just thinking about how that person is just… dead, you know?”

“Right,” Jin said, a more serious expression on his face now. “Why are you thinking about this? That man attacked you on the street. I killed him.”

“No, I’m aware of that,” you replied. “It’s just—it was really simple for you to just kill him. Wasn’t it?”

“Killing is never simple,” he said, relieving some of your tension. “But it sure helped that he chose you as his target. This time, I did it with no hesitation whatsoever.”

“What if he wasn’t planning to attack me, specifically?” you spoke, finally asking something that’s been bothering you ever since Jin took you home that day. “What if, as I said, it was just a coincidence? He was just looking for someone to mug and I was just—”

“No,” Jin dismissed your reasoning before you even finished. “That’s impossible. I already told you.”

“But why?” you pushed. “Did you know him?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how can you be sure that it wasn’t just a random—”

“Because I may not have known him but there was no way in hell he didn’t know you,” Jin retorted, slowly losing his patience as his voice rose. “Everyone knows us in this neighborhood. Hell, the people in this whole town know what we look like. They whisper that there’s a Mafia family living among them and they pretend not to see us when we walk down the street, but they know. And that guy? He was a local, for sure. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so brave, attacking you. Do you know how much pride he’d bring his buddies for mugging the wife of the leader of the Mafia?”

You looked away from him, uncomfortable by his insistent tone. “Okay. I got it.”

“I hope you did,” he said then. “Because I don’t want you to doubt for one second that I would kill for you. I would do anything to protect you.”

Suga

It seemed as though even the people who’d held you captive knew that when Yoongi promised to get you out of there, he wasn’t lying. That was why you suffered so much during the next couple of hours. You were starting to become afraid Yoongi wasn’t going to make it here before they killed you.

By the time you heard a commotion outside of the room where they’d been keeping you, you were already losing consciousness. You tried to hold onto these last few strands of life as you felt a sharp brush of the blade of a knife against your cheek. They’d beat you relentlessly for at least an hour before, only giving you breaks when they needed to catch their own breaths. And, clearly, now they were planning to use knives.

“Looks like he’s finally here,” the same man who’s been orchestrating this whispered in your ear. You flinched away from him but you were restrained by the ropes on your hands and legs, keeping you tied to the chair they’ve sat you on. “What do you say I go out there to greet him with a little piece of you, hmm?”

“F-fuck you.”

“Ah, the brave girl still has a mouth on her,” he chuckled, genuinely impressed by your ability to keep on talking even though every part of your body was in excruciating pain. “How about this, then: every time you say something to me, I make sure the part of you Yoongi gets to take home with him as a bit of a souvenir gets bigger, huh? I bet he’d love to have a piece of your flesh with him. He can carry it in his wallet and remember how he failed to—”

“You’re disgusting,” you spat at him after gathering all of your strength.

The blade dug deeper into your cheek and you felt it draw blood. You refused to scream and the man smiled even wider.

“You’re on board with my plan, then,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be. You always seemed like you follow instructions well. Don’t worry, I will—”

Suddenly, a loud crash of metal echoed around the room as the steel door was thrown off its hinges. Just as the man whipped his head to look at the unexpected visitor, you heard a powerful bang, and, in just a millisecond, the pressure of the knife on your face was relieved. Then, with a loud thud, the body of the man who’d held you captive landed on the floor. Dead.

“Baby,” Yoongi’s breathless voice interrupted the deadly silence and your eyes widened to see your husband by the door, smoke still coming out of his gun. “Fuck, I’m so sorry it took me so long. Oh, God, what have they done to you..?”

“Yoongi,” you exhaled, your heart seemingly stopping at the sight of him.

“Don’t talk,” he warned, immediately attacking the restraints on your hands and legs to get you out of here faster. “Save the last bits of your energy while I take you to the hospital, okay? I love you so much, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here faster.”

J-Hope

“It took you a while,” Hoseok’s soft voice greeted you as you struggled to open your eyes. “Can you hear me, baby?”

Blinking wildly, you tried to adjust to the painful light around you. You couldn’t remember how you got here but you could tell by the beeping sounds of the machines and the blinding white walls around you that you were at the hospital.

“What happened?” you asked, your words coming out groggy and barely comprehensible. How long had you not spoken?

“There’s been an accident,” Hoseok said. You looked at him and, although you could recognize his features immediately, it still felt like you haven’t seen him in ages. “Someone had messed with the brakes of your car. You hit a—”

“—a tree,” you finished, remembering something in a painful flashback that made you hiss and try to reach for your head. The wires that kept you tied to the machines stopped you, however.

Hoseok jumped up from the spot next to your bed. “Don’t move so much, okay? You need to recover.”

“How long have I been here?” you asked, now able to remember the details of the crash – and even the paramedics coming to rescue your barely conscious body – but not being able to tell the time just yet.

“A couple of weeks,” he said slowly. “You suffered major head trauma. T-the doctors weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all but you showed positive improvement in the last few days. The damage to your brain wasn’t as severe as they’d initially thought.”

His voice was getting quieter with each sentence. He appeared blurry to you, so you squinted, trying to see his eyes clearer, and then noticed that he had tears in them.

“What happened?” you asked, wanting to touch his hand, but not being able to move. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m—I just—” he inhaled shakily. “I thought I’d lost you. I killed every one of the bastards who could have caused this but as soon as I realized that this wasn’t going to bring you back, I just—I didn’t know what to do. I spent every minute by your bed.”

“B-but you can’t do that,” you said. “You have work.”

“Oh, baby, no,” he swore he almost sobbed right then and there. “I don’t know what I was thinking not making you my main priority. Had I spent more time with you… had I checked up on you more often, this wouldn’t have happened. Y-you almost died because of my work. I swear, I would have died right there with you if you’d left me. I’m never letting my job put you in any sort of danger again. You’re my whole life and I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

RM

The man who had planned to chase his car hadn’t expected you to be in the same vehicle as well but, obviously, he saw this as an opportunity to hurt Namjoon even more by killing you instead.

The shot wasn’t fatal. You woke up in the hospital the next day but your husband wasn’t there to see it. He was plotting his revenge, unable to let this go. He blamed himself for putting you in this sort of danger in the first place and he didn’t think he could look you in the eyes and say the right words. And what was there that he could have said? He didn’t think a simple “sorry” would have sufficed after you almost died because of him.

The first time you saw Namjoon was on the day you were discarded from the hospital. Wheeling your saline drip stand around the hospital room, you packed what little belongings you had here into a bag that the paramedics have brought with you from the scene. You still weren’t entirely sure what had happened, but you were slowly remembering the details.

Then, just as you were about to call for a nurse to ask if you could use her phone since your own was dead, you saw him. He was standing on the doostep, looking almost heartbroken, and you forgot how to breathe as soon as your eyes met his.

Noticing how your body trembled a little at the sight of him, Namjoon entered the hospital room – despite the protests deep inside of his mind – and placed a hand on your waist, guiding you to your bed so you could sit.

“You’re here,” you whispered after he sat down next to you.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Namjoon spoke. Each word he said to you scarred his throat because he shouldn’t have been doing this. He was putting you in danger whenever he was near you. “I took care of the men who shot you. T-they won’t be a threat to anyone ever again.”

You looked away, the topic of death never settling quite right with you. “Okay…”

“That doesn’t mean that there won’t be others,” he added quickly. “I… I bring danger to you. I always knew that but I didn’t realize I wouldn’t always be able to protect you from it. I shouldn’t have taken you with me that day. I-I should have never even married you, I—”

“Don’t say that,” you cut him off, your eyes scared and full of tears. Just like they had been that night you were shot in Namjoon’s car. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice breaking. He stole one last touch as he clutched your hand tightly in his. “I love you so much and that is exactly why I can’t let you be with me. I can’t let you die because of me.”

Jimin

The first time you woke up, you weren’t sure what was happening. Your surroundings blurred together but you were sure you didn’t recognize the room you were in. A dull punch sounded in the room and you felt electricity course through your body. You passed out before you could realize that you’ve been hit again.

The second time you woke up, there were loud screams everywhere. You thought you could smell fire but the taste of blood in your mouth felt too overwhelming for you to try to understand what was happening around you. This time, no punches came. You were simply not strong enough to stay conscious for longer.

The third time you woke up, you were in a white room. People dressed in pale blue uniforms were yelling at each other. As soon as they noticed that you were awake, even more panic ensued. A plastic, see-through mask landed on your face, and you felt yourself slip into the darkness again.

The fourth time you woke up, someone was holding you. There was a weird buzzing in your ears and somewhere, deep in your mind, the cruel scenarios of your assailants beating you up kept playing on repeat. But you weren’t there anymore. You were laying against something hard. A person, most likely, since you could feel their soft breath on your neck. It soothed your frayed nerves.

“W-wh—”

“Shh,” was the immediate response to the guttural sounds you’d made. “Don’t speak, sweetheart. You’re safe now. I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell who was talking yet. Trying to recognize the voice hurt to much and yet the name of the person you wanted to see the most was at the tip of your tongue.

“J-Jimin…”

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, rocking you back and forth gently. Something wet hit your forehead and you realized he had to be crying. You’ve never seen him cry before. “I’m never leaving you. I’m s-so sorry.”

It was difficult for him to speak and the sound of his throat closing up after each word hurt you. It hurt almost more than your throbbing and yet, ironically, numbing headache.

“Why?” you asked. You knew you couldn’t formulate the question properly – and you weren’t sure what you were asking, anyway – so you didn’t even try.

Jimin understood, though. Noticing the nurses walking past the hospital room, he held onto you tighter. They already knew that whenever he came over, he always climbed into your hospital bed and held you against him, softly whispering encouraging words. Sometimes crying, too. And sometimes both.

