#i swear I only draw Alice like this and nothing else

[nocturna1sea]

Alice

[my-plastic-life]

Behind the Scenes: Making Melody

Ah, Melody. The daughter of Ariel and Eric. Ariel, the only princess to have a child (Descendants doesn't count). Since the sequel to The Little Mermaid launched in 2000, I've wanted a Melody doll. To this day I can't believe the Disney Store hasn't made one.

Technically, one was released back in the day. I remember going to Toys R Us to get it, and upon seeing it, put it back on the shelf. Why? Because it looked nothing like my favorite princess's daughter.

A bit scary, right? Her eyes, for one, are brown and they should be blue or at least greenish-blue. And her face overall just gives me an uneasy vibe. I can't explain it, but she just doesn't look right. Even back then I couldn't fork over the money for her. Now, try to find her on eBay, and I swear she's ranged in price from $400-$800. Definitely out of my price range for a sub-par doll. Yes, I'd like to have the clothes, but no way am I forking over that kind of cash for clothes that I'm sure I can have someone make. And while I've come a long way with customizing and could easy change her eye color, it doesn't change the fact that she looks... off.

And thus began my journey of creating my own Melody doll. Again, Disney Store should really make one. A lot of us fans and collectors want one, and we know they have the ability to make smaller dolls because we've gotten Alice, Wendy, and Tinker Bell. Come on Disney Store...

But when a company fails to provide a doll you desire, you do the logical thing - you make your own!

The first step was determining the best candidate to transform into Melody. Obviously I wanted her to have one of the aforementioned Disney Store bodies designed for smaller characters. It would match the Ariel dolls I have, and I'd been eyeing an outfit made for that exact body (Melody's primary outfit, her bloomers).

So the body was simple. Next was the face. Obviously either of the three heads that came with the body would have sufficed. Skin tones were a good match to the Ariel dolls I have, so another easy step. The face, though... Melody is often portrayed as having a very large, toothy grin. I've seen people create Melody dolls using Ariel's face, and while that does make total sense, I felt her smile was a bit too "small" for this girl.

If I wanted to keep the original head with the body, Tinkerbell was out because of her pointed ears. That's one thing I can't fix LOL. Sculpting and drawing are definitely out of my area of expertise.

That left Alice and Wendy:

Great candidates, but their smiles definitely aren't right. Melody rarely had a closed mouth smile, if ever, and while I've seen some people customize these dolls into Melody and other characters and add painted teeth, the original issue still exists - the smile isn't big enough.

And yes, Tinkerbell, of course, has the open mouth smile - but the ears!!! Why?!

Another issue with using a Disney Store doll is the head itself. Disney Store doll heads are significantly harder than Mattel and Azone dolls, meaning it takes extra strength/work to reroot them. I could try dyeing the doll hair or using fabric markers on it, but A) that could possibly stain the doll, and B) I've tried fabric markers before and it makes the hair feel like straw.

I was convinced I'd inevitably have to use Wendy or Alice and have someone else reroot her for me, but then I thought of something else. Mattel has reacquired the rights to make Disney Princess dolls. That, of course, includes Ariel. I've made hybrid dolls before (my Inuyasha dolls combine two or three different dolls into one amazing creation), and I remember seeing the princess dolls when Mattel brought them back - particularly Ariel, who had a large toothy smile.

Plus, because she's Mattel, I know how the mechanics work with swapping heads and that the head is a lot softer and easier to work with in terms of rerooting. So I ordered her, but I wasn't yet sure if she'd work. Would her skin tone match either of the Disney Store bodies? What about the head size - would it be too big or small compared to the Disney Store Ariel? And of course, Mattel = pixelated faces... though I'd be repainting the lips anyway for sure because Melody's lips are a more natural pink shade rather than the bright red Ariel has.

Well, luck was on my side - the Ariel head not only matched the skin tone of the smaller bodies (which were also very close to the Disney Store Ariel), it was actually smaller than the original Wendy and Alice heads! I don't know what's up with that, but what a happy accident!

However, there was still another step. I've put Disney Store heads on Barbie bodies before, but not vice versa. And these are smaller bodies. How would it work? The verdict was a bobble head, but some rubber bands around the neck peg took care of that. I think it completely works!

The next step was the rerooting process. I don't know why it's so satisfying to pull all those little plugs out of a doll head, and then poke new hair right into it. :D Of course, before the poking, I had to use acetone to remove the factory paint on the scalp, then paint back over it with black and seal it. This time I was determined not to use too much hair, as in making it too long. When I rerooted my Azone Kagome, I didn't trim the hair until it was completely rooted, and not only did it make a huge mess, it was very wasteful because of how much I had to trim off to get it to the right length. Melody's hair isn't that long (it seems to hit just past her butt I think), so I felt fine cutting each piece I plugged in half. In the end, that proved to be a good decision because I only had to trim a very small amount to even it out and get the look I wanted. Yay!

Once that was done, I gave her a boil wash, allowed the hair to dry overnight, and then added the special glue inside from The Doll Planet Hair (I also got the hair from them). After that dried overnight, it was time to start on the face. I decided to start at the top and work my way down to lower my chances of messing up something that was finished. So I did the eyebrows first. Melody has significantly thicker eyebrows than Ariel, and of course they're black rather than red. Surprisingly enough, I was able to get them thicker and still even... this coming from the person who spent two hours on eyebrows on a different doll. >.<

Next was the eyes. At first I wasn't sure if I should leave them or not, but in the end I decided they needed to be changed. They were way too blue, and they're really supposed to match Ariel's and Eric's. She is their child, after all. Plus, thanks to Mattel, they were also pixelated. BOOOOO!

Many of the scenes in the movie show Melody as having green eyes, so I started there. But then I thought, I better make sure they match Ariel. So I got an Ariel doll out and used her as a guide. Let me tell you, matching that color was insanely difficult. Too green, too bright, too blue, too dark, etc... Then I kept going back and forth because, again, she seems to have green eyes. But then again, they should match Ariel's eyes. Remember, being a perfectionist can be super exhausting.

I finally had what I thought was a good color, so I used that to help shape the eyes. I kept the original white part of the eye and just painted over what was already there, trying to match the Disney Store style (large portion in the darker color, small ring in the lighter color, and then the pupil). But then, after holding it next to Ariel, I was still dissatisfied with the color (way too bright). I kept looking at Ariel, and then I even saw some other custom dolls with blue eyes and some shots of Melody do depict the eyes as being more blue than green (Ariel, too):

So, after literally a week of just trying to get the best color, I finally got it!!! Victory dance!

Last was the lips. Should be simple, right? I like the color of my Barbie self's lips. They're a natural shade of pink, and I have the combo of paints I used to pull that off saved, so I could just replicate that, right? WRONG! I didn't factor in the original factory paint, which serves as a base coat and affects what goes on top of it, plus this doll has a warmer skin tone than Mini Me, so the color turned out to be super bright and very unnatural-looking. So I did a ton of mixing and modifying the paint recipe until finally I was satisfied with the shade. I had to go over the teeth a couple of times too because A) pixels and B) I went over the white a bit with the lipstick.

Once her face was done, I could start styling her hair. Melody just has a simple ponytail with large bangs like her mom. The hardest part was definitely those bangs. They're not straight or flat bangs, but they have kind of a "poof" to them.

The part was a little off - it should have been more to the side and less to the center. However, I was following the original factory root line, so I didn't really pay attention to where it was. That was my fault lol. I took a few strands of hair and held them out of the way as I tied the rest into a ponytail. To give the bangs their ideal effect, I tied that hair back separately with a hair tie I'd bought that resembles Melody's green one. Then I started pulling them out little by little, hoping to achieve the desired look. This was the first result:

Not bad, but I thought I could make it a little better. I noticed some small bald spots around that area in the scalp (oops), so I added some more hair to those areas to make the bangs a little fuller. I re-tied the bang strands (didn't boil wash the second set of hair because I didn't want to risk messing up the paint and I wanted them to stand up somewhat anyway), manipulated the positioning a bit, and came up with this:

I think that's a little better and gives the desired effect. I may still try to manipulate it some more, but I did put some of my special doll hair spray on it to hold it in place. The ponytail bottom just needed a small curl, and while I tried my curling iron on it, I found it to be better to just curl it by hand and spray it.

The final part was the outfit. I got the outfit from malanedoll on Etsy (she makes gorgeous Disney outfits!) The outfit also came with Melody's symbolic seashell locket.

I know what you're thinking - where the heck is her tail? Well, I can't sew that well (I can make little pillows, relatively decent curtains, and maybe some garden flags, but outfits? Nope lol), and I haven't been able to find a tail that would work with this body in the right color. By next year I might have her tail, but for now, she'll stay in her signature bloomer outfit. That is what she's wearing most of the time, and she did ultimately decide to stay a human in the end. :D

And with that, Melody was complete! Probably not 100% perfect, like most of my creations, but satisfying enough for me! Of course, if Disney Store makes an official Melody doll, I'll buy her - and totally do a comparison LOL. And I do intend to eventually get her that iconic red tail!

Thanks for reading my journey on creating Ariel's daughter! To this day, she's still the only Disney princess to ever become a parent lol.

[rottingmanifesto]

you're right about mafia 2 villains being kind of shit which is probably why i am the way i am about them, because the premises are good but then they did absolutely nothing with any of them! i know i talk a lot about luca, but they introduce him as a would-be mentor who clearly plans to fuck vito & joe over (which could've been a long running scam), and who clearly sees through vito's tough-guy act to the obvious naivety underneath, and then he also gets smacked by clemente which set up a really interesting potential dynamic between them...and then that was it! carlo falcone is an arrogant lunatic who schemed with a rival family to kill his own boss, and who's both deeply paranoid but also somehow thinks he's invincible to the point he decides "fuck the commission, i'm killing all my competition" and yet...we see very little of him or his motivations for acting that way (and though he seems to dislike vito from the get-go, there's no clear reason why). bruno's just an asshole loanshark, and he got vito's father in debt, which makes him more a plot device/symbol than anything...but why does he know henry so well? vinci...is just a stubborn old man obsessed with tradition. derek and steve are probably the best villains tbh because at least they make sense–they're trying to make a buck and keep order at the docks, no matter who they've gotta fuck over. everybody else had plot threads laid down and never picked up; it feels like a tv show that was meant to have more than one seasons but got cancelled unexpectedly. hell, even eddie was given a hilarious introduction and then they did next to nothing with him.

EXACTLYYY

I love that others can draw a lot of meaning/characterization/symbolism out of Maf 2 (because I haven’t yet- I’m lazy, sorry) but the lack of compelling antagonists really just made it… meh to me. Like, I don’t even mean the villains, but just conflict. Vito really is the closest antagonist we have, with his self-destructive behaviors, or even Joe with his ideas and the consequences of said ideas. It reads like a sitcom mixed with a period-based crime thriller. I love it, yes, it’s fun, but it subtracts from the realism. And like you said, it feels unfinished. There was potential they never expanded on. In some ways, it made Joe and Vito feel even more real and great, but it kinda creates an Alice-in-Wonderland effect. They’re the only real ones there (and Henry, in some cases).

I love the premises of the Maf 2 villains, but none of them are compelling enough for me to really try to read into them. Also, as an Appalachian, I hated Derek (and whoever his sidekick was) and Bruno from the get-go, so no amount of given depth would really aid in how I view them. Plus, I feel like giving those three in particular any amount of depth would end up feeling more superficial— an excuse rather than an explanation. Again, at least Sal has an explanation, even if he is irredeemable and frankly evil.

Anyway, I would’ve liked to see Eddie be a villain/more than he was, idk. I think that would be fun. And maybe exploration on the other villains (and I swear to god, NOT in a horny way. God. I say analysis as a joke, not literal).

[the-coffee-story]

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 2 - The Forest God

When Agatha came over to visit the next day, she found herself baffled when Alice opened the door with a wide smile.

"Agatha, you won't believe what happened!" She was giddy. "Oh, it's so wonderful!"

Agatha furrowed her brows and tried to peer her head past her shoulders and into the space between the doorway. "What is it?"

"He's back!"

"Who?"

"Eustace!"

"What?!"

"Come and see for yourself!" Alice excitedly jumped up and down and took her by the hand. "He's still weak, and he won't speak, but he's here!!!"

"Alice, that's-"

"Come with me!" She dragged her along to the living room, excitedly murmuring the whole way.

Agatha froze in the doorway, mouth slightly agape.

It was him, undoubtedly, but even as he raised his head and turned it to them, he didn't look like he was still among the living. His skin was white and mottled, and he was sitting so still he looked like a corpse at first. His face was empty of any expression or life, as if his soul had been left behind somewhere far away. "Eustace, look, Agatha's here!" Alice was beaming, skipping over to the still figure.

Agatha felt the blood draining from her face.

Whatever was going on, this was not natural. And yet Alice was as joyful as she hadn't been in months. Agatha was torn. Should she tell her to leave him? What had happened to him? Or should she let it be?

"I-"

"Yes, I know, he looks exhausted." Alice's voice was soft as she sat down next to her silent husband. She softly stroked the back of his hand. "But he's going to be fine again, aren't you, Eustace?"

His chapped, white-blue lips moved, only slightly, but no sound came out. His face was as expressionless as that of a deadman.

Agatha shivered, and took a stray step back. She couldn't bear to be within his presence any longer. "Well, I... I wish you two the best of luck with th-that then... I just remembered I still need to fix my husband's coat, he ripped a hole in it again, he's so clumsy..." She laughed nervously. "I'll see you then... goodbye!"

With that she rushed out.

***

"Zombie." The child grinned.

"Don't interrupt me." The mother gently booped her child's nose.

***

Months had passed. At first Eustace's miraculous return was nothing but a rumour, but then Alice began bringing him outside, and soon everyone knew that something had happened. By the time it was summer, despite whispers of witchcraft and unholy entities, the majority of townsfolk had simply accepted the strange pair. There wasn't much else to do.

It was a warm summer afternoon. The sun was drowning the world in a deep golden glow and the birch trees were softly swaying in the wind like it was singing them to sleep. Alice and Eustace were sitting in the garden and she was making a flower crown for him. He still hadn't said a word since his return, but it didn't stop her from trying. She loved him. She loved him so much.

She put the crown on his head and adjusted it a little. "There. Isn't it lovely?"

He turned his head a little, then reached out a bony hand to feel the soft petals between his fingers. The ghost of a smile was barely visible on his pale lips. Alice smiled and snuggled up to him, wrapping an arm around his thin frame and gently placing her hand on his. She closed her eyes. "I love you."

She heard someone call her name and looked up. Agatha was standing by the old wooden fence and waving. "Alice, can you come over for a minute?"

"I'll be right back, dearest," she told Eustace. Then she got up, brushed the grass off her dress and ran over to the fence. "I'm coming!"

Agatha's face was serious. "Alice, I wanted to warn you."

"What is it? If you're talking about the apple tree don't worry, I already cut the branch before it could break off and hurt someo-"

"The shepherd was found dead in the forest."

Alice paled. "My God. What happened?"

"Something tore him up. Nobody knows what it could have been."

"A wolf? A bear?"

"Something worse." Agatha's brown eyes were narrow, and stared into the garden just in front of her.. "Where was Eustace last night?"

"Well, he went outside to catch some air at around midnight..." Alice's heterochromatic eyes widened. "Good God, he could've gotten himself killed! I'll make sure to tell him not to do that!"

"Alice, don't you think-"

"My God, thank you for the warning Agatha, he could've come to harm..."

"Alice!", Agatha suddenly snapped, grabbing her arm before she could turn and run back. "Come back to your senses! Whatever that...that thing is, it's not your husband!"

"He just needs some time!", she pleaded, flinching her arm away. "He's going to be alright! He just needs a bit of patience and care, and then it's all going to be alright!"

"Alice, he is literally a rotting corpse, it's time to just let it go!"

"He needs me!!"

They both glanced over at the young man sitting, alone, in the thick grass. He was still wearing the flower crown and softly swaying back and forth with the dancing trees. There was even some kind of tiny smile still plastered to his pale lips.

"Alice, this is madness," Agatha muttered, more to herself, if anything.

"Give me some time," the younger woman pleaded, voice cracking softly. "I swear, he's going to make it."

"This feels like something that shouldn't be messed with, Alice-"

"He'll be fine."

"Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you want to believe it?"

Alice hesitated. "Because I love him."

Agatha sighed, and paused. It felt wrong. Everything felt so wrong. Agatha knew, somewhere deep down, she needed to help the grieving woman. This... thing wasn't her husband. No, she was going to help her, no matter if it shattered her healing heart back In two. But right now... She just couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Alright... be careful, dear," was all she could mutter. She kissed her on the cheek and pulled her into a hug, not daring to let her go. "Eustace!" He clumsily raised his head. "You better damn well appreciate what Alice is doing for you!"

He nodded, but his pale face was still empty of any expression. He looked like an empty shell, someone that once held such life and humanity, but now something different masqueraded inside.

A few days had passed. The shepherd was buried and mourned for. But, one day soon after there was another crowd carrying something from the woods.

"What's going on?", Alice asked a little boy as the procession passed by. "What happened?"

"Oh, they found the milkman dead in the woods." He shrugged. "Intestines all over the place."

Agatha quickly appeared by Alice's side, fury in her face. "It happened again! Something is going on here and I'm sure your husband has something to do with it!"

"Agatha, please...!" Alice bit her lip, looking at her battered shoes. "He's not hurting anyone."

"Enough is enough!"

Suddenly a weak sound escaped Eustace's mouth. He bit his lip and tried again.

"Agatha.... please.... don't shout....at Alice."

Despite it all, Alice's face lit up and she threw her arms around him, trying anything to pull her mind away from the gathering crowd passing them. "You're speaking again!"

"Not...her fault....."

Agatha clenched he fist and took a firm step forward, glaring at the pair. "Eustace, you're hiding something."

"Agatha, please...", Alice pleaded, drawing her arms from around Eustace's thin waist.

But the older woman just turned and walked away.

On that evening while Alice was preparing dinner Eustace went out into the garden to catch some air. He returned when the sun had just sunk behind the net of emerald trees, the red sky reflecting on his white hair and giving him an ethereal appearance. He looked otherworldly.

Alice hugged him in the doorway and buried her face in his jacket. "I love you. My darling."

But suddenly she heard a woman screaming down the street.

"Something must have happened," Alice whispered, pulling him inside. "Let's close the door."

Darkness had quickly cast it's shadow over the village. But outside people gathered, with torches and pitchforks, a demonic mob, hoarsely screaming obscenities at the top of their lungs. Then someone knocked hard on the door.

"He killed my husband!", Agatha screamed from outside the house. "That evil creature killed my husband, let me in, Alice!"

"No!", Alice screamed. "It wasn't him...it can't have been him!"

"We'll break the damn door if we have to!"

"I won't let you hurt him!" Alice was sobbing. She ran back to the table and hugged Eustace, her long dark hair falling over his shoulder like a waterfall. She cradled him in her arms. "I won't let them hurt you, my darling. Just you wait. You'll be fine again. I promise."

Eustace raised his head a little and his ashen lips moved. She came closer and he whispered something, barely understandable and raspy.

"I love you...run..."

She hugged him and cried. "I love you... I won't run anywhere, I'll stay with you... I love you...!"

"Please...run..."

"I love you...!"

Suddenly he froze. Then his slender hand reached for his blindfold and pulled it away. And when he opened his eyes and glanced up, Alice was met with the full force of his golden gaze, like the sun on a summer evening in the forest.

The door broke down with a sickening crunch, and the mob flooded inside.

Eustace was sitting on the floor, Alice's head resting in his lap. Her beige dress was soaked in vermilion blood, and her beautiful dark hair surrounded her pale face like a halo of shadows. Her eyes were wide open in wonder and an expression of love was frozen on her face. She was dead.

Eustace was wearing his blindfold again. When he raised his head his lips moved. "Run... please..."

***

"And what then??"

The woman smiled. "They captured him. They decided to make sure he wouldn't ever return from the grave again, so they built him a coffin of iron, with locks and chains around it, and buried him deep in the woods, praying that no one would ever release him." She gently booped the child's nose. "Now good night, Miss Walther."

[thecomposerofstories]

Information on Amy.

(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)

~General Information~

Fandom: Toy Story.

Name: Amy the Ragdoll.

Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).

Gender: Female.

Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)

Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.

City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.

Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.

Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol

~Physical Appearance~

Height: 10 inches.

Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Eye colour: Black.

Skin tone: Light.

Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.

Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.

~Speech/Language/Communication~

Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.

First language: English.

Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)

Accent: American.

Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.

~Behaviour/Habits~

Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.

Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.

Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.

Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.

Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.

Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.

Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.

Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.

~The Past~

Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.

Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.

She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)

Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.

But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.

They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)

Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?

Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.

Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)

Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.

Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.

Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.

~Family~

The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.

Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.

~Relationships~

Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.

Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.

Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.

What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.

What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.

~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~

Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.

Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.

But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.

Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.

Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.

It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”

Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.

Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.

Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.

Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.

Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.

Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.

Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.

~Likes/Favourites~

Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.

Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.

Favourite Book Quotation(s):

“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”

“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”

Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.

Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.

Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.

~Relationships with other characters~

~Rex~

- Hit it off pretty quickly.

- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.

- Both become very stressed without the other around.

- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.

- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).

- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.

~Jessie~

- Became friends pretty quickly.

- Will drag Amy along anywhere.

- Get along fairly well.

- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.

- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).

- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.

- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.

~Hamm~

- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.

- Surprisingly good pals.

- Have full conversations without saying anything.

- Like to sit and look out of the window together.

- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).

- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.

~The Potato Heads~

- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.

- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.

- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.

~Woody~

- Are aquianteces.

- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.

~Buzz~

- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)

- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.

- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.

~Mr. Prickle Pants~

- Are absolute BFF’s.

- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.

~Bo Peep~

- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.

- (She has)

- They later become good friends.

- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.

[pacific-rimbaud]

45 and narcissa x remus (recissa? black wolf? blupin?)

Drabble #45: “Tell me a secret.”

Asylum Seekers

by PacificRimbaud

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Narcissa Black Malfoy

Tags: Angst, infidelity, brief blood, suggestions of violence, swearing, mild sexual content (Rated M) 

On AO3

Fall, 1978

The line to fucking another man’s wife is neither a straight nor a moral one. Would it help if I told you that of the two of us, I might be the werewolf, but the monster, unequivocally, is him?

Fucking is the furthest thing from my mind when I see her for the first time since she left school—four, maybe five years before I did. Hollow-boned and apprehensive as a hedgerow bird, she sits with one white hand splayed open on the surface of the table and the other one in her lap, like she’s waiting for one of us to serve her.

Sirius rounds the corner from Andromeda’s kitchen carrying three fingers of Ogden’s, no ice, in a cut crystal glass and sets it down, slow and noiseless, as though she’ll bolt at the sound of the contact.

She picks up the glass with the hand she’s keeping out in the open, drains it, and does it again the moment Sirius refills it.

She smells like whiskey and blood.

Arms looped around her own waist, Andromeda leans in the door frame, Moody talking close at her ear.

The sisters are representative works by the same artist, in two different moods. Andromeda is taller and more substantial: dark, warm and still, a heavy-canopied forest in an abundant summer. Narcissa is hard daylight and the sharp, mythical line of a distant peak, white-capped in perennial snow.

Her eyes are her sole submission to softness; between hers and Andromeda’s, Narcissa’s are the warmer iteration of blue.

Moody mumbles, his face erased of everything but formless intensity, and Andromeda’s vision fixes on Narcissa’s pale, restless hand, the pads of her fingers lighting on the table again, preparing themselves to take flight.

Andromeda mutters, and then she moves, palming something from Moody and taking a seat beside her sister at the scrubbed dining table.

“They’d like you to take this." Her voice comes in at a crawling crescendo, pianissimo to mezzo-piano, then retreats.

She places a vial on the table: Veritaserum, in olive green glass with a tiny cork.

Narcissa pulls in a breath, filling her belly and then her chest, and then she bends away in violent submission toward the floor, her gut belatedly rejecting what I identify as several days of nothing but booze.

Ted arrives at her elbow before she’s finished, carrying a glass of water.

Two glasses, one wet cloth to her mouth, and a full minute later, and Narcissa tips the cork from the top of the vial with her thumb, and drinks it down.

“What do you want to know?”

Her voice is scraped and austere, wounded with whiskey and sick and some other interior, mechanical insult: crying, or screaming, or both.

“Tell the rest of us what you told your sister,” says Moody, turning a chair around at the table and straddling the seat.

Narcissa’s right hand rises from her lap.

For a moment I think she’s wearing an elbow-length glove, like she’s come from a formal ball.

But she’s dressed in nothing more than a thin satin slip, lace-edged, with narrow strings for straps, skating over her unrelenting leanness, either black or dark, dark green.

It's not a glove.

She’s slicked from her fingertips to the curve of her inner elbow with dried and drying blood, a lavish, painterly layer, thick and congealed. It’s an opaque garment of gore, covering everything but a row of four lines where her weakly pigmented skin shows through, like someone has grasped her arm, then drawn their fingers away.

I don’t understand why she looks at me. Between her sister, her cousin, her brother by a hated marriage, Moody and Alice Longbottom nipping at her thumbnail by the window, she settles her wide warm eyes on me.

I watch the tide rise inside her.

I watch it breach the barrier.

I watch her flood.

She closes her glazed fist loosely, fingertips touching her thumb, in the way you would make a compassionate cage of your fingers to carry an injured bird.

“I tried to help.”

*

She has a flat in Muggle London that her husband knows nothing about.

It’s small, purchased with her private money in another name. She only has two rooms and a bath, but she’s cleaned it with magic, repaired it, made it sharp and neat and softened it with pale fabrics, made it private, and made it her own.

“Why me?”

It’s the first thing I say, after I’ve come through the door, and just before she closes it behind me.

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead she pours herself a gin from a cupboard in the galley kitchen, and asks me whether I’d like one. I would, but I tell her no, thank you, and she sits on her sofa, ankles crossed underneath her thighs, and tells me why I’m here.

“Because of the way that Sirius looks at you.”

“And how is that?”

There is so little in the way of the unintentional to her that it’s unnerving.

The tilt of her head isn’t a tick or a quirk. It’s a communication.

I could press the issue, but she and I would both understand the deflection.

Call it what you will in another language, in English there’s only one word for love.

For Sirius, and for me, I believe it’s enough.

“Why not him? Andromeda?”

She’s amused by me.

I can’t help but wonder what else she delights in.

Her hair falls over her shoulder, iced gold against the fabric of her white wool jumper, while I draw a plan of Malfoy Manor to her specifications.

The entry. Staircase. Ballroom. Drawing room. The room where she sleeps. The one Lucius keeps for himself.

Where Tom Riddle lays his head down on the nights he stays.

Where else he might be found.

I don’t push for more than she gives me.

When it’s time to go, I roll the diagram, shrink it down, and shove it into the bottom of my trouser pocket next to my wand.

“Thank you,” I say. “For your honesty.”

It makes her laugh.

*

The next time I meet her in her flat, it’s uncomfortably close to a full moon, and I half gag on the smells of two different men clinging to her body.

She’s washed with an intensely herbal soap, but underneath that is a tinge of nervous sweat, and every unctuous, enzymatic marker of sex.

We cover things the Order already knows, and that she knows we know, but we both understand the nature and necessity of what we’re doing.

