#it hits a lot different when you’re 9 years old.

[scottpilgrim4everr]

I rewatched the Scott Pilgrim movie last night after work and it definitely is a movie that exists.

[hysteria-things]

can u do a story of like chris sturnolio being a dad ??

UNEXPECTED TURNS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dad!chris x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: at first, you were devastated to find out that you were pregnant at this age. now, realization hits and turns out it’s not so bad for not only you; but chris too.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFFY, angst in the beginning, flashbacks, panic attack

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: IVE BEEN WAITING FOR A REQUEST LIKE THIS I FIND THESE SO CUTE!

was gonna save this for another day but i’m too impatient LMAO

i’m trying to get through my inbox so there should be lots to come! hope you like it anon :)

*flashback*

‘pregnant’

you read the word at least ten times on the test in your violently shaking hand.

a sob leaves your throat as you tremble. “no.” you choke out.

you try your best to grab your phone and text chris, your boyfriend. you need him here, and you need him here now.

“y/n?” his voice echoes through the house. you steadied your breathing, but you’re still a trembling and crying mess on the bathroom floor.

you hear footsteps coming up the steps. “y/n?” he calls out again.

he runs over to the bathroom door and opens it. the panic shoots through your body again when you see him, and you breathe heavily. “i’m sorry.” you say between sobs.

chris worries all over his face. he kneels to you to take your shaky hands in his. “sorry about what? oh my god, what happened?”

you point to the counter where the test is. he knits his eyebrows together and grabs it off the countertop. he scans over it for a few beats before looking into your crying eyes.

he sets the test down, taking his thumbs and trying his best to rub as many tears away. “i’m sorry.” you repeat.

he brings your head into his chest and tries to shush you. “you have nothing to be sorry about.”

he rubs up and down your body in a soothing motion, whispering in your ear. he rocks you from side to side.

his chin is resting on top of your head. “i’m with you on whatever decision you make. you know that right?” he tells you, kissing your head.

you nod. your ear is on his heartbeat, which is strangely calm. you close your eyes to focus on the rhythm, your breathing steadying along with it.

*9 months later*

tears of joy leave your eyes when the doctor carefully places your daughter in your arms. chris held onto your hand tight the whole birth. he rests his forehead on yours and kisses your nose, then the top of your little girl’s head.

“thank you for giving her to me.” you smile at chris.

“are you kidding? you’re the one that went through hell for nine months.” you and him both chuckle. “you’re a warrior, y/n. don’t ever forget that.”

holding your child for the first time is a different type of love. you never want to let them go.

despite both of you being 20, you know you guys can be the best parents to your baby girl.

*now*

chris sighs when he hears your one-year-old in the pack-and-play he set up in the living room. she’s been crying nonstop.

he gets up from the couch and walks over, leaning to get a better view of her. “what is it, little miss?” he says, reaching into the pack-and-play to pick her up.

she stops her crying to look at her father for a split second, but then goes back to the tantrum. “ma-ma.” she cries.

“your mama is taking a nap. she needs to rest.”

that only makes sadie cry harder, and chris tuts. “let’s take a look outside.”

you guys bought a house during your pregnancy, still close to his and your family. it came with a beautiful backyard.

ever since sadie was born, she has been so fascinated by looking outside. it always worked to calm down her little outbursts.

chris turns so his back is facing the glass door. her head rests on his shoulder as she looks at the summer greenery and flowers. her crying immediately stops, and now she’s doing rapid sniffles.

he rubs her back in a soothing circular motion and rocks from side to side. “i don’t like when you’re this upset, little miss. everything’s okay, i promise.”

her cheek rests on his shoulder, her breathing going back to normal.

when it seems to be a little too quiet, he peeks to look at her face, seeing sadie holding on tight to his arm and sleeping peacefully.

he rolls his eyes but smiles. “so dramatic.” he mumbles. “i wonder who you get it from.”

chris walks the sleeping infant into her nursery to set her down in the crib. before doing so, he kissed her on the cheek.

he stays there to admire what’s in front of him. she most definitely has your face and hair, but she has his blue eyes.

this was not a part of the plan in your relationship; at least not this soon. however, you guys wouldn’t want it any other way.

and that’s the beauty of unexpected turns.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

[pedge-page]

Baby Sarah and Joel playing tug of war over the tv remote has to be the funniest thing ever , Joel watching tv one night and the remote is resting on the coffee table and the channel randomly changes and he turns to see Sarah just pressing buttons then joel immediately takes it to change the channel back and the brat fusses and tries slapping Joel’s hands and biting even having to get reader involved in the mix

Joel Dealing with Sarah: Theatrics

warnings: none :)

- - - -

Joel is fucking exhausted. Yeah he says that a lot, but damnit, that’s what happens when you have a pregnant monster for 9 months and then a whole ass baby monster for the next year!

You had gone to bed right after dinner with little Sarah. There may have been a debacle about Joel buying the wrong flavor of chocolate chip cookies despite you specifically saying regular chocolate chip earlier. He grabbed the raisins by mistake, and now he’s condemned to the couch (for the next hour or so till you’re out cold and won’t remember whether he was in bed with you or not).

It works out, though. He sighs heavily, propping  one foot then the other over the coffee table with his cup of decaffeinated tea. The house is quiet for once. He gets alone time for once. 

Scrolling through the saved tapes on the DVR, he finally finds the last home renovation episodes he’s missed these past few weeks. He chucks the remote somewhere, sits back, and turns his brain off for some quality Joel time.

The poorly acting woman goes on about the gorgeously boring white paint they’re gonna splash over the entire kitchen when suddenly the Jigsaw puppet creepy thing jumps on the screen and nearly sends Joel over the couch with a heart attack.

He looks around for the damn remote he must have nudged with his thigh when he spots his diapered one year old sitting upright next to him, the remote the size of her entire arm sitting in her lap with both hands on the bottoms. 

“Jesus—fuck kid. Where did you come from???” He whispers, looking around wondering if you put her here mysteriously without being noticed.

Sarah smiles with her gummy mouth like she’s not at all disturbed by the contents of the TV.

“Aight kid, gimme the remote, it’s not a toy—“ as he reaches for the devices, she yanks it back furthest away from him.

“Hey! Listen to me right now—“ he leans further, his arm outstretched in front—when she clamps down with her little gums.

“AY! SARAH! NO bitting!” He grits his teeth and reaches again but Sarah whines and slaps his bitten hand repeatedly with the remote. He manages to push a button, but she snatches it right back and hits another. The TV flashes between channels, volumes and mute, and different inputs like its having seizure as Joel and Sarah loudly grunt and whine at each other, tugging it back and forth.

Joel’s partially amazed at the incredible gripper strength she has on the remote, refusing the let it part from her tiny fingers that are latched on law claws. That, and the fact that she’s pulling enough strength that he isn’t sending her flying over his shoulder is making him wonder what kind of muscle milk you must be feeding her.

“Let GO!” He shouts, his arm straining with one hand on the remote, but she puts that big back in it and is yanking back towards her way with both of her baby paws tightly secured around its middle.

The TV is at full volume now, as are their angry growling at one another. So much that neither of them realize you had gotten up and were standing right behind the couch, rubbing your eyes viciously at the scene.

“WHAT—“

Joel and Sarah stop and turn, frightened by mom-zilla, who’s at her worst when she’s prematurely awaken. 

“IS. GOING. ON.”

Joel opens his mouth, ready to get the little brat in trouble and have a shout when sneaky little Sarah immediately lets go of the remote and launches herself back, crying loudly. She makes heavy eye contact with you through tears and her pained wailing while rubbing her chunky arm, squeezing her little lids shut so that the tears fall fat across her puffy cheeks. All while Joel’s got the remote tightly gripped in his hand.