“I let you down,” he said, another tear sliding down his pained face and landing softly on your cheek. “I didn’t protect you. You almost died because of me and I’m so sorry I didn’t keep my promise to keep you safe.”

V

Although Taehyung knew that your heart was truly bigger than the rational side of your brain, he still insisted you needed to learn how to use a handgun after the possible stalking incident a few days ago. He even got you a custom made one, with your name engraved in golden letters on the handle.

The gun was pretty – and that’s why you knew Taehyung’s influence was rubbing off on you; otherwise, you would have never found a firearm “pretty” – but you still refused to pick it up and join him in the basement of your house, where he had his practice room.

“Oh, come on, love,” Taehyung groaned after you told him no for the tenth time. “You did tell that guy you had a gun so he’d fuck off, didn’t you? So, why don’t you actually—”

“I don’t want to,” your response was immediate. “Carrying a gun is just one step away from killing.”

“It’s not,” Taehyung disagreed although he’s never used a gun just to scare someone. If he pulled his pistol out, he pressed the trigger. That didn’t mean that you have to do the same, though. “Look, let me at least teach you how to hold it properly, okay? That way, you can feel more secure, knowing you have an advantage.”

“And if they have a gun, too?”

“Well, then kill them before they get it out.”

“Taehyung, no—”

“Okay, sorry, right, I’m not forcing you to learn how to kill,” he softened at your warning tone. “I just want to know that when you go out, you will return back home at the end of the day. I won’t have to go looking for you, worrying that you were dead already.”

“What good would a gun do if I wasn’t going to actually use it?” you still hesitated. “I might still end up dead.”

“It’d give you confidence,” Taehyung said. “You would never come face-to-face with an attacker while having no means to protect yourself. They wouldn’t know you weren’t going to fire. They’d see the gun and they’d know you weren’t going to go down easy. And, most importantly, you’d know it, too. Confidence scares them. They’ll be running from you in no time and, if they’re lucky, they’ll get away from you before I get there.”

“I thought you wanted to teach me how to use a gun so you wouldn’t have to look after me.”

“I do, yeah,” he nodded and then smiled slightly. “But don’t expect me to still let you run off on your own. You could learn how to fire three different types of guns professionally, and I’d still tail you just to make sure no one threatened you.”

“Then what’s the point?” you pressed again. “If you’re always planning to be there for me, why do I have to—”

“No, but that is the point,” Taehyung cut you off. “There might come a day when I can’t be there. For one reason or the other, I might not show up on time or, not show up at all. I promise to protect you as long as I’m alive but if something happens to me—”

“Don’t.”

“—then I want you to know how to protect yourself,” he finished despite your shaky protest. “I’d never find peace if I’d left you here all alone.”

Jungkook

Although Jungkook saved you before any permanent damage was done, he was still beating himself up about the attack. He couldn’t believe that after so many years in this field, he still allowed you to enter the building without double-checking if it was safe. Thank God the guy who attacked you didn’t have a gun on him. Jungkook couldn’t even think about what could have happened if he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

“You okay?” you asked after you caught him staring at the wall of your bedroom, unblinking. “You’ve been kind of distant lately.”

“I haven’t,” he disagreed, shaking off the sudden trance he’d put himself in by recalling every single detail of your attack. He shuddered at the memory of those hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your air supply. “L-listen, how are you?”

“Me?” you raised your eyebrows, surprised by his question. “I’m okay. It’s me who’s worried about you.”

“I’m completely fine,” he said and then refrained from adding, aside from the crippling disappointment that I couldn’t protect you.

“You don’t look fine,” you insisted, “are you still thinking about the accident?” he winced at your question. “I told you it’s not your—”

“It is,” Jungkook said. “I’m the only person who could have prevented that situation from happening and I’m also the only person to blame for this threat even appearing in your life. He wouldn’t have attacked you if you weren’t my—”

“I trust you,” you interjected before he could put any more blame on himself. “I understand that this might happen if I stay with you and yet I’m still not leaving. I love you.”

“I—” his breath hitched. His mind always exploded with thoughts whenever you told him you loved him. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m asking you for too much by making you love me.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” you said. “It was my decision.”

He hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room and placing his hands on either side of your face. He pressed his lips to yours but his sweet taste only lingered at the tip of your tongue for a moment and then he was pulling away again.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “But I’ll learn from this. I won’t allow anyone else to put you in any kind of danger again. I promise you.”

masterlist / ask (requests are closed)

[supercasey]

“You know it would never go in our favor, right hun? That you ‘n Skout ain’t gonna stand a chance ‘gainst El Rey?”

“... I know.”

NoN Twins AU: Separation (Story Below Cut)

It’s late October; the trees outside are shedding their leaves, and despite the omnipotence of magic in their little briar, Annabeth can’t help but worry that the leaves might not grow back this time. Shaking the thought away, she looks to her two children, the three year old twins playing together in the wooden playpen their father built. Speaking of which... Anna looks up just in time to see Benjamin enter the room, the wizard immediately taking a seat at the table with her. Together, they watch the twins for a few minutes, enjoying the momentary calm while they can. After all, even with one twin being mute, the two toddlers are still quite rambunctious.

“Hunny, ‘ook!” As if demonstrating this, Skout picks up a stray Critter, shaking the tiny rock like a rattle. “Hee hee hee! ‘Ook at ‘em wiggle!”

“Skout, sweetie, please put him down. Critters don’t like to be shook.” Anna explains, though she refrains from raising her voice. After all, the kid is only three, so it’s not like she knows better.

Skout pouts but obliges, setting the rock Critter down. The poor thing sways and walks like a drunk man, much to Skout’s amusement. Even Hunter moves his shoulders in an obvious laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners to show his happiness. Smiling, Anna looks to Benjamin to see his reaction, only for her grin to dissipate at a moment’s notice. Instead of chuckling at the antics of his beloved children, Benjamin has the most concerned, fearful look on his face, tears trailing down his face. Once he notices Anna looking his way, he tries wiping the evidence away, but it’s no use.

“Ben? What’s wrong, hun?” Annabeth keeps her voice down when she speaks, as to not draw too much attention from her children. Not that it matters, as they’re too busy toying with their dolls to notice the mood shift.

“Nothin’, babe,” Benjamin assures, using his poncho to clean off his face. Upon earning an unimpressed look, the wizard gives a weak chuckle, shaking his head. “Aw, there ain’t gettin’ nothin’ past you, angel... suppose I’m just concerned for ‘em, that’s all.”

“Concerned? Concerned how?” Annabeth has a feeling she knows the answer already, but considering how secretive her husband can be, she figures asking for clarification is better than assuming the worst.

“Well... honey, Hunter’s already showin’ signs ‘a magic. Jus’ last week we caught ‘im bringin’ his bottle to life! But Skout... she ain’t showin’ the same signs, babe. I’m startin’ to think dat... she might not have The Gift. She’s still plenty smart- that much is obvious- but we can’t be certain dat she’s magic.” Benjamin is very careful with his wording, not wishing to make it sound like his daughter is weak or anything of that nature.

“Magic ain’t everythin’,” Anna points out. Her husband might have grown up reliant on his abilities, but Anna knows that such things are a rare gift, and can’t be guaranteed. Not even through blood. “‘Sides, maybe she’s a late bloomer?” Still, she wouldn’t exactly mind if Skout had powers... magic seems a hell of a lot more fun than Benjamin makes it out to be.

“She might be... but what if she ain’t? You know, I never wanted to talk ‘bout it much, but... magic attracts magic. Enough of it in one place, and El Rey... he might catch the scent, ‘spite my best efforts,” Benjamin looks deeply into Annabeth’s eyes, not even fighting it as tears trail down his face. “Normal weapons won’t work ‘gainst a man like him; only magic stands a chance. Dat means... dat means you ‘n Skout ‘re vulnerable to ‘im. If he managed ta find us ‘n tried to come after me ‘n Hunter, you two could get hurt.”

“Benny... what ‘re you sayin’?” Anna begins crying prematurely, more than capable of connecting the dots, but again, she can’t afford to assume anything when it comes to her husband.

Benjamin offers her the weakest of smiles, trying to comfort her, but it doesn’t work at all. “... Got the feelin’ you already know, baby.”

Annabeth breathes- in and out, in and out- before bowing her head, sobbing as reality hits her like a freight train. Thankfully the twins don’t hear it, as they’re fast asleep, tuckered out by their playing and curled up together on the play mat. Benjamin stands up, circling around the table. He stops in front of Anna, merely holding out his arms to the woman. Anna practically tackles him in a desperate hug, sobbing even harder at the thought that this might be their last embrace. Benjamin nods his head to nothing, rubbing his wife’s back as he mutters under his breath in a different language.

“I know, I know,” Benjamin says in common this time, ditching the use of his native tongue. “It’s gonna be alright, dear. I’ll pack ya ‘nough money ‘n gear ta last ya a lifetime... you’ll be alright.”

“Not without you I won’t,” Anna mutters in a matter-of-fact tone, eyes downcast and still streaming out tears. “I can’t lose you, Benny... you’re the best worst thing that’s ever happened to me. If it weren’t fer you, I’d still be livin’ with my folks, or worse, I coulda been married off... I don’t wanna be alone out there.”

“You won’t be alone; you’ll have Skout,” Benjamin offers, but it doesn’t do much to comfort her. There’s a long, pregnant pause, before the wizard tries again, this time going for a bit of questionable reasoning. He hates to scare her- scaring his loved ones is one of Benjamin’s worst fears- but he’ll resort to it if he has no other choice. “You know it would never go in our favor, right hun? That you ‘n Skout ain’t gonna stand a chance ‘gainst El Rey?”

“... I know.” Annabeth admits, forcing herself to wipe away her tears. “So... when should I leave with ‘er?”