It’s safer for her, I think, to start slow, without fully understanding why I would care.

“Good luck to you,” she says while my hand finds the doorknob.

She doesn’t bite her lip. There is never a twist to her mouth.

She’s practiced to rote. Her performance of herself is without error.

I turn halfway around.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

*

I spend the hours of my turning in a vast, borderless desert of physical suffering.

I map it with my own blood, and by the time I wake, it’s a void I can’t recall.

*

“Try this next time.”

She sets a pot of ointment that I can’t afford on the table in front of me.

I leave it behind when I go.

*

She keeps rare and beautiful wines that I refuse to drink.

When I arrive at night on a Wednesday, two months into our regular, irregular meetings, she’s so glassy with ethanol that I nearly leave.

I don’t think about what she wears at home.

When she’s here, she dresses down, in satin trousers and jumpers that fall away from her lustrous white shoulders.

I wonder if this is home.

The surface of her wine rolls and coats the interior of her glass as she lowers herself to sit.

My gut pings with anxiety at the unnecessary closeness, but then she leans away, and rests her head on the leather arm of the sofa while her knees fold against the back.

“I’m going to tell you about death,” she says.

I hear the wine on her breath, and lick my own lips.

I take names, where she recalls them. Where she doesn’t, I make ticks beside dates and locations.

She finishes a bottle, and opens another, her thin arms flexing with the turn of a Muggle bottle opener.

Does she feel safe here? With her magical signature tucked away with her wand? It’s folded between the pages of a day-old newspaper, on the table beside a wingback chair neither of us ever sits in. She never so much as glances in its direction.

Half the new bottle disappears inside her.

“He smells like blood when he comes to my bed.” Her performance falters. “Every time.”

I realize, too late, that the curtain has lowered, and that the house lights have come on.

I’m not prepared to see her this way.

“Which one?” I ask.

She smiles, her mouth a narrow bow.

“All of them.”

*

I walk home in the dark, staring at my hands.

I feel an urge, sharp and angular and immediate, that can I only explain as the opposite of sexual hunger.

What I want is for my palm against her flesh to cancel and negate every other hand that arrived there before it.

I would smooth my skin against every inch of her.

Outside, and in.

I’m not angry. I don’t know what I am.

I won’t touch her for the world.

I’m desperate for her to ask me to.

*

“I can’t be her handler anymore.” I can’t look at Moody when I say it.

*

A week later, Moody glares at me over the rim of a soup spoon. “She won’t speak to anyone else.”

*

I emerge from my next change three kilos lighter.

I couldn’t afford one of them.

In the mirror in the bath, I run my fingertips through the bloody trenches of my ribs.

*

“Oh,” I say, dumbly. “You’ve cooked.”

I haven’t seen her since her last drop a month ago, and I’m grateful for the smell of garlic and onions, seeped into everything and overwhelming whatever secrets her body keeps failing to keep from me.

Standing at the Muggle range, she holds a spoon out over her cupped palm.

It’s more shocking than anything she’s ever done.

I open my mouth, and think, briefly, about the weight of a pomegranate seed.

My mouth blooms.

*

I don’t know what I need. I look for it inside the cunts of the women I meet in the discos of Muggle London.

They’re sweet, and warm, and smell like cocaine and strong perfume and laboratory hormones, and they feel fine.

They feel fine.

Sometimes when I’m inside them, I think about white-blonde hair and narrow hips.

I think about the time I saw her wearing a single red glove, ending at the inside of her elbow. 

When I’m looking for what I need inside of other women, I think about her.

I’m looking for her.

*

“You’re moving too fucking much,” says Moody, never once looking up from his parchment. “Go out.”

He doesn’t make suggestions.

So I go.

The gleaming street reeks of urban petrichor, and the steady incursion of moisture tells me about a new hole in the right side of my left boot.

I’m waxing gibbous inside, something I’ve never tried to explain, but it encompasses something like an unreachable itch, and an ache in the marrow, and a skin-crawling restlessness that I’ve tried exorcising through bone-jarring movement and gallons of liquor, by screaming in train yards and flattening the cilia inside my ears with catastrophic decibels of music, through aggressive sex that turns me into someone I no longer know.

I dance, curled into the form of a brunette with silver eye shadow and no knickers under her shining nylon dress.

I’m stretching my own skin, ready to hurry up the inevitability of what I can already smell between us, when I see her.

She’s wearing a tight silver dress and a glamour that would fool nine out of ten wizards.

Dark hair, dark lips, dark eyes. She’s left her breasts unchanged. Left the unpadded divots of her ribs beneath her constricting dress. Left the perfect lines of her long, long legs.

I follow her out when she goes, and at the mouth of an alleyway I stop five paces behind her, and call out her name.

*

She’s already pulling at the frame of my belt buckle, but she does ask.

When I fuck her for the first time, against a brick wall behind a bin full of wet newspaper, she’s wearing a face that doesn’t belong to her.

I smooth my hands up her thighs.

I slide my fingers through the pulse of damp between her legs.

I erase anything she needs me to.

*

“Was it—”

I’m barely through the door.

An hour later, I wonder if I’ve ever been naked next to a woman.

I have.

I never have.

She lets me in again.

And then again.

Then again.

“Don’t come here if you smell like another man.”

I say it while I’m inside.

She takes shallow, open-mouthed breaths.

“That’s not fair.”

“I know. But I don’t care.”

I extract promises she can’t keep from her flesh while it quivers below mine.

*

While my bones construct a wolf from the materials of a man, I leave my body behind me, howling in a voice that isn’t mine.

I find my way into a dream about the scent of her hair, soaked through with both of our sweat.

* 

“Tell me a secret.” Her open mouth lands against the skin of my belly and then slides closed, a gorging, formless kiss. She skirts my aching cock with a generous deliberation. “I’ve told you all of mine.”

“Not all of them,” I say.

I’m panting like a dog, sweating through sheets we ruined three hours ago.

She looks up at me, hair draped over one warm blue eye, the perfect proportions of her mouth still sliding beside my cock, her legs wrapped around my calf, her knickers slipping against my thigh.

*

I wrap her secrets in a bow, and pass them along to those who can use them.

I keep my hands buried in her hair.

I keep her secrets for myself.

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE ONLY ONE HE EVER FEARED

I finished writing this chapter just before I had to go to work, so I showed up still all weepy, but I couldn't tell my boss it was because of characters, so I just said the first lie that came to mind and it was, 'my dog died.' Then I was laughing almost hysterically while still trying not to cry, so that was my day.

HPHPHPHP

The whisper escaped from him in a lost voice, one last shred of denial that was his brothers fate. The next word came out all emotion. It had been spoken so much lately, like any moment the simple word could change all this, yet it had still never carried quite so much.

"NO! You can't do that Sirius! I- you-"

Lily felt the mad desire to laugh as James held Sirius to him like he was holding him back from that veil this second. This wasn't like when James had told Sirius he couldn't use his godfather privileges to outrank Lily on the idea of how Harry's baby room would be decorated.

She couldn't take her eyes off of him, afraid he'd vanish the moment she did, but as always in her mind, she needed to know where her child was. Her infant was still upstairs, safe and away from this, and it took all of her will to look away from someone she'd come to know as a brother and look instead to Harry.

"I hate this!" James didn't seem aware of the words he was shouting, how they echoed the room and tore his throat, all he could feel was how hard his chest was beating. "I can't stand it anymore! Not after what Peter did to me, after Sirius spent twelve years in hell because of it! Lily, Frank and Alice, everything Harry's been through! It's not fair! Sirius did nothing, was never anything but a good man who just wanted to help me and my family, and he didn't deserve this-!"

It took several deep breaths to realize why his shouting was cut short because of a cough, and when he could finally see again he realized he'd run his fist through a wall, little poufs of dust still sprinkling down around him. It took some maneuvering and a bit of swearing for him to unclench his fist and draw his now throbbing hand back out.

  Sirius wasn't aware of a word, his face was still that mask of shock, his hand pressed to his chest where that last spell would have hit him, he could have keeled over right there and it wouldn't have been a noticeable difference. He wasn't even aware James was still holding so tight to him with one arm and that the other was now bleeding.

Harry didn't seem anymore aware either, getting to his feet as if enchanted and trying to walk towards Sirius, but his feet so unsteady he was like a newborn. Lily tried to move, to go to his side in case he fell over next, but she didn't get to his side in time.

"It's going to be okay, we can still fix this-"

"You can't keep saying that! It did happen to me- and you! You never did a damn thing to stop it!"

Remus was too stunned, still full of his own pleas in watching Sirius, and even if he had recognized his mistake in time he still wouldn't have had the thought to block it as Harry gave a solid punch to his face.

"Harry, stop!" Sirius pleaded, his first sign of life coming back to pull Harry off of him without a second thought while James jumped between his son and Remus, still shaking so hard from all this it was an honest miracle he was on his feet.

"I'm just so glad for you-" Harry snarled, still trying to glare hatefully past the two he couldn't look at right now, "that you can keep pretending it's all okay because the worst thing that's happened to you is a couple of scratches, but it happened to me! I lived through it, and you can't keep brushing that off like it's all okay now! I lost everything because of you!"

Remus may well have just died himself, the blood still dripping down his face the only clear evidence he wasn't a corpse.

"Apologize, now!" Sirius snarled in his ear, still without releasing Harry.

He was still shaking, he couldn't even see anymore, a white flash all he knew for his pain couldn't even register in his body anymore. "HE'S NOT DEAD! HE'S NOT, AND I'LL PROVE IT!" He wrenched the book to him, Sirius having to move with him as he still wouldn't release Harry and once Sirius realized what he was doing he ducked in and took it first, watching Harry carefully like at any moment he'd shatter in front of them.

"Alright Harry, if you say so, then clearly, we, misunderstood...something," he couldn't keep going, to watch those green eyes. Sirius knew, any second the fractures in them would crack, Harry would be forced to realize the same as them, but for now Sirius still had the breath to whisper, "so, let's get to that then."

Harry shouted he wasn't gone!

Sirius wasn't aware he was actually reading words, it was just noise flying out of him, he was still waiting for the rest of the bomb to drop.

He'd never believe that, and continued to fight Lupin with every bit of his strength.

Remus still hadn't moved, like he feared if he so much as breathed Harry's shaking would cease and he'd just go finish the job, the look on his face indicated he wouldn't stop him.

Lupin just didn't understand, Sirius was simply hiding out of sight.

Lily hadn't moved in all of this, she didn't know how to. There was something filling her, too much at once...

So he kept shouting for Sirius, over and over again.

James wasn't sure if Harry was hearing any of this, his denial as complete back then as it was now. He looked like he was still fighting off something in here, but there was nothing left holding him down, so he was just standing stock still and twitching away from nothing. James almost longed for that, instead of the dead numbness he felt watching. There was no other reason in the world Remus wouldn't have gone after Sirius if there were any other explanation...

There were things going on around him, noises and a few occasional flashes of light, but they meant nothing to Harry as he kept watching that old curtain, waiting for Sirius to step back out and shake his dark hair out of his face to return to the fight.

Lily could all to easily picture that, he even kept doing it now like he always did though it still fell right back into place the moment his hand moved back. It was hard to think past that, past anything except his voice going through her head, she alone seemed welded to her seat from the pain no matter how much she wanted to find some comfort for her boys, there wasn't any to be had for this.

Lupin started dragging Harry backwards away from the dais, and Harry was getting angry now Sirius was keeping him waiting.

James was still angry too, he wanted to keep yelling, raging and screaming, hadn't really blamed Harry for turning on someone like he so wanted to do, there was just no one in here he could do that for.

That wasn't right though, Sirius had never kept Harry waiting. He'd always appeared when Harry needed him, so if he wasn't now while Harry screamed as if his life depended on it, then...

Harry couldn't say it again, though the utter of denial was clearly on his tongue, his expression could no longer hold it as he swayed and then fell back onto the sofa.

"Harry," Sirius whispered, hovering over him at once but still glancing worriedly at his mates who hadn't moved either. Harry didn't react though, his eyes unfocused on anything in here like he was still trying to watch that black veil. Sirius wanted to pull Harry close, to promise him he wasn't going to leave him now, but it didn't feel right, not after how harshly he'd attacked Remus for trying to say the same thing. He wasn't just going to let Harry pull away from him though, staying within arms reach of him as he desperately tried to keep going.

Dumbledore was moving to secure all of the Death Eater's, Mad-Eye was having to crawl to reach Tonks' side and try to revive her, and the rest of the noise was coming from Kingsley who had continued Sirius' duel with Bellatrix.

Remus felt a small hitch of breath return and still manage to leave him all at once. It hurt to think, it hurt just to keep breathing, all he could think was where had he been during that fight, why hadn't he stayed closer to Sirius while he had the chance, because Harry was right, he'd never done anything to stop this happening.

Lupin seemed to have dragged Harry back towards Neville, keeping a precautionary grip on his arm as he turned his attention to him.

Sirius' voice sounded strange when he'd said that, but it was only because James was still frozen in place, watching his every minute detail. His voice had wobbled, he was trying not to look at Remus, and James wanted to snatch that bloody thing away from Sirius and make him say why, but his feet wouldn't move, his mouth wouldn't work, it still felt like his insides had been replaced with ice.

Neville was watching the expression on Harry's face, and asked if Sirius Black had been a friend of his?

Lily's eyes widened comically, having almost forgotten everyone and everything else, that Neville really had no idea what was going on, but he'd still stood up for Harry no matter what, and finally something slipped inside her and a few tears began trickling out. Then she couldn't stop, her shoulders shaking, could hardly breath through her wracking sobs.

"Oh Lils," Sirius sighed as he still curled around Harry, but watched her desperately now, his instinct to go comfort a friend as heavy as it was for his godson, but he hadn't been given a chance to act on it.

"Shut up Sirius!" Lily snapped, though that still came out more watery than threatening like she'd intended. She didn't understand why, she'd said that to him a thousand times since they'd even just considered each other passing acquaintances once her and James had started dating, she'd said it countless times in her youth, but trying to say it to him now caused an even harder sob to push out of her.

James collapsed next to her, though the distance between him and Sirius felt like a chasm now, he was terrified he couldn't reach across and grab him still to stop this happening, but that would never stop him tucking Lily into his chest, though she tried to beat him off.

"Stop that you idiot," she tried to huff, pushing weakly at his chest with one hand and rubbing her other hand against her eyes, not even sure who she was demanding of, "just keep going." She denied that she could still feel James arms tight around her waist, the little wet drips in her hair as he tucked her under his chin.

It felt callous to do so, but with Harry still locked up like he was, Sirius was getting desperate now to hear of something happening that wasn't just lingering on this!

Harry just nodded.

Lupin used the spell Finite on Neville's legs, which finally ceased their uncontrolled movement.

Lily reached out furiously for some tissues, trying to deny she was sniffing and could hardly breath past the clog in her nose, and instead found her cat in her arms purring crazily. Honestly she was impressed he'd come down here with as much noise that had been going on, but she buried her face in his soft fur instead, now fighting back the urge to say someone had finally done this for Neville.

Lupin's face was pale as he asked Neville where the other kids were?

Sirius hated to pause again, but he couldn't help to stare at that in confusion. So their guess had been wrong anyways, Moony hadn't been checking on the other kids during this fight, so where had he been? It's not as if anyone knew, and Sirius could certainly never blame anyone in his life for his fight, so he ushered past his moment quickly as if there'd never been one, they weren't going to get an answer.

He turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.

Sirius could imagine. He was carving out his soul telling this to them now, Harry's pain, the most vivid thing they'd ever felt in their lives, but honestly Remus somehow still felt like a heavier presence. It didn't matter he'd spent thirteen years thinking the worst of Sirius, that the two hadn't seemed to do much of anything in the following two years to reconcile. What mattered was that they'd both been there for Harry when it mattered, and now Sirius had been the one to pay for it, leaving Moony more alone than ever.

Neville began to explain what all he knew happened, but then there was a loud bang, Kingsley fell, and Bellatrix Lestrange was running for the door. Dumbledore turned with his wand raised,

"Was he just ignoring her! Did he not see her long before now!" Sirius half shouted in frustration. He wouldn't deny he would have been insulted if Dumbledore had stepped into that fight, but now he knew the results when he hadn't, he really questioned why she wasn't the first one Dumbledore grabbed!

He got no answer, though he hadn't expected one.

but she deflected the spell sent her way, already at the top of the steps-

Lupin shouted no as Harry broke free of his grip.

Sirius stuttered in surprise as he got his wish. He could feel Harry finally looking at him again, that he'd gained the others attention, and now he wanted to keep going even less than before at what Harry could really be fixing to do...

Harry shouted louder than he ever had she'd killed Sirius, and he was going to kill her!

Ignoring the shouts from behind him,

Remus made a wretched noise, and James sharply met his eyes. It was vaguely disturbing he still had blood dripping from his nose, that he hadn't moved yet and James was getting worried Harry's hateful words spoken in anger weren't being tossed back at Harry as they should have been. It's not as if he wanted to see Remus fight back, but it was better than that slack expression where he hadn't known what was going on in his head. At least that was one noise he did know. "Shut up Moony," James snapped. "You saved his life that day! If you hadn't stopped Harry he would have gone right in after Sirius-"

"So would I," Remus said brokenly.

Sirius froze, fighting back his own tears as he collected himself, just to breath for a moment before whispering, "but you didn't."

Remus just buried his face behind his arms and wouldn't look at them.

Bellatrix's robes were already out of sight, by the time Harry reached the brain room she was at the other end, but she took the time to wave her wand and cascade the liquid tank to spill the brains all along the room.

Lily's face snapped up, attention solely focused on this again instead of the life she was hearing about, the fear she faced everyday having a date stamped across it. Now her son was in danger again, who knew what that potion was sustaining those brains, if in fact he dodged them but instead those things began attacking the rest of those kids, they weren't even sure what had happened to Ron because of it!

Harry didn't care, using one spell to get them all out of his way, jumping over each of his friends who still had no ability to help him, and then he was back in the circular room just in time to see Bellatrix closing the door behind her as she'd managed to find the long dark corridor with the lift at the end.

Sirius was having trouble processing anything that wasn't the words on the page. He wanted to be angry at Harry, going after this madwoman by himself, but would never deny he'd be doing the same. He wanted to question the odds of how she'd gotten herself out of there so easily, but all he knew was he had to keep going, or that pounding rage was going to possess Harry again, worse than ever when there was no one to chase after in here.

He tried to run after her still, but the door closed behind him, and the room was spinning once again.

James almost wanted to be relieved, but he still couldn't find his lungs, or much of anything. It would also be a lie, he wasn't sure if he'd feel anything again until he heard of that cousin bleeding.

The moment they stopped Harry roared in outrage, demanding of nothing which was the way out!

As if in answer, the door directly behind him flew open, and he didn't stop to think as he kept running,

Remus had never felt anything less in his life, certainly not the need to keep questioning that place, that room, how anything worked ever again.

pummeling the button for Atrium that Bellatrix had already taken.

The book was shaking so hard it was growing impossible to keep finding the words. The prophecy was broken, but Bellatrix may not return to her master empty handed if Harry kept this up!

When he reached the wooden paneled floor with the golden statue in the center, Bellatrix was nearly at the other end towards the telephone box, yet when he stepped out she stopped running, so he ducked as fast as he could behind the five figures.

Bellatrix called in her mock baby voice again for the baby Potter to come on out, hadn't he wanted to avenge her dear cousin?

"She doesn't get to call you that!" Lily hissed, James snatching up her hand before she could accidentally set Sirius on fire with her wand instead of that look. "How dare she refer to you as anything!"

Sirius offered her a twisted little smile, she'd unintentionally mimicked him a lot through his years of having to refer to them as family as well, but now honestly didn't feel the time to tell Lily how like him she was.

The three of them were still periodically glancing at Harry, waiting for that mask to break.

Harry darted out from his spot, more incensed than he'd ever been in his life as he shouted Crucio.

"Harry!" Sirius yelped, convinced he must have read that one wrong, no member of the Order had stooped that low!

"She killed you, she deserved it." Harry said so lowly, his voice did not sound like his own.

"You said you were worried about Voldemort possessing you, well this is how it starts! You start with this shit and you're going to turn right into him!"

Harry didn't even blink, as if he hadn't even heard him.

James watched the two with a blurry vision that had nothing at all to do with the fact he was still seeing through tears. He'd been worried for ages Harry was going to start referring to Sirius as his dad, start forgetting James was even in the room. Now he wished for that back, unable to imagine the world where Sirius wasn't around anymore to tell Harry what an idiot he was being just then.

"She killed-"

"You don't get to use me as an excuse for doing what you did!"

Harry's mouth snapped shut, his pale face sinking back to this world, their world, as for the first time he really seemed to realize he was talking to Sirius. His eyes burned, and he had to swallow carefully or it was all going to spill out even while some last desperate part of him clung to the fact Sirius was going to appear any second, come to his rescue one last time and get him away from Bellatrix, to finish the fight he'd started.

When Sirius realized Harry wasn't going to argue the point anymore, he hoped he'd gotten through to him the Unforgivables were called that for a reason, they weren't meant for anyone to be using.

Bellatrix fell, but she did not writhe as Neville had, but almost at once got back to her feet, though no longer smiling.

Harry still felt like his head was swimming, his memories colliding with what all he'd done in here, who he was watching hear about his life. There wasn't much of a spare thought left for Bellatrix to be angry with after he'd vented on all the wrong people for it, but even still, he managed to note they looked almost comforted his first Unforgivable curse hadn't had very good success. It was impossible for him to find any kind of good in anything.

She was not impressed, calling back to him if that was the first time he'd used that spell? He had to mean them! Anger would not fuel it, would he like a lesson?

'Lesson,' the word echoed oddly in the back of Harry's head, and he was suddenly gripped with something far more precious that had once been given to him all because of lessons, and he looked around to see where Professor Lupin had gone, but Remus was right there, still it seemed unable to force himself to leave though he was staying on the ground practically out of sight, he was still in here hearing how Harry had gotten out of this one...

She was circling around the fountain to get a shot at him, and Harry began doing the same as she mocked he could not beat her.

The worst part was, that was probably true, Lily desperately noted, still fighting back the urge to scream or cry or pull her own hair out in wondering where everyone else was, why Harry was left alone again now more than ever!

Harry found her back first and shot a stunner, and just as fast had to put up a shield charm to block his own spell from the speed of her sending it back.

Now back out of sight, Bellatrix called if he rolled the prophecy to her, she'd leave and let him live.

"They don't know it broke," James whispered in surprise, though honestly that thing was still the last thing on his mind he wanted to be thinking about. He still had half a mind to wrench that thing away from Sirius, be done with this whole bloody mess, but he could never do that while Harry was in danger like he was.

Harry shouted back her lose of it breaking, and his scar suddenly burned. He knew, Voldemort knew.

Sirius felt his brow crease, his first instinct to turn and ask Moony how Voldemort knew Harry was telling the truth now but hadn't felt it when the thing had broken in the first place, to pick Prongs' brain apart until they figured out just what the bloody hell this hole connection business was that had landed them in so much trouble to begin with. It was lost though in his higher need to hear Harry away from this madwoman.

Bellatrix did not believe him, trying to summon it to her, but of course nothing came.

Harry managed a laugh at her while feeling his skull about to burst.

Lily squirmed in place as she kept watching Harry, feeling sick with worry that had been growing every second since he'd had his fit. Harry hadn't transitioned into any of this in here, no anger towards Bellatrix, no pain for remembering this as he had every time before. He seemed locked in his head, the memory of his godfather's death still keeping him in limbo from engaging with his mind in here and she had no clue how long it would last.

Bellatrix began pleading with her master not to blame her.

Harry told her she was wasting his breath while screwing his eyes shut from the pain, he couldn't hear her.

A high, cold voice whispered back couldn't he?

James said something that in fact was not English, recognizable words had gone beyond him.

Harry opened his eyes, and was looking into Lord Voldemort's face.

Sirius didn't seem able to anymore either. Harry watched him still feeling more detached than anything, he couldn't understand how they were working themselves back up after...

Yet he had to, he'd never had to keep going more in his life. Nothing had ever stopped Sirius before now, and he wasn't going to let this!

Bellatrix was still pleading with him, begging not to be blamed, she'd been fighting the Animagus Black!

That was possibly the most insulting thing Bellatrix ever could have said regarding him, because it only made Sirius remember how she'd know he was an Animagus. He may not have been there, but had been weighing heavily on all of their hearts, the most depressing question of whose side he'd be on for this fight, and knowing the answer only made it worse. None were naive enough to think he may have rallied to the Order's side during this, not after what he'd done, but in fact had been a central part, had spilled the Marauders very own secrets to the likes of Death Eaters.

Voldemort gave her no attention as she switched to trying to warn him who was here, but Voldemort had eyes only for Harry. Telling him he'd been irksome for the last time, he shouted Avada Kedavra!

"No!" The word seemed to echo all around him, four piercing screams that tore through the air, promising they weren't going to live hearing of another death.

Harry watched them all, his parents both having lost the fight and crying freely now for one more part of their family nearly being broken off, Remus even looked up with his face half covered in blood but obviously unable to look anywhere else but at Harry, at Sirius who looked far more likely to drop dead from hearing of this than even his own death had done to him. Finally a trickle of warmth seeped back through him...

Harry had been too surprised, his wand still pointing at nothing, no defense for himself until the golden wizard above him came to life and leapt down to take the spell for him, to shield him.

Sirius nearly fell out of his seat in relief, except now he was the one who couldn't draw himself away from Harry, not while he was at his most vulnerable.

Harry looked behind him, his heart pounding. Dumbledore was standing in front of the golden gates.

Remus made a desperate noise and now had to fight the urge to bury his face back away, he just couldn't shake that stupid choice of words after what he'd done to Sirius!

Voldemort moved his wand to perform the same on him, but with one flick of his wand the rest of the statues came to life, the centaur taking the blow for Dumbledore as well, the witch running forward and pinning Bellatrix to the ground no matter how many spells she threw at it, and the goblin and the elf disappearing into the fires.

"Finally a good use for that thing," James said faintly.

"What the bloody hell is that thing made out of?" Lily demanded, her voice still devoid of most emotion except high pitched fear. "It deflected..."

She trailed off, but they all knew what she meant. Remus could have explained it could have been as simple as the spell not affecting the metal as some spells were apt to do and would simply ricochet off, but some as powerful as the one Voldemort had just tried usually disintegrated an object instead, so perhaps it had more to do with the man animating it than the material. Lily knew all of that though, and it was starting to hurt to breath through his nose which had alternated from burning heat to an icy numbness, so he didn't waste the breath.

Dumbledore calmly told Tom it was foolish to come here tonight.

"Does Dumbledore always call him that to his face?" Sirius mumbled, at least distracted by that.

"I'm just going to stay over here and laugh Bellatrix is still around to hear it," James said, using her name with the same inflection he would Peters, certainly not a trace of amusement to be found.

The Aurors would be here soon-

Voldemort interrupted to say the only thing they'd find when he vanished was Dumbledore's body. Then he shot the curse again, but Dumbledore flicked his wand and it simply vanished, though left a gong like noise that filled the whole room with a chill and a noise like a gong.