“Joel!” You rush to pick up your baby and cradle her to your chest, which she totally nuzzles into.

“I didn’t do anything!” He shouts incredulously, and perhaps a little too off tone because there’s no way you didn’t see her just fake her injury by pretending he hit her. “She’s faking it! You saw!”

On cue, Sarah screams harder into your shoulder, huffing up and down like she can’t catch her breath. 

You wave your hand over to shush him. then you point to the couch. “Rest of the week. You. here.” 

He bites his tongue hard as the two of you walk back to your bedroom. He catches the minx give a little glance back over your shoulder with a toothless grin. 

If he could wring that child, he would. But he knows he’s gotta wait before he can start cooking her for real.

The theatrics of Sarah Miller are strong enough to rival your own.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[marvelous-slut]

Rats - Chibs Telford x Reader

not many warnings on this one, just mentions of guns i think? xx

You feel your body tense up as you hear the motorcycle pull up to your driveway. The gun in your hand is cold, but you have a tight grip on it. You have your mothers crucifix in the other hand, holding onto it just as tight as you pray silently. Tears fall from your eyes as you stand up to face the door way. The engine turns off and your body goes cold, holding the gun out to the door. Prepared to kill whoever it is that has been sent to kill you.

It was always said Piney, Clay and Bobby had spent many days in the club house carrying you around. They held you, fed you, changed you. Bobby was the most attached to you out of the three men, once you got old enough he’d make sure he had things to keep you occupied. He didn’t want you thinking of your father Otto being locked up and at this time as far as you were concerned your mother had a 9-5, but everyone knew she was filming her movies to try to help with the expenses that came with a baby.

Jax and Opie had been your right hand men for years. The two of you had did everything together. Riding bikes together and imitating all of your fathers, running around Teller-Morrow together. Once the three of you hit high school, your trip was inseparable. Lots of parents didn’t want their kids hanging around “biker thugs” kids.

Tig was like the creepy uncle, sure you didn’t like to sit alone with him but he sure did know how to make someone laugh when they were down. Juice, while quiet he thought highly of you. You were always willing to help him out, and he did the same for you. Any time he over heard you talk about going on dates, he was looking up information on the guy to make sure he wouldn’t cause any problems. Happy was different, he usually said nothing when you were around. You couldn’t help but like him because when he did say something, it was always a great comeback or eagerness to help the club.

Chibs Telford, he was the man who occupied your mind day in and day out. The one who looked out for you most in the club besides Bobby. You didn’t know what it was or why he did the things he did for you, but they always made you feel like a high school girl again with a crush. Anytime at the SAMCRO parties when you’d have a little too much to drink, he’d make sure you made it to his bed safe and sound, untouched. He’d let you sleep there alone until the morning when you felt better. He always had coffee made for you two to share. Maybe it was the fact he had a daughter he couldn’t take care of as you were younger than him, but it made you feel a way about him that you’d never felt about anyone else.

One of these men would kill you tonight and you were sure of it. You hoped it would be Happy, convinced it would be him. He would kill at the drop of a hat, plus you were close to him. Bobby would never be able to pull the trigger he was too close. No one else made sense. Your father had ratted on the club and tonight they’d seek revenge on his child as his wife was buried 6 feet under ground. As much as you loved these men dearly, considered them family you also knew what they were capable of if it hurt the club. The engine turns off and you hear a knock at the door. You set the crucifix down, holding on to the gun with both hands. Your heart falls when you see Chibs standing at your door, of course. They’d sent him to end your life. As he sees you with the gun pointed at him, he throws his hands up in the air.

“Jesus Christ! Lass, put that thing away!” You continue holding the gun, pointing it directly at his head. You feel yourself shaking, unsure if it was fear or shock. Maybe even both. Tears spill over as you realize the man you’d been in love with would kill you, or you’d kill him.

“No. I know dad ratted. I know what you’re here for!” You scream, shoving the gun closer to him. He grabs it and jerks it down. He takes the gun, emptying the bullets. You fall to the floor, tears falling down your face. “I don’t want to die.”

“What the hell are ya talkin’ about?” He asks, shoving the weapon into the waist band of his pants. He squats down, pushing hair out of your face. “Who’s going to kill ya?”

“Apparently you! The club has to send a message to dad about him flipping, my moms dead. He has nothing else to loose besides me.” You say, Chibs feels his heart ache at the sight of your tears and fear. He grabs your face, making you look him in the eyes.

“Love, no one’s killing anyone. Jackie boy wanted me to come by and make sure you were okay. Reassure you the club still has your back, we know this ain’t your fault. What your father has done doesn’t outweigh the trust we have in you.” The words make a weight lift off your chest. You wipe the remaining tears away and laugh. Chibs remains a little distraught that you thought he would be coming to kill you.

“They wouldn’t send me anyways, probably send Happy.” He says, chuckling as he does. “Jax says we have some kinda fucked up bond.” You think back to the times Jax had told you at the club house you had daddy issues after he’d saw you and Chibs together.

“That bastard.” You say, sighing afterwards. Chibs has a confused look on his face.

“Do we have some kinda fucked up thing?” He asks. You grab his hands, running your fingers over them.

“Maybe we do. But I like it.” You say, he smiles, pulling you into his chest. Your face lays on his kutte as he runs a hand through your hair. “Would you please stay tonight?” You whisper.

“I’d love to.”

[the-guilty-writer]

Can't Lose Her Too

Request from anon: Hotch x daughter reader when her depression is really bad  and she barely eats and sleeps all the time and doesnt want to see anyone or do anything??

Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: When your depression hits, your father’s ghosts come back to him.

A/N: Did I intend for this to be Taylor Swift related? No. Did it happen that way? Yes. Yes it did.

CW: reader has depression, mentions of reduced food intake, mentions of Haley and Foyet, lots of sad Hotch

---

When my depression works the graveyard shift All of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room - Taylor Swift, Anti-Hero

---

Aaron got home early for once- around 7 o’clock instead of the usual 9 to midnight. In addition to that, it was a Friday and Strauss had a different team on call that weekend, which meant no interruptions, no emergency cases, and more time with his kids.

He unlocked the door, stepped into the house, and was immediately greeted by Jack’s arms around his legs, throwing his balance for a second.

“Hey, buddy.” He smiled and ruffled his son’s hair.

“Hi, daddy.” Jack beamed up at him, his small arms still wrapped around his father’s legs. Aaron put down his briefcase by the door and picked the boy up- Jack was already 5 years old, but Aaron would carry him as long as he could, not wanting to miss more of his son's childhood than he already had.

“You’re home early,” Jessica said as she walked into the living area from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he told her. “The team got lucky and we didn’t have as much work this week so I let everyone go home.” He put Jack down and the young boy ran off to resume playing with his toys.

“Well, everyone’s homework for the weekend is done. Jack already ate dinner and there’s some leftover in the fridge for you and (Y/N),” Jessica said.

Hotch furrowed his brow. “Still?”

Jessica sighed and looked down. “Still.”

When Haley died, one of the first things Aaron did was put you and Jack in counseling- better to do damage control now than to face the consequences years later- but it seemed, to no one's fault, that you were going to need more than that. The event with Foyet had left you traumatized, but you’d worked through it well. Even the loss of your mother wasn’t the cause of the lows you experienced.

Aaron knew better than anybody else that there were things about the brain that were unexplainable in origin and uncontrollable to the being it belonged to; he only wished you hadn’t been an unlucky victim of the chemical warfare of the mind. You’d already been a victim of too much already.

“Thanks again for watching them,” he said.

Jessica shook her head. “We’re family. It’s what we do.” She said goodbye to Jack and grabbed her coat before heading out the door.

“Daddy!” Jack called. “Can you come play?”