“We’ve got some time. Could wait a whole ‘nother year, but not much longer than that,” Benjamin explains, the grief in his tone heartbroken, yet determined. “After all, we’re gonna want the twins separated ‘fore they’re old ‘nough to remember anything... can’t have one ‘a them gettin’ themselves killed lookin’ fer the other.”

“They’re gonna grow up feeling like a piece ‘a them’s missin’,” Annabeth points out, feeling her heart grow heavy at the sight of the twins still cuddled up together, their arms wrapped around each other’s torsos. “You really think we should be doin’ this? Could always jus’... stay on the run. Can’t track us if we ain’t keepin’ still.”

“That ain’t no life fer our kids, honey,” Benjamin shakes his head, not seeing any other options. “‘Sides, if we’re on the move, we’re bound to get noticed, and that’s a surefire way ta get killed... you ‘n Skout don’t look nothin’ like me, so yer able to have a life outside of this; me ‘n Hunter don’t got that luxury,” Again, he hugs Anna to his chest, petting her hair as he sways a little in place, as if he wants to dance with her one last time, but can’t bring himself to go through with it. “Like I said, you ain’t gotta go jus’ yet... still got a few months left, maybe even a year, but the sooner yer out, the safer yer gonna end up bein’.”

“And if Skout starts havin’ powers? What then? I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout teachin’ her magic, much less how ta suppress it!” Annabeth can’t help but worry; she’s still half convinced that her daughter might just be a late bloomer.

“If she starts showin’, come on back home. It’s gonna be hard as shit, but we’ll figure it out.” Benjamin assures, unable to hide a small smile at the thought. Deep down, he almost hopes that’s the case. After all, it’s not like he wants his daughter to be taken away.

“Shit.”

The couple look to the crib, finding that Skout’s woken up, the redheaded toddler standing up in the playpen, giving her parents an adoring grin. “Shit!” She repeats, amused by the word.

“Now, come on, baby girl,” Benjamin scolds lightly, walking over and scooping the little girl up. He playfully ruffles her hair, grinning at his young daughter. “We don’t say that word, alright? Can’t have you as foul mouthed as yer daddy!” The wizard pauses, sharing a glance with Annabeth. “So, um... we’ll talk ‘bout this some more later, alright? Don’t gotta worry ‘bout it too much right now.”

“Yeah, we can... do that,” Anna agrees, already dreading the conversation. She wishes Benjamin had never even brought this up with her, but she knows it couldn’t be helped. Catching sight of Hunter yawning awake, she quickly scoops the boy up, to which Hunter begins to wiggle and huff. “Aw, ‘nough ‘a that, squirt,” The mother teases, amused by her son’s behavior. “You fussy right now? You even fussier after yer nap?”

Hunter scowls- at least, he scowls as much as he can- patting his mouth with his palm. “Oh, yer hungry? That it, son?” Benjamin asks, recognizing the nonverbal request.

Hunter claps excitedly in a definite ‘yes’, which causes one of the dolls in the playpen to come alive. Before anyone can stop it, the doll climbs out of the playpen and leaps to the ground, running off to God knows where. Annabeth bursts out laughing at the sight, while Benjamin panics. “Oh, goddammit!” He mutters, handing Skout to Anna. “Hold on, I’ll git ‘em!” He assures, taking off after the toy. “Come back ‘ere, ya little varmint!” The wizard orders, although he goes ignored by the newly born Critter.

Anna shakes her head, giving her son a small smirk. “’Spite not sayin’ much, you sure do know how ta cause trouble,” She observes, before making for the kitchen. “You kids wanna help Mama make dinner? Got a feelin’ Daddy’s gonna be-” She’s interrupted by a loud ‘boom’, as if something exploded. “... busy.”

Benjamin comes back a few minutes later, holding up the doll Critter by one of it’s legs. “Um... got ‘em?” He offers his wife a sheepish grin, clearly having broken something. “Don’t go outside... at least fer a few hours.”

Annabeth sighs, again shaking her head at her husband’s antics. “Whatever’s broken better be fixed by sundown, or you ‘n me ‘re gonna have a problem, mister. I do not wanna have ta replant our garden... again.”

Skout and Hunter just giggle at this, amused that their father is in trouble for once. Secretly, both Benjamin and Anna are comforted by their children’s laughter, just glad that their kids aren’t aware of how dangerous their living situation really is, and this just proves it; magic is loud and sometimes dysfunctional, even for experienced users, and it’s for this reason that non-magic users are in so much danger around those with ‘The Gift’... it’s just not safe. Come a few weeks, and Annabeth will leave, taking Skout with her in order to keep at least one of her children safe. But for now, she and Benjamin can pretend that everything is fine, and that nothing will ever take their kids away... not even themselves.

A/N: Somewhat of a spontaneous fic (wrote it all today) but I’ve had this drawing done on my laptop for almost three months, and I only just now got around to writing a short fic for it. Kinda really liked doing this tbh, so I might do something like this again in the future (possibly a part 2 to this fic in particular, or the “Hunter meets El Rey” scenario I keep wanting to write)! Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it enough to reblog/comment!

[dreamseersystem]

How I Met Bill and Dipper

First to start as a note. I can visit worlds and dimensions, mostly when I sleep. Most of the events occurred during the "dreaming" cycle, but I always lucid dream.

It all started in the end of 2015 for me. When I first found myself running from Oryan (a crazed Celestial Asshole that was bent on owning me) yet again and Alcor (of the Transcendence Timeline) sent me through the portal. He... Gave his life to save mine and the niblets. Nydia and Nall (children of another Dipper and Mabel I knew before this). He used the last of his magic before transferring it to me to change them into dragons in the scape and erase their memories until we were safe. He then casted a spell to seal away my magic and hide me from Oryan. The side effect was, which I didn't find out till I woke up, was that is made me appear as a 14 year old female. He pushed me through the portal and sealed it behind him. I didn't wake up till a few days later in the dimension.

I found out later I basically landed naked on Dipper and Soos carried me back to the shack after wrapping me up in his shirt. During my time asleep, Bi was watching through his Windows. I sensed this, still having some powers despite being sealed and watched him in return. He sensed me and I faded into a healing sleep.

When I woke up it was a week before Dreamscapers. I spent that time finding out how the dimension differed from canon and really the only thing was me. One night before a few days Gideon would summon Bi, he decided to enter my scape to spy on me, got caught by Nydia and we talked. He was interested in me and all so we made a deal. He was allowed in my scape while I was sleeping and he wasn't allowed to attempt any possession and whatnot. He had some idea I was familiar with the timeline and it was also stated I would not reveal anything about the future in the agreement.

Dreamscapers went about the same, just me disappearing until the end, telling Bi that not everything is what it seems, and Gideon Rises went the same except when leaving Gravity Falls I was on the bus too... The barrier stopped me from leaving and I was thrown out of the bus. One of the shards got me really bad, and Bi offered a deal, he'll save my life for the ability to possess me. I made the terms more fair, only saying when I give him permission or sharing the body and I wouldn't be removed from it.

Need to say he used it to his best advantage. Causing trouble for me with Dipper and Mabel. He left me alone at nights only because I was helping Stan with the portal. I decided I would help a bit since I would be going by my own smarts and not what the future was. That way he got more rest.

We had a hate relationship. I played with him and got the upper hand a lot. He hated me and resented me. At the same time, Dipper got over his crush for Wendy and found out he had one on me instead. By Sock Puppets, both were interested in their own ways. Bi was more possessive, Dipper was more loving. Bibae's reason for making the deal with Dipper then was to mess with his feelings for me. I know for a fact now it was because he was jealous.

As the portal came closer to getting done, I knew I had to make plans to protect Bi from Ford. Meanwhile, after Dipper's bout of possession from Bi, we found out he could see Bi like I could in the scape. Which caused more conflict. They were always fighting. Bickering even worse than they are now. There was a few times they got along... But not really until the Northwest Party. He got pissed that a ghost would be Dipper's end and threaten to throw his ectoplasmic body into a dark abyss of the Nightmare Realm. Needless to say, I had to stop him and let Paz do her thing.

Since Bi started possessing me, some of my powers were able to leak through the seals, tho not enough to let Oryan find me. I was able to devise a way so Ford couldn't detect Bi. But the downside was he couldn't fully possess me anymore. Well, downside for him. It was something we talked about because we knew he would be back. But, he agreed it was necessary since he didn't want Sixer knowing he was back yet.

The day he came back into this dimension was... Taxing. Dipper got mad at me because I sided with Stanley. We had a fight... That night I went out onto the roof and just me and Bi were up there listening in on Stan and Ford. When they went to bed, Dipper came up and we talked. He realized he made a mistake and he should have trusted me. We all were tired at that point and fell asleep on the roof together. Mabel took a picture of me and Dipper and somehow caught Bi between us. It is a cute picture. Might have the drawing I did still somewhere. Have to find it.

Ford was smart. He traveled to a few dimensions that heard rumors about me. Saw certain symbols that matched my seals. He never trusted me. Even when I offered him information I normally wouldn't give. But he was too fascinated by me to shun me. So he would talk to me and ask me questions which I only vaguely replied to at the time. I met some Fords... Only my first Forddad was good... The rest... I won't go into it here... So I was wary.

When Bi finally revealed himself to Ford, he sent me away to not know what was going on. I think he suspected even then that I was talking to Bi. He got Mabel to get stuff for the barrier, tho Dipper tried to make light of it. He didn't think Ford was possessed in the basement like Ford thought at first, he was scared that Ford found out. And almost did with the brain scanner. I, meanwhile was busy with my own thing and planning for the barrier. I knew it would go up somehow. I was setting up a place to stay out in the woods. And by the time I came home the barrier was up. I couldn't go in because of not only my connection with Bi, but because of the powers I didn't know of yet that laid dormant.