James was shaking his head slowly from side to side, entirely out of energy, of anything like his curious nature wanting to question what kind of magic they were using to cause this he'd certainly not a clue for.

Voldemort seemed surprised by this, asking Dumbledore did not wish to kill him? Did he find himself above such brutality?

Harry was watching them intently again, reminded of the first days he'd done so when he was looking for a reaction he wasn't sure of, like he was trying to get to know them all over again. At least this time he could feel in him the urge to ask the question he was positive they could answer, but none seemed surprised by this turn of events at all. Clearly then this was not the first time Dumbledore had a chance at fighting Voldemort, and not the first time he'd shown mercy.

Dumbledore said there were things worse than death.

They all felt that to be true, they were living it now. An endless black nothing would have been a kindness to living through this.

Voldemort snarled there was nothing worse!

Harry wished to help Dumbledore, who seemed alone in the large place, but he was as pinned behind his statue as Bellatrix was beneath hers.

"Why would you want to?" Lily breathed, though she understood it as well as the pull that had taken Harry up there. She could no more have stood around and not helped than pushed Sirius through that veil.

Dumbledore kept the conversation alive as if over tea that his failure to understand that which was greater than death was his greatest weakness.

'I can attest to that,' Remus felt the passing thought, shifting his eyes back down to his own lap, still unable to actually leave, but feeling more secure now Dumbledore was there. Harry- nobody else was going to suffer tonight.

Another deadly curse tried to end him, but the centaur took the brunt again, and this time shattered into a hundred pieces.

Lily shivered down to her bone, unable to question why the difference as she feared that would somehow change the affect, that one had saved her son's life and this instead could have just as well killed him.

The pieces hadn't even landed when Dumbledore melded them all together and they turned into a whip of fire he tried to wrap around Voldemort, but just as fast it was turned into a deadly snake that had circled around to Dumbledore's back while Voldemort prepared to shoot the spell again.

James tried to automatically clench his fist around his wand, and was surprised at the hot flash of pain he felt. Then he glanced down in surprise. His hand was an ugly, swollen mess that was the source of at least the physical pain, it was throbbing and he wouldn't be surprised if he broke something in there. It was nothing though, he'd had worse injuries playing Quidditch, so he pressed down on a finger with two from his other hand and hissed at the pain, but it was the first time he'd breathed since Sirius had grabbed that thing.

At the same time the flash of green light struck, a fire appeared, and Fawkes was there to swallow it. The bird at once shrunk down to its infant, flightless self upon the ground, now squeaking instead of cawing.

Sirius made a little squeak noise of his own, he hadn't even been aware Fawkes had been around but of course the loyal pet would be at a time like this, to take a fall Dumbledore wouldn't have recovered from. It just wasn't helping his stomach to ease any less on that urge to vomit again, he didn't need to be reminded of that Chamber right now!

Dumbledore had banished the snake without hardly a glance, and then Voldemort vanished.

Thinking the fight was over, Harry again tried to get away from his statue, but for the first time there was fear in Dumbledore's voice as he told Harry to stay where he was.

The magic, Harry knew, should have left him in awe of what had just happened, but instead he was feeling more heavy every second. That warmth from before was building in him like an open flame, pulsing out with each press of his heart and seeking out the rest of him, his numbness was leaving and Harry wanted to cling to it now, in fear of what he was going to feel when it was gone...

Then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance -

"What's he doing to him?" Lily demanded, her voice as quiet as ever, but taking on some new tone far beyond fear.

A creature had seized him, melded their souls so completely together Harry could no more find his own pain, it was all one, there was no escape.

"What, is he doing, to my son," James began in such a deadly calm voice, it made the warmth in Harry spread faster than ever, up his throat now...

The creature spoke using Harry's jaw, telling Dumbledore if death truly meant nothing, then rid them both of this world.

Remus didn't remember getting to his feet, but he also realized once he was back on his feet he couldn't just stay prone out of sight when Sirius sounded like that, when something like this was being hung over Harry and there was no one there for Harry who should be!

Harry wished he would, he'd see Sirius again . . .

"Harry," Sirius whispered, still trying to reach out to him, find something in him that showed he didn't want that now. He didn't know how to be there for Harry for this though, no matter how hard he tried.

Harry looked back at him as if he didn't even recognize him, like that first day, his eyes were searching for something Sirius didn't have. Those aged lines, that dark hollow to his eyes, Remus had been right about one thing, this hadn't happened yet, and while Harry knew he should have felt grateful for that, it cemented in him like nothing before Sirius still couldn't really know how Harry was feeling right now for another fourteen years. Yet the warmth around him was hotter than ever, spilling up into his face, his eyes burning as he tried to keep breathing around a sudden lump in his throat.

The moment the thought had filled Harry, the pain had doubled, but it now seemed to be pushing the creature out, away, and then he was left with it alone...

He opened his eyes to find himself on the floor with Dumbledore hovering over him.

"It's over," Lily finally whispered, still unable to comprehend the words herself, it never truly felt over.

Dumbledore asked if Harry was alright, but he'd hardly taken to his feet when Fudge and half the Ministry appeared being led by the house-elf and goblin statues.

It hadn't even occurred to them where those things had gone in the blaze of that fight, but any of them would have congratulated Dumbledore for thinking ahead like that.

Fudge was beside himself with shock, shouting as if they all hadn't just seen You-Know-Who was here, he'd grabbed a woman and Disapparated!

"Oh, well that's interesting to know he bothered to save someone after-" Sirius broke off with a wild noise, looking at the last page and back to Harry so fast his eyes were going to fall right out of his head he was trying to do both at the same time, because Harry was starting to gasp, tears finally leaking out of the corner of his own eyes and he was fighting a losing battle in keeping them in, and Sirius just wanted to be done with this already when Harry stopped fighting.

Dumbledore began politely addressing them, causing several wizards to startle and fright and even more try to go for their wands at the sight of him.

Remus had almost forgotten Dumbledore was supposedly on the run from this place...clearly this fact hadn't stopped anyone from going in...

He took no care as he informed them if they proceeded downstairs to the Department of Mysteries Death Chamber, they would find a round of Death Eater's all under an anti-disapparition jinx and waiting.

Fudge tried to tell the Aurors around him to seize Dumbledore!

Dumbledore snapped at Cornelius if he wished to do this again he would win, again.

"I mean, he did just take on Voldemort without really trying, I'd believe him," Sirius muttered testily.

Yet he'd just seen with his own eyes Voldemort had returned, the Ministry had been chasing the wrong man for the past twelve months,*

James leaned over and whispered into Lily's ear, "who was he chasing for that long?" No one they knew, Sirius had been on the run longer, Dumbledore for only a few months, certainly not that long.

Lily didn't answer him, and James didn't even notice, both only had eyes for their child as they watched him start to fall to pieces, and even he didn't seem to realize it.

Fudge blustered for a moment, looking around as though hoping somebody was going to tell him what to do.

"That describe Fudge's whole presence in this loo," Lily said in disgust that didn't quite reach normal levels, she was trying to wiggle out of James' reach and go to her child, but James was holding her back, still breathing raggedly from watching Sirius this whole time, knowing who Harry really needed.

When nobody did, he instead sent some Aurors to do as Dumbledore had said and check the area before he tried to demand answers, but Dumbledore was no longer paying attention. He picked up a broken bit of statue and turned it into a Portkey.

Fudge tried to protest he couldn't just make an unregistered Portkey right in front of the Minister!

"Clearly he can," Remus shook his head as he started edging backwards, thankfully unnoticed.

Dumbledore glanced back and began ordering that Dolores Umbridge was to be removed from Hogwarts,

It really spoke of the state Sirius was reading in no one spared even a passing smile for this finally being said.

his Care of Magical Creatures teacher was to desist being searched for, and Fudge would have half an hour of his time to explain the main points of what had happened.

Then he gave the Portkey to Harry, who was far beyond caring as he took it and Dumbledore counted to three.

There was a whirl of color and sound, as Harry was ripped from the room, the Dumbledore and everything else vanishing.

It was all to much, Harry could still feel that now, too many things, memories from then and now, every painful emotion he'd ever had in his life flashing through him all at once. "I- don't- " Harry brokenly sobbed, with what or even at whom he didn't know. He didn't want to keep going, to actually realize he'd been forced to move on with his life. He'd never known his parents to grieve them, but finally he'd had a piece of them from one person, then all that was taken away just as fast. He'd known Sirius for barely two years, and now he felt more alone than ever.

"I know, I know Harry," Sirius promised finally tossing that stupid thing aside so he could wrap him tight, and Harry collapsed into his lap. He was fifteen again, having seen the worst thing in his life as his only connection to his dad was again ripped from him, and all he'd wanted was Sirius back. Now he had that, and he finally got his wish again, holding back just as tight.

HPHPHPHP

It actually always vaguely annoyed me we never got to see Harry cry in book. I'm not asking for a whole spiel, but it's honestly just as depressing to me as Sirius' actual death picturing the poor kid having a break down somewhere alone in the castle, or even worse at Privet Drive. Maybe Ron and Hermione would have comforted him, maybe he avoided everyone and held this all in alone until he couldn't anymore, but yeah...

*I assume Dumbledore was referring to himself given that time frame, but neither matched up that well so I couldn't help but poke this one.

[this-idiots-left-eye]

As the Fall Comes

This was a fic I wrote a while back for Inktober18 prompt 1: “Poisonous” about Gilbert’s internal monologue in Retrace XL: “Blindness”

*

It started small. The time when Gilbert was poisoned.

When he first stood up from the banquet table, the room spun, a little too fast, a little too far. And when almost everyone present turned to him with worried faces—(after everything that had happened, why wouldn’t they?)—he assured them he was fine, that maybe he had had a more to drink than he thought, or perhaps the gravity of all that had happened was catching up to him.

Next his head. Small, sharp pains. Like someone was knocking to get in, like a doctor was sticking a needle in different places to see where it would hurt most. Then it was everywhere that hurt most, and the knocking was on every door and window to his mind. He could do nothing but hold his head in his hands, curse, and pray whoever it was couldn’t get in, and would stop trying.

Then he was coughing, and when he pulled his hand from his mouth, crimson remained. And then he was even vomiting, and Vincent ran to his side, saying his name like he was dying—because, of course, he was. At least, on principle.

Vincent had made sure that the whole house was frantic, as if on fire, that they were calling the family doctor, using anything and everything they had to save his life.

And somewhere in the middle, he heard Elliot swear under his breath something about the Headhunter, and how one day he would kill him for what he had done to their family.

He didn’t remember much of that night, fever, and blood, and…

And after all that, after all he had put them through, after all his own wonderings Is this really it? Is this where I die? Will I never get to see Oz again? He…was fine.

Fine. Not even a scar, a cold, a leftover cough. When the morning came, and his pillows, sheets, and clothes were changed, all that was left was white, and he could breathe fine, and there was nothing to show he had almost died the night prior.

Everyone said it was a miracle, (Bernice said something about how the Abyss had saved him), that there was no other explanation, as no one (or almost no one) comes back from behind poisoned, and they should thank the angels that the Nightrays hadn’t had to lose someone else.

At the time, he believed it was the worst thing he had ever had to experience.

Until he learned there's one other thing that works the same way: thoughts can be poisonous too.

They too, started small.

It started with Vincent whispering things in his ear, (things about Alice, and Chains, and killing) and “Why won’t you kill her, Gil?” asking him questions about things Gilbert denied, but he realized quickly had always been there, somewhere, in the back of his mind. And he supposed it must have started much earlier than this. His brother’s words brought them to the forefront, started a record of them playing on repeat. He didn’t know how, or where, or when, but somewhere in the middle, the thoughts decided to change directions, decided to stop saying No, of course I won’t, I can’t. I would never kill Alice, how could Vince even suggest something like that? to Maybe he’s not completely wrong, it’s her…She’s the one destroying my master’s body…This is her fault, and the answer’s so simple, if I just got rid of her… skirting around the single word, until he was admitting it full well: If I just killed her, if I just got the chance, then my Master would be safe, he’d be okay, all I need to do is kill her, and it started sounding less horrible bit by bit. And then somewhere, somewhen, somehow, that one word started filling up his mind, until it was all he could think, the record of questions replaced with some dark chant of kill, kill, kill my Master’s enemies, kill…

Then Sablier. Sablier, where his head, his hand, ached, and where he got so very close.

That knocking in his head, growing in intensity the longer he left the door unopened.

But they had already gotten in, and now they were knocking on the inner walls.

The chance came for him to fulfill the call of this dark melody, and he was inches from action, if he just—

Instead he…saved her.

Saved her. How? Why? Why, when his thoughts bent to blood, how could his body choose to act in mercy?

It was in Sablier when he started to truly understand that this wasn’t the first time he had tasted this poison; somewhere in his cloudy past he had once thought If I just left Vincent behind, if he was gone…then I’d be fine…But when he’s gone, who will need me? The words reverberated back to him from some time he didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, remember, and with them, this pain in his head. His breath caught in his throat, disgust rearing in his heart. How could he ever think something like that? Why? What would bring him to—?

But he didn’t dare think, Isn’t this the same? Am I not thinking the same thing right now?

And maybe this wasn’t the first time those words came to mind about Alice either. Maybe, once upon a time, he had said them aloud. He could hear an echo of his own childish tone—

Not just Alice, someone had tried to hurt his Master, and he had to protect him. He had to. There was no other option, no other choice to make. If anyone tried to hurt his Master, he had to protect him, even if that meant killing those who stood opposed to him.

All the while, his head throbbing. Had it always been this way? Had it always been like this? He was starting to forget what it felt like to be okay.

And it just had to be in Sablier when that man showed up. When Xai came, and brushed Oz aside again. Gilbert’s legs moved before his mind commanded them.

Long ago, when he was still too young to have blood on his hands, that one word—kill—had become so strong he lifted a gun and pointed it at Oz’s father.

He would have done it too—pulled the trigger. He wanted to. His jaw set, tears in his eyes, questions he knew the answers to (but everyone else denied) burning on his tongue, hands shaking, but aim true… it would have been so simple; just one motion, a single act, pull the trigger, and all this pain would be over.

But, it wouldn’t be. Over, that is. Gilbert knew that Oz was not like himself. Oz did not have these thoughts spinning through him—Oz had not been poisoned by them. And if Oz returned to a world where his father was dead, killed by his most dedicated servant, in some twisted show of loyalty, he wouldn’t be proud, or grateful, or anything of the sort. He knew it wasn’t what Oz wanted, no matter how much he had been hurt by this man. And if Gilbert did this now, it would be like he was saying, with the voice of a bullet, Oz isn’t coming back. So he didn’t, not then. There were pathways out of the thoughts, out of the chanting. The poison subsided, went dormant in his blood.

But in Sablier, things were different. In Sablier there were memories, and they made his head pound to escape his own skull. In Sablier there were voices, and his left hand was aching and What was going on with Oz—

Was this what they meant by poisonous gas? Did Pandora, Break and Reim, know about the thoughts, the memories? About the poison in his mind?—

And in Sablier he tried to kill Alice, and in Sablier, maybe some other him, in some other time, wanted to leave his brother behind too, but couldn’t bring himself to do—(not because he cared, but because he needed to be needed, and he wouldn’t admit that he still did)—and these memories, these memories, these memories—

If only he could cough them up too. If only he could turn them to a few drops of blood staining his gloves, rather than his entire past. But they stuck in his lungs, on his tongue, and they rotted there.

The word, the gun, were the only things left, in his hand, in his heart. The only thing left to do.

If only Xai could have been just a little bit kinder, just a tiny bit more forgiving. It wasn’t hard, was it, just to show one shred of human decency?

(Gilbert might just have changed the past for Oz, then. Might have erased the moment when Oz’s own father said he wished he had never been born, might have kept him from tossing him into the Abyss. Even now, if Raven told him he could, would he still—?)

How could this man stand there with a smile on his face, like he hadn’t ripped Oz apart all those years ago? Tossed his heart to the cobblestones, then, if that wasn’t enough, cast him into the Abyss itself? Like he didn’t care, and wouldn’t even try…

Gilbert would have done it. He no longer had anything with which to fend the thoughts off. They were enveloping his mind, and maybe there was no him left, just these sickening memories, a knocking that made his head throb, and the word kill.

Every intention in him was set on the task.

And it had been Break—Why did it have to be Break?—who stopped him.

If it had been Oz, things would've been different. If it had been Oz, things would have made sense. Gilbert would have listened to every word from the very beginning, and it would have been easy to stifle the thoughts, to come to the answer, to follow Oz out of this place, out of the dark…wouldn’t it?

Oz may have yelled, or kicked him in the shin, pulled on his hair, and called him an idiot, but he still would have made an effort to care, to understand, recognize what he was doing, and why. Oz would have stayed there, and talked him down from this place, slowly, made him put down the gun, second by second, drawing the poison from his veins in the same method it came.

But he didn’t get Oz. Oz was too shaken up himself. Oz was somewhere else, just as broken and hurting and Gilbert had to protect him.

(But how can I protect him if I’m not with him?)

Instead he got Break. And Break wasn’t kind like Oz. The Mad Hatter had severed the scene in two, he stuck his staff between Gilbert’s neck at the rest of the world, a barrier between him and the man he wanted to kill, ruining his chances of following the thoughts’ call through, in one fluid motion. And Break’s words were not compassionate like Oz’s surely would have been. For the most part, they were not cruel, but Break never seemed to make the effort to care.

Gilbert’s words hadn’t been any better, they grew more monstrous by the moment—(maybe that was the blood, the vomit on his tongue)—and that’s when they finally spilled out, “I have to kill him!”

Still—

(If he had been paying more attention, perhaps he would have seen how they made Break pause…)

“Gilbert-kun. That isn’t your will talking, is it?”

And it hurt so much. His head, his hand, he couldn’t even think with this pulsing, the blood in his throat—

“Who put that into your head?”

And he had to do it, he had to—

“Then you can kill me too!”

He had no choice, he had to follow the thoughts though to the end, he was their puppet—

Wait, what?

Did he really just put his gun to Break’s head?

Sure, Break could but insufferable at times, but was that enough to kill him?

“Let me ask you just one thing. Is the one you need...really Oz Vessalius?”

And then, of course, because it was Break, after saying the thing that cut to the heart of him, he had to jab his staff into his gut to finish the job. Punish Gilbert for holding him at gunpoint, even for a second, even at Break's own command, saying he let him off easy.

Break had never intended to be kind. He never gave any thought to the impact of things like words, and “worthless emotion,” did he? He had even admitted this fact himself.

And Gilbert had turned his gun on him, maybe even thought for a second That’s right, you’re an enemy too, I have to kill you. Something dark in him knew blood needed to follow blood, something dark in him needing to fire on someone, because someone, anyone, had to pay for all this pain in his heart, in his head, and he couldn’t think straight with this ache, this poison…

But, of course, in a moment, the very notion became so silly. This was Break after all. Sure, he was annoying, rude, maybe even cruel, but killing him for it was a bit far. And wasn’t Break somehow—(he didn’t like to say it too much)—his friend?

Except, when he had tried to apologize, Break had shut him up by shoving Emily into his jaw.

The question remained in the back of Gilbert’s mind: What if he’s right? What if it isn’t Oz I need? But he pushed the question down as far as he could, didn’t want to think, to wonder for a second that maybe…

Was this another poison? These questions of Maybe it’s not Oz…Or was questioning the poison’s intentions, bit by bit, was severing it at the seams, quickly and thoroughly as possible, the antidote? Was the antidote realizing just how very silly the thought was, from the very beginning?

He found himself so far from his reason for doing this; Oz. He hadn’t for a second thought what Oz would think about his actions. That had been what had kept him from the trigger before. Not this time. Though it was the only thing that mattered, he hadn’t even thought about it. It had just been pain, and knocking, and that one recurrent note.

So maybe, just maybe, Break was right. Maybe it wasn’t Oz, maybe—

Or maybe not.

And he wasn’t ready to tell Oz any of that. Especially not when he didn’t have an answer himself yet.

But he did tell Oz the truth. The thoughts flared back up, even afterwards, and Oz had been so quick to realize they were ridiculous—and, when Gilbert thought about it, wasn’t it weird that Break had took them so seriously, when Oz had laughed?—laughed, and said “What’re you saying? You’d never be able to do that!”

“No!” Gilbert had to prove the poison was real, “I tried to kill her!”

“But you couldn’t, could you? See, now that’s the Gilbert I know!”

He said it like he knew him better than Gilbert knew himself. It was starting to seem like everyone knew him better than he knew himself.

Maybe that’s how poison works. Maybe it made sense; the others could still breathe, after all.

Still, Oz’s words…and Break’s…

It was after they got back from Sablier, after Break had collapsed, after Oz had told him how silly it was, and after they got back from Rytas’ mansion, after the Headhunter showed up again, (the same Headhunter, surely that had tried to poison him before), Gilbert decided there was one thing left he should to.

He took a deep breath, and screwed up his resolve.

“Break?”

“Mm?” Gilbert had managed to find Break alone in the kitchen, making tea, and stealing candy from a place up high where Sharon had apparently tried to hide it. Break turned, leaning against the counter. “What is it, Gilbert-kun?”

“I…um…” Gilbert fumbled his words, realizing it was a lot harder to say it aloud, especially to him, “I wanted to say…” he looked at the ground.

“Looks like a kitty’s got Gil-Gil’s tongue.” Break took a sip of tea, looking smug.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, hands clenching into fists, biting back any insults that came to his lips. “About what happened in Sablier—”

Break looked up, realizing where Gilbert was going with this.

“Oh?” Break interrupted him, grinning, “Didn’t we already make it clear you were not to apologize?” He inclined his head towards Emily.

Why did he always have to make things harder? Gilbert was just trying to show him a little kindness, and he always had to spit it back in his face.

“Well, actually I, uh, didn’t come to apologize,” he cleared his throat, “I am sorry though, for,” he felt his cheeks growing hot, “pointing my gun at you. But, um, well—”

Break laughed, picking up his tea, slipping a few candies into his pocket, walking by, “Spoiled brats like you have the luxury of—”

“Thank you.” Gilbert said, more loudly than intended.

Break paused, shock flitting into his eye. He turned back to him, brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“For what you said…in Sablier. I—”

“Oh,” Break breathed again. “Well, you seemed like you were in need of a good ass-kicking,” he brushed Gilbert’s heartfelt words off.

“But you—”

Break ruffled Gilbert’s hair in response, walking away, chuckling.

Like hell I’ll ever say something nice to him again. Gilbert glared after him.

But as the older man rounded the corner, Gilbert didn’t realize there was something genuine in that laugh.

Because Break knew what it was like. He too had once tasted this poison. He knew what it was like to have word kill infect your thoughts. And worse, he knew what it was like to have blood fill your past, to the point where you had to change your name for it to stop following you, stop calling to you. And in that moment, he was the only one who could have understood, and stopped, him.

Maybe if Gilbert was listening more closely, he may have realized there was something real beneath his laugh. But what Break certainly wouldn’t let him know was his exact thought at the time, which was very different from Gilbert’s own:

At least one of us is starting to see clearly.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JaliceWeek20: Canon Gapfillers

What You Say

JaliceWeek20 Day 3: Canon Gapfillers

Notes: It seemed unsporting for my version of Jess and Alice not to make at least one appearance in Jaliceweek, especially since everyone is so enthusiastic about the WIP! This is kind of a missing scene that comes before Jess’s temper tantrum scene posted here. I’m not big on canon gapfillers, really, so this was the most fun way to write it and even then, I probably took liberties. 

Only 2.5 to go! We’re getting close!

Takes place upon Alice’s return from Volterra in New Moon. 

Rating: M-ish, I guess? NSFW, but not super graphic. 

Word Count: 2,245

—

“I’m sorry.”

They’re the first words she says to Jessamine when she gets back from Volterra.

When they get off the plane, Bella is pale and twitchy, and everyone is fussing around her and Edward. Maybe Jess has already put them all off, pushing interest and focus off of her and onto the human girl. Or maybe they don’t see what Alice does.

The rigidness in her stance, the way she’s holding herself so tightly, so she takes up no more space than she needs to, the blank look on her face… Alice wants to run to her side, to wrap her arms around Jess and reassure her. Draw out every that is causing the pain, tension, the fear.

Except she knows exactly what - who - caused it, and more than that, Jess isn’t in that place. Not in such a public place; she won’t be able to touch her until she’s calmed, when her gift is not stretched to the very breaking point.

So she stands as close as to Jessamine as she dares, and she stares into those golden eyes that she loves so much that are so blank yet sharp, and knows that this is not yet over; Edward might have thought Aro was their reckoning, but Alice knows for her, it is Jessamine’s hurt.

—

The drive home with Carlisle and Esme is… taunt. She answers Carlisle’s questions honestly, and halfway home, Jess takes a quiet breath and that’s good. That’s a step closer to Jess purging all the toxic emotions she’s trapped inside herself, a step closer to talking and explaining and apologising a dozen times over.

The relief Alice feels when she sees the Forks house washes over her, and then she realises what she’s done, and she cannot even look back at Jess; she knows now. Knows how afraid Alice was, knows how close she was to never coming home again.

Esme smiles gently at both of them as they troop up the stairs; light and dark, tall and small, both looking like they’re off to their own executions.

She sees the confrontation in her mind; the words are changing and a little bit muffled because of it, but it happens like this - she sits cross legged on the bed with her head bowed and she apologies. Jess rages at her, properly destroys the rocking chair, two lamps, and her closet door before storming off into her study. Then Jess will come back and hold her so tight that not a single molecule can get between then, when they are just a single entity scented of roses and salt and rain and basil, and they will curl up together on the bed like that, pressed together until the fear and the grief and the guilt slowly ebbs.

That is how it happens until it does.

Her Jess does have such a bad temper. She just can’t remember the last time it was directed at her (yes she can - ’49, Toledo. That was an ugly argument and Alice is still properly ashamed of her part in it.)

So Alice goes to take her place on the bed, on the blue floral duvet that she bullied Jess into picking out that Jess decided Alice would like best even though Alice had given her two choices she already liked equally, because that’s just how they decided things. Except, she never gets to take a seat on the bed, because Jess has changed her mind and the future is scrambled, as Jess grabs her arm and spins her around.

The rage is second to only the fear in Jess’s eyes and Alice wants to cry, wants to weep out her apologies because it was always about protecting Jessamine, never about anything else. Not about trust, not about ability, not about anything more or anything less than the fact that of everything that Alice was prepared to hand to Aro, prepared to cut down and sacrifice, Jess was never on that list.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, in a small voice, unable to tear her gaze from Jess’s.

“Sorry for what?” Jess hisses back, her eyes hard. “Sorry for running away? Sorry for lying? Sorry for deciding some human girl is worth more than yourself?  Sorry for giving up the one thing that kept us safe? Should I keep going?”

Alice is shaking now, shaking with the weight of Jess’s disappointment and fear and hurt.

She grasps Alice by her shoulders and half shakes her. “Why did you do it? Why, Alice? Do you love Bella Swan that much? Edward? Are they worth that much to you? Because they sure as hell aren’t worth half as much to me as you are.

“You lied to me, Alice.”

All the fight seems to seep from Jess, and she jerks away, leaving Alice feeling like she’s been stripped bare, and quite ashamed.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” The words sound childish and feeble, not at all convincing.