“A little later, buddy.” Aaron had made his way to the kitchen, heating up leftover dinner for you and himself. “I’m going to check on your sister.”

“Can I come too?” Jack asked.

Hotch hesitated. You were prone to irritability, especially when your depression became exceptionally overwhelming. Of course, you’d never purposefully say anything mean to your brother, but it was better that the only people in your room- your personal space- were you and the adults you trusted.

“Well,” he said, “it's almost your bedtime. So why don’t you get ready for bed and after I talk to (Y/N) we can read a story.”

“Even a comic book?”

“Even a comic book.”

Jack dashed upstairs without another word. Aaron plated the food for you and him, carefully carrying it up the stairs and knocking on your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart,” he called softly- it was the nickname he had been calling you since you were a child, just as he had always used “buddy” for Jack. “Can I come in?”

There was a murmured “Sure” that came through the door. When Aaron stepped through, he wasn’t surprised to find that the lights were off and you were wiping sleep away from your eyes.

“Hey,” he closed the door behind him and turned the lights on as dim as they could go. “You take a nap?”

“Yeah,” you said sleepily.

“I figured we could eat dinner together.” He sat on the edge of the bed and handed you a plate, though he wasn’t sure if you would actually eat it or just cut it into pieces and push it around with your fork.

“What time is it?” You asked.

“7:30,” he said. He began to eat his dinner, watching passively to see if you would too. “Jack is getting ready for bed.”

You nodded and took a small bite of food- a baby step forward. The rest of the meal was eaten slow and silent, but your dad didn't mind. Any time he got to spend with you was precious, especially since you didn't want to do much these days. Any time you ate something, anything, offered to you it brought him relief.

You finished about a fourth of your meal. Your dad knew better than to question if you wanted more- instead he just put your plate on top of his empty one.

“You want to do anything once Jack goes to sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m tired.”

“Okay.” He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you mumbled and tucked yourself back under the covers.

He left your room, quietly closing the door behind him. He put the plates by the staircase so he wouldn’t forget to take them down before he went to bed and then walked to Jack’s room. The door was wide open, the little boy already wearing his favorite set of fire truck pajamas and tucked under the covers. Aaron expected him to be holding a comic book- one of the new ones with Captain America on it- but instead he was holding Haley’s candle.

“No comic book?” he asked.

Jack shook his head. “No. I thought we could talk to mommy instead.”

Aaron smiled just a little and nodded. He knelt next to Jack and lit the candle for him. The reflection of the flame danced in his dilated pupil as he silently thought of his mom and then he blew it out.

“All done,” Jack said.

Aaron placed the candle on the nightstand and gave Jack a kiss on the forehead, just as he had done for you. “Goodnight, buddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, daddy,” Jack said, settling under the blankets.

Aaron walked to the door and flipped off the lights. He was about to leave when he heard Jack’s voice again.

“I asked mommy if she could grant me a wish,” he said.

“Oh?” Jack didn’t usually tell your dad what he ‘talked’ to his mom about, which was something he was okay with. His children’s relationship with their mother was sacred and personal- something they should only have to share with others if they wanted to. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, his head peeking out from under the blankets. “I asked her to help (Y/N) get better.”

A sad smile warped Aaron’s features. “That’s a nice thing to ask for.”

“Yeah,” Jack hummed sleepily. “Goodnight, daddy.”

“Goodnight, buddy.”

Aaron closed the door and went back downstairs. The silence in the house was deafening- there should have been a movie on, or the clicking of a keyboard, or even soft music playing from your phone. But you were upstairs asleep, not wanting to do anything or be with anyone. He could have taken the time to enjoy the quiet, but he couldn’t. He tried to read, or get ahead on paperwork, or even clean (though the house didn’t need it), but he couldn’t be happy about the silence that was a result of your loss of joy.

He went to bed early, following his normal night routine until he got into bed and rolled over onto his side.

Haley’s candle was on the nightstand.

He sat up, taking a deep breath before gently reaching for the candle and lighting it. A tear fell from his eye as he watched the flame burn in front of him- a reminder of everything he had lost.

Honey, he thought. If you hear this, please help her. I’ve already lost you… I can’t lose her too.

I really can’t lose her too.

[foldingfittedsheets]

on the topic of mattresses and pillows, first off, thank you for being a treasure and answering everyone's bed queries, secondly, i have a mattress that is at least 15 years old if not older at this point, and i prefer to sleep angled somewhere between my side and stomach due to an unfortunate overendowment of the chest. what type of mattress would you recommend, and are there any decent pillows that don't go flat and won't cause me to accidentally smother myself in my sleep?

Hmgh. Okay so first as a benchmark, our bodies needs change every 7-9 years. Replacing a bed that often is expensive but start to think of it when you hit the ten year mark. $800 over ten years is a reasonable amount for your health.

No shade at all, 15 years is getting awfully long in the tooth and will definitely be a contributing factor in sleep position. If you’re reading this and your bed is that old please consider whether it’s still meeting your needs or if you’re sleeping in a dent and putting it off. Beds are part of your health. Be nice to your sleeping body.

To your question: you’re probably gonna want to aim for something in the middle range, very soft beds are rough for stomach sleeping, but very hard is brutal for side sleeping.

For a pillow a solid memory foam, but as an erstwhile stomach sleeper I find that pulling the pillow partially under my chest helps stop the suffocating. With a solid memory foam you’re not struggling to come up for air.

And now for the line that I straight up didn’t believe before I got a nice bed: Sleeping on your side and stomach are symptoms of discomfort. The “ideal” sleep position is on your back with your head raised slightly.

See, the reason most people don’t sleep on their back is lack of low back support from the mattress. That curve in your lower back needs to get filled in for you to really be comfy. Ever found you need to keep your knees up while laying on your back? It’s shitty back support! Your body is unconsciously saying it’s not comfortable and you’re making an adjustment to accommodate that.

I truly thought this was bullshit until the first night I woke up on my new bed, flat on my back, having not moved all night long. Nothing hurt and I was freakin shook. I’ve always had a fucked up back and slept almost exclusively on my stomach. So with the right setup your sleeping position might change.

Now some people need help getting the low back support- people like I used to be who don’t weigh enough, people with difficult spines. Other people need help with breathing on their back like if you have huge massive boobies flopping every which way. Adjustable bases can go under your bed and provide the least pressure on your body to sleep well.

This isn’t always feasible for a lot of people, because fancy beds that facilitate real comfort can be expensive, not to mention moveable bases. The upshot is you can achieve some of that with pillow placement.

A pillow under your knees while sleeping on your back helps a ton. There’s angled wedges that can help prop your head up a bit while you sleep. Only ten degrees makes a huge difference for all kinds of issues. Acid reflux, sleep apnea, migraines, the list is long.

So if it’s in the stars for you to splurge don’t rule out that back sleeping might be in your future which my betitted wife has always found comfiest, bed permitting. But when you go into the store, lay how you sleep. Don’t rule out trying a bed on your back but if you sleep at an angle, lay at an angle.

I know it’s awkward to lay ass up in front of a stranger. But do it. Do it for long enough to really feel if the bed is supportive, squashing your tee-taa’s too much, if it’s letting your spine bend too far the wrong way. And ask to try it with a nice pillow that fits your body. Get a combo that works for you.

Good luck!

[redheadspark]

Hey love! It’s been awhile. I’m really hoping no one has requested this yet 🤞

May I request for Druig with Imprint?👀🙏

Hope you’re well🧡

A/N - Hey! Long time no talk, I hope you're well! This one is short but sweet, I hope you like it!

Look

Summary - One look changes everything

Warnings - Just Fluff

All it took was a look. One singular look.

Imprinting happened with animals at the very beginning, it was a natural phenonnemon for them for thousands of years and through plenty of evolution of the planet.  When humans started to imprint, it was a two new breed to deal with so to speak.  Scientist could not explain it, nor could anyone else really.  One day, humans found out that there was a way imprinting could happen amongst one another.