Ford had me sent away then. Dipper pleaded for me, but he would not be moved. By this time the power that was unsealed was starting to overwhelmed me, whisper thoughts into my head, losing control of who I was. The darkness that had once consumed me was returning. I let Bi's talk of revenge sway me. So I knew what to do. Bi never had to use Blendin except in changing a few things in the past to make everything fall into place. But a part of me knew what was happening. I was able to drag Ford and Dipper into the Dreamscape and place a protection spell on them to prevent harm. I warned them that I would lose myself and the next day Weirdmageddon began. I was the one whom convinced Mabel to give the rift over. I'm the one that broke it.

I remember bits and pieces myself after this. Bi told me most of it. But I was... Not feral, but I lost myself to my own darkness. The insanity that once drove me to do very bad things. Bi said to him at the time I was very... Bad ass but scary. Tho he wasn't scared of that till later. He let himself at me like how he wanted to from the beginning. Causing pain and suffering. Stuff he regrets now. He did it to purposely hurt me. During one of these sessions I started to feel and know who I was again. I remember seeing Ford being tortured. I remember seeing Dipper waving his hand across my face as he removed the chains. I remember him hiding me behind a pillar and running off with his sister into the pyramid. I remember Stan and Ford switching clothes...

I snapped out of it then... I wanted to warn Bi, but I knew I couldn't. So when Bi entered the scape, I did too. I remember mostly the fire. Calling out to Bi as the fire surrounded him and Stan. Him yelling that I was stupid and needed to get out of there. Me refusing. Bi said he felt fear for the first time in his life then. He actually did care about me in his own way. Just never was shown how.

He used the last of his power to send me out of Stan's mind. He told me later that Stan asked him why if he had energy left... Bi had simply said... "Because at least they can still have a future."

I woke up outside the scape and everything was falling around us. Bi was shattered. By the time we were on the ground we saw the rift still open and didn't know why... Then I remembered. I had a shard of Old Bill left inside of me. Any Bill was connected to the rift. I knew what I needed to do. I told Dipper to get everyone in the circle and activate the zodiac. I was able to use that power to Ascend. I turned into the Ascended form and shattered myself on the barrier, causing it to break and send a power surged throughout the dimension. Thus causing the transcendence. I ended Weirdmageddon only to start the era of magic. I remember everything fading to black.

Dipper said it was calm then. That I was gone. Stan had lost his memory. And everyone was shaken. He cried for me. But somehow he knew I would return there. Stan had regained his memory because of Mabel, and all that was left of Bi was a stone statue. Summer ended, but the adventure wasn't over yet. That would be five years later.

Dipper: I'll take it from here for the interval.

After they were gone, everything hung just felt out of sorts. The world was changing and didn't know how to handle it. I went back to school as the nobody. Parents said the events should just be forgotten and just focus on dealing with school. Neither of us really forgot our summer. I was focused on seeing Astra again. I knew he would return. I spent five years sticking to the books, dealing with Mabel's crazy adventures. Not getting into those here.

When I just had graduated, I had a huge fight with my parents that night and went to bed. They couldn't understand why I would want to go back to Gravity Falls. To the Supernatural. Mabel said she was just leaving and acting like she is on a road trip. We both wanted to go back. It was that night I suddenly saw Astra for the first time in five years floating right above me and making me fall out of bed. He "convinced" my parents to let us go to Gravity Falls and we left within a day.

Astra: This is where I continue off. Those five years... Happened in a night in reality. It was like watching from beyond. I remember the scape... Shapes forming around me... Seeing Alcor in the space between life and death and explaining what he did. Seeing Old Bill one final time, the last piece I knew of then passing beyond. Being surrounded by the Flock as they recognized me as their new master. Feeling myself reform. It was different than the other times. Usually when I died I would appear back in my own scape awaiting for another portal to open... Another world to visit... But I was still in this world. I haven't returned to my scape. I was still in the dimension's scape. It was surreal... Something had changed... I didn't know what then... I guess from the transcendence. I still don't know why...

We returned to Gravity Falls. I made a deal with Ford about protecting the shack. For you see, I was weak and only Dipper was able to see me. I made a deal to claim the shack as my territory so I could appear in reality and be grounded there. It took a little time but I was able to claim the town too. I appeared to people and made deals under the name Alkaid. I created my demon self you could say. Our Alk didn't split from me till way after. I even got our Gideon on my side by healing his mother. By then I had an inkling of what was to come to GF so I made a deal with him that he would start a protection squad to watch over the supernatural.

Then I found Bi... Well what was left of him. His statue. Took me awhile but I found it. It was then I met Axxie for the first time. He told me that I couldn't wake him up until we had a way to split his power, so he wouldn't go mad with power like before. I had an idea then. Time Baby owed me a favor. So I went to the future and claimed a Time Wish. Used it to bring Liam to our time without changing the events of the past. I was able to devise a spell to split the power Bi had and share it with Liam. Liam was all for it, he wanted to see his brother again. So we did it and Bi was awaken in human form and Liam gained a human form as well.

To say Bi didn't take to the new look was an understatement. He hated it... Resented me, Dipper, and Liam... Whined, threw fits, screamed with rage as we had to limit his use of powers to protect ourselves. Ford didn't help by bullying him a lot. Shenanigans occurred. Axxie decided to take a more physical form and hang about to tease him too. I tried to reason and teach. Bi... Hit me only once then. We were on the roof that night and I brought up if he truly hated me for now... That maybe if I could have taken his place back then... He slapped me... Said that I shouldn't say such things. He told me... He didn't hate me. He was just... Confused and it felt odd having a human body of his own. He never had feelings like this before... And it confused and frightened him. We talked more and slept on the roof that night. The next day I saw him talking with Dipper. It took awhile... He was still getting used to everything. But soon he and Dipper found out they cared for each other too. Tho they still had their spats. Like even now. We bonded in a special Celestial marriage ceremony and found out Dipper was a Forest Guardian soon after.

Then Dipper's parents came for a visit. There was no warning. Even I didn't See it. But they came and demanded Dipper and Mabel return home and rid themselves of any magical taint. They called me a monster and said I brainwashed them. That I would condemn them. That I was evil.

I don't remember much then... I shut down... I always do when people call me things like that because I start believing it. Bi held me and Dipper fought and yelled at his parents. They left... We were hurt... They had joined the new group of Anti-Magics that was going around. The Pure Ones. The Untainted Ones they called themselves. We vowed to protect the town then. And to support each other. It wasn't a few months later in reality I found out about soul bonds and we realized that we were connected like that. And the rest is another story.

There isn't much more to it. We had more things that happened afterwards, stuff that happened with ex friends... Personal things. I won't talk about Old Bill. I'm... Not ready for that story yet. Too painful still. I did say something about him before ages ago. But that's all I want to talk about it for now. Bill, Dipper, and me have triplets together. And many more through our other mates. We are still happy and care for one another very much. Tho Bill is a lazy ass these days lmao.

And that is that.

[slytherhell]

PLAYING WITH FIRE.

PLAYING WITH FIRE.

Prompt; “Make me.”

Words; 1.4k+

( written for the the amazing @squirrel-and-me-quicksilvermaid for one out of two of her of her request(s) from this list. 

/ i’m really sorry i’m just now posting this, hon. for this entire week, i kept waking up thinking it was another day, or with the wrong one in mind and it just really threw off my entire mind for this upcoming trip i have. i’ve been up all night, and i’ve barely slept this entire week and i’m really tired.. overall, i’m really sorry for this late posting. && tbh, i really didn’t like with how this turned out, but i hope you enjoyed something out of this <33 )

\

“WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP ALREADY, MALFOY?!” Harry shouted over his shoulder with a glare, his quill coming to yet another stop on his half-written on parchment due to the rambling from the other side of the shared room. Despite working on it for hours, his parchment only had a few lines written on it, and that was nowhere close to the two rolls assigned, and required  to turn in for class. 

( And the best thing about it? His essay was due tomorrow! )

Harry sighed and looked back down at his page bitterly. Just great. Not only was he roomed in with Malfoy, he was going to be behind on his work for his redo year.

Behind him, he heard Malfoy shift atop his bed, but the voice did not stop, and Harry shook his head in irritation. He dropped his quill down, and ink skidded across his page; smudging up his last written sentence. Shit. He scrambled to salvage as much of it as he could, pushing his other supplies away from it and managed to, for the most part, to his relief. 

Malfoy’s snicker drew him back to the present. 

Harry wandlessly  ‘scourifyed! ‘ the remaining ink on his hand on his hand. He turned around in his chair, ready to give Malfoy a good and heavily worded piece of his mind when-

Malfoy’s voice stopped.

Harry frowned. That was all it took?

Throwing a glance back, Harry now saw how Malfoy remained still in his spot; un-moving. Originally, Harry had thought he’d been staring up at the ceiling, but a closer examination revealed that Malfoy now laid with his eyes closed, his face looking somewhat content in the mid-day light. And seemingly realizing that Harry had been watching him, Malfoy’s eyes opened and met his. The two stared at one another from across the room, neither exchanging a word. It went on for a while, long enough to begin to giving Harry the benefit of the doubt. But, Malfoy, being who he was, timed it just as Harry was turning back around, before he laid back down, and continued his recitation of the page he’d just read, even louder than before.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, running a tired hand over his face. He removed his glasses, and held his head in his hand, He was sick and tired of this. 

He had to get Malfoy to stop, he just had to. By any means necessary. 

He paused.

Well, not murder.

Harry hand nearly knocked down his chair as he stood back abruptly from it, the idea striking him suddenly. This caught Malfoy’s attention, for he jumped off his bed; staring at him with widened eyes as he watched Harry head closer to his side of the room.