“Not to worry?” Jess’s foot strikes out, and the rocking chair is kindling in the corner; at least her visions were right about one thing. “Do you know what it was like, the waiting? To know what you were walking in to? To not know if you’d ever walk out? If I’d ever see you again?”

Alice wants to crawl into her arms right now, to hide there and admit that she was terrified, terrified for Edward and Bella, and then terrified for herself and Jess. But she knew that Jessamine wasn’t in that place yet, was still letting out all her pain and fear, her gift still raw from waiting with the rest of the family, absorbing all of their pain on top of her own. The time will come when they wrap their arms around each other and Alice will murmur her fears into Jess’s ear and Jess will do everything she can to soothe them

But that will be later. For now, it is about Jess’s pain, Jess’s rage.

“You swore to me you would never lie to me, and you would never leave me. Remember?” Jess snaps, pacing the room like an agitated lioness. “Remember promising me that, Alice?”

“I do, of course,” Alice said softly.

“So why? Why did you do it?” Jess is suddenly towering over her. “Make me understand, Alice.”

“Because they’re family. Because I couldn’t stand back and let Edward die for such a stupid, senseless reason when Bella was always going to be one of us - the visions never changed. But then I thought Bella… I swear, I didn’t think I’d make it, I thought I’d just be there to help Charlie through it,” Alice whispered.

She swallowed hard. Jess was silent, watching her carefully, a judge, jury, and executioner all in one - and Alice will accept her judgement willingly.

“There was no way you could have been there. If Edward had seen any one of us, he would have revealed himself faster, and Aro would have punished all of all. If you had been there, Jess, there was no future that showed us walking away. The only chance for survival was if it was just me and Bella - even Carlisle would have died, Jess.”

“There were a million alternatives, Alice - I could have stayed in the goddamn car,” Jess said in that dangerous, low voice.

“You think there was ever a chance of you sitting in a car waiting whilst I faced the Volturi? Jess, that was never even a possibility. You couldn’t be there.” Alice was pleading now, and reached out to grab Jess’s hand.

Within a second, Jess has her pressed against the wall with her legs looped around her waist, Jess’s hand cradling the back of her head.

“Never again,” Jess says sternly.

“Never again, I promise,” Alice said breathlessly.

“Promises aren’t exactly your strongest argument right now, Miss Cullen,” Jess bites back, and then they are kissing, roughly - Jess’s kiss is harsh and unforgiving, and Alice melts into her arms, letting her love take what she needs to heal the hurt.

She lets Jess push her down onto the bed, her mouth hard and demanding as her hands dive under Alice’s clothing. For an empath, Jess has always been so physical, and it’s never been a bad thing, since she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her mouth is hot as it makes its way down Alice’s neck and when Alice gets her wits about her and reaches for Jess’s shirt, her hands are quickly pinned on either side of her head, Jess breathing, “don’t you dare move,” in her ear as her shirt and bra are torn away, Jess’s knee is between both of Alice’s legs and if this is her penance, Alice is going to go down willingly. She’s already got matching bite marks on the inside of both her thighs, overlapping from dozens of similar encounters over the years.

Jess has her stripped, except for her panties, and is staring at her with a dark but satisfied look, as her gift ripples through Alice, who arches slightly on the bed, grinding against Jess’s knee. She catches a glimpse of them in the mirror overhanging the dresser, a nearly obscene tableau of Jess hovering over her fully clothed, and her splayed across the bed in only her undergarments, grinding against Jess’s denim-clad leg.

Jess leans forward, cradling her head so gently, pulling her gift back enough for Alice to remember coherent thought, but instead of kissing her, Jess’s lips graze her ear as she whispers, firm and cold, “mine.”

And Alice is willing to agree to anything because that’s the moment that Jess strikes, her hand sliding into Alice’s panties and everyone is going to hear everything tonight, because she doesn’t even need to ask to know that Jessamine feels the same - like an exposed nerve, a cornered animal. The threat has passed, but it is also coming for them, in some kind of hazy future, and if incredibly loud sex is how they’re going to deal with that new knowledge, well, there are worse coping methods.

—

Jess lets them both leave the room when they are summoned to Bella’s meeting.

“Calling family meetings now,” she mutters, and Alice elbows her. Jessamine’s grudge holding is legendary - nothing Bella does between now and graduation will be immune to her judgement. Right now, though, with her legs feeling a little shaky and her own plans for her mate for the next day or two forming in her mind, Alice thinks the trait is cute.

Emmett starts to applaud when they both walk in, and for once Jess just rolls her eyes and high-fives him, whilst Alice primly takes a seat. Bella’s looking at the spot just beyond Alice’s left ear, her eyes quite red, so she must have been here for at least an hour, when Jess just wanted to see how loud Alice could get… Edward just looks like he’s living his worse possible day, and - already having seen why Bella has called the meeting - Alice thought it might definitely be in the top ten.

Jess sits beside her, resting her foot on the back of Alice’s chair, and Alice tries not to smirk when she feels the strands of love and lust and mischief twist their ways around her.

The vote for Bella joining the family goes just as she sees it, even ending with Edward shattering the television into three large pieces. As Bella departs and the rest of the family raise to disappear into the depths of the house, Alice leans over and rests her head against Jess’s arm.

“You know I’m going to kill Edward for putting you in danger,” Jess says conversationally.

“You have the right to be angry,” Alice agreed, nuzzling against her arm like a feline. “But you know murder would upset Esme, and wouldn’t really solve anything.”

Jess scowls, and in one motion, Alice has been lifted and settled into Jess’s lap. “A maiming then.”

Alice giggles, though she know that Jess has never made a hollow threat in her life. Her temper is legendary, and apparently Edward will be facing a reckoning with Jess as well.

“I love you,” Alice said, looking up at her love. “Never, ever doubt that every single thing I do, I do it for you. For us. Because I love you and I want to protect you, and there’s nothing that I can think of that I wouldn’t do to keep you safe and happy, Jessie.”

Jessamine closes her eyes and rests her chin on Alice’s head. “I don’t need protecting when it puts you in danger; that will never be okay with me,” Jess replies.

“And I will never be okay with you risk yourself to protect me, so I am afraid we are at an impasse,” Alice retorts cheerily, reminding them both of Maria’s visit to Calgary in ’76.

Jess rolls her eyes, but nods infinitesimally so she doesn’t have to move her head. She sighs, such a heavy sound and Alice aches to make this better, to erase the hurt completely. But she knows that will take time, and she’s never been known for her patience.

“I love you,” Alice says meekly, settling against Jess’s chest.

“I never doubted that,” Jess says mildly, and the future flutters and reforms, and Alice smiles, happy to sit quietly with Jess for awhile. Everything will be okay but, most importantly, Jess will be okay, and that’s all Alice ever wanted.

[readersguidetotheuniverse]

TOP 10 PRIDE EDITION

June is LGBT pride month internationally, a very needed celebration to remind everyone that LGBTIQ+ people exist, their feelings are identity are valids and they deserve the same rights and recognition as anyone else. Today is the day chosen in many countries to celebrate the Pride and, also, today marks the 50th anniversary of the very first Pride parade in New York City, after the Stonewall riots in 1969. A very special day in an already very special month. So we thought, what better way to honor this beautiful celebration than to share some of the best LGBT young adult novels of recent years?

I don’t consider myself LGBT, but I do love reading LGBT stories. I personally believe it’s important to read stories of/by people from different backgrounds and going through different struggles than our own. It’s important to educate ourselves, especially considering how f*cked up the world is and how slowly we advance in terms of human rights. Reading these stories may help you understand the way other people see the world and how the world sees them. And we could do with a little more empathy and kindness these days, to be honest.

So far, I have mostly read stories with gay/bisexual male characters, so I will focus on that for this post, but I will continue educating myself reading stories with trans characters, lesbian characters, non-binary characters, etc…

Here’s my TOP 10 gay YA novels:

#10: Autoboyography, by Christina Lauren

Christina Lauren are great just in general so a book of theirs is always a great choice. About this one, I just loved it. Very well written, one of those books you just want to keep reading and when you get to the end you wish you would’ve gone a bit slower so it wouldn’t be over so soon. I love that the main character is bisexual, cause these books mostly include gay men but very rarely bisexual men and they deserve representation too!

#9: Captive Prince, by C.S. Pacat

This series is not for everyone, let me warn you now. It does touch some very delicate, controversial issues (rape, slavery, abuse…) but I promise you, it is way better than it sounds and I’m sure it’s better than you imagine. It’s dark and intense and passionate but tender at times, especially around the third book. You’ll have to wait for romance but it’ll be worth your while. If you give it a chance, keeping an open mind, it may surprise you.

#8: Two Boys Kissing, by David Levithan

Today it’s very easy to find amazing LGBT YA books but a few years back it was way harder, simply because there was no market or opportunities for them. This one I consider a classic among these great new LGBT novels for teens or young adults. A good story that really gives visibility and history of LGBT people the importance that they deserve. I also recommend checking out other David Levithan books, he’s got many great novels!

#7: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, by Becky Albertalli

You probably heard about this one already, considering how well its movie did: Love, Simon. So well that they’ve done a TV show inspired by it, too! This is absolutely one of the must reads on coming out and finding your place in the world. Simon and Blue are cute as can be and the rest of the characters are also great, some even got their own book! You’ll love all of them and will root for Simon and Blue from minute 1. The movie is also really good and funny!

#6: Heartstopper, by Alice Oseman

This comic series (or graphic novels, however you wanna call it) is the cutest I’ve ever seen, I swear to god. It will warm your heart and will have you smiling through the whole thing and you’ll just wish for more. The characters are so relatable, their story is just adorable and the drawings are so lovely. Even if you are not into graphic novels, this one is almost a must. There are three volumes out, volumes 3 and 4 are expected for 2021 and 2022, and I’m already desperate for them.

#5: Red, White & Royal Blue, by Casey McQuiston

This is the most recent one of the bunch. A really good, fresh, modern story that defies classic values and the status quo and just makes you happy. This book has been so well received, has won many awards, and I’m so happy about it, because it’s rare to see LGBT books being recognized as romance novels and not in their own separated category. And it’s time to recognize that romance is romance no matter who you are and appreciate good stories. She’s got a new book coming next year and I just can’t wait to have it.

#4: They Both Die at the End, by Adam Silvera

This is not your typical LGBT story. Well, I don’t think this is typical in any sense, and that’s the appeal of it. In case the title is not enough for you, I can assure you this story is very original and well written. This is not a love story per se, this is a story about life, and love’s a part of it. The characters are so cute and realistic. You’ll wish page after page that the title got it wrong. If you like it, I also recommend checking out other Adam Silvera books like History Is All You Left Me and More Happy Than Not. They’re unconventional and great, too!

#3: Carry On, by Rainbow Rowell

This is basically Harry Potter if Harry Potter was gay. Kind of bordering gay Harry Potter fanfiction. And it’s magnificent. The magic and fantasy of the Harry Potter world with the inclusion that modern world craves and lovable characters you won’t get enough of. A bit of enemies to lovers as well, which I just love. If you like fantasy, this is definitely for you. I promise you, you’ll love it. It has a sequel I’m dying to read and there are more on the way!

#2: HIM, by Elle Kennedy and Sarina Bowen

This is possibly the most mature book on this list and one of my absolute favorite books ever. For starters, I love their writing style. Also they give us both characters’ point of view so we get a full picture of the story, which is great. We can see two young adults figuring themselves out, what they feel, who they are, in a sports world where LGBT people are not usually welcome. And it’s just fantastic. The sequels are also really good.

#1: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

This, right here, is one of the best books I have ever read. Period. Nothing I can say will suffice. The story is so human, the characters are so real and go through so much and you feel every little bit of it. So relatable, adorable, painful sometimes, but mostly just pure emotion. The only thing I missed in this book is more pages, I just want more and more. I just couldn’t stop reading so it was over too soon! But no worries, there’s a sequel in the making!

Happy Pride! Whoever you are and whoever you love, happy reading!

[spacebrick3]

WHG Day 3: OSHA Regulations Get Ignored.

In which there is just Emma.

“No, this is a great idea, there’s no way it can possibly go wrong,” a thoroughly fed-up Emma mutters, trudging through foot-deep snow and trying not to notice the way it sinks into her shoes, or that she hasn’t really felt anything from her toes in the past half hour. Still no sign of her sister. “Look, look, there’s no way—God, I should have seen it that there was no way you were backing down, should have stopped you instead of letting everything go to—this souped-up, frozen-over hell!”

She shouts her criticism to the sky, voice echoing through the canyon beneath as if it will have any effect. Besides shaking a few drops of snow from the overburdened trees, it doesn’t. “Wonderful. Just great. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing, save not dying, and that’s more a dice roll than anything else. Capitol decides to set a pack of hounds, of damned wolves out here and then…then…”

Her words falter, then stop. For the canyon’s echo works both ways, carrying another voice up to her. “…the general duty clause places heavy restriction on weapons like those…check Section 5(a)(1)-“

“…Alice?” It’s hardly a question. Only one person would be fool enough to be reading off about ‘general-duty clauses’ in the Games. And though her speech is carried on the wind, faint, cutting in and out of hearing range, it must be close. She drops to the ground, checking the descent down the canyon walls towards where she guesses it’s coming from. Steep, slippery, but manageable, and then Alice is perfectly welcome to lecture her about how having such a dangerous drop violates some regulation or another.

She barely makes it a foot down before slipping, grabbing a tree branch to stop her fall. Her concentration on the descent slips, too, and she realizes that something is wrong. Alice is still talking, but her words are rushed now, almost panicked, evident even in their half-heard state. And Alice—Alice is the steady one. Alice never panics.

And then she stops. Abruptly.

“A-Alice?” she calls, dreading what will come or what will not.

A cannon shot cracks through the air, shaking the rock around her—and, more pressingly, the snow and ice from the canyon walls. She barely has time to look up, to see what looks like a fractured white wall descending upon her before it hits, dragging her grip from the beleaguered tree.

***

The canyon walls do not contain enough snow for an avalanche, or Emma would drag herself out of it in a much worse state than she does now, lucky to be only cold and sore and with an arm that aches in the wrong places. “Goddamn it,” she manages, rubbing at her head. “I—I mean they had to have known that would happen, right, they had to have known-“

The pieces fall (back, after having been rudely jostled out of) into place. “ALICE!”

She dashes across the canyon floor, steps irregular and limping, guessing at where she heard the sound. Everything is so very quiet now, muffled and still, even the wind flat between the two high walls. But it was here, it was close, and once she finds where it came from then—well, then—it has to be, it will have to be—it must have been-

She heard Alice’s voice, and then she didn’t.

There was a single cannon shot. One death.

Alice would never, ever, kill anybody.

“God damn it all,” she growls. “I swear, if you got yourself killed before me, Alice, I’m going to—well, something. I don’t know. I…hope you’ll be able to stop me, I really do.”

Her foot lands on packed-down snow, trampled and marked with bootprints. Whoever the tracks belong to, they’re too scuffed to tell—but people have been here, more than one, and recently. Her breath quickens as she glances around, one hand reaching to her side for the sword. Picked it up from the camp last night, nobody there would’ve noticed. Never thought I’d use it, but if they’re still here…. “ALICE!” she screams again, the words and the bitter air beginning to tear at her throat. “ALICE! Please.”

A glint of iron-black metal catches her eye, a small cylindrical object stuck into the snow. She walks over, half her mind already recognizing it before she pulls it fully from the snowbank. A pen. Alice’s pen.

Next to it, like some strange, bright winter flower is a bloodstain, still a brilliant red. Not much—not a lot of blood. She grasps for that fact, tries to cling to it as some last desperate hope, but…well, she’s too much Alice to believe it. The hovercraft would have descended and taken her away, and they don’t leave anything behind. A stroke of luck that she found the pen at all, discarded as it was.

She heard her die. She heard the moment it happened. 

But…no, it can’t be. There’s something else going on. Nesri told me—they had a plan. There was a plan. Wasn’t there?

A plan. Alice would have laughed at it. “Unless it’s written in 12-point Times New Roman and accounts for every contingency, there’s no plan,” she’d have said. “Just a bunch of hopes tied together with string.” But if this half-cooked plan, with so many variables and so many unknowns and so many ways it could go wrong that it’s barely worth counting is Alice’s only chance at being alive, then…isn’t that hope worth something?

***

She stays there, waiting for who-knows-what. For a plan. For something which will let her know that her sister is still alive and not simply another statistic on the list of those who the Games have killed. And just like everything else here, she gets nothing. Radio silence, save a name and face in the sky that tells her nothing besides the fact that the Capitol thinks she’s dead. 

Was that the plan? Or do they know something I don’t?

Her ears prick up at the sound of careful footsteps, someone else seeking shelter from the wind she can hear howling past. Or returning to the scene, where they don’t think anybody else will be, where they think they’ll have scared everybody off. Her fingers, worn numb by the cold, tighten around the sword’s hilt, digging into the leather. As she draws it, she realizes she must look a fearsome sight in the dimming forest, hair matted with snow and blood, eyes wild and bloodshot with lack of sleep.

Whoever it is, they know how to be stealthy. Tall and surprisingly well-kept, he barely makes a sound as the blade digs into his chest. Not drawing blood, yet. “Was. It. You,” she growls.

“Ah…sorry? Was what me?”

“Did you kill her?”

“Again.” He holds up his hands in the characteristic ‘just look at me, could I really have done it?’ pose. Golden eyes, dulled but still reflective, glint as he speaks. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

She doesn’t have the time nor patience for this. “Alice. My sister. Did you kill her?”

“I haven’t killed anybody, so I’m afraid not. You, though…” He looks down again at the sword poking at him, and back to Emma. “You’re not planning to kill me with that, are you? There’s a whole…thing going on about us not dying, and I’d rather survive this. So if you don’t mind-“

He tries to push the blade away from his heart, only for her to jab it in further. He backs away and she follows, pressing him against a tree. “Stay. You said there was a plan. For people not dying. I’m not—I don’t-“ She accidentally slices a line down his chest, the sword shaking in her head. “Shit! No. How does it work, the plan?”

“You know, that hurt.”

“Plan. Now.”

“I don’t know! They don’t tell us these things,” he says, wincing. “I think it’s the trackers, though. If the Capitol doesn’t have those, they have to assume that we’re…dead.” He glances around, looking for a way out.

Well, she can damn well give him one, then. “Where’s yours?”

“I don’t-“

“Where.” She’s starting to sound like Alice, all monosyllables and terse sentences. Curt and no-nonsense, and whatever sort of arrogance this man is spouting is certainly nonsense.

He sighs. “Shoulder. Right one. Don’t be-“ 

Without daring to think too much about what she’s doing, Emma pulls the blade back, spinning it in her hand before cutting deep into his shoulder. Beyond the blood—that’s a lot of blood, more than she expected—she’s rewarded by a hiss of electronics and a brief, sparking flash. The blade stops against his neck before she pulls it back.

“-too harsh.” He hisses out a breath, pressing a hand to the wound. “Was that really necessary?”

“Get out of here,” she says. “Your tracker’s gone, so go.”

“If it means you don’t kill me, then gladly.” Another grimace of pain. “Although if you weren’t planning on doing so, don’t think there was much reason to be that harsh with it.”

“When you get out.” If you get out, she amends. He’s…competent, but annoying. “If you find someone, Alice—black hair, glasses, will gladly lecture you about safety regulations so don’t let her start—then tell her she’s awful and I hate her and I’m very, very glad that she’s not dead. In those exact words, understand?”

He nods, slipping slightly on the snow as he stumbles away. She watches him go, hoping that Alice did the same only a couple hours ago, that the pen and bloodstain were left behind from the tracker and nothing else.

Taglist: @concealeddarkness13, @rhikasa, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @maple-writes, @aeslin, @pen-of-roses (thanks for Lynn! Hope I got him right!), @makeitmonstrous, @the-moving-finger-writes, @nightskywriter, and of course @ratracechronicler​!

[likesomekindofcheese]

Songbird of Jamestown- Chapter Four (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader)

Word Count: 10 K. As the Germans and Austrians say...das ist thick. You may need a snack or water.

Paring: Samuel Castell x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1619-1620, you have arrived on a boat to the English colony of Jamestown as the company’s plans to send maids to make wives. You hope for a new life and perhaps marriage despite your friend's struggles. Then you cross paths with the colony recorder, he’s kind, shares your interests, intelligent, handsome...and engaged.

Taglist: @blamerogertaylor , @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​, @bluesfortheredj​ (sempai), and @theworksgaga​  @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic​ @rubystarflight​ @theoneandonlyeclecticepilepic @queenlover05​ @themficsilike​ @joemazzhello​

Warnings: A little swearing, references to abuse and prostitution, but none, only drama and angst and a few fluffy moments.

“Who knows, not England once was like, a wilderness and savage place. Until government and use of men that government that wildness did deface? And so Virginia may, in time, be made like England now. Where long loved peace and plenty both, sits smiling on her brow”- Anon, London’s Lottery, 1612

Speaking to strangers was sometimes a circle of hell to you. The sight of the governor’s wife on the streets of the town stuck you with a slight terror knowing your intention.

Although it was an overcast afternoon, it was balmy. There was silent sunlight that made you squint. You took note she was heading home and followed her at a polite distance. She chatted with almost everyone jovially as you waited in the back. From her hair, put up and decorated with small pearls to her dark blue dress with a rather large skirt, she appeared regal.

Finally, she reached her home. A whole garden filled with vegetables lined the side, but the green did not make the house look any friendlier. It loomed over you and its door was like a beast’s mouth.

Mercy said she needed work. But what would she think of you begging her for money? Your mouth went dry and your brain urged you to flee.

But as you drew your sights lower, you saw her eyes kept going down. She was holding the hand of her little daughter, with curly brown hair and full, rosy cheeks. The girl was skipping across the dirt, half-tugging her mother, babbling away about her new baby brother. The Lady looked down on her and even swung her arms, much to the girl’s squeals.

Someone like that would not curse you away.

Taking a deep breath, you started walking before your thoughts would stop you.

“Lady Yeardley, may I request your presence briefly?” you asked.

She nodded politely and sent the tiny girl back home. Breathing in, your hands pressed but fiddling with each other, you spoke how you heard she had the need and you were experienced. You made your offer as a maidservant briefly.

“I cannot hire you,” the Lady Yeardley said.

“Oh…I’m ver-very sorry…” you whimpered; you look down on the ground to your shoes. “Mercy said you were, uh, were available and I’m…I’m running out of food. And money. I-I have to work.”

“It is not that I doubt your abilities, not at all. You’re experienced, even. You would make a lovely maid. There are only two reasons. One, we were all told not to treat the new women here like servants, and second…”

Breathing in, her brown bun dotted with little pearls seemed to shake. Then she stepped a little closer to you. You stepped forward. Her voice was lower.

“I saw you walking the other day in the company of Master Castell unaccompanied. Are you employed by him?” she asked.

Though the way she pronounced her words seemed sharp, her brown eyes still looked soft.

“No, I…I am not” you answered.

“And you know he is to be married soon?”

“I do.”

“Then were your intentions honorable?”

Behind you, you jumped as you heard a few goats being led off through the streets, bleating. A farmer whistled and swatted a long stick to keep them in line.

“If not, you do understand that adultery on this colony is punished by hanging” Lady Yeardley warned

Legs shaking, you couldn’t grasp at what to say other than a polite sputter of “Yes, Lady Yeardley.”

Death for a few flowers?

“Dear maiden, don’t be afraid. I mean no harm. I do not mean to frighten you. Only to protect you. I remember you on the boat. I’ve even heard your voice as you do your chores. Your presence is a good one here if you ask me. So, you need to know of any possible danger. Any frivolity here can be fatal in the wrong hands. So, tell me, in all honesty before someone else does, where were you going and what happened?” she interrogated.

You held your hands, clasping them together to squeeze them for some comfort.

“Your secret will be safe with me, I won’t report you” she assured, walking forward and opening her hands for you to take.

Looking her in the eye, you grasped your palms to hers and began “Lady Yeardley, that day I walked with S-“

You also bit back the thought of his first name, Samuel. That name you would silently whisper to yourself at night before you went to sleep. But you shook your head and corrected yourself.

“With Master Castell, yes, we were walking, but nothing dishonorable had happened. I swear to you, he was…” you continued.

You felt short of breath. Lies were impossible for you. And remembering Henry’s threats, illegal here. The Lady leaned to you and nodded patiently.

Taking a deep breath in, you began to recount that idyllic, almost secret, yet innocent hour.

Or that was about to come out of your mouth when Jocelyn swung by, practically butting in her hatted head like a horned goat butting a bale of hay.

“Why, Miss Y/L/N, I need to speak with you at once. Mistress, whatever are you speaking of with her?” she queried. Her voice was dripping as smooth as honey.

“Mistress Woodbyrg, you know that this girl was seen in public walking with your fiancée unaccompanied and has confessed to it?” Lady Yeardley asked.

You felt your teeth grit. How on earth would Jocelyn react to this? Would they find Samuel and then ask him what happened? Would you be sent to the stocks? Jailed? Worse?

“Why yes. I do know!” she said.

You felt your stomach dropped at how cheery she sounded.

Hanging it was.

“As a surprise wedding present, he decided to gift me with Miss  Y/L/N to be my maid until we’re married!” she informed. A bright smile appeared on her so large, it could touch her earrings.

She told a bloody lie to the governor’s wife! She could get hanged in an instant if it’s proven!

“What about Mercy?” you blurted.

You remember seeing the little servant girl scurrying behind Jocelyn all the time, hopping across the dry sections of the mud like a rabbit or hanging on to Jocelyn’s or Samuels cloak to prevent dirt, though her own was caked at the seams. Though lately there was a slight red mark on Mercy’s cheek.

“Oh, she’s going to mainly work in Castell’s house to lighten her load. Another wedding gift,” Jocelyn coolly answered.

“But she’s asking me to be my maid!” Lady Yeardley responded, looking between you two.

Her brows furrowed in confusion and her nose went up. Yet you noticed how Jocelyn’s shoulders relaxed and her calm smile was still.

“Well, you know Miss Y/L/N is a silly fool and forgets so much, is it not? She even forgot her interview!” she chirruped.

She walked over to you and laced one white sleeved arm around yours, her pastel pink sleeve felt like ice compared to the hands of the governor’s wife.

“He only wanted to be sure it was a surprise. But I just figured it out, dear man!”

There was a stiffness in her eyes that dared your refusal by the pain of death. What if this was a trap?

But what choice did you have? If you said no, then it meant denying this was the reason you were in public with Samuel and there was only one other reason that Lady Yeardley would decide it was. A reason that would cost you dearly to confess in public with the woman he was promised to. Lady Yeardley might be able to keep a secret safe, but you weren’t sure if Jocelyn could.

“I…well…yes, I had forgotten. I’m your maid now. Do forgive me, Lady Yeardley, I am a foolish girl. I only wanted to be sure of my options” you agreed.

“I promise you, we’ll be like sisters” Jocelyn assured, looking at you with a wrinkled nose.

“Very good! Best of luck with your future here, Miss Y/L/N. I give you my blessing,” Lady Yeardley praised, oblivious to how you were feeling the color drain from your face.

Suddenly from the house, an infant began wailing.