It was rare, but it was real.  Soulmates came into being.

Even with modern day technology, soulmates was still a mystery amongst the entire population.  They were rare, the actual international number of soulmates was lower than 1% with no real clue or sing of increasing.  Yet those who found to be soulmates end up having the longest lifespans compared to the average humans, not to mention the lowest rates of sickness and diseases.  Interviews with soulmates to make them look like celebrities, yet they were normal people.

Normal random people, and you happened to be in that statistic.

With the sunbeams hitting your skin and bringing you out of your sleep, you blinked slowly and heard a few sounds already this early in the morning.  The coffee maker in the kitchen beeping, signaling it was ready.  The shower turning on, the sound alone bouncing off the tile walls.  With a slight crack in the window brought in the noises of bird chirping and cars already honking outside on the road. But you were used to these sounds, you rubbing your eyes to get the rest of the sleep out of your body.  Your bedroom was slightly opened from the door, you could distinctly hear soft humming from the direction of the living room.  A deep tenor tone, making you grin and curl under your sheets.

Your own soulmate: Druig.

If you were to ask him, Druig would claim that you were the one who imprinted on him when you two saw one another across the room.  But in your mind, it was Druig that imprinted.  Maybe it was both of you acing on it without either of you realizing in.  From that you read in college papers and in some of your own research, the feeling of imprinting was like your breath getting lost in your lungs and your vision being amplified and heightened.  Soulmates claiming it was like a rebirth, or taking in a fresh breath after being under water for so long.  

You never thought you would have that yourself in your life, which seemed mundane and nothing out of the ordinary.  With your 9 to 5 job, an apartment that seemed a bit too cramped, and family drama to deal with, nothing new was going to happen in your life.

But Druig changed all of that with one simple gaze.

Getting up from the bed, you stretched your back and ruffled your Long hair that got out of its braid.  You now could smell the coffee that was freshly brewed, making you hungry since you were a coffee addict.  The humming was heard from the shower, some tone that was one of his favorite songs from an old punk band that he was a fan of.  Yo knew his sate of music was unique since he was no big fan of the mainstream music that was heard a lot on the radio.  Everything about your soulmate was unique and different, and it shook up your life in the best way possible.

You remember the day it happened: exactly one year ago.

A warm summer day that was morphing into autumn, the leave already starting to turn and the crisp winds coming in from the mountains.  You were invited to a backyard party by a fiend of yours in college whom you stayed in contact with.  Making it just in time for the local band to tune up and start their first song.  You friend Makkari placed a red cup in your hand and grinned at you as she signed with one hand “I’m glad you came!  You’ll love these guys!”

The band started playing, the notes floating in the air and was already shaking the walls of the house.  Of course you were bobbing your head to the music, thinking it was a great song and the band was rather decent when it came to the sound.

Then suddenly, someone bumped into you from behind and made you spill a bit of your beer.

“Oh, sorry!”  

“It’s okay—“ You stopped when you saw him, looking over your shoulder and seeing his bright blue eyes wide at you.  They were so blue, so pristine and almost like sapphires or drops of waters.  His dark brown hair pushed to the side along his ivory skin, the distinct nose that complimented his face.  

The way he looked at you, it made you feel it within a second.  The breath that seemed so fresh that it hit you in the gut, your vision was beyond clear and almost razor sharp clear.  Perhaps it was muddled before, the way you saw thing or even breathed.  

But not now, not when the imprint took place. 

You heard the shower go off as you slipped out of bed, having  no need to make it since it was your day off and you were intending to make it a relaxing day.  The humming from Druig was heard a bit more as you heard him shuffling around in the bathroom, you combing your hair to get the knots out and then heading out into the living room.  Knowing Druig, he liked taking his time in the morning.  He was a late riser recently since the promotion at work.  

Ajak, his boss and mentor, saw the hard work he was putting and decided that a promotion was in order, which meant half of his week was spent at your shared apartment to work remotely.  He liked it that way, enjoying the peace and quiet at home when life would get chaotic.  

After the imprint was made, you two were inseparable.  Druig took you by the hand and ushered you out of the backyard. Away from the noise and the chaos of the band to talk to you, for you both to talk to one another and to figure out if the imprint was real.  Feeling his hands holding yours, hearing his voice in how he spoke to you, you felt it in your gut. 

It was real:  you was his soulmate and he was yours.

Your living room was cramped but comfortable.  The sofa was a gift from your friend Gilgamesh since she moved into his new home with another friend Thena, the rocking chair that you would use for your cross stitching and reading was found at the goodwill around the corner.  Several indoor plants on the windowsill to get the sunrise that was already pouring into the space, small trinkets and knick knacks from past adventures and traveling days together in Druig’s black hair. You loved this apartment, it was a home for both yourself and Druig to hare together. Late nights eating pizza, early mornings over coffee, those moments were the best with your soulmate.

That first year together seemed like a dream. You both got to know one another so quickly with no sings of slowing down, but it was what you both wanted.  Not wanting to go on with your lives without one another, no matter the raised brows from your friends and families.  Especially from Ikaris, a co worker of yours who seemed cocky.  When he met Druig, he instantly hated him.  But you hated him already in how he treated his ex Sersi.  Yet he looked disgusted at Druig, like he was a bug under his shoe.

It made you hate Ikaris even more. 

Druig made things easy when you two got together.  There was no hesitance when It came to him, whether it was finding a place together and going through the milestones side by side.  Like any other relationship, the bumps and hiccups were there.  But since you were soulmates, those bumps were smaller and the hiccups were non existent.  

You loved his quirks: indie music, worn books to read from cover to cover, second hand furniture, black coffee.  The way he spoke with an old soul but had a youthful heart, how he enjoyed doing community service on the weekends and still have time to go to his friends parties and kickbacks.  He made more time with you, wanting to spend any time he could with you.  His words of affirmation, subtle physical touches when you sat side by side.  

He swept you off your feet from the very beginning, and he still did one year later.

“Darlin’?”

“Out here,” You called out as you heard his name, making the pair of you two cups of coffee.  Thankfully, you two had the day off together something very rare because of your schedule and constant busy schedule.  Although you both were having a lazy morning, you had a dinner you both were going to attend at Kingo’s move premiere.  Knowing that the dinner and premier was going to be long, Druig thought it was a good idea to have a lazy morning before it would get chaotic into the evening.  

Finally, you heard the soft sounds bare feet on the hardwood floor, king you look up and seeing your soulmate and boyfriend Druig walking out of the bedroom freshly showered in a worn concert t shirt and his sweats hanging low on his hips.  You felt your stomach do a small lurch from the site, Druig ruffling his damp hair and he smiled.

“Happy one year anniversary,” you hummed as you handed him his cup of coffee.  Druig chuckled, leaning over the small counter to peck you on the lips as he took the cup in his hands. 

“Thank you, luv,” He replied lightly, then leaning back to take a big drink from his cup.  You made a face, to which Druig raised a brow at you.

“What?” He asked, you gesturing with your chin to his cup.

“I still don’t understand how you can drink that with no cream or sugar,” You explained, seeing him roll his eyes.

“I’ve told you, it reflects my bleak and dark soul,” He answered in a sarcastic tone.  Throwing a towel as his face, you laughed as you drank from your own cup that had a dash of cream in it to make it sweet.  

“Also, I have planned a getaway for us after we have this premier and dinner tonight,” Druig explained while he took the towel off his face and watched you drink you coffee, “To one of our favorite places,”

You grinned widely at him, “The beach?  Where?!”  