“On Merlin’s beard, Malfoy...” Harry’s voice was low and threatening, “Malfoy, if you don’t stop, I’ll-”

Sensing Harry’s hesitation to continue his sentence, Draco smirked and slowly waltzed up to him, gently biting on his lip as he stared up at him, “You’ll do what, exactly?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ll beat you into a bloody pulp,” Harry snarled in reply.

Draco scoffed, flinching on slightly, “Oh please. That would go against your code.”

Harry glared down at him in response, his hands now clenched into heavy fists; bringing back a familiar twitch of his right eye that started when they’d first been assigned as roommates at the start of the year. The room is boring when it gets quiet, Malfoy’s voice from earlier echoed, It needs noise. And I don’t mean that annoying pen tap you’ve got going over there, either.

At the start, Harry, like everyone else, had thought Malfoy would’ve been less of a prat when he returned back for the eighth year. He was.. but the more it became clear that Harry wasn’t out to kill him, he seemingly intensified and got worse with each day.

But it was moments like this that Harry had wished he’d followed through with Malfoy’s previous assumptions.

( And apparently, he’d taken too long to respond, for Malfoy had let out a laugh; brushing past Harry’s arm as he moved around him. It sounded like he’d headed for the spare wooden desk they had by the window, for there was a clank on the stone floor. He walked past Harry again, this time, his arms full of books. He dropped a few on his bed, then leaned over and set the rest on the ground beside him. )

“Oh, shut up. And stay on your side of the room, you’re a nightmare as it already is.”

“And if I don’t?” This time, it was Malfoy who crossed the room; taking a seat on Harry’s crimson bed.

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up before I make you.”

“Go on, Potter.” Malfoy taunted, and sat back on his bed, smirking up at Harry as one leg crossed over the other, “Make me.” 

Harry didn’t dare utter a word, and instead, turned and faced back at his desk; all the while forcing himself to calm down. If he wanted this to work, he couldn’t lose his temper. ( Well, anger wasn’t the exact case in the moment; it was actually a bit arousing too catch Malfoy like this. Though, he still couldn’t let his emotions conflict and clash. ) Sure, he could shut Malfoy up with a simple grab at his throat, he was aware of this ability but knew his temper was one fierce enough to not just stop at hurting one person. 

He inhaled, taking a breath for both himself and all the damage he just prevented himself from doing. This is gonna work, He told himself.

He was one more - just one more away -  from freeing himself of anger, when he heard footsteps clicking up behind him, slow and precise.

Malfoy had something in mind, Harry knew, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Having being caught in the middle of his thoughts, he found himself drawing in a sharp breath as he felt Malfoy lean up his shoulder; with the front of his body pressed up against his own back as either hand sat upon a shoulder. “I knew it. “ The whispered words hit the side of his neck, and Harry’s jaws clenched. “You’re too much of a coward to do anything, aren’t you?” 

Harry let out a snort, rolling his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Malfoy ignored the comment and propped his head up on Harry’s left shoulder. Harry could see the grey eyes watching him out from the side of his own, almost enjoying to watch as his anger geared back up. Malfoy then looped either hand under Harry’s arm, now placing them onto the front of his shoulders. He pressed himself against Harry impossibly further, nearly outlining Harry’s body with his, “Oh well,” He said, then withdrew himself, casually adding, “I guess there’s always a next time.”

Before there was time to register the attack, Harry spun around and yanked Malfoy forward by the front of his short, his collar, more specifically.  The soft and pristine fabric bunched up tightly by Harry’s hardened hands in his hand as he got a firm grip on it, hen slammed him into the nearest wall; causing a few of the quills and light books to fall off the table Malfoy’s foot had knocked into in the process. Other than a bit back groan, Malfoy made no other sound as his head collided with it. Harry panted heavily, now looking down at Malfoy’s slightly crumpled figure splayed against the wall.

Malfoy shifted slightly. Feeling hot bursts of air from in front of him, he looked up and his eyes widened slightly. He’d done it now. Bracing himself, he prepared for the punch surely aimed at his face.

Though, what he didn’t expect was for Harry crouch down on the ground before him. 

Malfoy raised a brow, and watched him go down.

Surely he wouldn’t try to-

Harry held Malfoy’s eye the entire time; from the moment grabbed ahold of Malfoy’s thighs, to when he slowly rose himself up, his face staying a constant five centimeters away from Malfoy’s body - lifting him up against the wall. The act causing Malfoy’s toes to curl up in his shoes, a hand to plant on the wall, and for his other hand to go straight to the back of Harry’s head; fingers grasping his hair, and locking onto them.

Hary found a place in-between Malfoy’s legs and planted himself there.

Harry’s breath was twinged with a sweet lemon, Malfoy noticed, and he felt himself go weak as Harry leaned into. Malfoy could practically hear his heart thumping in his chest, and his breathing becoming hitched. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in to meet Harry the rest of the way.

But the kiss never came.

Upon opening his eyes, Malfoy was met with a smirking Harry; one who’d tipped his head to the side as he watched him with interest.

“Looks like I finally got you quiet.”

His tone wore a victorious underlayer, and Malfoy could practically hear the grin within it. Harry dropped his legs back down to the ground. “Oh, and forget about what I said about doing my essay, earlier. I’m gonna take a shower instead. You know, take off some heat.” 

Harry stepped back and grabbed one of his unused towels sitting overhead on the shelf above them. “Feel free to join me whenever.” His eyes flickered down to Malfoy’s trouser, “You look like you have an issue that needs resolving, plus you’re right, the room does get a bit boring when it’s quiet.” 

There was a mysterious gleam in his eye as he spoke, but before Malfoy could reply, Harry was already headed for the door. Harry rounded the corner, shrugged his shirt off, and left it by the door,; stepping over it as he entered the bathroom. Once instead, charmed on the knobs; adjusting the tone, “Hey Malfoy,” He called through the door, checking the water, “What temperature do you like your water? Steaming hot, or half and half?”

Harry laughed as he heard a strangled cry, and footsteps thudding around the room before Malfoy joined him.

( Harry never had to complain about Malfoy being too loud after that. Though, a few others that lived on the same hall as them often had complaints of loud noises throughout the night.. )

[smarky-mark]

The Brock Lesnar Problem

The Conqueror. The Beast Incarnate. The Mayor of Suplex City. The Next Big Thing. The One in 21-1. Brock Lesnar has been called many things in his illustrious career. You’d think, with all of his accomplishments and nicknames, you’d think Brock’s got a pretty good thing going for him. And while that is true, it doesn’t change the fact that Brock is pretty much the worst thing in WWE right now. And in this post, we’re going to be taking in an depth look into The Brock Lesnar Problem. Before I can go into that however, I feel like I need to point a few things out. First of all of course that this is my opinion, so if Brock is your favorite wrestler and can’t handle me criticizing him, then this probably isn’t for you. That being said, what even is the Brock Lesnar Problem? It’s the fact that despite 12 years in total in this business his wrestling ability if anything has diminished, he’s World Champion and hardly defends it, much less show up for work. And he’s paid way too much money for not doing his job. That being said, now we can dive in.

March 28, 2002. A triple threat match between Al Snow, Maven, and Spike Dudley took place on Raw, for no real reason besides being a filler. At least, that’s what everyone thought. Halfway through the match, Brock Lesnar made his debut, brutalizing all three men in a way we’d soon learn only Brock Lesnar can. Accompanied by Paul Heyman, Brock practically came out of nowhere, having spent two years in WWE’s developmental territory OVW, but actually previously known as a NCAA Division 1 Wrestling Champion. (“Real” wrestling). Brock would go on to be one of the fastest rising stars in WWE, winning the 2002 King of the Ring and beating The Rock to become WWE Champion within five months of his debut. He would win the title two more times after that, beating the likes of Kurt Angle for his second and third titles. Now this Brock Lesnar was entertaining. His wrestling style was unique, his finisher was devastating, he had a ton of great matches, the company was behind him; so what happened? Well, in my opinion, it all started at Wrestlemania XIX, and that Shooting Star Press.

If you’re a wrestling fan, you know what I’m talking about. If you’re not, then I’m impressed you’ve read this far. Basically what happened was during Kurt Angle and Brock’s match at Wrestlemania, Brock attempted to perform his old OVW finisher, a shooting star press. Now I’m including a picture of Brock with this piece, and I want you to tell me why that was an awful idea. Brock fell about six inches short, landed right on his face, and concussed himself. Brock finished the match, because it’s Brock and he doesn’t feel pain like people do, and won. However, this was the first time Brock was severely injured, and I think that’s when he realized he didn’t like that very much. We never saw him attempt the move ever again, and we saw him protect himself a lot more from then on. However, Brock couldn’t stop being rough and tough on his co workers, that would defeat the purpose of his whole character, but his refusal to take as much as he gave was the beginning of Brock’s… condition. Brock’s who is now getting larger, and his boredom with wrestling suffers because of it.

After losing his third WWE Championship to Eddie Guerrero thanks to help from Goldberg, Brock began feuding with the WCW legend. Note that now Brock had become bored with WWE, he’s already won the world title, King of the Ring,main evented Wrestlemania, and won the Royal Rumble (the four biggest accomplishments in WWE at the time, three of them still being so), and anything else seemed lesser to him. So a match between Goldberg and Brock was set for Wrestlemania XX. It had all the makings of a history maker, two of the most dominant performers in wrestling history squaring off, with special guest referee Stone Cold Steve Austin. But then it was released Goldberg was retiring. And then it was leaked that Brock was leaving as well. For eleven years, that match was possible the most hated Wrestlemania match in history, fans booing both men for “selling out”. They both left, and Brock moved on to things like the NFL, where he never got to play. Then he  returned to wrestling, and became one of the few Americans to win the IGWP Heavyweight Championship at New-Japan Pro Wrestling. He also squared off with his old rival Kurt Angle, who defeated him for said title. Brock Lesnar once again retired from wrestling, and made his way to UFC and won the heavyweight title there.