“Excuse me,” she acknowledged before turning the door shut.

Jocelyn half-dragged your arm, to point to where she was staying until marriage (“The Pierces, good friends of Master Castell”), she then detailed each minute of her routine at a rapid pace. From which berry she preferred to eat to what songs she would prefer you to sing if she wanted to hear them to how her pillow should be fluffed before she laid down to sleep.

Head spinning, you counted each task on your finger of what was expected. Secretly, you longed for paper, ink, and quill just to draw out each chore.

Even more, a knowledge of how to write each chore and request. Not silly drawings. Real words in real sentences, like the very rich and educated people in London.

Glancing back at Jocelyn discussing matters of payment in her pastel pink gown and mint green cape, you bet a family that could dress their daughter like that could teach her to write.

You snapped back at the sound of Jocelyn’s smooth, low voice repeating the time you were to be there.

“Don’t be late. And…Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes?”

“There’s dirt on your face.” She reprimanded with a smirk.

It was a quiet supper later. Though you gave your reports of being a maid, Alice only smiled. She barely touched her bread. Then she excused herself and sat on your shared bed. Quiet tears were falling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, it’s just…I was remembering Henry and…I just…I can still feel him on me, no matter what I do.”

“I understand, Alice” you soothed.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Jumping, You and Alice looked at each other with large, worried eyes. Her breaths were suddenly shorter, and her hands were shaking. Neither of you budged. You tried to look over where on earth you could hide Alice at a moment’s notice.

“Alice? Y/N?” an Irish tinted voice lilted. “Ya should bloody know me!”

You both Released your held breath. Walking over, you opened the door to see Verity’s slightly dirty, but stunning face.

“Verity! Oh, Verity! How good to see you!” Alice chimed, immediately going to embrace her.

Verity accepted the hug and squeezed her arm. A bit of cool night air rushed into your house.

“Verity, shouldn’t you be at the tavern?” you ask.

“I needed to leave fer a bit! ‘Sides, Y/N, I hadn’a seen ya fer a few days” she greeted.

She swaggered in, taking in the flowers and even picking up and sniffing a few. Her pale skin was glowing in the orange candlelight and her magnificent mane of copper hair seemed to glow too. Verity always seemed as bold, untamed, and free as her hair.

But her smile looked strained.

“Come, sit! It seems we haven’t talked in a year! I know you’re married to the tavern keeper now… How is your husband?” you asked, motioning her to sit on a chair at the table.

Verity and Alice looked at each other wide-eyed.

Recalling that day you left the ship, you recalled Verity’s husband did not collect her and how hurried and confused her brow grew as she stepped into town to find him. She seemed to shrink amid the relieved faces of happy women glad to find land and in some cases, spouses.

Verity walked over and plopped herself heavily onto the chair with a groan.

“Me husband? He’s piss drunk right now, what ‘e is. No diff’rent than any other night” she complained.

Getting up at once to the nearest clean plate, you offered her Alice’s bread, some goat milk, and some berries. Verity chewed on the food in silence. Then she began gulping down the milk so much that a bit fell onto her bodice and she wiped the remnants with her hand.

“Ye got anythin’ stronger?” she asked, looking at the white milky bits on her arm.

“No, not at all. There was a little ale I bought but…but it just vanished. Must’ve lost it somewhere” You explained.

Glancing at where the food and church rations were kept against the other wall in cabinets and a pot over a small hearth. Verity leaned over and shot up her eyebrows in surprise.

“It…doesn’a look much.”

Blinking away tears she popped another berry into her mouth as if it could give her the peace of mind a drink might.

“D’you know ‘e tried to whore me off me first week ‘ere, Y/N?” she confessed.

“No!” you gasped.

“’e’s a bloody scoundrel. ‘E even cheated so it wouldn’a happen. But still…And I…I thought maybe it could work, but I’m…I’m jus’ worried. What will ‘appen to me? E’ll jus’ drink and gamble and waste ‘is life away. How’m I gonna live?”

She grabbed a piece of bread, ripped it with ferocity, and then bit into it hard.

“Alice, did you know?” you whisper.

As she nodded, your blood went cold.

You felt your jaw clench at the thought. Nearly prostituted by her husband on a bet. A husband who couldn’t keep his head straight without getting drunk. Cheating? Gambling? This wasn’t what Verity deserved.

And you didn’t even need to recall Alice’s situation. At least while she was free, she could stay here, and it was illegal for Henry to enter. But not for long. Once she was married, she may as well be a sheep to his slaughter.

What could you do for Verity?

There was one thing…but it wasn’t much.

Without speaking, you left the table and kept your distance, listening as the two began to speak worriedly about how little their lives seemed to compare to the promises of the Virginia Company.

“A free land? Bah! Not worth it with men the likes of these! And Y/N’s free, but the company’s gonna insist she marry soon to pay everythin’ off! 150 dammed pounds of tobacco is too bloody much!” Verity ranted.

She turned over her shoulder to look at you and pointed, her brows lowered in worry.

“The time’s gonna come fer yer freedom and maidenhead whether ya ready fer it or not!”

She finished the berries by cupping them into her hand and pouring them into her mouth. You cringed at the thought of giving your freedom and maidenhead to someone like Henry Sharrow.

Looking over to your bed, you snuck your hand to the place under your mattress to your little leather pouch. Verity tilted her head.

Pulling the strings apart, you counted fifteen coins. You plucked out five.

“Verity, here, have some of this,” you said.

You press a few coins into her hand and cover her fingers over her palm with yours.

“But…That’s really her husbands!” Alice warned.

“He doesn’t have to know” you explain. “Verity, you can get yourself something to help you out, in any way. Food. Clothes. Shelter even. Anything to make your life bearable.”

Verity shrugged with a foxlike grin as she took off her shoe and hid the coins.

“I barely spoke with ye and ye already givin’ me yer earned coin!” she scoffed. “I’m just a low thief, I’m not worthy.”

“You’re smarter and braver than most ladies I know! You’re more than worthy! And you need this more than me. I’m working now, I’ll earn more.” you insisted.

Alice walked in, her eyes growing big.

“Y/N, are you sure about this? We’re already running out. And your eggs- this morning I’ve been counting and…we’ve only two eggs- someone’s been taking things from us!” she fretted.

She pointed to where the egg basket was kept and showed that indeed there were only two small eggs.

You shook away the thought of giving the money back and brushed Alice off.

“No, Verity, you deserve it. I don’t have much, but I could give you all I have if I could. Just know if you need help, come to me immediately and I will try to help. I have a house and money that’s my own. Alice has the Sharrows. But what do you have?”

Verity smiles brightly. No hint of slight sadness this time. She walks up to you and pats your back proudly.

“I ‘eard about what you said to Henry. Wish I could’a been there to see it meself. ‘E deserves worse, the bastard. Yer a kind woman to do that, Y/N,” she said.

“You met the blacksmith here? He said kindness kills people.” You recalled, thinking back to that morning not long ago.

Glancing at the window, you noticed a new set of primroses were there. The blacksmith sure was insistent!

“But ye did save me, and I could’ve killed me ‘usband. So that’s a life saved!” she joked before she said her goodbyes, opened the door and left.

After she closed the door, you sat back down, your pouch in your hands, and sighed. It felt dangerously lighter.

“I’m so nervous I wonder if I could sleep,” You confess.

“Oh, Y/N, you have no reason to be. I’ve been with Jocelyn on that ship, remember? She has her kind moments, you’ll see.” She said, placing a light hand on your shoulder.

Heavy rainfall lulled you both to heavy sleep.

The sky was blush pink, refreshed from the rain, as you dashed in that morning to the house. It was hard enough ducking the mud and animal dung on the streets while still tying your apron behind you. Recognizing the house where Jocelyn was staying twenty paces away, you froze.

The ground in front of it was covered in mud. A large pig laid down cooling himself in it. There was a butcher nearby salting his wares on an open table. They were bloody. And some blood seeped to the mud.

Seeing no dry place to hop across, you sucked in a breath and hurriedly stepped through the mud right to the front door and knocked.

The housewife answered. She was pale, very tall, green-eyed with a ginger bun, and was bedecked with dark red finery and lacy white gloves. You backed away a little.

“Oh, hello. Mister Pierce is away. Who...who are you?” the woman asked, frowning.

“I’m the new maid for Jocelyn, Mercy has been given a break” you explained shyly/

She stepped aside, gesturing you to walk in.

Looking around, it was an open room and very wooden. Wood floors. Wood walls. Sunlight flooded in as the only light. A desk stood in the middle of it and across from the entrance. It held two large, brass candlesticks and was littered with paper and ink. There were a few chairs and stools. Two windows were placed high up on opposite walls, but they were grimy. Candles were attached high up on wicks, unlit. As plain as your shelter.

“Excuse me, mistress…”

“Pierce. Mistress Pierce.” The lady answered, with a polite curtsy.

Curtsying back, you babbled “I’m Y/N Y/LN, and my mistress says she always needs me to greet her and then to eat in the morning.”

“Well, the kitchen’s there” Mistress Pierce pointed out to the left.

You scurried into a small kitchen separated only by a long, white curtain nailed from the ceiling. In the middle was a table with a basket where six eggs waiting to be cracked for breakfast. Sunlight drifted in, still gentle from the morning. But that and the fireplace made it stuffy. The whole place smelled of the oatmeal that was bubbling over the fire nearby.

“Where is she sleeping?” you ask.

Mistress Pierce points to some stairs nearby and ducking your head as thanks, you rushed up. And knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Creaking quietly, your eyes scatter, finding the bed to your immediate right. You then stepped forward and curtsied.

It was a dark room. The window on the wall to your right had its shutters closed. It was all completely wooden from the walls to the beams and brown. There was even a table with a red cloth and a large chest on top. There were even a few places on the wall where there were candles. Two more desks you noticed were on either side of the bed.

Jocelyn was in her nightgown, her blond hair dripping in ringlets over her shoulders on her large, dark wooden bed with the biggest green, velvet, canopy curtains you have ever seen. Her lap and legs were covered by a large, pink blanket and white sheets. She crossed her long, white sleeves.

“I’ve been awake for an hour, where is my breakfast?” she demanded.

“It is…uhm…coming right up.”

Stepping downstairs, you tried to concentrate on what berries she liked to eat in the morning as to not mix them up. Returning with a bowl of oatmeal and some blueberries in a cup, you walked up holding the plate, trying to smile lightly.

But the stubborn frown on Jocelyn’s graceful face remained.

“You’re too slow…” she cursed.

Frowns were growing on your face as well. Folding your hands and looking down, you decided it was better to bring up what she would ask about now rather than later.

“Mistress Woodbyrg…I assure you, as you know, I did walk with Master Castell. And I am aware you are engaged to him. But I swear to you, he was chaperoning me so I could gather a few flowers just outside the fort for Alice Kett. It was his idea, not mine. He kept his distance as I picked and made sure I returned safely. He was only worried about me going out alone. He is a gentleman, as you know. Nothing improper happened. And…you can even ask him if you would like. He will give you the same answer” you confessed slowly.

Your heart raced as you looked up into Jocelyn’s stare.

She shrugged and nodded.

“Fine by me. I want this cleaned up. Now. I despise this room” she snapped.

Rushing down, ignoring how your legs were sore already, you grabbed a broom and some water and a cloth. Then you hurried back and at once got to work.

You began to sweep out dirt on the floor in silence. Sometimes Jocelyn looked down at the food before her, and sometimes at you. Placing the broom against the wall, you stood on your tiptoes to reach to open the shutters and let in light. It had a view of the dirtiest, brownest part of the colony.

“I…can gather flowers for you…

Jocelyn’s eyes stabbed into you.

“… with Alice. As a gift of thanks for your generous em-employment…would m-make the p-place brighter,” you added with a panic.

“Hopefully the flowers won’t be as ugly as you are, Miss Y/L/N. And next time, wipe your skirt and shoes before you come in,” she said.

I could take that mud and throw it at you right now.

But you threw the thought away. If one was locked in the lion’s den, then it was better not to provoke the lions and wait for an angel to shut their mouths.

She set aside her dishes on the desk at her right and wiped the crumbs and a few stray berries off the blankets.

“Sweep them,” she told you right as you dipped the cloth into the water.

Nodding, you gathered your broom and swept them off, you had barely put them away when you heard Jocelyn say something.

“Y/N…there is a dress over there in that chest that needs mending. The floors can wait.” She declared, pointing to a huge chest on the wall across from her bed.

You got up and walked over, seeing how it was filled with little bronze knobs scattered all over for decoration. Opening it, you saw a stunningly beautiful gown. Far prettier than anything you owned. It was golden with a bejeweled bodice and lace all around the collar of the neck. Checking it, there were only a few minor tears. It seemed to beam more with the drifting light.

Maybe it cost as much as half of your belongings. Looking up, Jocelyn tossed her curls from her shoulders and looked right into your eyes.

You placed it carefully in your arms, took the closest chair, took out the needle and thread you kept in your apron pocket and began to mend the tears in the skirt.

Recalling Alice’s words, you mumbled out “It will look beautiful on-”

“Better than it would on you. That will be my wedding dress.” Jocelyn interrupted with a smile.

Feeling fire in your eyes, a couple of tears betrayed you. You didn’t even dare to look up to see if Jocelyn would react to your reaction. You just breathed slowly and kept mending.

Perhaps this was a trap indeed. Was she dangling the fine things she had in front of you? Or even her marriage? If she tempted or tricked you to steal It and you somehow managed, like everyone thought maids did, it would be seconds away from the stocks.

At least one good thing will come from this marriage, I won’t have to work for you any longer…

“Do you know why my wedding was delayed?” Jocelyn queried, walking over to the window with a pink blanket draped over her shoulders.

“No,” you answer.

You turn the dress over, looking for any other tears.

“There was a sudden business venture he had to take up! He had to reassess the records for errors and adjust his work for the new influx of women and land! He has to work even at night!” She huffed.

You heard as the butcher outside began to slice something wet and thick open.

“This is the whole reason I am here! But, if I must wait, I will wait.” she sighed.

Keeping quiet, you inspect the dress once more before folding it delicately and placing it back into the chest.

“Make the bed for me, I need it neat. I don’t want it to be as rumpled as your dress” she barked.

I’m supposed to scrub the floors next, you little…

You focus your best on the action of turning it over, folding and unfolding the sheets, and every physical sensation. Just to get out of your thoughts.

Scrubbing the floors had to wait. She insisted you style her hair next, giving you exact instructions and attacking you with glares and a chide if you got a certain curl twisted wrong. After pulling her cream stays and tying them, dressing her in her pastel petticoats and skirts, and adding a blue hat with a small feather, she gave a curt nod.

Jocelyn insisted you walk with her to church, carrying her cloak up and back. Despite the minister’s droning, you felt curious and even surprised eyes look at how close you had to sit next to her. You even noted Samuel’s eyes looking at you and blinking rapidly. Your white coif seemed very humble next to Jocelyn’s feathered hat atop her head.

You both headed back to the house, her cloak raised as high as you could carry while your skirt got more mud.

Jocelyn blabbered a list of chores that made your head spin. The floor was not mentioned.

And then you ran to complete each one. Every press of water, every sweep, and every work of needle or knead of bread. By the time of the sunset, you had presented her with dinner in the kitchen. She sat down to eat, and you finally dragged your feet upstairs, and got the cloth in the water bucket to scrub the floors.

You first heard the loud growling of your stomach as you scrubbed fervently. Turning around, you heard a bit of wood creaking under someone’s feet.

“I’m not hungry. Undress me.”

You took off her hat and cloak and placed them back in their chests. Then you unlaced her stays and removed each skirt, petticoat, shoe (which, to your silent frustration, was muddy), and stocking, then you draped a clean smock over her head.

Jocelyn smirked at the sound of your stomach as she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

“Do you see the end of the desk to the left? There’s some food, water, and your money in the pouch.” You are dismissed for today,” she said.

Looking at the end of that desk, there was a white and blue jug of water, oatmeal in a bag, two apples, and two gold coins in a small pouch.

It was the water jug that sored the muscles of your arms where it lay, but you walked hurriedly at night. You were nervous if any local men would feel bolder at night. You set your eyes straight on the path to where home was, not daring to wander elsewhere.

Except you smelt tobacco and impulsively looked to your left.

But you did pass Samuel briefly, smoking a pipe next to Yeardley outside in the evening air, he gave you the kindest smile you had seen all day and bowed gallantly. You curtsied back, barely bending your knees, and then quickened your pace away.

Ugly…dirty…slow…

Alice woke up in the middle of the night to your sobs, as quiet as you tried to make them. But they came out before you could limit their strength, as well as the whimpers from your mouth. You had curled in a fetal position away from where she was lying next to you.

His image, Jocelyn’s words, and your reality were too clear.

“Y/N, what’s the matter?” she asked.

You didn’t turn to face her. Too many nights you were the one hearing her cry and trying to comfort her. You were the one awoken from her screams of a nightmare about Henry and had to shake her awake.

“I can’t tell you it’s…it’s ugly and dangerous, I…I think I’m committing a crime. But I…I can’t tell you!” you stammer through your hot tears.

And you knew if Jocelyn and Alice were on good terms, it was another ally for your friend, no matter what they did to you. Another person who could help Alice with her approaching marriage.

“Don’t be silly, you can tell me!” Alice vowed; she laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“It involves someone you know. Someone you like.”

“Who is it?”

Turning around to face her drooping eyebrows and half-open lids, you shook your head.

“Let’s wait a month, and then I’ll tell you,” you promise.

She soothed your hair until your tears ended and you could sleep.

But by the time you woke up, Alice was gone.

She didn’t return the next day either.

Waking up by the third day your arms ached to even put your shoes on your feet. Glancing over at the egg basket, you counted one egg. Yesterday morning there were four thanks to your payment and you ate none.

Sighing at the thought of another exhausting day, you grabbed a bite of bread and an apple to eat on your walk and opened the door to go out.

Alice was immediately in front of you, her hair was out loose and blown from wind, her face was flushed.

“Oh, Y/N! Y/N! Have you heard? The whole town is talking! Henry’s dead!”

Head spinning, you took a few steps back and caught yourself.

“No…this is a joke!” you denied, shaking your head.

“It’s not! Henry’s dead!” Alice replied, her eyes widening and smile growing.

Glancing around, it seemed no one who was about town seemed to care much of what you both were speaking. Still, it was better to be careful.

“When…when did you learn this?” you ask.

“This morning, I rushed from the Sharrow’s to tell you…and…” she kept rambling, you could tell she was keeping from bursting into bits from her excitement.

“How did he die?” you hiss, interrupting.

“There was a fire on the boat he was sleeping on” she explained, getting the drift and leaning her head closer.

“It was so full of tobacco and gunpowder it caught fire. He didn’t jump out and swim. And it was a nasty fire, nothing remained!”

Almost not believing it, you just took her hand. In Alice’s eyes, there was a hint of wicked glee in their shine. But then it slowly faded, and her frown returned. Her eyes went to the ground, down below where the monster now seemed to be.

“I’m glad he’s dead” she spat.

You squeezed her hand.

“Me too. Alice, I need to go. Soon. Jocelyn hates it when I’m late,” You explained.

“Wait, I need your key for a bit.” Alice insisted.

“What for?”  

You clenched your teeth in fear of what venom Jocelyn would release for another morning lacking punctuality by her terms.

“I’m taking my things. I’m going to live with the Sharrows.” She explained.

“What! Why?”

“Y/N, I…I owe them a debt. They are the reason I’m here. They have a farm and new land and need my help.  And they’re…other than Henry, they’re my family now. They’re all the kindest people you’ve ever met. You’ve protected me from Henry best you could when they couldn’t but now that he’s dead…I’m free. I don’t need to hide. I can go out and do as I please now.”

She leaned over and her voice dropped to a half-whisper.

“I can even be with Silas, too. I think I may even love him.”

Handing her a spare key, you give her a quick hug before you hurry out to town.

“I’ll miss you, Alice. If you ever need help, if you have nightmares or anything about…you know what, run to me. Or Verity.” You wish as you release her.

Before you run, you see Alice embracing the key to her breast and waving at you.

Rushing inside, you give your curtsy, then scramble to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

You noticed the egg basket on the table. There were three more eggs than there was yesterday.

Swallowing your anger and breathing in deep with that thought, you worked up a little smile and walked up with the bowl of oatmeal to greet your mistress.

Jocelyn however, noted your entrance and breakfast with a scowl and a bit of “pig” as you gave her the oatmeal.

“I’m tired of oatmeal. Y/N, I need you to start gathering eggs for tomorrows breakfast, so it won’t be late again, and be sure to sweep up any dust in this room, I want it spotless! And oh, the laundry!” she listed.

She flounced over to a large woven basket where it was filled with her lovely dresses.

“You need to do laundry every day now. First off, go to the river and wash them. Every. Last. inch.”

“I…I will.” You answered.

“If I find a speck of dirt you will have to wash it again. Go to the river. I accept river water for washing, not the dirty well water. It’s illegal, anyhow. If I see any dirt, or see you washing it with well water, I’ll send you to the stocks, don’t think I won’t” she threatened.

Blinking away, you felt your arms groan from how heavy the basket was.

“Go, you idiot!”

Hurrying out, balancing with both arms and pushing the basket on your hip, you made your way to the river from a dirt path on the east of the fort. It was not a long distance. You could see that the wooden walls were only half a mile behind you.

Hearing the bubbling water and a few feminine giggles, you saw the river with several other women also washing. It was a clear, grassy area near the water and there were large trees and bushes around you. It seemed the land right before the river dipped into a small hill that would plummet some unlucky person. You sat by a secure area where you could easily reach in with your hands, pulled out the brush and soap, gathered the first green skirt you saw, and got to work.

Scrubbing and washing every elaborate layer of clothes ached your eyes and made your hands rough and red. Checking the large skirts for anything flawed felt like you were cleaning the sail of a ship. There were so many clothes, the basket tipped over and let them tumble out every time you set it up.

Some ladies turned up their heads and noticed how large your load looked compared to theirs. Some gave you worried looks before turning their heads down. You were so focused, it seemed none would converse with you. When you did notice someone next to you, you felt your pulse quicken and your mouth dry again from nerves of what to say. Once you did think of some topic, your silent “companion” had left.

Most women had left when you only scrubbed down four items, mentally marking what needed to be hanged. Sighing, dreading the thought of Jocelyn’s sour face and next insulting nickname, you turned to your pile to take the fifth item, setting up the fallen basket.

There was a lump moving around under a white petticoat. Jumping, you hesitantly opened it. A little brown face full of fur popped out from beneath. You cried with surprise, backing off.

But the animal that crawled out of the clothes and on top of the basket. It sniffed and kneaded the fabric. It looked like a weasel. It had a huge, soft black nose with whiskers and two black eyes amid a white face lining against its brown fur. Grooming its face with its paws, it then settled its soft, webbed feet over the silks and began to wiggle itself out of the basket.

It turned out to be longer and plumper than any weasel you have ever seen! Was it even a weasel? Who knew what the creatures of Virginia ate or could do? Even a small snake killed Eurydice.

The plump weasel made its way to the edge of the basket, letting it fall with the finery tumbling out. You waited for the creature to strike, backing away slowly as one did with bears.

But it stood around, sniffing the clothes and chittering. If it did eat humans, it seemed relatively uninterested in you. While plump, it was still small next to you.

Suddenly there were some footsteps behind you. They seemed heavy and short, perhaps that of a bear or maybe even some wicked rascal. Your skin crawled at the sound.

It was getting closer.

There was a large stick close by your feet. Calmly as manageable, you picked it up and swung it around from behind you.

Thwap!

“Stay back from me!” you yelled. Then you reached down, grabbed the dirt, and tossed it with all your strength.

Samuel flinched, though he was ten paces away as your stick swatted the air in his direction and ducked in time for the dirt to fly flat to the ground before it could hit him.

“Y/N! Y/N! I yield!” he cried, hands up in defeat.

“Master Cas…Samuel! What on earth is going on? You scared me!” you apologized, dropping your stick to the ground at once.

“I wanted to go on a ride in my boat to think and then I saw you…what are you doing here?”

“I was doing laundry and…this…this thing! It popped in the clothes pile!” you explained, pointing at the weasel.

It walked around, sniffing the more of the clothes that toppled out with it.

“Why is it I always catch you when you’re working on clothes?” he joked lightly.

“…You’re right!”

Giving in to the indulgence of laughter, you felt a smile grow on you for the first time in days.

“It doesn’t look dangerous! But…is it dangerous?” you asked.

You walked behind Samuel, using him as a shield.

He laughed a little.

“Y/N, that’s an otter! And I promise you, it’s not dangerous at all. It has more reason to fear you instead…” he explained.

It waddled closer to the river and stared up at you. You now noticed the gentleness of its black eyes, the softness of its fur, and how fast it was breathing in its big, black nose.

“Oh, I am so sorry dear fellow. You…surprised me…I didn’t mean to scare you” you cooed out, charmed instantly by its innocent face.

The otter looked at you, eyes shining, and then hopped into the river. You watched as it swirled and turned, showing the white mark on its belly. It floated peacefully away before dipping down and heading off.

“You strike well, at least! But is anyone here?” He looked out, eyes glistening a bit, but lids half-lowered.

“No, it seems every woman has done her laundry and left.” You sighed, looking after the clothes and putting them back into the basket.

“I’m a maid for-I’m a maid now. Just for a little while. I have so much to do and I wasn’t given a list to remember them all,” you said.

“Y/N, you could make a list.”

Turning a bit red, you looked down in shame.

“I can read, as you know, just not…write. Most of the women here can’t either. I just have to count on my fingers,” You confessed.

It felt horrid to explain this to a man who probably not only already knew this, but whose own purpose in the whole of the colony was to write.

“Well, you can always learn, if you’d like.” He offered; he even crouched a little to meet your eyes.

“Really? How?”

“You can try copying words from books but…where is the stick, ah! There!”

He stopped low, letting his long arms reach for the stick by your feet. You retreated your feet, suddenly aware of how close he was.

“If you have time, let’s start with the alphabet.” he began.

He showed you how to trace letters in the dirt, which you copied with another stick. His own were curved and clean, yours had shaken as you traced it. You kept repeating the shape and sound.

“X…Y…and Z?” you asked, checking his for where the lines pointed.

“Yes, that is how you do it!” he praised, observing the letters.

“Will you be here tomorrow at this time?” he asked.

That was the light of your servitude. Washing and the break from washing. When there were other women around, they made little bits of chatter with him or you. It was company enough to ensure it was not dishonorable or unaccompanied.

“Well, Master Castell, what is the matter ‘ere?” Verity asked the next day, leaning a small basket on her hip.

“Nothing, Miss Y/L/N is learning how to write a little,” he answered with a bright smile that matched yours.

“See Verity!” you cheered, “I can write all except for Q!” as you took your stick and drew smaller versions of the alphabet.

Verity leaned down, then looked at you both, and gave a half-grin.

It was a whole week of meeting amid heavy washing with a few minutes with Samuel to learn to write. On the fourth day, he began showing up with a quill, ink, paper, pen, and books.

“Miss Y/L/N, now you start writing words. Here is the word ‘you’” he began, holding a piece of paper against a book before you and writing the word on it slowly.

“And here is the word ‘me’…can you try that? We’ll start with simple words” he explained, passing the quill to your hand.