“Let’s just say Kingo has great connections to one of the beach resorts you and I have eyed a few times,” Druig answered, you were about to argue with him when he raised his hand to you, “I promise it’s all taken care of.  Kingo helped with the reservations and Makkari already filled me in with where to take you for meals there,”

Some gestures like this made you love Druig all the more.  Ever since you two got together and made your relationship work, he would find smaller ways to make you feel special and immensely loved.  From gifts like flowers and books you loved reading along with new material for your stitching, to his chivalry that he would show everyday at you.  He made your light days lighter, and drove out the storms that threaten to make your smile fall away.  He brought comfort in pain, peace in chaos, love when you felt undeserving of it.  

And to think you were skeptical of the concept of soulmates.  Now you had one, and there was no other life you wanted.

“Well, now I’m looking forward to it!” You said, nearly bouncing on your feet as you went to wash out your cup.  Yet Druig watched you with his warm smile, knowing deep down he had more plans than just a weekend getaway at the beach.  

The engagement ring he brought for you a month before was in the sock drawer, Druig knowing it would be the perfect weekend to take the next step with his soulmate.  

The End

@a-lumos-in-the-nox @valeridarkness @ethereal-athalia @heartofwritiing

[venusinthesun]

When you were

Yandere arlecchino X reader (but can be read as non-yandere) CW: very subtle kidnapping, SEMI-NSFW at the end, THIS IS NWLNW‼️

———————————————————

When you were little, it was a common trend among girls you were around to make a list of qualities you would want in a future spouse. Tongue sticking out between your teeth as you squint at the paper, messily writing the wants you had for a partner. It was a childish list of course, after all it’s not like 9 year olds have a good idea of what makes a good life partner, but you were determined to find somebody who hit all those qualities.

1. must be nice

When your nine,everybody is nice until proven otherwise. What people consider nice is definitely up to personal opinion, and even then you were definitely stretching it here. peruere was..good enough you would say. They were a peer you would see commonly enough at the park, always walking next to that pink-haired girl. She was a bit awkward and quiet, but that didnt stop you from trying your best to get her attention. You hadn’t really seen her ever be nice, but you have definitely seen her not kick puppies or something, so it was good enough for you! Check box one down!

2. Must be cool

Peruere was definitely cool. When you’re 14, everybody who seems “different” is cool. Peruere was any swooning teenage girls dream- streaks of black, red pupils, the blackened hands! She was so cool you almost didn’t want to talk to her, after all the last time you spoke you were nine, but you managed to stumble through an awkward conversation! With a lot of stuttering and blushing, you held a completely normal conversation with the coolest girl you’ve ever known. Check box two down!

3. Must be strong

When you’re 18, you force yourself to get over Perueres absence. You haven’t been super close friends anyway despite your embarrassing attempts at talking to her four years ago, so you really don’t need to worry about her as much as you are. However it’s difficult to pull yourself away from the window fretting over where you friend could be, and why she left with no warning. You mourn the loss of your long time Crush, forcing the ideas of her holding you lovingly to leave your mind to focus on the future.

4. Must be rich

When your 25, your lucky enough to have a date to bring you to fancy balls. The sparkle and glimmer leaves your eyes struggling to take in every detail, but persist anyway because of the wonder and excitement. There are hundreds of people here, each more done-up and fancy than the rest. You notice the woman looking at you, red pupils raking over your form. She looks so familiar, but also different at the same time. Her outfit is dark but is clearly expensive, and the wine she is holding even more so. Whoever that mysterious woman is must be very rich you think before getting pulled into an another dance with your date.

5. Must be very loving

When your 27, your life is consumed by arlecchino. You sit on her lap as she works on papers at her desk, but the quill is still on the table as her hands are focused on you instead. Greedy hands grab your hips and chest, squeezing and playing with your body lovingly. Her lips place short and curt kisses down your neck, sometimes leaving a bloom of developing dark purple. “To make up for all the lost time I didn’t have you” she whispers in your ear before turning your head to kiss you properly on the lips.

When you were little, you made a list of qualities you want in a perfect life partner. When you’re older, you know the only partner you will ever have again will be arlecchino, silly list or not.

[anthurak]

Random Old Theories/Headcannons: Wyrd RWBY

So those who have been following me for the last few years might recall that prior to us actually knowing anything about Volume 9, some of my theory posts touched on Team RWBY returning to Remnant changed by their time in this mystical realm beyond their own, wielding weird and strange powers.

Anyway, this is a WIP from a couple years back that went into some fun ideas for these changes for ‘Wyrd RWBY’ that I thought I’d touch up and finally post.

Enjoy XD

---

Yang doesn’t seem much different at first. Just that her hair seems to be a bit wavier than before, like she’s using her semblance all the time now. And the air around her always seems to be at least a few degrees warmer. But then you start noticing other things. Like how sometimes her right arm isn’t made of metal and circuits but instead wreathed in some kind of tangible flame. Or how the fingernails on Yang’s left arm now look more like claws. Or how when Yang’s eyes turn red, they now also become slitted like the eyes of a lizard. Or the golden flakes that now dot Yang’s exposed skin. Flakes that will sometimes spread. Sometimes they spread so much they look more like golden scales. Yang always laughs this off. Which is also when you can see that her teeth are quite a bit larger, and sharper than you remember.

Blake herself isn’t the one who seems different at first. It’s her shadow. Like how it often moves independent of Blake. Or is somehow able to grab things for Blake. Sometimes you’ll see Blake’s shadow moving along a wall with Blake herself nowhere in sight. Sometimes Blake’s shadow won’t look like Blake at all, but rather some manner of very large cat. And sometimes you’ll see a large black cat wandering the back allies with the shadow of a person.

Weiss… where to begin with Weiss? First off, you wouldn’t expect a girl like Weiss to be into tattoos, but now Weiss seems to be covered in them. On almost every bit of visible skin, Weiss has these strange, arcane symbols, glyphs and runes. They tend to glow whenever Weiss uses her semblance. Speaking of which, you know that the Schnee semblance is versatile to say the least, but you’re pretty sure they at least needed to dust to do some of their crazier feats.

What Weiss is doing feels less like a semblance and more like actual magic.

Then there’s Weiss’s Grimm. Not Grimm like everyone knows. No one would mistake these creatures for the Grimm that humanity fears. With their bodies and fur the color of freshly fallen snow and icy blue eyes. You’ve seen Winter and Willow Schnee summon ‘white’ Grimm before, but the creatures that Weiss calls to her side seem so much more tangible. Not some construct of aura that will vanish as soon as its mistress stops focusing on it, but something REAL. And there’s always at least one or two with Weiss wherever she goes, sometimes more.

And Ruby? Well, let’s just say the fact that she somehow has wolf ears and an eye-patch are probably the least weird things about her now.

Like how her silver eyes were always unique, but now it seems they often glint and shimmer and otherwise catch the light in ways eyes don’t. Even when there isn’t any light for them to catch…

Ruby also uses her semblance more. A lot more. As in, unless she’s accompanying someone else, you can expect her to enter a room not through a door, but via a trickle of rose-petals blowing in through an open window. Or a vent. Or just appearing out of basically nowhere.

In fact, it seems like there are always a few petals flaking off of Ruby’s cloak, only to vanish before they even hit the ground.

And it feels like any time Ruby might be struck or otherwise injured, her semblance will activate.

You remember one time when Nora tried to give Ruby an affectionate punch to the arm, only for her fist to travel through the arm as it suddenly burst into petals before reforming a moment later.

Come to think of it, you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen anyone actually TOUCH Ruby. Aside from her teammates…

Speaking of which, Team RWBY together brings even more strangeness.

Like how they’ll sometimes speak amongst themselves in a strange language that sounds more like a whistling breeze or a crackling flame than anything someone might actually speak with.