Fast forward to 2012. John Cena lost to The Rock at Wrestlemania XXVIII. And Brock Lesnar returns, dropping the leader of the Cenation and making a resounding return to WWE. Vince asked Brock to come back, Brock now somehow becoming a bigger draw than he was before, and being more dominant than ever. Something was different now though. He didn’t show up as often. Brock’s moveset, while limited, was entertaining, and he didn’t wrestle enough for people to notice. He had some decent matches with Triple H, John Cena, and CM Punk, but all we really wanted was to watch him beat people up the way only he could. Now the problem has increased. Brock is getting paid more for less work, and he knows it. He’s a big name, and he knows he gets paid no matter what. Slowly, Brock starts getting lazier. And this climaxes at Wrestlemania XXX, when Brock beats The Undertaker’s undefeated streak at The Showcase of the Immortals. Brock now realizes that he is one of the most high profile names in wrestling. And he abuses the absolute shit out of it. Several months later at Summerslam, Brock beats John Cena in one of the most one sided main events in WWE history, delivering a cringe inducing sixteen german suplexes to John, who got practically no offense in. I’ll admit when this happened, I was hyped, and so were a lot of other people. Brock was champion, which meant we’d get to see Brock kick ass all the time. At least, that’s what we thought. But then Brock didn’t show up four five fucking months! If you’re champion, then you need to defend said championship, not disappear with it for months at a time.

But we were saved at Wrestlemania 31, when Seth Rollins cashed in his Money in the Bank contract to beat Brock and Roman Reigns for the title. Brock disappeared for awhile after that, and we soon forgot about his poor excuse of a title reign. Brock began feuding with The Undertaker in a really fun rivalry, he entered the Royal Rumble but lost, it was really fun to watch. It’s Wrestlemania time again, and we know Brock has got a spot on the card. And it’s in a street fight, with Dean Ambrose. Everyone was so excited for this match, Dean was getting these weapons from WWE legends, Brock was beating Dean up as much as he could but Dean kept getting back up, this match had all the potential to be Match of the Year. But then it fully set in: Brock’s laziness. The match was a bore to watch, hardly any weapons were used and it was disappointingly short, much to the dismay of fans. Brock stuck to two moves, the F-5 and the german suplex. To this day it’s the only two moves he knows. On the Stone Cold podcast, Dean declared that the reason the match failed was because Brock, and I quote: “had no desire to entertain, I had all these great ideas and I was met with laziness.” The interview spread like wildfire, and more wrestlers voiced their displeasure with Brock and how unfairly they were treated compared to him. Brock disappeared again however, and soon we forgot about the whole thing. Note that in my opinion, this next stretch in Brock’s career nothing really eventful happens, he beats Mark Hunt in a one off UFC match but it gets overturned because he failed a drug test, faced Randy Orton at Summerslam and damn near killed the man after splitting his head open.

We are now at Survivor Series 2016, and it’s the rematch of the century. Goldberg vs Brock Lesnar. Goldberg hadn’t wrestled in twelve years, the last time he did was when he beat Brock, did he still have it? The answer we soon learned, was no. These men had three encounters from 2016 to 2017, and each match was slightly more disappointing and sub par than the last. First Goldberg beats Brock in a minute and twenty-six seconds, which is forgivable because holy crap someone squashed Brock and also the first time he’s been pinned in three years. Then Goldberg eliminates Brock from the 2017 Royal Rumble in a couple of seconds, for no real reason. Then it climaxes at Wrestlemania, this time for the WWE Universal Championship. I think it’s safe to say that nobody was really looking forward to this match. Goldberg made it clear he only remembered his two finishers, and Brock’s laziness and WWE’s refusal to have him show up was well known. The match was several minutes of the old men tossing each other aropund and hitting their finishers, with Brock winning the title.

And we now have the Brock Lesnar problem at its worst. Brock hardly shows up to defend the title, and when he does, we’re promised absolute dream matches. Brock vs Braun Strowman, Brock vs Samoa Joe, and every time it’s the same thing. Paul Heyman hypes up Brock for three weeks, Brock finally shows up to brawl with his opponent, and the match is just a couple minutes of Brock hitting suplexes and his finisher, and then disappearing again. It’s been over a year now, and this hasn’t changed. Brock demands so much for just an appearance, and everytime WWE seems to stop tolerating his shitty behavior and unreasonable demands in his contract, he threatens to leave the company. Vince doesn’t want to lose his big draw, so he renews Brock’s contract. But what is the point of having a big draw if he only shows up a couple times a year, and wrestles even less? Just last Monday, Seth Rollins defended the Intercontinental Championship more times in a month than Brock has even wrestled the past year.

So how do we fix the issue? I personally see two options. The first one is have Brock lose the title and just have him wrestle in some high profile matches throughout the year. This keeps Brock’s pay high and lets Vince keep his ‘big draw.’ However, it doesn’t change the fact that Brock A, can’t wrestle for crap, and B, is just downright lazy. Not to mention his ego is going to tell him that if he’s not champion, he’s wasting his time. So in my opinion, the better option is to cut the company’s losses, and let Brock go. He has absolutely zero passion for the company or the fans, he’s lazy and mediocre in the ring (and that’s being generous in my opinion.), and he just doesn’t bring anything really special to the company besides a few extra dollars, but how much are they really making when Brock asks so much for an appearance? I mean if you kept pushing guys like Seth, or Finn Balor, or even Braun Strowman, they will bring just as much, if not more than Lesnar. Because this will only get worse the longer it goes, and if this doesn’t change, the demands will get crazier and we’ll be lucky to see Brock or the Universal Championship ever again. And that my friends is the Brock Lesnar problem.

[yehosera]

Brotherhood Open 2018

Last Sunday, I took part in the annual Brotherhood Open in London. It was a 26 man event, with people traveling from around south England to take part. Once again, Alex did a fantastic job of running the Final Fantasy and Johnathan Southway recorded feature games that will appear later on in the week on his Youtube channel. 5 Rounds of Swiss, best of 1, then top 8 cut, best of 3. Standard stuff.

The Brotherhood - https://www.facebook.com/TheBrotherhoodGames/

I would seriously suggest checking out Brotherhood Games, in terms of value for your money, this place is unbeatable in every card game.

Team Chocobo - https://www.facebook.com/TeamChocobo/

As I don’t know when the videos are going up, just check in there a few times during the week.

Top 8 decks - https://ffdecks.com/tournament/the-brotherhood-open-2018-uk/6221148165505024

Earth Wind v3

https://ffdecks.com/deck/5980057877086208

--Generated By FF Decks (www.ffdecks.com)--

Deck Name: Earth Wind V3

As Seen In Tournament: The Brotherhood Open 2018 (UK)

Forwards (20):

2 Delita (4-087)

2 Y'shtola (5-068)

1 Zidane (3-056)

2 Barbariccia (3-066)

3 Dadaluma (4-085)

2 Vanille (1-093)

2 Wol (5-075)

2 Zidane (6-044)

3 Cecil (5-086)

1 Hugh Yurg (6-077)

Monsters (3):

3 Cactuar (4-058)

Summons (10):

3 Hecatoncheir (4-093)

3 Hecatoncheir (1-117)

3 Diabolos (5-062)

1 Titan (6-075)

Backups (17):

3 Moogle (XI) (6-058)

2 Semih Lafihna (5-059)

1 Thief (5-055)

1 White Mage (6-047)

1 Masked Woman (3-076)

2 Miner (5-082)

1 Ajido-Marujido (6-064)

3 Star Sibyl (5-091)

1 Minfilia (6-079)

1 Shantotto (1-107)

1 Tama (4-086)

Best Card: Hecatoncheir

I cast this card multiple times whenever possible. It was fantastic every time the card was cast. The only reason the deck was able to out-perform some of the other decks was because of this card.

Worst Card: Hecatoncheir

Without Enna Kros, my forwards aren’t actually that big, so the Hecatoncheir was almost never usable.

The Event

In the end, I finished top 8, losing on time in my top 8 match. The only thing to blame for the loss was me, as I wasn’t thinking properly about time, I forgot it’s 0, 1, 2, 3 and not 1, 2, 3, 4 so when the turn timer was on 2 during my turn, I thought I had another turn to catchup on damage and did not remove his last blocker before attacking. So yeah, big mistake, but a lesson learned; pay more attention!

Swiss

Round 1 - Lightning/Wind, this game was recorded, so I don’t need to go into too much detail. Essentially a turn 2 Hugh Yurg got hit by a turn 2 Al-Cid. I then played a Vanille and the rest of the game is my opponent destroying 4-5 Vanilles and 4 Dadalumas. Zidane pressured all of the forwards out of his hand, so eventually my opponent just ran out of stuff to do and died.

Round 2 - Earth/Fire, this game I drew the nutty nuts with Hugh Yurg and 2 copies of Moogle (XI). So while I was powering through my deck, he was stuck on 1 backup the whole game.

Round 3 - Earth/Water/Wind, I got backup stuck and had no Hugh Yurg to save me. It’s worth noting, in all of the previous games I was backup stuck, however, Hugh Yurg was able to save me. This game was only remotely winnable because of Zidane. While I was stuck on 2 backups, he was on 4 with Yuna Rikku and Moogle (XI); it was going REALLY well for him. Due to the nature of Zidane, one answer to him is to play all of your forwards to remove the on attack efficiency, this prompted my opponent to play 3/4 forwards in a turn just to avoid the on attack effect. Once Zidane attacked and confirmed there were no more forwards in his hand, Shantotto was able to clean house. I ended up losing to deck out (as he has Rikku and I have no Rikku, no Archers and the deck self mills a lot). So while this game was a loss, it really showcased the power of Zidane and Shantotto as a catchup method.