“y…o…u… and me looks simple, m…e…” you mumbled as you carefully copied his writing.

Then you double-checked each word and looked up to him, and he nodded his approval.

He showed you how simple words formed, even with the silent letters. By the sixth day, he showed you how to write simple sentences. He showed you how books often had corners or blank pages in the back to scribble on. Then in the evening, amidst eating whatever you had earned, you traced the letters and words you remembered and in your book on your finger.

On your books, you could write on them to practice miming the movements. It felt comforting without Alice’s presence in the evening.

On the sixth day, you were using a collection of plays and copying down larger, flowery words. You pointed and asked how to write the words “murdered”, “remembrance,” “madness,” “beauty,” “vision”, and “avenge.” It all seemed fantastical compared to the practical sight before you of half of the townswomen washing. Once you had pointed to the word “nymph,” you suddenly recalled something.

“I just remembered. I have your copy of The Faerie Queene, would you like it back?” you ask.

“I’ve no use for it but…yes, I do. Do…do you need your copy of The Metamorphoses?” he added.

He reached a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“I’ve no dire need for it yet, so you may return it when you’re ready,” you said.

He was quiet for a moment. You looked down at the yellow paper and began to write the word “nymph.” Then he shot up his answer once you had written the stem of “h.”

“It’ll be ready in about…about five days. It’s a long book, and I’ve been busy, so forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Samuel.”

By the seventh day, you were using his copy of Paradise Lost in the back to practice writing the word “garden.” Both of you were sitting on the ground as you used his pen to put the last curve on the “n.” Once you looked up with an accomplished smile, you saw Samuel’s face had gotten dark and his brows were furrowed.

A cool breeze drifted by. Looking around, you and he noticed how there was no one else around. His posture stooped.

“I…I have told no one else than Jocelyn of this but...I have been asked to be a spy.” He confided.

“A spy!” you whispered; the thrill of a new skill forgotten.

“The governor asked me. I had to agree. Then Farlow, my employer, began to ask questions. He said that he wanted me to spy for him on the governor!”

“Goodness, you’re about to be everyone’s spy.”

Your hand curled over the paper, watching as the letters of “garden” were drying.

“I panicked. Then I said I refused to be a spy to Farlow. He then said I had to be his spy, or he would send me back to England.”

You felt a gasp escape you.

“Could he do that?”

“He could. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked Jocelyn for guidance…”

“What did she say?” you ask.

A little gust forces a cloud out of the way. It makes the sun spread its rays on the water, glittering as fine as any sapphire.

“Her idea was to give Farlow a fake tip, ruining his reputation.” He reported flatly.

“Even if it is Farlow, isn’t that a little cruel?”

Setting the book and paper aside, you looked right at him. You noticed how your breath was lighter seeing his angular, striking face.

“I refused. Y/N, I couldn’t do it. But she says I must do it. She says I must spy on both for the other! You see…somehow…she has her heart set on…”

He paused a little. He then released a held breath through his nose and whispered into your ear, careful of any possible listeners even in the bushes.

“On making me governor of Virginia…”

Your blood ran a little cold.

“How would that work? I mean, how does one become the governor of Virginia?” you asked with that same quietness.

Any hunger from your job was replaced with nerves of how close you noticed he was moving to you. You caught yourself leaning away but made yourself meet him a little closer. Bidding your legs to be still and not run off, you planted your weight firm on the earth and took note of each word.

“The governor is usually elected or chosen by the king. Or the last governor dies or retires.”

“Do you want to be the governor?” you asked.

He hesitantly nodded.

“Sometimes. The idea of it. I thought if I got people to love me. If I could help others and this colony…then I could be voted in. That’s how everything’s decided now. People here have the chance here to have a voice, and I could help them all. But then I see the reality. Spying? Lying? Ruining reputations? Y/N, is the title worth such deeds?”

The trees rustled.

“I have even seen people die here to get power. And not just from being executed.” He adds on.

He turned, looking at the water. Then he huffed in frustration. You took your arms and hugged your stomach. A bit of sunshine fell on your back, warming you.

“Then you don’t have to do it. Tell them all no.” You offered.

His head bolted around, and his jaw was a little slack.

“But…I…” he began to stutter a little.

“Well, what do you want, Samuel? Other than being the governor?” you questioned.

“I…I just want a simple life in this colony. A home, Safety. I…I want to be a father someday. A good one. I want to live here. Where it’s beautiful and I have a purpose and everything’s new.” he said.

He shrugged once he noticed your small smile.

“Well, I can’t have children. Jocelyn doesn’t want any. Or at least for now” he corrected himself.

Thinking over this, you folded your hands in your lap. The redness from all the work was starting to show and you could feel how rough they had gotten. It was nothing like the large, white, smooth hands he had.

“Then, at least, you should go to Jocelyn and tell her that it’s not safe to play this game and to let it go. And you can tell Farlow you would rather be back in England then spy if you’re feeling brave. He may have been just scaring you into it,” you suggested.

He looked right at you and then you looked down into your lap, your cheeks were hot.

“Samuel I…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t budge into your business.” You apologized.

Backing away a little, you noticed how close you were leaning to him, nearly to his face. It may have miscommunicated something.

“Don’t worry yourself, I gave you my business!” he said.

“You will respect her wishes about children, right?”

“Why of course!”

“If you respect her wishes, why shouldn’t she respect your wish for a simple life? A marriage is supposed to have compromises, even a friendship needs compromises.”

“Well…it’s a little silly- we aren’t even married yet! Are you sure?”

A cloud moved over the sun.

“Absolutely. Then say you will not be a spy, you won’t ruin anyone’s reputation, and that you will not become governor of Virginia by those actions. It will be hard but…something can be figured out…you can find a way to compromise. You should tell her it’s not safe. People have died. You don’t have to do anything that threatens your life…” you reasoned.

He nodded and his face grew lighter. It was as if the sun out on the water was now shining from inside of him.

“I’ll tell her when I see her later today. Thank you, so much, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your hands twitched a little and your mouth went dry. Then he turned to look at the white, blue, and yellow gowns toppled over near the basket.

He got up from sitting and then turned to see you from below. He noticed your blue skirt still blooming around you.

“May I help you up?” he offered.

You gave a little nod with your eyes wide.

He reached out his hands and, though pulling back a little at first, you reached for them with a light grip. You noticed the stains of ink on his knuckles and fingernails. But they were warm, smooth. They were soft, too, almost like gloves rather than skin except for the very fingertips. Strength pulsed beneath that softness from what you could feel. Feeling the tightening of his arms to help pull you up, you were lifted to standing.

He held your own hands still for only a few seconds. You could feel his pulse.

There were birdsong and a flutter of wings from the tree above you. A cloud moved away, and it became sunny again and the river gurgled in approval.

Once he released a little bit, you willed yourself to pull your hands away, retreating demurely to your stomach while he lowered his. Yet inside you were buzzing slightly from that small sample of his skin.

“Do you need me to escort you home, Y/N?” he asked politely.

The tight lips of the local women haunted the back of your mind again from the flower picking day. And Lady Yeardley’s warning.

“Sadly, no. Besides, I don’t want to keep your lady waiting for her clothes…”

“Oh, I forgot. Y/N…I apologize for any inconvenience.” He said with something that could only be described as sadness before he walked back to the colony.

The next afternoon, Jocelyn said all her clothes were clean. There would be no laundry to do today.

Instead, she had given you a list of shopping that needed to be done as she spent her hours in the Boarding House and that could not be managed at once! As you walked out, reading the foodstuffs, you took note of how pressed and small her handwriting looked. Something she must have practiced as a child.

But as soon as you entered the heart of town, bustling with dogs trotting by and men and women scuttling around, some smoke from a near fire for cooking cleared up with wind. You saw Alice amid it. She wore a blue dress with a pink shawl draped over her shoulders, holding a basket.

She noticed you and walked over. Her large eyes looked blank.

“I…I can’t marry Silas” she confided in you.

“What!? Why?”

“They’re in debt because of Henry paying for me and…he can’t, he can’t afford me. At least not now. We have to pay them back” she mourned. There was a crack in her voice.

A hundred and fifty bushels of tobacco to purchase a wife was not cheap. And the Sharrow’s were not rich.

“Alice, follow me” you implore.

She nodded as you went back to your house and gestured her to follow you inside. You slipped your hand beneath your bed to pull out your pouch. It now felt a little heavier.

“Alice, here, take this.” You order, handing the pouch to her.

“What? No, I couldn’t!” Alice begged.

“Don’t take all of it, just some of it!”

Alice chewed on her lip as she opened the mouth of the pouch and glanced in. She immediately closed it and handed it back to you.

“Y/N, it’s your money!”

“And it’s your future! And I want you to be happy- you can save it up and pay for the debt and marry who you want! I’ve seen you suffer enough here. More than anyone on earth deserves. But this! This is what you deserve!” you insist.

You open the pouch and pour out all the gold coins you had saved and earned.

Hesitating, she finally takes half of what you have.

“You will come to me every day when you can…” you direct sternly.

“Y/N…”

“And I’m going to give you half of what I earned. And don’t you dare refuse it. I’ll find the Sharrows farm and throw it in the window if I must!”

“You’re already giving some to Verity” Alice reminded you.

She even looked back at the door, in case Verity’s small, curly-headed figure would magically appear through.

“Someone among us has to stay a spinster. If no one even in Jamestown wants to marry me, I may as well make your lives here bearable.”

“Oh, Y/N, that’s not true! Someone will come along…”

Feeling your feet curl under your shoes, a forbidden thought of Samuel’s smiling face and his blue eyes flashed by.

You shook your head.

“I…I don’t…It doesn’t even matter. Just take it and save it.” You finish.

Tears welled up on Alice’s face.

“Y/N, I don’t know how I could bear it here without you. When you’re ready, tell me about what’s troubling you. I want to help you too.” she said.

“Please wait, then I’ll tell everything” you begged before walking back to town to shop.

And at once you both left, laboring even when evening came.

Downstairs, Jocelyn entered her thankfully temporary home. Master and Mistress Pierce were sitting by the fireplace, chatting.

Eyes away.

Walking over to where your water jug was, her eyes narrowed on it. Tonight, it would be half of your total payment. She bent over so her cloak would hide her hands, lest her hosts turn around.

From her reticule she retrieved the bottle she swiped from the doctors. She poured some into the jug and buried it back in her reticule Taking a deep breath, she set the jug her right hand with a pouch with your payment in her left.

Looking out upstairs into the window, you noticed the sun had dipped down and a dark blue blanketed the small roofs of the colony. Finishing a last good scrub of that always dirty floor, you noticed as Jocelyn walked upstairs and opened the door. She was decked in a light green cloak, complimenting her pink dress and green hat. She looked like a pastry amidst this brown. Shiny pearls bedecked her bodice and ears.

“Have you supped, Mistress Woodbyrg?” you asked.

You stood up on your knees, placing the washcloth in both of your hands.

“Yes, with Governor Yeardley. He’s about to be the groomsman…It will be the most beautiful wedding. There will be more flowers than one could count!” she answered.

Her eyes scanned over the floor and you almost flinched, feeling some insult threaten to bubble. But none came.  Her eyes returned to you, shining.

“I’m happy for you, Jocelyn. It will be lovely” you complimented graciously.

Though envy bubbled in your head at the image, it was safer to offer the olive branch. You still always remembered Alice’s words. She has her kind moments, you’ll see. It’s what Alice would have wanted you to do. Or what she would have done.

“Y/N, I have your pay here, it’s a little smaller than normal.”

She handed over the water jug in one hand and a pouch of gold in her other hand.

No more morsels to steal from my roof, then? You thought bitterly.

Muttering a tired thanks, you pocketed the payment in your apron and took the water jug.

“Do you need accompaniment?” she asked softly.

A little taken aback, you looked up. Her face appeared warm. Despite whom it was, it seemed better than just heading back at night alone.

“Why, yes. I, uh, I would” you answered.

“Mercy’s afraid of the dark, it makes her tremble…does it do to you?”

“A little.”

You lit a lamp downstairs, handed it to Jocelyn to hold, and both of you headed outside. The sun was in the last stage of setting and a deeper blue blanketed all over the town. Once your house was in sight, it was getting darker and the blue over the town was fading to black.

When you reached your home, you heard Jocelyn clear her throat and turned around.

“May I come in? I…I need a bit of water. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Why, of course,” you said.

Balancing the heavy jug currently in your grip, you dug in your pocket for your keys and opened the door.

Once you had settled the jug down on the table and scurried to light candles in the hut, you could feel Jocelyn’s eyes pouring over the lack of any grandeur of your small house. But once your last candle was lit, her eyes shone.

She stepped around, staring. Not in apathy. But from how her head gently perched and her lips parted, it seemed to be curiosity. She gently touched the petals of a wilted wildflower and eyed an unclean dish. She peeped over to the corner window and noticed a slab of pink sticking out.

“Oh, those primroses! They keep appearing each morning! It’s James, I bet. He probably doesn’t know Alice is on that farm yet set on marrying Silas, poor man! He’s in love and won’t confess it” you jested.

You leaned out and admired how the flowers glowed against the reflected candlelight and soft starlight above.

“Aren’t they lovely?” you said happily.

After a slight pause, she turned her head to meet yours, a little smile placed on her ivory face.

“Very” Jocelyn replied. Her voice sounded a little hoarse.

You brought out what was Alice’s cup and poured a generous amount of water in. After you handed it, Jocelyn nodded in thanks and drank, her eyes down. Then you poured in only a little. You didn’t want to appear greedy in front of her. Even if she was starting to soften to you.

You took a sip.

“It’s sweet.”

“The water from east of the river is very sweet. Thought you would like it.” Jocelyn commented.

She was smiling larger now, her lips were soft and shining.

“Do you need anything else? You’re a guest” you asked.

“No, I…I need to go home.”

“Alone? And not without me undressing you?”

“I’m too tired. And I’m a fast walker. No need to fret. I have this lamp.”

“Oh, well, good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Jocelyn finished as she shut the door behind her.

You turned over to get your dinner and practice your writing. But as you reached on the table for one of your books, a sudden sensation hit you. You were dizzy, nauseous and your legs were shaking. Blinking quickly, seconds passed, and it wouldn’t go away. When you tried to pick up the book, it shook in your hands and tumbled down on the floor.

It was getting stronger. Your legs were failing you and you grabbed onto the table for support, pulling up.

A memory of what was said on the ship hit you. What Jocelyn did. And how.

You pulled yourself on the table, as if climbing, and grabbed the spare cup Jocelyn was given.

There was only a small lip mark on the edge of the cup. The water was intact. You clutched your throat and shook harder than you could control.

Breathing hard, you rushed to race out the door. Screams flew out of you.

“Help me! Someone, please! Anyone! Help Me!” you bellowed with all of your strength.

It wasn’t much. Only two steps outside and your legs gave out and everything went black.

[thecorteztwins]

These are all scenes from my longass ALT-MARAUDERS FIC PITCH and you don’t need to read the whole pitch because it’s huge and a fic in itself, but basically what’s going on is Xavier ordered Miss Sinister, Madelyne Pryor, Pyro, Haven, and the Shaws to work together as a crack team accomplishing bringing “home” mutants like the Marauders but probably also other stuff too. I don’t really care what their mission is though because it’s about their relationships. Also it looks like ALICE is now the adopted team baby, at least for Madelyne and Haven (maybe Pyro too, I like to think he looks out for her) sorry I don’t make the rules OH WAIT I DO AND I SAY SHE’S TEAM BABY honestly she really fits the theme/the team, given her history? So I’m down for it. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes since you showed interest in it and since it’s got YA BOY PYRO and @hexiva since you asked about it too, though no obligation to read it, or to read all of ‘em! I feel like you might like “Scientists” though, Hex. CONTENTS A Box Full of Darkness - Sebastian/Haven Canvas - Madelyne/Alice Scientists - Claudine/Haven Like An Old Married Couple -  Group Parties, Pleas, and Promises - Pyro/Shinobi Sea & Sky - Madelyne/Haven Awkward - Pyro/Sebastian Stories - Madelyne/Pyro Out of the Frying Pan - Sebastian/Shinobi Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream - Pyro

*** A BOX FULL OF DARKNESS "Do you care at all for poetry, Mr. Shaw?” The ship had a small sitting room that also served as a library, shelves lining three of its walls. The wood, the carpet, the small chair, the atmosphere, all made one forget that one was at sea, and not in fact in the nook of some old college’s study. One had to wonder who had chosen the books. ”No, Ms. Dastoor, I can’t say it has ever appealed to me. Most of the arts do not, particularly the ones that are not visual in nature. I do not see the point of endless stanzas and pentameters to say in metaphor and allegory what could be said much more clearly and succinct in a single sentence of plain simple prose.” ”Then I hope you shall forgive me for sharing a bit---it reminded me of you, you see.” There was one in her hand. ”Ah, what was it? Something from the Decadent movement? Or perhaps some pretencious Bohemian lampooning the upper class from which he came himself? Dare I hope for Ozymandias, perhaps, and will it be Smith’s or Shelley’s?” He was smirking slightly. Perhaps he thought he was being funny. Or it might just be his face. ”You seem to know much about the subject despite a disinterest in it. I rather admire that you took the time to learn,” and she did sound genuinely approving, encouraging, “But, no---Mary Oliver, someone much more recent, and much more recently deceased. I am paraphrasing her here so that my meaning, my reason for seeing you in this, is not confused: Someone once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” He smiled wryly, “Is that how you see me, Ms. Dastoor, a box full of darkness?” “No,” she said, her gaze rising back up from the open pages to meet his, her large dark eyes unreadable as they drank him in, boxes of darkness in themselves, “And I do not agree that evil and suffering---if we must use ‘darkness’ to mean those things, which I also do not agree with, but is what I believe Ms. Oliver may have meant--is ever a gift, no matter what we may get out of it through our own power to come back from it...but I believe you see it this way, do you not?” There was no accusation in her tone, no disapproval. There seldom was. She was only asking, only observing. At least, Sebastian thought, that was what she wanted to seem like. He always suspected her motives were more, and that she was simply trying to disguise the fact she was trying to needle him, rather than making it pointedly obvious as, say, Emma, might. Coward---but then, he knew that of her. “Perhaps in less poetic terms, yes. I’m a practical man, Ms. Dastoor. I used to work in a steel mill. I saw how heat and pressure forged the worthless in the valuable, how the smelting process pulled the precious iron from the rest of the ore and shaped it through force into something useful. The same can be said of people---and I do indeed say it. You have heard me. Is that the darkness of which you speak?” ”The steel you speak of and the shapes it was forced into were valuable and useful...by the definitions of what the humans shaping it needed and wanted. But ore and iron and metal and stone, all these have no intrinsic value, or lack there of. There is no objective difference in the value between steel and granite, glass or diamond, gold or plastic. Thus, too, I believe that when it comes to people, you are deciding what is valuable according only to your standards. But is there objective worth to your perception of strength over your perception of weakness, beyond what is merely your perception?” And yet again, her voice was calm, not accusing, merely observing and asking. Sebastian returned, just as calm, if slightly smug, “Is there objective value in your perception of kindness and morality, Ms. Dastoor, beyond that it is merely your perception?” “I believe it has practical applications, but I have also never claimed an objective standpoint in our discussions, have I? Whereas you have, if I am recalling corrective,” Again, there was nothing aggressive in her tone. She was polite as could be. “I have and I do, but if I am to have it be put to a test of authenticity, I must require you to subject your own beliefs to the same scrutiny. It is not fair for the burden of proof to only fall on my shoulders.” Still also calm, still slightly smirking in his turning around on her. “That is quite true. I apologize,” she relented, ”But, to my original point---while I may disagree with Ms. Oliver’s sentiment, is it not one that appeals to you, one that you share?” Sebastian, too, relented with his smirk becoming a smile, “Yes.” The smile widened, knowing and amused,

“And despite your claim of not sharing the poem’s sentiments, I believe you see me as your box of darkness---and you are excavating me in search of some gift.” He put one hand in his suit pocket and began to depart, though he turned once, the smirk returned, and said, “Do let me know if you find it.” *** CANVAS “It doesn’t matter anyway,” said Alice, interrupting Madelyne’s angry rant, “I’m not real.” Madelyne Pryor had just explosively dragged the girl away from Claudine, insisting that the child shouldn’t have to see that...that...MONSTER...at any point on the voyage home. And if Haven hadn’t stopped her, she’d have ensured that Alice wouldn’t have a chance to, by KILLING the other woman, whom Madelyne now realized was aptly named “Miss Sinister” for fare more than her looks. She might still do it... But first--- “Don’t give me that!” Madelyne suddenly rounded on the girl she had just been comforting, been supporting, been swearing she’d never have to see her abuser---that was what it was to breed and clone someone just for the sake of their violation, abuse, beyond abuse!---again. But Alice had hit a nerve. And for the same reason Madelyne Pryor had so much empathy for her, she now had ire too. Madelyne’s snapping did, at least, stop Alice from crying. She’d been about to start, but the shock of Madelyne’s sudden change halted her in mid-tear. “You’re made of real flesh and blood, right?” Madelyne demanded rhetorically, “And you have thoughts and feelings right? Well you're real! The flesh being shared doesn't make it less real, just not unique. So you’re no less real than someone’s identical twin. And even they’re not really copies, because they have different personalities. So the only way you could be a copy---which you’re not---is if you had the first Alice’s same genes AND same thoughts and personality and everything! And you don’t, right” “Um,” Alice sniffled, a little afraid to correct the woman, who was so fierce whether she was defending Alice or berating her (or at least, it seemed like that was what she was doing...Alice wasn’t sure), “Actually...actually...I get all the memories of the previous Alices, so...so....I am a copy, actually...” “Oh,” Madelyne felt her argument just get ripped out from under like a trick rug someone had pulled. Her empathy came flooding back from the girl...and shame for shouting at her. Especially since she knew who she had REALLY been shouting at. “Well...” Shit, what did she do now? She’d just as good as told the girl she WAS a copy! How did she salvage this now? Come on Maddie, she told herself, What did you need somebody to say to you when you found out? “Listen, Alice,” she put her hands on the girl’s shoulders, firmly but gently. Her tone matched. “Yeah, you’re a copy. So am I. But we’re still real people, for all the reasons I said. No one gets to treat use like Claudine---or Colcord---treated you. No one should, anyway. It DOES matter. Being a clone, a copy, it doesn’t make you less alive. And so what if you’re a copy? You’re still YOU. You become more and more your own person with every moment you’re alive. Think of it like...like...” A Xerox. It was what she had compared herself to when she’d told Jean what she was. A Xerox that lost a lot in translation. What memories she’d had were either lies manufactured by Sinister...or worse, remnants from Jean that had bled into her mind when the Phoenix brought her to life. “Think of it like a Xerox machine, okay?” she said, more gentle than ever now, voice soft, and little tears of her own welling up, “When it first comes off the copy machine, yeah, it’s a duplicate...but then you can draw on it. You can write on it. You can crumple it up or throw it in the bin, or you can paint over it until it’s something new entirely on the paper. It’s up to you. It won’t stay a duplicate for long though. Either you can change it...or someone else will. But it’ll happen either way. And you know what?” Madelyne put a hand on Alice’s face, looking into her eyes, “I bet you can paint a real masterpiece.” *** SCIENTISTS “Are you alright, Claudine?” Madelyne had whisked Alice off. Haven had been going to do that originally, but since Madelyne had stepped in, Haven would leave it to her. She didn’t need to be the hero every time, and Madelyne...Madelyne had much in common with Alice. She might be better for Alice. And Alice might be good for her. But Haven’s next concern after Alice and Madelyne was Claudine. Claudine was the victimizer, yes. She had done awful things to Alice, to the Alices before her, to the other children. She had also been a victim too, and no one else here had pity for her now that they knew what she’d been besides that. No one else but Haven. “No moral outrage, Radha?” Claudine smirked slightly. She’d retreated to her lab, and it was hard to tell if she’d been expecting Haven to follow or not. “Of course,” said Haven calmly, “It horrifies and revolts me that those girls were bred only to be used as their hosts, their entire personalities, their souls, displaced for yours. Horrifies and disgusts me. Just as it horrifies and disgusts me, on just as deep a level, that the same was going to happen you if you did not escape in such a way.” “So because I was in danger of something terrible happening, you can excuse what I did?” Claudine sounded curious, mocking somehow, tapping one red-pink nail against a porcelain cheek. “Not excuses,” said Haven still calmly, “But I understand. And I still care if you were hurt just now.” “It’s more than that, isn’t it though?” said Claudine, still sounding amused, “You want to see if I’m wracked with guilt or not, if I hate myself. You want to see if I’m remorseful or tortured like you, like you want me to be maybe. Like you hope I am because it proves I must have some good in me, and you can comfort me and feel good about that. And if I’m not remorseful at all, you want to see why that is, if it’s because of Sinister or if it’s just me. And then if it’s just me...you want to figure me out too. Like you do with dear Sebastian.” Haven blinked, her sole sign of surprise, “That’s quite a lot of conjecture, Claudine. But...you are not incorrect, no. We do like to divide things neatly into victims who could do nothing, who had no power, and the victimizers who are wholly monsters...but that’s not wholly true, is it? Sometimes, the victims can do something. And sometimes, the only thing they can do is a monstrous thing. They’re caught in a Catch 22---either they don’t do the one thing they can, and thus will feel they are to blame for what happened. Or they do it, and they must live with the guilt. I can’t tell you if you were right or wrong Claudine, because---” “---sometimes there is no right or wrong, because the entire situation was wrong, and that’s not your fault.” Claudine finished, “I’ve heard how you talk with the kiddies, Haven. Like those little ones we pulled out of the fight pit. Or the one who pushed his friend forward at the flesh market so he’d get taken instead. You’re just oh so understanding, aren’t you? Seeing things from all sides.” “I would hope so. I certainly try to be. But, I admit, I’m not seeing something right now...why do you say that with what sounds, to me, as a mocking tone? Am I misinterpreting you, Claudine?” “A bit. I’m not mocking you, really I’m not---but I am teasing a little. It’s just so funny, you know?” Claudine’s index finger was next to her smiling mouth, “How you’re always thinking, always watching, and how I’m the only one who notices. What do you think the others would think, if they knew?” “I’m afraid I’m still not understanding you, Claudine. Would you mind helping me by putting it a bit plainer?” “Ever so polite. Come on now, Haven---as well as you know people, you must know they don’t like being put under a microscope. Everyone likes the IDEA of someone who “gets” them, who knows just what they’re feeling and what they need without them ever needing to open up all their vulnerable little insides like clams willfully tearing themselves out of their shells...but when it actually comes along, they don’t like it. Especially if it doesn’t feel earned, or specific to them. Because when they say they want that, they’re thinking of a partner, a lover, one single person who knows them that well because they’ve been with them that long, and love them, just them, that much. But telepaths like me, we get all that without having to see them as special at all. We don’t have to love them or spend time with them to KNOW them. We don’t have to open ourselves up in exchange. That’s why people don’t like us. And that’s---” She stepped close to Haven and bobbed her fingertip just above the other woman’s nose, “---why they wouldn’t like you. Oh yeah, you’re great when you’re sensitive and empathetic and all that, when you just know when someone needs a cup of tea or a shoulder to cry on...but it’s only to a point. Underneath all that soft silk and sweet words, you’re a lot like me---a scientist. We see the data. We gather it. We examine it. We analyze, we classify, we theorize. People call Xavier creepy these days but I think he’s just finally being honest.” She picked up Haven’s right hand, and raised it up, Haven allowing her. “So,” Claudine met her eyes, still smiling, “When are you going to be honest too?” Haven smiled back, with kind sincerity as always, “May I be honest now, Claudine?” “Of course.” Haven put her other hand on top of Claudine’s, sandwiching the unnaturally pale paw between her two soft brown ones, “Everything you say is accurate. But it’s also a deflection. You could have told me that you just did not wish to talk about Alice, you know. I would not have pried or pushed you. You know I never do.” Claudine laughed, and it was the laugh of someone who had just been proven completely correct. *** LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE “We’re going to need you to go undercover for this mission,” Xavier explained to the team, “It’s been decided that Sebastian and Haven will do best in this environment. Naturally, you will be outfitted with image inducers, and provided with all the false documentation required.” He slid a folder across the table to them, explaining, “You will be posing as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. King.” “King. I’m sure you thought that was very clever, Charles,” said Sebastian, picking the folder up and perusing it, “And I see our first names are...Abraham and Lakshmi. Is that a reference to something?” “Lakshmi is the goddess of which Radha is an aspect,” Xavier explained, “And Abraham...well, that just sounds slightly like Hiram, your middle name, or so I thought. I thought it might help the pair of you remember your identities, without being obvious to others.” “Well, thank you Charles. It’s good to know you put a man on the Quiet Council of whom your opinion is so low you think I can’t remember two names for a single night,” said Shaw, getting up and taking the folder with him, without excusing himself. The rest of the team follow suite, save Haven, who of course said the politest of goodbyes and thanked him for arranging the false identities. clever, and our first names “We’re leaving in the next five hours, so there’s hardly any time to prepare,” Sebastian said, plainly speaking to Haven even though he was looking ahead, not at her, “Ms. Dastoor, come with me so that we may discuss the details of our ruse.” Pyro watched the pair like a hawk as they went in a different direction from the rest of the crew. “Jealous, Pyro?” Claudine quipped, “I confess, I didn’t think Sebastian was your type...then again, he does have a certain resemblance to Dom I suppose...” Pyro was in no mood to play, however. “If he touches her I’m a-toast him from the inside out, see if his stinking GUTS are fireproof!” he proclaimed, a small jet of flame emanating from his wrist-shooter for emphasis. “Husband and wife...what’s Xavier thinking?! And she’ll be all alone with him and have to keep up the act if he does anything!” “Don’t sweat it,” Shinobi assured, “ I know my dad. She’s like ten years too old for him to be interested.” Pyro looked confused, “Isn’t she YOUNGER than him?” “Yeah,” said Shinobi. A look of disgust came over Pyro’s face. “Don’t look shocked,” Madelyne told him, “Don’t forget, he dated someone under ten once.” And that garnered...about the expressions you’d expect. Even from Claudine. “Me, you idiots! I was making a joke!” Madelyne clarified, seeing their shock and horror on their faces, “I’m technically like twelve years old max! God, you people...”  