Or how they will sometimes move and act together without need for words at all. And that’s just the least of it…

Like you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Blake’s golden eyes flash just a bit when Yang uses her semblance. Or Yang’s violet eyes shimmer when Blake uses hers. Or how Yang’s semblance now creates a fiery, shadow-like afterimage of herself that looks a bit more like Blake than her. Or times when Blake will gain some sudden burst of strength while fighting that causes her hair to start flickering like a flame.

Meanwhile you’re pretty sure you’ve seen some of Weiss’s runic tattoos briefly appear on Ruby’s skin, or the edges of Weiss’s hair briefly turn red. And there was that one time Ruby and Weiss went out to save a group of incoming refugees being attacked by a horde of grimm, yet those same refugees swear they were saved by a mysterious woman in red and white.

Oh, and there’s also Ruby’s new pet mouse who actually seems pretty normal. Aside from the fact that some people are saying the mouse talks.

But that’s just silly!

[robertreich]

Why Are There Fees on Everything? 

If there’s one thing that brings our divided nation together, it’s our hatred of junk fees.

Junk fees are extra charges you don’t know you’re paying until you get the bill. They hide the true cost when you buy a good or service, so it’s impossible to comparison shop. For example…

Say I want to travel to go see my favorite musician Dolly Parton play at Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry.

When I book my plane ticket, I have to fork up extra cash to bring luggage or change my flight. My grandkids are more into Blippi than Dolly — so they won’t be traveling with me. Otherwise, I might have to pay a fee just to sit with them.

I need a rental car once I land, so I’ll be stuck paying an extra fee to pick up the car at the airport and another fee they never told me about to cover the rental company’s costs for disposing old tires. Seriously?

When I pay my hotel bill, the price is way higher than I thought I’d pay when I booked the room, to cover wi-fi, pool access, a gym, state and local taxes and other special fees.

Before I get to the show, I better look at my checking account balance if I want to buy a record. Even if I see that I have enough money to make a purchase, the timing of other charges hitting my account could result in me getting slapped with a surprise overdraft fee. It's a simple mistake, but could make a $20 record end up costing $50.

Oh and don’t forget the concert tickets themselves. Major ticket sellers like Ticketmaster tack on fees to attend shows, which can drive up the final ticket price as much as 78% percent higher than what I was told the initial price was.

It’s all bait-and-switch. You thought you could afford to see Dolly Parton, but it turns out it’s gonna take a lot more than working “9 to 5”.

Corporations often label these types of charges “convenience fees” or “service fees.” Probably because they “conveniently” “serve” to pad their bottom lines, costing Americans at least $29 billion dollars a year we didn’t expect to pay. This is a huge problem spanning many different industries — not just the ones I’d encounter on my trip.

But there’s good news: President Biden has urged Congress to draw up legislation to prevent these outrageous fees.

Turns out, one of the few things as popular as Dolly Parton is tackling junk fees. 

It’s time for Congress to act.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas24 Day 9: OG Hybrid Baby-verse

Is it normal for me to drop 8k of fic on Ficmas? It is not.

But I am so tired that I have tapped out tonight (my sister's dog expects very late nights and very early starts and I am not great company before 8am), and today's post will be edited and posted tomorrow.

So tonight I give you the OG Hybrid Baby-verse fic. The full draft clocks in at 22k, but this is the part that is okay being seen by human eyes for a bit of a laugh.

This original version is extremely different to what I've decided to go with. I changed a lot of things to better fit the characters and the plot - like, Jasper being around for the pregnancy, Maria being more aggressive towards Alice, and a lot of world-building that occurs in this section.

Honestly, this is just an example of how sometimes you can write 22k of something and none of it is usable for the project. But you learn so much about the character and the story that it was worth every single word.

So I hope you enjoy this throwback (it has to be at least 7+ years old), and I will see you tomorrow!

warning: some very mild sexual content.

Jasper was stunned when I told him, but it hadn’t taken much to convince him – there was a heartbeat, and my scent had changed slightly. He had… freaked out, trying to get away from me, pacing the room manically, muttered and babbled at me as I perched on the couch, waiting til he calmed down. Hopefully, sooner rather than later – I was starving again, and I’d actually lost weight despite the fact that I was eating everything within my eye line. It was lucky that I could sneak over to the Cullens and eat out of their fridge so that Dad and Simon had no clue exactly how much food I was putting away. Simon was still convinced he’d left a bag of groceries in the cart by accident.

“How?” Jasper looked at me desperately, running his hands through his hair.

“The usual way?” I shrugged, and Jasper moved closer to me, hovering, like he couldn’t touch me. “Carlisle thinks that the venom makes us compatible, and my humanity makes me fertile. Plus, my body is used to adapting to dramatic changes. Combine that with the ‘magical Saturday’ we drove your entire family out of the house? Voila.”

“Carlisle knows?” Jasper said urgently.

“I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think it was this…” I gestured at my stomach. “He’s a doctor, and he understands my body has… quirks.”

“Good. Good. He can look after you,” Jasper was pacing again, looking exactly like a panicked teenage boy who’d just been given world-changing news. Take away the fact he’d fought in the Civil War, that’s exactly what he was. I was sorry I hadn’t filmed it for future teasing. “What did he say?”

“Congratulations, everything looks fine, if slightly more advanced. He wants to ‘monitor me’ closely,” I said, repeating Carlisle’s words. “At this rate, he estimates the pregnancy should last around sevenish months, but he’ll get a better idea when I hit the halfway point.”

“A baby.” Honestly, Jasper looked like a cat that had gotten an electric shock.

“A baby,” I agreed, unfolding my legs and lying on the couch.

“You’re seventeen, Alice,” Jasper moved closer to me. “What… how do you feel?”

“Freaked out, amused,” I said. “Worried and bewildered and waiting for someone else to make all the choices for me. Carlisle’s not convinced that… it’s too late to abort, and Carlisle thinks the baby is going to be strong. And I can’t put the baby up for adoption because it’s going to be the child of a vampire and a half-hybrid.”

“You don’t want the baby,” Jasper murmured, and I felt the stand of despair flow from him before he got control of his gift.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m eighteen in three weeks, this isn’t what I was expecting,” I said gently. “And there’s a part of me that still wants the freedom to be able to run if I need to. That wants this to go away because its permanent and scary.

“Would I get an abortion if it was an option? I’d give it serious consideration, with your input – and Carlisle’s, because he’d probably be the only one prepared to do the surgery. I would have liked to be older, out of high school and maybe college. Safer. But it’s happened now and I’m trying to get my head around it. I want to say you’re stuck with me, but if this is too much, too weird, I can go.”

“Alice, there is nothing you can do that will make me not want you at my side,” Jasper was pulling me up from the couch and into his arms. “Nothing in my mind. I love you, and that is never going to change. And I never, ever expected a family to be a possibility for us.

“But if this isn’t something you want, we can… can fix this. Rosalie and Emmett would give their left arms to raise a child. No one would think less of you if you chose that.”

I pressed against him and closed my eyes. “I know. But I don’t know if I could do that. Live watching my baby calling someone else Mommy. I… I never wanted a baby, but now I have this, I kind of want it, but only if you’re with me.”

“I ain’t going anywhere, darlin’,” he kissed my head, and I hid my smile as his hand slid down to my belly. A little firmer, but no visible bump yet. I snuggled in and for a moment, I was just wrapped in Jasper’s bubble of emotion – love and anticipation and nervousness.

When I finally pulled away, I was feeling better. “I hate to ruin this beautiful moment, but we have to work out how to tell the rest of your family, how to tell my family, how we’re going to approach it, and I am starving.”

Jasper laughed, and pulled me back. “Let’s find you food, and then we’ll discuss the rest.”