Round 4 - Water/Wind Gullwings, on paper an unwindable matchup, however, thanks to Hecatoncheir it becomes a winnable one. Again, stuck on 2 backups while he was on 4/5. The main turning points were both copies of Zidane pressuring all of the forwards out of his hand, ensuring that assembling YRP was impossible, and Hecatoncheir removing 2 Minuws and a Maria. While the matchup is straight up unwindable if they assemble YRP and a copy of Y’shtola, the deck does have the tools needed to harass their cards and prevent them getting off the ground with ease.

Round 5 - Ice/Earth, I was behind all game until surprise surprise Zidane was played. Again, the Shantotto + Zidane dynamic came into play ruining all of his fun. This game Titan closed out, by picking up a 3 for 1. I attacked with Zidane, in response to the effect, he discarded his hand to use Hecatoncheir on my Zidane, this allowed me to cast Titan on a different forward he controlled. Thus removing the forward Titan targeted and pumping Zidane up to enough power to turn his own Hecaton against him.

Top 8

Round 1 - Mono Water, with the other 7 decks in top 8 having at least 1 water card in them, it was unsurprising to be playing vs a water deck. With the games taking over 70 minutes, I physically cannot remember the play by plays and each swing point during the match. Game 1 I was grossly unprepared for and basically didn’t know what I was doing. Thinking my usual gameplan would work was wrong. So for game 2 I adjusted, it’s just a fatigue matchup. 1st thing to do is make sure Cagnazzo does not net them more than 1 point of damage. That’s done by clearing away every forward that’s played except for the little things Dadaluma can always remove. 2nd is to resolve Hecatoncheir as much as possible. In game 2 I resolved 4 and in the game 3, I should have won, I once again resolved 4. This means the games take FOREVER, as every turn it’s about working out how you’re going to reach this eventual game plan of Hecatoning everything and living long enough to do it. The game dynamic shifts from remove his stuff and attack him to an awkward game of never discarding Hecatoncheir or Diabolos, never playing forwards until he has something he does not want to Famfrit away OR you have a Vanille on the field, and simply never casting Shantotto.

The Deck

Forwards

Delita, only really in the deck because of Vanille. If the 2CP Hecatoncheir leaves the deck, then so will Vanille and by extension Delita. I also would not play Vanille without Delita, so he really does live and die by the Vanille.

Y’shtola, I normally just play 1 of her. I don’t like using her action ability and she shouldn’t really die once played. I opted for 2 in this deck because of Zidane and Vanille, cards that are hard to remove synergise with more cards that are hard to remove, as such she made the cut for 2. Also, Titan on this bad girl sounds tasty.

Zidane, despite playing the 4CP Zidane, I just cannot see Earth Wind functioning without this copy. He also works a bit with Delita, I was able to play both and remove an Ashe from both the hand and the field. The things Zidane does for this deck are so great I would rather risk the name conflict than play without the 3CP Zidane. 1 of him is fine, he feels so powerful 2 sounds like a really good idea, but it’s not a great draw all of the time, it’s more about waiting until you NEED to remove something powerful from their hand. Useful tip, just remove the highest impact card, don’t bother doing things like removing a backup because it might make their next turn awkward (unless if the backup is important, Minwu etc) or removing a card that has the potential to remove Zidane (he’s not here to protect himself, he’s here to protect your mid-game), just try and remove as much gas from their hand as possible to help ease up the mid game pressure.

Barbariccia, was kinda uneventful, she can go back to 1. As nice as she is, I didn’t play vs other Dadaluma decks, making the effect not very powerful. I tried to use her as a combat trick with Star Sibyl once if my opponent blocked, however, they didn’t take the bait :(.

Dadaluma, powerful card etcetc. I don’t have much to say on him, other than, don’t over value the card sometimes Cecil is more useful.

Vanille, she was extremely useful. Even without Delita, being able to filter those useless 2CP Hecatoncheirs out of my deck was a godsend. Also, vs high levels of removal she’s just fantastic. She has synergy with Barbariccia and Cactuar in so far as blocking her is likely to get punished and she has some synergy with Diabolos and Titan, as if they remove her to avoid the cards being used as combat tricks she does come back. I liked the card a lot and would like to find a way to keep her in the deck.

WoL, kinda useless. I like 2 of him to have just enough mid game gas. Wouldn’t suggest dropping him down to 1 or up to 3. 2 Seemed just right.

Zidane, what a power card. The Shantotto synergy described earlier is out of this world. Sometimes he lets Moogle’s retrieve cost 0 CP, he is a definite contender for being a 3 of. Maybe over a Barbariccia. Having Titan or Diabolos in hand makes attacking with him vs just about anything beneficial and having a WoL to support the Genome gives people an exceptionally hard time. What makes Zidane so powerful is when he’s played as the 2nd threat onto the board. There’s little point playing him as the first piece of action (unless you’re desperate like I was quite a few times in the tournament), he shines as the thing that tips people over the edge. A card like Dadalume or Vanille takes a turn of setup to be ready to remove efficiently, once Zidane comes down as the world’s largest lightning rod, he suddenly ruins whatever they were setting up for leaving your other threats to go an extra turn unanswered or he goes unanswered. The added dynamic of simply not being able to save forwards until it’s beneficial to play them applies a LOT of hidden pressure. It’s not something that’s easy to notice during a game, but once you notice what it’s doing to their turns the card becomes abusable. Also, sometimes he gets Famfritted and you sit there contemplating life.

Cecil, fantastic, do not cut Cecil down to 2. It’s easy CP early game and soul crushing in the later stages.

Hugh Yurg, was more on a trial run than anything. I wanted to see if cutting down 1 copy of Semih would be okay if I played him over her. He was strong, REALLY powerful with Tama during the early phases. Where possible I’d like to keep him in the deck. As a turn 2 play he’s powerful and as action during stalemates he’s also powerful due to him filtering the deck by a bit, the EX burst is a nice little bonus. Not mandatory in the archetype, but a nice little addition in place of a tech card if you’re unsure what to tech vs. He could easily have been Psicom Enforcer for example, however, I didn’t believe I would see many monster decks so took something generically useful instead.

Monsters & Summons

Cactuar, it’s fine at 3 obviously, as one of the win conditions is assembling Dadaluma + 2x Cactuar. I did not miss Leyak in this deck.

Hecatoncheir, this 2CP letdown is an easy cut. Yes, it’s powerful with WoL some of the time, but I really hate giving my opponent the chance to react to my removal cards. In a deck that has at least 1 card that increases the power of my forwards Hecaton probably shines a bit brighter.

Hecatoncheir, this 3CP powerhouse is an easy auto include. I would play 6 of this card if I could.

Diabolos, again 3 of this card as it’s an easy +2 Wind CP during the early game that wins the game later on. In this deck as it does not have the safety net Urianger Phoenix and Leyak provides, knowing that if something spooky happens being able to untap all of my forwards inspires some confidence while deciding how many forwards to attack with. It’s basically picking up a lot of the slack that the Urianger portion left behind. Defensively it can untap your forwards like Leyak does and offensively it can be used as removal in place of Phoenix. Basically, this card’s REALLY important as it does everything.

Titan, has some really nice art.

Backups

Moogle (XI), best card in the deck because it searches Hecatoncheir. I want to try playing the card at 2, but that can wait.

Semih Lafihna, not much to say about her. REALLY good when you draw Star Sibyl.

Thief, I actually only drew this card once. So I’ll give it a fair chance as it does synergise with Zidane and he’s my new 2nd favourite card.

White Mage, was crap. I had it vs a Viking deck and never wanted to discard a card to use the effect or leave the CP open to use it. It’s just not worth the extra effort to use. I’ll try it again as maybe having an easily breakable Wind backup is worth the struggle, but I’d rather just have that 1 copy of Archer. Leila as a 4CP entry effect break a backup is actually really good, so I’m supposed to use the card vs Devout and Miner? But, Hecatoncheir already does that. So it’s not worth playing the White Mage.

Masked Woman, fantastic card, got a huge buff with Moogle (XI). Being able to search her when you need her instead of relying on luck to do so is a HUGE boon for the card. She’s very unlikely to be going anywhere and I would suggest every earth deck plays her at 1.

Miner, fine at 2. Same as always. I’ve actually started using the effect to retrieve Cecil a lot more. It’s really good with Moogle (XI) and Delita helps solve the issue I used to have with Miner. I always found it hard to use Miner’s effect and do something productive other than play the forward during that turn, however, Delita is cheap and is productive with Vanille on the field, so there is some potential for 3 Miner in this deck.

Ajido-Marujido, I’m still yet to use the cast a summon modifier. It’s just always better to get back more Hecatoncheir. That’s not to say the card is not amazing, I’m sure when I use that modifier it’ll be for effective lethal. Ajido does something the deck needs, it increases the summon count by 2. As such I find the card to be exceptionally powerful. I would REALLY like to add a copy of Asura to the deck to use the untap 5 modifier with her off of 4 backups. With 4 backups, tap 3 discard 1 play Adjido, add back Diabolos/Titan(or Phoenix if we’re getting into Urianger territory) and Asura, then use the leftover CP to play Asura to get back 5 backups and cast the huge summon.