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Haven’s conversation in the former’s ship office was not far off. “With all that covered...” Sebastian finished as the last of their act was hashed out, “I have to bring us to what will likely be the most difficult part of this for you. Ms. Dastoor, I am not sure what the norms are for married couples in public in your country, but at some point in the evening...I will most likely put my arm around your shoulders.” “I understand,” said Haven, with the solemn gravity required for such a thing. “There will hopefully be no need for anything else, but if dancing occurs, there is a chance that a hand on your waist will be required as well. Can you allow and “act natural” this without displaying any discomfort?” "This will be tolerable if need be, Mr. Shaw, though not preferable. Will your hand be on mine, outside of potential dancing?” Sebastian cracked a smile, amused, “Husbands and wives don’t hold hands, Ms. Dastoor. I’m shocked you’ve never noticed that. It’s far too intimate for a married couple.” “I’m afraid you lost me, Mr. Shaw. Too intimate for a married couple? Is this a Western peculiarity?” “Men don’t slap their wives bottoms, Ms. Dastoor, “Sebastian explained, “They slap the bottoms of waitresses and flight attendants when their wives aren’t there. Does that help illustrate it better? “Yes, I think I see, Mr. Shaw.” “We probably haven’t had sex in the last 25, 35 years. At least not with each other.” “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” “ Our marriage bed is as dry as the Sah—” “Thank you, Mr Shaw.”           It was the first time that Sebastian had ever heard Haven cut him, or anyone, off. He would have taken offense from someone else, but he actually liked this, and smiled. He found it amusing he’d managed to get under her skin enough to prompt such a, for her, dramatic reaction. He’d have to make a note of this. *** PARTIES, PLEAS, AND PROMISES These Krakoa portals were truly a godsend. For many mutants, that was because the X-Men and other agents of Krakoa could now come to them easily and bring them to a safe place. For others it was because it enabled them to keep contact with their family and friends while also not having to leave what they felt was at last a place they could belong. But for Pyro and Shinobi...it meant bar-hopping from Manhattan to Moscow to Mexico! to Bulgaria to Bangkok to Taiwan to Timbuktu! In Manhattan, a cute guy with a nose piercing bought them beers and guided them through the city with his friends, boyfriends, and cousins til 5 AM when the guy’s cousin decided she really wanted spahgetti, so they all went to her house in the Harlem projects where she made them some and then they watched 90s hip hop music videos together. They stayed til 10 AM, then hopped a portal to Mexico, and went to a resort strip, where they got piss drunk again by doing shots with a guy covered in tattoos who might have also been involved with the cartels---Shinobi said he knew him from his dad’s black market business---and then Pyro got in a fight with the bouncer while Shinobi snorted molly in the bathroom stall. Got drunk again in Shanghai, fell off the bouncy dance floor, made friends with some Ukrainian tourists and went back to their hotel, walked in on an orgy, and when in Rome... Next thing they knew, they were in downtown Tokyko, drunk again, running on foot from the Japanese police, each of them holding a marijuana plant in a pot, laughing uncontrollably. Shinobi grabbed Pyro’s hand and they phased through a wall, only to fall down through thin air into an underground parking garage. Their potted pot plants shattered as they hit the concrete, and this just made them laugh more despite their own bruised tailbones as they lay there between a couple of cars. Eventually, when the giggles ran out, Shinobi slurred, “Man, I’m so glad...so glad our last night is awesome.” “Wha?” Pyro said, not sure he’d gotten that right. He was pretty boozy right now, after all, “What’d you mean, last night?

"Well, I, uh,” Shin said, obviously uncomfortable, “I decided...if I can’t hang out w’you anymore...gonna make the last time a good time.”

”Wh--” Pyro started, then his expression soured, “It’s yer dad, isn’t it?”

No answer.

”I knew it! He told you...tol’ you you couldn’t...be mates with me no more...that it?”

Shinobi mumbled.

”Listen Shin...forget him! You a grow...grown man! Y’don’t have to do what that old douchebag says! He’s just a...just a cunt, a right cunt, y’know? Fucking cunt...” Pyro wobbled back and forth, so vehement was he in his support.

”Well, we’re workin together now...” Shinobi said weakly.

”Yer workin WITH him though not for him! And why’re you even doing that? C’mon, he he wasn’t any good to you why should you do anything for him?”

Shinobi looked shocked, then angry, demanding, “How d’you know that?!” "Pfft, I’m not as thick as your old man thinks, you know! I can pick up a hint or two! Especially when it’s you telling me.” Shinobi looked shocked again, and Pyro, still swaying in place, clapped him on the back and explained, “Ah, I don’t expect you to remember but you’ve said a few things when you were as full as the back of a plumber's ute.Don’t worry, weren’t nothing too personal, no specifics, so don’t look so scared alright?” Pyro knew how it was to want to keep some things private, things that hurt, and even drunk he was trying to be sensitive to that, sensitive as someone like him could be. He continued, “And anyway, would have still guessed. He’s such a right bastard to everyone, can’t imagine him being some warm old papa bear behind closed doors. “He’s---” Shinobi started, about to tell Pyro about just how horrible his father was, and then remembered how ‘sympathetic’ Warren had been, and instead went back on the defensive, “Well it’s none of your business!” Pyro shrugged, not deterred, “Sure it’s not but I’m a journalist, so what do I care? It’s been my job to go where I’m not wanted. And you can do what you want, Shinobi me mate, but you can’t expect ol’ St. John to just keep his trap shut on anything, you know that. Calls it likes I see it, me. Thought you liked that.” There was a sobering silence between the pair for a moment, sitting on their butts in the silent garage while the noise of the Tokyo nightlife sang beyond the concrete walls of what they were missing. “Don’t...don’t tell him I said anything,” Shinobi said at last. Pyro promised him he would not. For he heard the plea in his new pal’s voice. *** SEA AND SKY (Context: Happens just after THIS) “Haven?” Madelyne arrived to the rescue, praying she wasn’t too late. She’d thought she was when she saw the wreckage, but she also saw Haven within it. And she wasn’t lying there like a body, she was sitting up, kneeling over...something. “Haven, thank god! Are you injured? Stay right there, I’ll come over and help---oh dear lord.” As Madelyne had begun to move forward, she’d seen what Haven was kneeling over, its half-charred head in her lap. “Is he---” “Yes,” said Haven, calmly, sadly, distantly. Madelyne didn’t ask how; it was obvious, the explosion killed him. She’d thought his powers would protect him from that kind of thing; it must have been specialized to combat that. Freaking Pierce. She didn’t bother to question how Haven was alive, but if she had, she’d assume maybe it was something also designed only to kill humans and Haven had been in a safe place during the explosion and then found Sebastian’s remains after. Something like that. “Alright, come on,” she said gently but firmly, taking Haven by the arm, trying to pull her up, “There’s nothing you can do for him now. He’ll be reborn on Krakoa by the time we go back to pick him up anyway. Wait, what are you doing? Haven, put that down, that’s disgusting!” Haven was carrying the...torso. She was tenderly cradling the great hunk of lifeless meat, needlessly supporting the neck and head as one would for an infant. The sight out Madelyne in mind of a bizarre Pieta scene. Madonna of the Charnel House.             “Haven, he’s dead!” “I know, Madelyne, I know. But isn’t it...wrong to just leave a body here? I know he will have a new one on Krakoa, but it still feels obscene to leave the old one unburied, unconsecrated, uncared for.” “Haven...” Madelyne started, not sure what to say. And she thought of something she never had before. What had happened to her body? Her first one? The original? The one that died at the end of Inferno? She’d come back first as a being of pure psychic energy disguised in a human form, a very solid ghost, essentially. That was all she was for a long time, walking and talking and fucking, all while TECHNICALLY still being dead. It was only recently that she had really become flesh and blood again, Jean Grey’s DNA spliced by Arkea into the body of a woman named Ana Cortes, altering the physical appearance of the young Columbian into that of the redhead and allowing Madelyne Pryor’s consciousness to take up residence in it...meaning Madelyne was still, as ever, occupying a body that wasn’t really her own. And her first hadn’t been her own either, just a copy of Jean’s, but she wondered now, what had been done with it? Knowing the X-men, they gave her a perfectly proper funeral. Maybe they even cried. But she wished, perverse as it seemed, that they had thrown her out with the garbage, had the HONESTY to treat her in death as they ultimately had in life, than PRETEND that they really saw her as a loss. She knew they didn’t. Even the ones who knew her FIRST, Rogue and Psylocke and Longshot, who had met her BEFORE they met Jean, even they had wanted that witch instead of her at the end.... “Yeah, okay, just...just put it somewhere it won’t...rot,” she said uneasily, “And we’ll call Sebastian when he...when he wakes up. See what he wants to do with it.” It should be, Madelyne felt, his choice, and Haven agreed. When he did get the call, his reply was firstly being rather disgusted they had kept it, and then, without any emotion, said they should just thrown the “damn thing” overboard. “Funeral at sea then,” said Madelyne as she turned off the phone, “You want to do the honors, Haven? Since it was your idea.” Not like anyone else wanted to be a part of it. Well, except Shinobi, who had suggested launching it like a cannonball and then having Pyro set it aflame in the sky.  They thought they were funny. “Would you mind helping me terribly, Madelyne?” Have asked, “I’d rather lower it down gently, and if your telekinesis could that, I would appreciate it...but I also understand if you don’t wish to touch something so gruesome, even psychically.” “I’m not squeamish,” Madelyne smirked. As she performed the task, she noticed Haven was silent. “You’re not gonna...say a few words, or anything?” “Mr. Shaw has told he isn’t religious, so I don’t think he would want it. And he isn’t...well, he isn’t dead. So what does one say, really?” “Hell if I know,” said Madelyne, “It’s funny---I’ve been dead a lot, you’d think I would be an expert on it.” As she began levitating the chunk of meat that once house Sebastian Shaw’s mind and soul, if he had the latter, she continued, “I never even thought about what should be done with my body...which isn’t really even mine now actually, don’t ask...I guess cremation is most appropriate. Fire, you know. It’s kind of my thing, whether I like it or not.” “I’ve always wanted a sky burial, myself,” said Haven. “I’ve never heard of that,” Madelyne sounded very interested. The word ‘sky’ had piqued her interest as a former pilot. “It’s a practice among my mother’s people, the Zoroastrians, as well as many other people, such as Tibetans. The body is placed on a mountaintop to be decomposed naturally by the elements and the animals. In Ancient Zoroastrianism specifically, it was placed on the Dakhma, the Tower of Silence, to be desiccated by the sun and consumed by birds of prey. I realize this sounds ghastly to a Western point of view, but--” “No, no, I get it. You’re just...going back to nature, becoming a part of everything else again, right? That sounds like your kind of thing.” Haven smiled at her, “It is.” Below, the body gently broke the surface of the waves, and Madelyne released her hold, allowing it to sink. “I guess that’s sort of what we’re doing here. Just with fishes instead of birds. Me though...that’s not for me. I don’t want to be a part of everything. Not when I’ve fought so hard...to just be ME.” *** AWKWARD “Hey! You got a problem with me, fuck knuckle?!” Calmly, Sebastian turned his head in the direction of the insult just hollered at him from the the far end of the deck, “Why, several, Mr. Allerdyce. Though most of them stem from the back you quite clearly have a problem with ME.” The Australian was drunk, but Sebastian knew from experience that the scrawny little bastard didn’t need THAT to be rude and belligerent, in particuliar rude and belligerent to Sebastian. Sebastian could ALMOST appreciate the balls on him, if only he could back them up. But without his fire to intimidate---and it could not intimate Sebastian---he really was just like one of those irritating little rat dogs peeking from ladies’ purses to bark challenges at true canines. “You’re damn right I do!” Pyro returned, “For starters, you’re---” And then continued with a really rather impressive listing of all his opinions on just what made Sebastian Hiram Shaw, Black King of the Hellfire Club---er, Trading Company---just such unbearable company. Sebastian listened in a detached, blaise manner, quite unruffled by the display of uncouth unruliness, and ready to simply throw the fool overboard should he come close enough to grab. “And on top o’ all that, yer a homophobe to boot!” What. Sebastian blinked. Nothing else had surprised him in the entire rambling rant, but this? This he had not seen coming. “Come again, young man?” “You heard me! Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always tryin’ t’get between me and your son! You don’t want him catchin’ the gay any worse than he’s got, eh?” Sebastian stared at him for another moment. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned away, and put his fist up to his lips, as though stifling a cough, “Excuse me.” Did that fucker just laugh?! Pyro wondered. “Excuse my boot up yer arse, you old dicknob! Listen, it’s 2020, and you can’t get away with---” He is laughing! He was indeed. Pyro had not been prepared for this. “Hey...hey what’s so damn funny, huh?!” “Nothing, nothing,” Sebastian waved a hand, but it was clear from his voice he was still trying VERY hard not to laugh again, “Please, do go on about my bigotry. After all, I’m very conservative when it comes to sexual practices, as I’m sure you know.” Something begin to click in Pyro’s intoxicated mind. Something that suggested...he might have made a mistake here. And an admittedly pretty hilarious one. “Oh god yer in the fucking Hellfire Club, “ he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “Of course you don’t care about that...” “Well, it was funny though,” Sebastian said, and the bastard was actually SMILING, “Thank you, Mr. Allerdyce, I haven’t been that tickled all week. But, no, I know about my son’s egalitarian predilections with regards to sex and gender----he inherited them from me, after all.” Oh. Oh god. Of all the things Pyro HAD NEVER WANTED TO KNOW OR IMAGINE. A moment ago, Sebastian had been planning to throw Pyro overboard. But now? Now Pyro was considering just doing it to HIMSELF. *** STORIES       “And then I got to Cambodia and let me tell you---food is great. People say don’t ask what’s in it but me, I got to ask---it’s my job, see---and yeah, they eat things ‘Mericans never would, or most Aussies, but I say, why’re we judging? We eat pigs and those’re way more intelligent than spiders or half-hatched duck eggs, seems we’re the savages for that, y’know? Not that I’m givin’ up pork any time soon but you know what I’m saying?” Pyro and Madelyne were sitting on the ship’s edge, watching the sun go down over the water, sharing a few beers, talking about what they’d done before all this. “You don’t look like you ever ate pork in your life, string bean,” replied Madelyne, “ But yeah. You say Cambodia? What part?” “ Senmonorom, capital of Mondulkiri Province.” “No kidding! I dropped cargo off there once!” Madelyne exclaimed, “When I was a pilot! Spent the whole rest of the day there since I had the time. Couldn’t understand a word but I loved the---oh no, hahaha, I loved the food!” “Ha! I’m sure it was just noodles you got, love.” “Mmm...pretty crunchy noodles, then...” She paused, and looked pensieve, more serious, “It’s crazy. I can really remember the texture. Not the taste though. He must not have known what it tasted like.” “He?” Pyro asked. Madelyne was suddenly sober in more ways than one, as she explained, looking away, “I never went to Cambodia. I never flew that plane. That cargo never existed, and neither did whatever I ate.” “Well, y’don’t need to lie to me get me to like you, Madelyne.” “No, you don’t understand---they’re not lies. I mean, they are, but---they’re not to me, I---but they are---I hate them, but I forget that they’re not---” She was clutching her hair now, and  looked distressed. “Whoa, whoa, hey there mate, what’s the matter?” Pyro placed a hand on her back, trying his best to calm her down, something he wasn’t great at even for himself, “Listen, Maddie...I been through some crazy shit. And I heard crazier on Krakoa from people. We mutants...or, people who are, I dunno, mutant-adjacent like you...we live weird lives. You don’t GOTTA tell me but I’ll believe you.” Madelyne took a  deep inhale, “It’s not that. I know you’ll believe me. It’s just...I never really talked to anyone about it, you know?” Pyro was uncomfortable now. He braced himself. He didn’t like going deep, he wanted everything to just be fun and casual. But he wasn’t going to run away or brush it off either. He owed his friends better than that; when he’d been on his last legs with the Legacy Virus, his friend Avalanche had been everything. He knew their value. Madelyne, too, needed to amp herself up for this. “So you know I’m a clone, right? Of Jean Grey?” “It’s come up, yeah.” “I was grown to full adulthood in a...in a vat, basically. But Sinister---the man who did it---didn’t want me to KNOW what I was. Would spoil the plans he had for me and...for me and Scott. So he gave me some false memories. Mostly I had “amnesia” but I could remember being a pilot. To explain the memories of flight and fire that I got from Jean----what memories don’t come from him, are from her. Well, the Phoenix actually...it’s complicated.” “Yeah, I’m getting that. That’s rough, buddy,” oh god he sounded like an idiot, “ But in my book, you still went to Cambodia.” He was answered with an eyebrow quirk from his friend, and so he elaborated, “Look, I’m a journalist, and I’m a writer, and I...I write stories. Even when it was something true, I’m still making a story about it. And when I make it up entirely, it’s as real a story as when I wrote the one about the real event. Ah fuck, I can’t talk, can write a damn novel but I fuck up all the words when I try to SAY it...look, Maddie, what I’m saying is,” He put a hand on her shoulder, “When I met you, it wasn’t who you are now, or who you were when you came out of that vat. It was some human bird running with the X-Men in Dallas. Yeah, I noticed you looked a hell of a lot like Jean and I thought that was who you were the whole time. Then I saw the broadcast they made, where you talked to your husband---shit, wait, he married you and Jean, what the fuck---telling him to find your baby---oh fuck I’m just realizing why you’re so mad at him, holy hell--before you gave up your life to save the world. That’s who I remember. And your memories, real or fake, well they’re a part of you, they’re your stories. Stories...they make us who we are. And even if they were made up, who you are, what you did, isn’t. You’re a story, yeah. So are we all. Fuck I’m really mangling this but you know what I--- oh.” Madelyne was hugging him. Holy shit. Well, he must have done something right, then. Damned if he knew what, though, he thought he’d fucked it up royally with that Trump-level rambling. And when she released him, she looked up at his shocked face, and said, “St. John?” “Y-yeah?” “Eat some damn pork. You really ARE a string bean.” *** OUT OF THE FRYING PAN Sebastian Shaw was indeed generally immune to explosions. And also to fire. He simply absorbed the thermal energy, rendering it harmless to him, if annoying. Afact that a certain Australian had exploited mercilessly. But Pyro was not here now, and so he could not stop the blaze that Shinobi was trapped in, that Sebastian had escaped but Shinobi had not yet. He’s not out yet, Sebastian thought nervously as he watched the blaze, waiting, Must be unconscious, must have hit his head, the fool, idiot boy, told him to stay in super dense form, stupid stupid stupid child He’d burn to death, if smoke inhalation didn’t get him first. He would die, and be reborn on Krakoa. It would be fine. And the suffering, the death, would serve him right, for being so foolish as not to listen to his father, to do the sensible thing and stay dense, why had he let himself get caught there? If you were weak enough to die, you deserved it, deserved it for KEEPS. Sebastian could say that, and admit it applied to him too. He would not DENY the second chance given to him by Krakoa, but nor would he pretend that Emma didn’t earn his death by virtue of being ABLE to do it. If you could do it, if you did do it, then it was within your rights to do it, was how Shaw saw things. Right of power was the only right that mattered, and you did no favors by RESCUING someone, you only prolonged their weakness. Any moment now, he thought, Any moment...if he’s going to make it out, it will have to be soon. There was a horrible cracking as a wood beam crashed down into the flames. The building was coming down. And Sebastian Shaw’s feet were suddenly moving. But was it by his deliberate decision? Or his own accord? He didn’t know. He sprinted into the structure, careful not to let his body bash through what supports remained---it might not hurt him but it would crush Shinobi if the boy was still alive---heedless of the fire, though the smoke stung his eyes, and he knew he was not immune to the effects of breathing it. If he was going to do this foolish, stupid, NEEDLESS thing, he had best do it fast. He scanned the room through the gray haze, and caught a glimpse of purple obscured by some rubble. He tossed it aside, digging through it like a terrier on the scent of a rabbit, until he found his boy, unmoving but still breathing, and hauled him from the wreckage. His body hair sizzling against his heat-proof skin, the sweat turning to steam the moment it left his brow, he gathered the limp form of his son into his arms, and ran from the flames, this time not caring about the beams he knocked aside, ran right through as though they were as intangible as Shinobi could be. When they were out, and a safe distance away from the blaze, Sebastian laid his son down, and waited for him to wake up. As soon as Shinobi did, as soon as his eyes opened, and he began to speak, and to realize what had happened, to start to express his shock at the fact his father had just saved his life at risk to his own... Sebastian’s fist landed against the boy’s ashy face. And again. And again. Until Shinobi was dead. He left the battered corpse where it was, and begin making his way to find the other Marauders, and tell them they needed to head back to Krakoa when most convinient, that Shinobi had died and would be waiting there. And when they arrived and picked him up, Sebastian knew he would have the good sense to say nothing to anyone. And he’d have a talk with him about the importance of handling oneself in such future situations. He really did try with the boy, dammit, but there was just no teacher like experience, he supposed. And painful experience worked best. *** NIGHTMARE DRESSED AS A DAYDREAM

"Look it’s the Marauder!” everyone cried out in awe and admiration as Pyro entered the party. His grim, stoic expression, his majestic stride, were in contrast to the lascivious frivolity around him of the swimsuit-clad crowd, but this difference only made the girls come swarming to him faster. He accepted their fawning adulation, but only cooly, as it was just his due. He was, after all, the handsomest, most power, Supreme Mutant, and this was all normal and natural. It was only when he began passionately lip-locking with Jean Grey on the hood with Jean Grey that-- Wait, what? This was wrong. This was so wrong. It had to be a dream, but even then it was WRONG. He’d never had a dream of this kind about a woman in his life, let alone Jean Grey. And if he was going to, why would it be JEAN? That felt extra wrong, given that he was pals with Madelyne now, was this some kind of weird-- “GET OFF ME!” cried a man’s voice, and Pyro broke away from the embrace, looking up. Some several dozen feet away, Fabian Cortez struggling with an amorous Avalanche, who seemed to have been engaged with the same activity with the redheaded ‘Supreme Mutant’ as Pyro just had with Marvel Girl...and Dom was wearing the same outfit Jean was. “Oy, what in the--” Pyro started to demand, when suddenly a huge head ---Mr. Sinister’s head, specifically-- erupted from the ground. It was bedecked by yet more scantily clad girls, with a throne on top it in which sat Claudine, being accosted by them, and she looked as confused as Pyro and Fabian were, confused and horrified. Then the rain began, endless rain, and Pyro was all alone, all alone in the mud as the rain came down, rain and pain, so much pain, coming from parts of his body he’d never had in his life, his womb, his-- “All right, that’s quite enough of that!” the voice of Emma Frost echoed throughout all of existence, and the lights came back on in the world again as Pyro woke up. “Freakin’ kids,” he muttered, as he realized what had happened. There was a baby telepath in the latest batch of rescues, and the little bugger had gotten their dreams all mish-mashed together. Happened more than once before. Grunting, he turned over, and went back to sleep...though a little uneasy this time. He wondered, who had that last part come from?

[anika-ann]

Think Again (When You Stop Freaking Out) - Pt.1

Good Morning... Me?

Pairing: None                   Word count: 1586

Warnings: language,  hella lot confusion, vomiting, blindness, sensory overload, ... irony and sass? ;)

Summary: Matt doesn’t feel like Matt. Steve doesn’t feel like Steve. How did that happen?

Story Masterlist

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Matt Murdock woke up with a startle and found out he was blind.

Now that wasn’t a strange occurrence. Unfortunately, Matt had been waking up unable to see for the past two decades, ever since he had been in an accident involving messed up chemicals and an act of spontaneous heroism on his side. In return, he had gained extremely enhanced senses and with time, he had learned to use them to see.

Which was exactly what was wrong at the moment.

Matt woke up… feeling blind.

The room he was in was strangely silent, no intrusive smells attacking his nostrils, no distinctive taste on his tongue, no extremely smooth sensation on his skin– gripping the sheets, he was very sure these weren’t his silk ones, this was not how silk felt and yet, the sheets weren’t scratching his skin so hard it would make him cry. Matt would think they were simple cotton, but this was not how it supposed to feel.