//

Our plan was simple. There was six weeks of school left before summer, and with careful wardrobe decisions, I could conceal my condition – I didn’t want anyone gossiping, and the Cullens preferred to fly under the radar. After the baby was born healthy, we’d make some decisions. Jasper, Edward and I were all seniors next year, whilst Emmett and Rose had formally graduated – meaning that we could call upon Esme, Rose and Emmett to baby sit whilst we were at school. Jasper was contemplating ‘graduating early’ under the guise of early acceptance, but I didn’t want to be left at school alone – and my patchy school record meant that there was no way I would be getting out before next June.

Jasper seemed pretty confident Rosalie would be happy to baby-sit, Esme too. After we graduated, they were already planning on moving to somewhere in New York state, and many of the art school options I was looking at were in the same area. It made sense that I would - could - go with them.

As for my family, we were going to lie and say that I was already three months along and I just hadn’t noticed anything amiss until recently. I didn’t know Dad and Simon well enough to predict their reaction – but Jasper assured me that Esme would cut off her own nose before she cast me out.

The circle of those in the know would be limited – the Cullens, my family and Bella Swan, simply because she was always at the house, and Edward wouldn’t keep a secret from her. I’d spend the summer going between the Cullens and my house – I already had a huge list of reasons to give Dad and Simon for my constant absence that would require constant monitoring from Carlisle.

I thought, when I told the Cullens, that I knew how they’d react. I thought Rose would throw a shit fit, Edward would be smug that he and Bella were above such ‘mistakes’, Emmett would make vulgar jokes, Esme would be delighted and Carlisle would be himself – steady yet cautious.

I was way off the mark.

“Pregnant?” Esme repeated, everyone gaping at me. “Oh my…”

Edward looked terrified, Emmett was imitating a fish and Rosalie… Rosalie looked liked I’d flash-fried a kitten in front of her. If possible, she was even paler and she looked like she was about to burst into tears.

“Whose is it?” Emmett said suddenly, seriously and Rosalie seemed to relax slightly.

“It’s mine,” Jasper’s response was gentle, and I realised he was feeling whatever Rosalie was, and it was bad.

“Alice’s unique genetic make-up allows her body to adapt to foreign material,” Carlisle broke in, and the compassion for his daughter was almost tangible. “This is completely unheard of – had Alice or Jasper come to me with concerns, I would have dismissed the idea.”

“A baby,” Rosalie was staring at a point on the floor, her face completely blank.

“Wow,” was all Emmett said, but his gaze was on Rosalie.

This was terrible. I had expected anger and scorn, maybe some happiness. But this was pure misery – from Rosalie, and from Esme, who looked quite small and sad next to Carlisle who was holding her hand.

And I stood there, trying to think of something to say that would help. That would explain that I hated myself for causing them this pain, but I needed them all to get me through this. That there was no way that Jasper and I could do this without the rest of them.

“I’m going to be sick,” I announced, and fled into the kitchen to empty my stomach – half a gallon of milk, two sandwiches and a muffin – into the sink. Ugh. I could hear the low hum of their voices in the lounge room, but was more focused on emptying my stomach of everything that had offended it so. Fuck, there was the half-can of tuna and the salad I’d scoffed, and the yoghurt… I was starving all the time, but having it all come back up was enough to convince me to stick to crackers and tea for the rest of my life.

Within a few moments, I’d pulled a can of ginger ale from the fridge, and was lying on the kitchen floor with the can pressed to my face. My stomach was absolutely empty, and I’d rinsed the disgusting mess down the drain.

My phone was buzzing in my pocket and I pulled it out.

“Hello?”

“Alice? It’s Simon. I’m headed home and wanted to know if you wanted a ride.”

“Please,” I said.

“Be there in ten minutes, kiddo.”

I dragged myself off the floor, and padded out to the lounge room. Rosalie was wrapped in Emmett’s arms, and Esme was sitting beside her, clasping both her hands.

“I’m going,” I said, offering a half-wave, and grabbing my bag from beside the couch.

“Alice,” Jasper was staring at me in horror, guiding me to a couch, Carlisle moving towards me with an equally concerned look.

“I’m fine, I just puked up everything I ate, and there was a lot,” I said as he pushed me down. Edward wordlessly offered me a mirror that he’d pulled from my bag – purple-black circles underscored both my eyes, my face was pale and waxy, and utterly colourless. I looked like a reanimated corpse.

“Do you feel okay?” Carlisle said seriously, as he checked my pulse.

“Tired and pukey,” I said, cradling my ginger ale. “Kind of warm, too. Simon’s about to pick me up.”

“This is a good lead in,” Edward interrupted. “She goes home looking sick, in a few days, give them the news. It’ll look natural and less of a set-up.”

“True,” Carlisle said, but his gaze was still concerned. Jasper was hovering around me as I practically swayed on the spot.

“I am fine, I swear. I’m going home to crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow,” I said.

“Well, sit down now before you fall down,” Jasper said, manhandling me into a chair.

Simon was worried when he saw me, and sent me straight up to bed. I could barely stand up long enough to shower and crawl into bed, falling asleep in seconds and not waking up til late the next morning – nearly fifteen hours. Some of the colour had come back into my face, thankfully. And I was ravenous, though the previous day’s worth of puking had taught me to be cautious.

“A few of Cyn’s classmates have come down with the flu,” Dad said, watching me tentatively pick at my eggs. “You must be patient zero of the junior class.”

“You’re staying home today – no saliva swapping with young Mr Cullen,” Simon said, pointing his knife at me.

“Been swapping more than saliva,” Cyn muttered into her breakfast and I managed to summon the energy to throw a piece of toast at her.

“Hey, no throwing breakfast foods,” Dad said to me. “Cynthia, no running commentary at family meals, thank you.”

//

This was bad. This was not a conversation I ever thought I’d have to have. Ever. I could feel the gentle whisper of Jasper’s gift around me, but it wasn’t helping.

“Um, so,” I began, wringing my hands. “Um, I talked to Carlisle and stuff, and it turns out that I’m pregnant.”

Simon and Dad just stared at Jasper and I in horror, gaping.

“What did the Cullens say?” Dad asked, looking exhausted.

“They’re shocked, but supportive,” I said carefully. //

I sat with my back against the headboard, staring into space. Edward’s not unkind warning to give the Cullens some breathing room was a clear sign that my condition was causing some kind of unhappiness amongst the family. And Dad and Simon had pretty much just asked me to stay at the Cullens until they could get their head around this.

And now I was hearing noises about the Benoits rearing their ugly heads in Seattle.

I needed to get away. Give everyone some space for a while. As tempting as it was to throw money at a bus ticket until I was in New York or somewhere I could get lost easily – actually, California was a better choice, due to the abundant sunlight – I knew I wouldn’t go far.

I could go to Canada.

Not as a runaway. Mom had a few contacts up there, the Tibault clan. They had managed to elude or fight off the Order. The Benoits had told them everything about the Tibaults, so they were basically arch-enemies, which suited Mom just fine. The Benoit were a large family, of almost two hundred people.

These days, unbeknownst to the Order or the Benoits, the Tibaults numbered almost six hundred, scattered throughout Canada in all walks of life. And there could have been more – that’s just the information Mom and I were privy to.

My contacts were Lusa and her husband. Lusa had always been fairly aggressive and unpleasant towards my mother, but kind and welcoming to me. I had gotten along well with her three daughters Simone, Naomi and Elodie, and I knew Lusa would give me information and a place to stay for a few days, whilst we worked out what the Benoits were doing up in Washington. They had stayed on their side of the Mason-Dixon line my whole life, and now were venturing west the same time I did?

Something was brewing, and Lusa would know.

It took me about ten minutes to shove my things into a backpack. I’d only be gone a few days, a week at most, so it was mostly a few changes of clothing, money and the like. I had a couple of disposable cell phones stashed in my closet, and it took no time at all to set one up, leaving my own plugged in at home.