Star Sibyl, is actually the lifeblood of the deck. With reaching high backup counts being integral to the deck’s longterm health, a lot of the burden falls onto Star Sibyl and Moogle (XI) to get there. Sibyl gets Moogle which gets more backups. The other reason is because the deck has a serious lack of proactive odd costed backups. They’re all better when saved except for Sibyl. Tama is better for Dadaluma stuff, Shantotto well it’s Shantotto, Ajido once you know what summons you need and when you need them, and Masked Woman requires a dull forward. As such, if you want to accelerate your backup growth the burden falls entirely onto Sibyl. A lot of the game is bumming around on 2/3 backups, then having a turn with Sibyl that propels you to 5 backups while impacting the board. A good example is on 3 backups, using Sibyl to get Moogle, using Moogle to get Masked Woman and using her to remove a forward. High ceiling turns like that are what makes Sibyl strong, not to mention that she adds to the ceiling of any later turn with the action ability. (Ceiling just means how much it’s possible to do during a turn)

Minfilia, was nice. Maybe needs to be a 2 of to see her earlier, but she’s a contender for being cut from the deck. She does say gain 2 copies of Dadaluma, so I’m hesitant to cut her so early, but she did not feel very impactful all of the time. Hence, I want to try 2 copies of her out to see if she can help promote a more aggressive playstyle knowing I have the safety of her adding 2 cards back to hand effect to keep giving me gas. Also, I’m seeing a LOT of Nidhoggs.

Shantotto, fine at 1, liked her a bit better at 2. Until the space is worked out properly she’s fine at 1.

Tama, good like always, especially with all of these new fancy Earth forwards to summon like Vanille and Hugh Yurg.

Potential Edits

-1 Y’shtola, -1 Barbariccia, -1 While Mage, +1 Zidane, +1 Asura, +1 Archer.

It’s also possible to remove the Vanille and co entirely, but that’s a whole new blog if that happens.

Draft Stuff

Ice

Ice is under drafted in this set in most pods. It doesn’t have many forwards and it’s backups are all awkward. The strength of Ice currently is that nobody is picking Locke. Celes is a no-brainer she’s a 2CP potential 8,000 power forward, however, the Locke is a bit underwhelming as a sometimes 2CP 7,000 power forward. Due to this, Locke is under picked which makes him powerful. By having 4+ copies of Locke in your deck and a few Celes he should always be a 2CP 7,000 power forward which makes the card insane. The other issue is that the colour holds the 2nd most powerful summons in the set, so it’s a popular splash colour and it holds Kazusa which, due to the nature of draft, is playable in every deck. This means your summons are in medium contention and your most impactful backup is always in high contention. Kurasame, one of the better forwards is a Hero making him an unlikely pull and the reward for pulling ice legends isn’t very much. Outside of Locke and Celes, Shocktrooper and Snow are the only ice forwards below hero rarity and they both suck. Make no mistake, Shocktrooper is terrible because it cannot attack, there will always be crappy cards littering the field in a draft game so it’s useless and Snow has no other XIII cards in the set to help him.

Always pick

Kazusa

Hades

Celes

Doomtrain

Militesi Coeurl

Locke

The rest is all kinda bad other than the backups. 3CP summoner is exceptionally powerful, but without the summons people won’t be looking for her, the Ysayle is a more desirably pickup to most people, so take that when possible.

TL;DR 3CP Hecaton = heaven, 2CP Hecaton = hell. Locke + Celes are good draft picks

[sammy-writes-stuff]

The Stranger, Ch 13.

Chapter Thirteen: Montage

Start.  Previous.

The first week went by seemingly by jumping from drama to drama: the space in the mind palace seemed a little too crowded at times. It didn’t help that Logan continued his fruitless research, and Virgil was constantly on edge and both were quick to anger. Roman bore the brunt of this frustration – as he usually would – but he seemed to allow himself to enjoy Carrie’s company without feeling guilty or worried, like the others.

They talked about hopes, dreams, their favourite Disney films (as Carrie was, thankfully, a huge fan). They talked about Moana, and its connection to New Zealand and Carrie’s eyes shone as she explained the different Maori influences on the piece, and where it differed from official Maori myth and legend. They talked about their shared love of theatre, and acting, and discussed memorable, funny, or tragic moments from their experiences on the stage. They talked about romance, and sexuality, something that Carrie had always personally struggled with.

“I used to call myself the Ice Queen, because I didn’t actually care about someone romantically once we were official…” She said one morning. She sat cross-legged on Roman’s four poster bed, while he wrote at his desk.

“Have you considered you may be Asexual or Aromantic?” He said, chewing his pencil thoughtfully.

“I wondered that for a long time…but it just didn’t really seem like the right fit for me…I mean…” She blushed. “I definitely have a sex-drive…if you could call it that…”

“Well you don’t have to have it all figured out yet, just accept that sometimes it is not as clear for some as others.” He grinned, looking up at his Rainbow coloured feature wall.

“I just…I like to have things figured out…ya know?”

 The pair performed duets (Carrie finding out, to her delight, that she was suddenly not tone-deaf), talked about boys…and after a little bit of soul-searching, boys and girls for Carrie.

She spent a bit of time with Patton also, helping him out in his little garden. Roman had extended it slightly, so there was work enough for two. Though she enjoyed the father figure and appreciated his puns and silliness, sometimes the garden unnerved her. The dirt felt…too light, at times. It never lodged underneath her fingernails and her hands were easy to clean after. The tableau Roman had conjured instead of the void that had served as a background was something she preferred to keep her back too. Her head just hurt too much if she started thinking too hard about her surroundings.

They cooked together too. Carrie usually just followed Patton’s instructions with a hearty “Yes Chef!”, but on the Wednesday night, he passed his special spatula to her.

“Are…are you sure?” She said nervously, remembering countless kitchen disasters she had had in her own time.

“Don’t worry kiddo, I’ll be here the entire time and you literally cannot set fire to anything!” Patton beamed.

It wasn’t a total disaster, Patton was able to help Carrie channel her memories into her actions and therefore produce an edible meal – though the roast lamb was slightly charred.

Virgil picked up a small fritter between his fingers and eyed it suspiciously.

“That’s a whitebait fritter. Whitebait are tiny fish that are caught in rivers, and you put the whole thing in the fritter!” Carrie explained. “Try it with lemon!”

Virgil tried not to look into their tiny eyes as he hesitantly took a bite.

The dessert of Pavlova and chocolate cake went down a little better.

If she wasn’t at a meal, or with Roman or Patton, Carrie was in her room. It was the place that felt the most real to her, for some reason. She drew and painted the walls all around her, sure that her artistic ability had by far improved just because the instruments she was using were conjured by the literal manifestation of Creativity.

The wall with the door that led to the hallway was painted to look like a beach at sunrise, the distinctive hills and rocks reminding her of a special place she used to go to on family holidays. She was planning out the other walls, as she wanted to pace herself. She couldn’t help but liken herself to Rapunzel at the beginning of Tangled, and she found herself singing the opening song often.

Despite literally being inside someone’s head, Carrie had never felt more alone. She couldn’t access the internet, she couldn’t do much of what she used to do. And Carrie worried, day and night, about what was happening to her, and what the effect this might be having on Thomas.

Though she had been told she was missing, and had been for at least a week by the time she was found by the sides, she was losing hope of ever being ‘found’. Carrie couldn’t help but wonder if the sides new she was dead.

Logically, she would be by now, unless there was still a shade of her consciousness still left in her body? But even then…where was her body? Nothing had been found, but surely, she hadn’t literally appeared in Thomas’ mind?

The thing that stuck with Carrie was the fact that she didn’t feel dead. Surely, it would feel different to this? And if she was dead…what on earth had she done to end up in this odd purgatory?

Her religious faith had been sorely tested, and that made her feel even more alone.

Carrie was less alone than she knew, though if enlightened, it would have probably left her feeling even more scared.

She was watched, every time she went to sleep.

And every time she woke, Carrie felt that little bit more solid…and the outside of her room felt that little bit less so. Patton’s food tasted a little blander with every bite.

That Sunday morning, Carrie scratched her eighth notch onto the wall beside her bed. She sighed, turned over, and grappled with how empty she felt…how purposeless. What was she doing? She couldn’t influence Thomas, nor did she want too. But she could hardly live her life either…

Instead of adhering to Patton’s breakfast call, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

~

“Of course, we should invite her…at least give her the option.” Patton said. “She’s spending far too much time in her room as of late.”

Virgil snorted, mouth full of pasta. In answer to the odd looks he received, he quickly swallowed.

“It’s nothing…it’s just…it’s nice to not be the problem child for once.” Virgil grinned, having been on the end of Patton’s wrath more than a few times in his life: the man took his father figure roll very seriously. It was nice to witness it from the outside for once.

It was dinner time, and the four of them sat round the table, discussing their weekly family night. Last week they had decided to skip it…more because no one wanted to be the one to bring it up, Carrie only having arrived the day before. It had been Logan’s turn to decide, and despite how he had practically avoided her for a week, he wanted to use his night to help her feel a little more at ease.

“Roman, why don’t you go ask her?” Patton implored. Roman hesitated.

“She didn’t turn up to hang out today…I know we didn’t exactly plan it, but she hasn’t missed a morning since, like, last Sunday.” Roman pouted, but quailed under Patton’s glare. “Okay Patton, right away Padre.”

Virgil snickered as Roman scrambled up and away, quite liking this new trend of others being under Patton’s pump. He regretted it instantly when Patton rounded on him.

“Young man, are you still in your pyjamas?”

Virgil scowled and folded his arms. “It’s Sunday.”

He sighed as he met an unyielding stare, and got up to go to his room.

“Wait up, Virgil.” Logan said, grabbing Virgil’s arm as he entered the hall.

“What?” Virgil deadpanned.

“I…I’m not the most creative person, and I think you know Carrie a little better than I…” He told him his idea, and asked for his input.

Virgil grinned, seeing a way around Patton’s order to change out of Pyjamas.

Next.

A/N: I think I just came out through an OC kinda based on me in a fic???? what a nerdddd

Also, the song I referenced is “When Will My Life Begin” From Tangled, I may try draw a short comic board of Roman and Carrie...I can’t really draw so I’ll see how that goes!