And he fucking couldn’t map the room as he couldn’t pinpoint his radar sense; his world of fire lacked fire.

He snapped his eyes open, his breathing raged, sitting up with a jolt.

He was not ready for the picture in front of him.

After all, this kind of picture only existed in his memories. This kind of picture had colours. Sharp edges, painfully so, as if every freaking atom had its place. Then again, Matt wouldn’t be a good judge of the state of his eye-sight, he couldn’t tell if it was 20/20, because he couldn’t remember what it felt like.

What could tell and was hundred percent sure of, was that… yeah, he could definitely see.

It freaked the shit out of him.

Feeling the bile rising to his mouth, his body jumped up on instinct, taking a bee line to the bathroom. It was only after he emptied his stomach that he realized that he had no clue which bathroom it was and how he had known where to go.

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Several blocks over, a man jolted awake, snapping his eyes open, only to be met with darkness.

He gasped, blinking, but there was nothing. His heart started hammering in his chest, a strange sensation vibrating through his ribcage, warmth spreading into his body with each thumb-thumb. A fraction of second later, the noise of the city assaulted his ears and hit him like a train – a train passing him by inches. He jumped back, hitting the wall behind him, quickly rolling over, falling off bed and shooting to his feet, his arms raised and fists curled up.

The noise didn’t fade out, making him raise his hands to his ears.

There was a weak taste of mint toothpaste in his mouth, barely covering other strange tastes he couldn’t quite place. His nose was itching with at least twenty different smells, mingling together and overwhelming his brain, easily causing him a headache. Not to mention his whole body was aching and he felt like every freaking cell of his body was alerting him on pain.

He thought the sweatpants he wore felt soft, yet there was an itch against his skin, as if they were made of the roughest fabric he ever felt. His balance was complete shit – the room around him pounded, the floor shaking with what he was sure was a subway train riding right under his feet and on top of all that, he was still in darkness, a strange darkness that felt somehow vibrant, flashes calling out for him.

What the hell was happening?

Calm down, soldier. You know better than to freak out. Deep breaths- oh god, so many smells, breathing in deeply was so not a good idea-- focus. Think of it as of a recon mission. In a very loud environment that resembles a battlefield, but those you know too.

Yeah, but going in this blind is a bit unusual.

Three quick knocks – and he would swear he felt them echoing in his bones, his ears pretty much bleeding with that sound – snapped his mind from racing.

“Matthew, I swear to God, if you don’t open the door, I’ll—… use my own key,” somewhat familiar voice threatened, apparently changing his mind in mid-sentence and offering a less violent solution.

It didn’t matter. Because he was in some serious trouble. The voice was too loud, joined by cacophony of tens others whispering or yelling in his head, everything felt wrong, his head hurt and apparently, he was in some Matt’s home.

He couldn’t remember drinking last night, but he made himself a promise. Steve Rogers swore that he would not get within a ten feet distance to Thor’s Asgardian liquor ever again.

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Exiting the bathroom after a very long shower – and about an hour spend on the floor, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the tiles didn’t feel as hard as they should against his knees, his body feeling overall wrong, definitely not his, and oh yeah, he could fucking see –, brushing his teeth for at least three times (why did the toothpaste taste so faintly again…?), and examining himself in the mirror – blond? He was blond now? – he went to examine the space he had woken up in.

The apartment was rather plain, but definitely belonged to a well-situated person, only if judging by the fact Matt found himself in at least thirtieth floor. During his freak-out, he had come to a bit unorthodox and, let’s be honest, totally insane conclusion, that he had been in a body of someone else. A steroid-freak, by the way, because what the hell, Matt was sure this amount of muscle tissue could not be natural, what was the guy doing apart from drugs? So yeah, that was a thing.

The thing was, there wasn’t much else to go on. He discovered an impressive closet, ranging from work-out clothes (wow, so many work-out outfits), comfortable homey sweats and t-shirts  and hoodies (Matt’s clothing of choice for now), to shirts and suits (not too many, which was strange, because again, rich guy, clearly).

In the nightstand, there were two sketchbooks (one extremely well worn) and Matt was no expert, but the drawings in it – mostly pretty random – were quite good. Huh. Rich. Freaky-ripped. Most likely on steroids. Handsome though. Artistic. Matt was surprised he didn’t find a woman’s (or man’s, whatever) underwear lying around at least, because this guy could to be a playboy for sure.

This guy. In whose body Matt was now, waking up, just like that.

He ran his hand down his face.

“Good morning to me,” he murmured, not even startled by the stranger’s voice which was – naturally – not his own.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” a female voice with thick Irish accent sounded above him and Matt jumped back, immediately raising his fists to protect himself (not himself) from the intruder (who might actually live here, unlike him). He saw no one.

Saw no one. Hilarious, Murdock.

He squinted, looking around, which was something he was not used to goddammit, he was supposed to sense the person coming, but while he guessed his hearing was alright for an average person, he was definitely not fine.

“May I be of any assistance?” the woman asked and Matt tilted his head in attempt to locate her better, which was perfectly useless.

What, was she invisible? Because that would be so fucking ironic he might even laugh. Able to see after two decades and the first person I meet is invisible. Congratulation, Universe, you managed to fuck it up again.

“N-no,” Matt tried out, hoping the weird… thing? Person? Would disappear and leave him alone to his inspection.

“Apologies, Sir. You seemed confused.” You have no idea. “And you were sick. Shall I inform anyone about your-“

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself,” he blurted out, not even caring it probably didn’t sound very convincing.

“Understand, Sir.”

Matt slightly shook his head, easing his fighting stance and allowing himself to breathe in. He didn’t even know how he would fight. The self-awareness of his body, his ability to control the incredible mass was way too low, but hell, he would not have had a choice. And who knew, he might be able to pull out few moves, this body clearly remember something..

Because apparently, he was a captain. Captain Rogers. He thanked God he had a name now, at least. Now, if he would meet someone, he would at least know to turn around if someone addressed him.

It actually made sense, this guy being military. Retired maybe? Then again, he seemed fast and agile, which he would expect from an active soldier, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.

He wondered for a brief moment if he should call Foggy, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Firstly, he only found a locked phone, which sucked, secondly, he still had no idea where he was, thirdly, he didn’t want to put his friend in danger, and finally, he was aware that if someone called Foggy, claiming he was his best friend and business partner, but had woken up in the wrong body, Foggy would probably hang up anyway.

With a deep breath, he walked through the room, gathering courage to exit the relatively safe space. Gripping the handle – which cried under his determined hold, the material curving, what the hell, steroids, seriously - he opened the door, feeling like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

“Alright, Captain Rogers. Let’s do some recon.”

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Part 2

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​ 

If anyone wishes to be tagged as well (to this story, to my fics in general) by any chance, just lemme know.

[sayitoverss]

seventh-floor corridor | remus lupin x reader

thank you jazzy (@hrmionegrnger​ / @hollandstom​) for having talent and not only editing the graphic, but editing the entire piece for me. I love you with my whole heart

word count: 3k

warnings: none :) not even swearing!!! 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“oh my gosh, oh goodness. nope, no thank you, not today!”

you knew it was bound to happen someday, it was inevitable, but not this soon. well, it has been a few years, but to you, anytime would be too soon. the letter from remus had only been an invitation to join them for a small get-together in the gryffindor common room, with the day’s password for entry. but as soon as you read the handwriting that was so obviously his, blood rushed to your cheeks and a wide smile spread across your face.

for the past couple of weeks, you’d subconsciously had the same reaction to each of his friendly gestures, but it wasn't until now that you'd connected the dots. the butterflies when he smiled at you from his place in your shared classes, the urge to dress nicely when he would be around, the blush that overtook your features when he wrote to you. if anyone else was watching, they would’ve seen it. in hindsight, it was so clear, but not all things are constantly visible, and you wished you could’ve remained blind.

you sat down on the soft bed you’d called yours for the past six years, closing the yellow drapes around you. the plants of the hufflepuff dormitories crept in through the openings above, vines wrapping slowly around the simple wooden bed frame, securing it from your dorm mates if they were to walk in.

you remained in silence for a few moments, the only noise to be heard in the room was the sound of your breathing. sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting faint shadows across the dorm. in theory, it was peaceful, an environment many would find to be soothing. but when your thoughts were running wild with the worst possibilities, those same comforts became mere background noise in the zoo of your mind.

ten minutes passed in silence before a knock sounded at the door, awakening you from the nightmare that had begun to form in your mind. “y/n?” said the voice, quickly recognizable as kate’s. she opened the door, the sound of her light footsteps replacing the silence in the room.

she pulled back the drapes to find you laying back against the headboard. you looked distraught, anxious, a state no one would want to find their best friend in. “what happened?”

“remus. remus lupin happened,” you replied quietly.

“what did he do? do I need to kick his arse?”

“just... exist. you don’t need to do anything, he did nothing wrong.”

“then what’s the issue?” kate asked.

“he did everything right,” you mumbled, looking up at her. “I got an owl from him a few minutes ago inviting me over, and I’m uh- I’ve just realized some things.”

“you like him?” she inferred excitedly.

“um, yeah. I guess so.”

“Y/N! finally!”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“do you know how many bets I’ve made on you two? it’s about time!”

“sure, kate. don’t get your hopes up!” you warned.

“are you sure it’s my hopes you’re worried about?” kate smirked. “honestly, though, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s liked you for a while. just write back to him already!”

“oh, shoot, yeah. good idea,” you said, glancing at the owl sat on the window sill. 

“I’m full of those.”

she got up off the bed, and you moved to sit at the old writing desk by the window. you got yourself a small piece of parchment, then opened the inkwell. you dipped your quill in the black liquid, letting the excess drip off before you placed it to the parchment. your quill danced across the page as you wrote your response, apologizing for responding so late and telling him you’d be there in ten minutes.

you rolled the parchment and tied it gently to the owl’s leg. after giving the owl and extra treat for waiting so long, you sent it off, then performed a quick cleaning charm on your hands to rid them of the ink. waving kate goodbye and promising to meet her at supper, you set off to the gryffindor common room.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

the walk through the castle to gryffindor tower had become a familiar one. you travelled it most days, so in just minutes, you had arrived at the portrait of the fat lady that controlled the entrance to the common room. “oh hello, miss y/l/n. did mr. lupin tell you the password again?”

“you know he always does. pumpernickel,” you smiled, remembering how upset she used to get with him whenever he shared the password with you. when she realized he wasn’t going to stop, though, she’d begun to take a liking to you. the door swung open, and you climbed through the portrait hole into the commons.

students were scattered in various places throughout the room, very few fazed by your entry. the marauders were all seated by the fire, along with frank, alice and lily. you were the only member of the group who was in a different house, and while that had caused some issues at first, they, too, had learned to love you just as remus did- but platonically.

lily was the first to spot you, calling your name over the chatter. she beamed as you walked over, sitting in between her and remus. “I missed you,” she said, drawing out the end of the sentence.

“I was here yesterday! but I missed you too, lils,” you laughed. aside from remus, lily was your closest friend of the gryffindors. you’d known her for just a year less than you had remus, but despite this, you’d become almost as close.

“what a lovely welcome for the rest of us, y/n. thank you for coming!” remus joked, sarcasm ringing in his words.

“come on, rem. you know I love you just as much.”

sirius and james looked at remus knowingly, as he spoke again, blushing, “of course I do, and I love you too.”

“so when are you two finally going to sneak off and snog?”

“james! we couldn’t and wouldn’t! besides, if that’s what we’re considering ‘tension’, you and sirius would be right up there with us,” you exclaimed, trying desperately to refrain from blushing.

“who says we’re not in love?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

with each passing day, you were finding it harder and harder to be in his presence. you needed to get away from your thoughts, from other people. so after supper friday evening, you waved kate goodbye and set off to the seventh floor corridor. 

the room of requirement had been a soothing place for you since you and remus had found it in third year, and you often visited it together and separately. normally, you went in search of a place to be comfortable, but you didn’t need the reminder of remus right now. you just needed to get away from the possibilities, so that’s exactly what you thought to get rid of.

“I need to know the truth, I need to know the truth,” you thought, pacing in front of the old stone wall. within moments, a door had appeared for you. you sighed, relieved that it worked. you opened the door, looking around the unfamiliar room curiously as you took a step in. when you finally looked straight ahead, the sight ahead of you stopped you in your tracks.

lily and remus were stood there, closer than they usually would be. remus was facing away from the door, lily looking right ahead at you. their position wasn’t what threw you off guard, but the words that remus was speaking. “I know you probably don’t like me back, but um, I was wondering if-”

“y/n,” lily whispered, panic overtaking her features as you quickly turned around to leave. 

“what?” remus asked, stopping in the middle of his sentence.

“um, nothing, don’t worry about it. I just need to go find her, something’s wrong,” she explained quickly, suddenly becoming antsy.

“how do you know that? do you need help?” he worried, afraid that something had happened that he didn’t know about.

“I said not to worry about it! I’ll catch up to you later, remus!” she replied as she ran out the door. she sprinted down the corridor, glancing down each of the branching hallways as she went by. nothing, you were nowhere to be found.

you only ever went to two places when you needed to think, the room of requirement and the hospital wing. considering you had just been at the former, lily set to the first floor of the castle. when she arrived, she found you replenishing potions at a student’s bedside.

“y/n, I swear it wasn’t what it looked like!” she spoke frantically.

“lily, be quiet! they’re sleeping!” you exclaimed in a whisper. “I’ll talk to you in a moment.” you placed the bottle back down on the nightstand, fixed your apron, then turned to face her. “what was it, then?”

“I- I can’t tell you,” lily mumbled, looking down at her feet.

you smiled. “I’m happy for you two, lily. I’m glad you found each other.”

“y/n, are you jealous?” you just looked up at her, and the look in your eyes was all she needed to know. “you are. you are jealous! you like him!”

“why are you happy about that?” you questioned, looking at her like she was crazy.

“just don’t worry about it. gotta go!” she said, then sped off.

“lily! wait!” you called, but she was already out the door. you stood in place for a moment, before turning to madam pomfrey. “did you…?”

“yes, dear, and I think we’re thinking the same thing,” she smirked at you.

“I think I’ll just play it safe,” you said to the young matron. “they looked quite happy when I walked in on him asking her out.”

“whatever you think is best, y/n. you know remus better than anyone.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

saturday went by too slowly for your taste, but you knew exactly why. you hadn’t talked to remus all day, even going to the extent of sitting with the ravenclaws at the quidditch match. he knew something was up; usually, you’d stay together whenever you could. but as much as he tried to get it out of lily, she wouldn’t budge. 

you weren’t in the great hall for any meals, but as the gryffindors were leaving supper, he saw kate with an extra plate of food. so it was true, then, you were avoiding him. when they reached the common room, remus was quick to pull lily aside. “okay that’s it, you need to tell me what’s wrong with y/n.”

“she likes you, and she walked in on you practicing to ask her out, and she thought you were asking me out, and I couldn’t explain to her that you weren’t because that would ruin it for you, and now I’m rambling, and I’m sorry,” she babbled worriedly, scared of his reaction.

“wow. okay um, first of all, she whats?” he asked, somewhat in shock.

“she likes you, rem.”

“there is absolutely no way she does. you’re kidding me, right?” a small smile spread across his scarred face.

“no! she really likes you! I’m sure she has for a while, but you know how she is. you need to talk to her,” she spoke excitedly.

“that’s easier said than done, lils. she won’t even talk to me!” he sighed, unsure of how he could at least get you to listen to him.

“well of course she won’t talk to you, she thinks you’re in love with me. you need to start dropping hints that you like her and not me!”

“I don’t know how.”

“let me tell you something. I’ve known you and y/n for four years, and y/n and I talk about things you’d never be allowed to know. she’s easier to get to than you think. but because I’m a good person, I’ll try to help,” she compromised, knowing she’d have to help anyway. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, lily. thank you so much,” he expressed, his features softening.

“of course, rem. I’m always here to help when you need me.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

going to breakfast on sunday was inevitable; kate refused to bring any more food down to the dorms for you. you woke up as early as possible to get up to great hall, in yet another attempt to escape remus. you walked past your sleeping dorm mates and through the common room, you double-checked for your wand before exiting through the hidden entrance.

the walk to the great hall never took too long, but it seemed to drag on for hours with the possibility of having to face him at breakfast. you couldn’t let him know that you’d fallen for him, and if he came over after friday’s incident, you’d have the added burden of his relationship with lily.

lost in your thoughts, it was purely your subconscious that lead you to the right location and around any of the other early risers. that is, until you heard a familiar voice calling your name, “y/n! can you just listen to me, please?”

“no, remus. I’m not in the mood,” you replied, walking away from him.

“you need to hear me out, I promise you won’t regret it,” he pleaded. you turned around to look at him for the first time in days, and finally, you understood. he was a mess, and judging by his reaction to seeing you, you were, too.

“rem, what… what happened to you?” you asked, concerned by his distraught appearance.

“you, you happened. when you stopped talking to me I had no idea why, but lily told me and I just… I don’t know. I really missed you, way more than I should’ve. I know what it looked like, and I can promise, gosh y/n, as much as I love lily, I could never date her. she was just helping me get practice in for if I ever were to ask a girl out, that’s all.

she gave me some advice on how to get you to talk to me, but I uh, I ignored that, and now I’m here, talking to you, apologizing for taking her to our special place. I’m sorry, y/n,” he looked at you with teary eyes as he spoke, and even though he didn’t know the real reason you were upset, it definitely eased your frustration with him.

“rem… I’m so sorry too. I was being stupid, I shouldn’t have overreacted like I did,” you smiled sheepishly at him.

“so we’re good?”

“yeah, we’re good,” you beamed. “care to join me for breakfast, mr. lupin?”

“why of course, miss y/l/n. you needn’t even ask,” he replied, mimicking your posh speech.

when you finally entered the great hall and sat down together at the hufflepuff table, a few more students had arrived, looking confusedly at the pair of you. you only felt relief, though, and honestly, you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

another week passed, and nothing happened between you two. well, nothing that either of you wanted to happen. it was normal, too normal, considering the tension that had arisen when remus found out about your feelings. what made it worse, though, was that you didn’t know that he knew. he found humour in it, seeing you trying not to blush or slip up, it was flattering, even. but he still didn’t make a move, he knew you would when you were ready.

that time came on thursday, when you went up to him after supper. he was sitting with the other marauders, as always, laughing at a joke peter had told. you walked up from behind, and tapped him on the shoulder. you waited for their laughter to die down before speaking up, “hey rem? can you, uh, meet me in the seven when you’re done? I’m heading up now, so I’ll be there when you arrive.”

“yeah! yeah, of course, y/n. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said, smiling gently at your nickname for the room of requirement.

“okay, great, I’ll see you soon!” you confirmed before turning around to leave.

when you were gone, james turned to remus, “you think she’s finally gonna shoot her shot?”

“I hope so, I’m so ready,” he laughed.

“we are too, moony. the tension between you two has been unbearably thick this week, we need it to stop.”

“come on, prongs. we aren’t that bad!”

“yes, you are. now get going!”

with that, he sat up from the bench, and set off for the seventh-floor corridor. he walked fast, his long legs adding to the speed that had already been augmented by his anticipation. luckily, the castle and stairs were working in his favour. in five minutes, he was pacing in front of the door, thinking of your usual phrase, “I need to be home, I need to be home.”

the room was a perfectly comfortable mixture of your house and his, and it became even more homely when he walked in to find you on the sofa. he knew that now, you were home to each other. he smiled at you as he entered, and sat on the cushion opposite yourself.

“hey,” he mumbled.

you looked up at him. “you’re making this way more awkward than it needs to be,” you giggled.

he laughed, “you’re the one who invited me here!”

“I guess I’ll get straight to the point then,” you said, adjusting your top anxiously. “I think… I think I’ve fallen in love with you, remus.”

“great minds think alike, I guess, because I think I’ve fallen in love with you too,” he spoke quietly, intimately.

“you have?” you sighed in relief and shock.

“it’s hard not to, y/n,” he blushed. “I’ve done it for three years.”

“really? third year? you really do like me at my best and worst,” you smirked, memories of third year flooding your mind.

“well, your hair was awful, and your makeup was going through some stuff, but I guess I’m just more attracted to personalities!” he chuckled.

“gee thanks, love you too.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

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[ichaisme]

The ink demonth day 14- Theories

Norman always watched, far more than people gave him credit for, even those who had seen him ‘skulk about’. At the same time, he wasn’t a gossip. The knowledge he accumulated stayed within the confines of his mind, for the privacy of others and for the sake of his reputation.

Still.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t form a few… theories; just little things you couldn’t help but pick up (not that he judged).

Samuel Lawrence was the sad harborer of two ill-fated crushes. The first was on the former animator and co-founder of the studio, Henry. Considering the abrupt departure (courtesy of Mr. Drew), and the shadowy mentions of a girl named Linda, that did not pan out. Who did his feelings rebound to? The voice of Alice Angel herself, who had no interest in an office romance. At least… so she said. He questioned that resolve with every outside-of-work meeting she had with Joey Drew.

Tom was secretly a huge animal lover. He kept a photo of his dog and his wife in the breast pocket of his uniform. He’d never tell another soul, but he pampered that little ball of fur just as much as he did Allison.

Wally…

Well, he was hopelessly in love with a certain Irish toymaker.

Honestly that wasn’t too hard to decipher. When the pair were together you could barely hear yourself think anywhere near Heavenly Toys over the sound of their laughter and conversations egged on in a way only two equally loud personalities could. It irked Joey to no end, but when cleaning still happened and toys kept being made, he had little to complain about beyond volume.

However, in the rare quiet moments, Norman noticed just a bit more—lingering glanced when the two had to part, delight that was just a bit stronger around Shawn than anyone else, smiles wider and yet softer at the same time. He was certain something was there.

But nothing beats physical proof.

---

Norman made his way through the darkened halls of the studio, back to his projector booth. Frequent trips to the studio for early hours troubleshooting meant Joey was forced to give him his own set of keys. The only other person to have a set was, of course, the ever-forgetful janitor.

Even knowing this, it surprised him to catch movement out of the corner of his eye. Wally slipped out of one of the lesser-used closets, locking the door behind him. Norman raised a brow. Wally was never that careful. He doubted the young man had suddenly learned the virtue of caution. Something was in there that he didn’t want anyone else to stumble upon. Obviously, Norman had to find out what it was.

Where the old projectionist’s keyring only got him into the building, Wally’s had extras required for his duties; he’d need access to them. Not a hard thing to accomplish, thankfully. He just waited until he heard the janitor leave the studio, then looked around where the man did his rounds. Sure enough, he found the keys partially under Henry’s old desk. The poor boy really needed to hold his keys more securely… but he could confront him on that later (and perhaps he’d be more receptive to a gentler reprimand rather than Sammy’s frustrated yelling). For now, he took the keys to the door he’d locked, and opened it to find…

A mini work station.

It took him a moment to pick his jaw up off the floor. How had something like this escaped HIS notice?! Curiosity easily overwhelmed him, and he stepped in to the little room to see what exactly Wally had been doing. The table sat littered with papers.

Papers containing drawings.

Norman hadn’t pinned Wally for the artistic type. While the art was quite good, it was clearly learned elsewhere, leaning towards semi-realism rather than the cartoons that surrounded them. As he looked further, he started to notice a pattern of subjects. A few renditions of Henry were lovingly pinned to the wall just above the desk. Some contained Allison or Susie, and he even spotted one sketch of him amongst all the others (the faithful rendition honestly impressed him). One person, however, stood head and shoulders above the rest: A good majority of the pictures were of Shawn. Each and every one was lovingly rendered, and on the back, Wally had written captions, tiny notes of the date it was drawn and a signature ‘W.F.’ in the corner.

Well.

It seemed VERY obvious to him that the pair were far closer than friends, but neither seemed willing to take the first plunge. They needed a nudge in the right direction.

And Norman was more than willing to provide that push.

He scanned over the drawings, finally settling on a fairly recent sketch simply captioned ‘Shawn’s smile’. As he left, he relocked the door and tossed the keys into one of the wastebaskets, easily spotted for Wally’s return. The drawing he tucked under one of the plush dolls on Shawn’s workbench. Now, all he had to do was wait.

---

When Wally returned the next morning, he approached Norman elbow-deep in his projector with a sheepish look on his face.

“Heeeey, uh… can I… borrow your keys?” He asked carefully, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “I—”

“Lost yours?” The projectionist barely glanced his way, totally deadpan.

“Well… sort of. I can find them, I swear! I Just want it to look like I have mine while I find them, so Sammy doesn’t yell at me.”

Oh, he couldn’t resist. “Lost mine too.” Norman took a moment to savor Wally’s gasp and the shocked expression on his face, before he began to quietly chuckle.

“Oh! That was a joke! You… you were joking.” Wally nervously chuckled with him. He jerked a thumb back towards his desk, where his keys sat.

“Have you checked the trash yet? They seem to fall in those wastebaskets quite a lot,” he asked, watching the janitor snatch up the keys and shove them into his pocket.

“I’ll check! Thank you, Mr. Polk, I owe ya one!” As he ran out, Norman called after him,

“Make that ‘one’ be you giving those back!”

---

Norman heard Shawn long before he saw the two collide. They were a two-person chorus of excited voices and uproarious laughter on any given today, but Shawn spoke just a bit faster, voice just a bit higher, enough for Wally to take notice too.

“You’re so excited!” he laughed. “You got some good news?”

Shawn beamed, holding up the drawing, “You sly bastard, I didn’t know you could draw!”

Silence answered. The smile slid off Wally’s face, eyes widening and face flushing, making it impossible to deny his shock and embarrassment. Norman briefly felt bad for him. “H-how did you get that?”

Norman could read the man like a book, could almost hear him swear up and down internally that he’d locked the door, wondering if Shawn had found the room and if he even liked what he’d seen. Shawn, on the other hand, just looked confused.

“You didn’t leave this on my bench?”

“NO!”

He glanced at the drawing again, brow furrowing in thought. “Well… who cares? I like it a lot!”

“You… you do?”

Shawn nodded enthusiastically. “I mean, you can’t help but be flattered when someone draws you, right?” he chuckled, “What made you decide to use me as a muse?”

“U-uh…” Shawn just watched the janitor expectantly. When Wally spoke again, his voice had gone up another notch, “Hey, uh… you hear that?”

“No—”

“Sammy’s REALLY not happy with me, I lost my keys again, and uh, I’m outta here!” He practically broke into a sprint, disappearing down the hall and up the stairs. The toymaker stared after him in confusion.

Norman heaved a quiet sigh. Apparently, he’d been too subtle.

“Pretty sure he likes you.”

Shawn jumped at his voice suddenly breaking the silence, turning his dumbfounded gaze to the projectionist. “Well... yeah? I mean, we’re great friends.”

…He couldn’t help but break into raucous laughter, which did nothing but further Shawn’s confusion.

“You are dense, boy.”

Realization started to dawn on him then. “Wait, he—you mean he—?” Norman laughed again and nodded. “I… should go find him, shouldn’t I?”

“Seems like it.” At last he finally seemed to get Shawn to take the hint, running the way Wally had left.

Forget shoves, apparently Norman had to tie a rock around them and shove them into the metaphorical lake to get a point to stick.