As far as cellphone records went, Mary-Alice Brandon never left Forks.

For the next week, I was Annie Bradley, a twenty-year old English student from Ottawa.

And hopefully by the end of the week, everyone was ready to deal with the baby thing.

//

Getting to Canada was fucking hideous without a car. A bus from Forks to Port Angeles, transfer to a bus to Seattle, and then a five-hour bus ride to Vancouver. Add in stress, nerves and morning sickness, and I didn’t even both going to find Simone when I got to Vancouver – I found a cheap motel and slept solidly for eighteen hours.

I dreamt pretty solidly. The Cullens thought I was at home, and my Dad and Simon thought I was at the Cullens. Jasper had called a few times, but my phone was still charging on my desk on silent. Missing a day of school hadn’t been unusual to anyone – after all, my favourite pastimes at the moment were puking and sleeping.

It wouldn’t be until tonight, when Jasper and Carlisle came over to check on me and speak with my Dad and Simon that they’d realise I’d vanished. And then everyone would be freaking out. Because I’d gone through so many bus stations, there would be no way to track my scent. It would be Simon who found my Bag of Tricks – fake I.Ds, passports, money and stuff like that – and that would scare him more than anything else.  

//

Lusa scowled at me as I sat down.

“You look like you belong on that show Elodie loves so much, with the dead people walking around all the time,” she said to me, in her accent. I always loved Lusa’s stories – she was a mix of Inuit, French-Canadian and Trinidadian. Her father had been an honest-to-god vampire hunter down in Venezuela, and she had grown up around all the monsters and magic. Her mother had been Yakone Tibault, one of the most respected members of the family – and powerful, though I had no idea what their powers were.

She handed me a plate of eggs and toast, and glared at me til I started eating.

“I heard bad things coming from your part of the world,” Lusa said, as she poured me a glass of milk and sat down in front of me. “How is your mama?”

“Mom was killed a few years back,” I said evenly.

“Really,” Lusa said, watching me carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that you lost your mama, girlie. No child should lose their mother.”

“I’m okay,” I shrugged. “I have my father and his partner, Simon, out there. I’m not alone.”

“Pfft, men,” she shook her head. “And they do not live in our world, ma petite. They do not understand. Though, your mother struggled greatly, too. You know, I told her to leave you in our care so many times. Raise you safe and normal and happy. Not running in the night from the shadows on the wall. But no, she refused, thought we’d use you as blackmail, that she’d never get to see you. We could have helped her too, allowed her to build a life. But no, she was too proud. Filled with too many terrible plans.”

I was stunned. Lusa was kind, but I never knew she’d offered to protect and raise me.

“But the past is gone, and you did not trek all the way to the mountains to hear about ancient history.”

I nodded in agreement. “I heard some noise from the Benoits,” I said slowly. “Snooping around Seattle. I’m based in that area, and there’s a not insignificant population of others there, but they’ve never come this far west. Is something going on?”

Lusa watched me. “What kind of others?” she asked.

“Shape-shifters, definitely. A native tribe,” I said. “I’d guess at least a dozen, but I could be wrong.”

“Hmm. The Benoits have always left the native people alone. They know that is not magic they should meddle in, and that it cannot be as easily stamped out,” Lusa mused.

“There are also vampires,” I said flatly, and she looked at me with shock. “Neutral party. They live amongst the human population, and feed only from wild animals. That was the trigger for the shape-shifting; to defend the tribe from vampires. There is an agreement, a treaty that the vampires may not cross into the tribe’s lands, and they will be left alone. Unless a human is bitten, and then the vampires will be destroyed.”

“Interesting. Not unlike the little posse up in Denali,” Lusa said. My eyes widened. “I’ve been buying my furniture from the same very nice Spanish couple for over seventy years, girlie. I’m not a fool.”

“How old are you?” I said, pushing my empty plate away.

“Ach, older than whichever upstart has just been granted a place on the Benoit Council,” she said, and I looked up at the portrait of Yakone Tibault on the wall. But was it Yakone?

Lusa was smiling at me. “You are quick-witted, Mary-Alice. And because the information from Washington may be useful in the future – not for barter, just for my own plans, girl – I will give you three pieces of advice. One, stay away from Italy. Your mother was always adamant about that, and it was the only bit of good advice Elena had in her.

“Two, be careful with who you ally yourself with. You stay this side of the Mason-Dixon line; there would be very many interested parties in you, should they find out about you. Had Elena lifted her head out of her rage, she would have realised she is not alone in this world. Hybrids are rare, and keep to themselves. And she spent your childhood trying to turn you into her so she wouldn’t be alone. But in all my years, I have never heard of a hybrid having a child. You are a prize to the wrong person, girlie. Choose your friends carefully.

“Three, everybody has a price that would convince them to do terrible things, the darkest of things,” Lusa shook her head. “Some people come cheaper than others, that is all.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” I said, propping my head on my hand.

“And yet, they offer free advice. Now, I know there has been a new legacy added to the Benoit council since Antoine Benoit kicked it last summer. Dana and Yancy Sumner burned for his death, and no one has heard from their daughter Clara since before then, but it isn’t looking good. Meanwhile, the worst kept secret is that Antoine died in the bed of Yancy’s stepsister, nothing suspicious about the old pervert’s death at all. But Celeste wanted heads to roll, and now the last of the crossdems are dead and gone unless Clara’s managed to stay safe.”

“Crossdems?” I repeated.

“Cross-Dimensional Awareness. Yancy’s gift. Drives most of them bonkers, but Yancy had a special affinity for it… actually, that might be how Clara vanished. If he managed to weft space around her, to protect her… but that would effectively be a one-way trip,” Lusa mused, tapping the table before looking at my wide-eyed gaze. “Never mind all that. But the legacy has joined, and is aggressive.

“Too aggressive. They’re going to antagonise Miss Moreno down in Monterrey, and I am too old to see another Southern War, though if she still had her second, it would have been a thing to see. Never thought of that before. Should have pointed the Benoits down there in her hey-day, when that boy of hers was still running her campaigns. Would have cleared the Benoit ranks quite efficiently. Anyway, they’re pushing the limits of Miss Moreno’s patience, and they’ll draw notice of the Volturi sooner than later.”

“But why so far west?” I repeated, ignoring the sinking feeling.

“They’re aggressive, not stupid. They know there is a risk pissing off Moreno, and they are still human, even with their gifts. I’d say they are testing the waters, to set up a second base, in case Louisiana becomes inhospitable in the coming months.” Lusa grinned at me. “The Benoits are starting a war on the word of the Order, and seeing who pops up. Whack-a-mole, essentially.”

//

The next morning, Lusa took me to see Kay.

Kay was my favourite of Mom’s friends. She was tall and skinny, with weatherbeaten skin and steel-grey hair that looked like fairy-floss, even though she was only in her fifties. She lived outside of Pemberton, in a rundown old house and kept to herself. I knew she had a son somewhere, and she kept a few dogs, but was always very solitary. And despite her rough exterior and her sharp manner, she was very kind and loving. She also had the most interesting power – the ability to see the present. It sounds stupid, but she just knew everything – if you were ill, telling a lie, growing, dying, hungry, tired. She once told me, as a child, that she only ever saw people as their essential truth - she’d had a trans cousin and as a child, had been very confused when everyone referred to her as ‘him’ because she was very clearly a girl.

She was waiting for us when we arrived, scowling darkly at Lusa’s presence, but nodding at me.

“Look at Little Miss Mary-Alice,” Kay said, pulling me into a hug. She was like a human preying-mantis, all long, bony limbs. And then she tensed, cussing under her breath.

“Take it off her, take it off her now,” she yelled at Lusa, who actually jumped.

“Take what off?” I said, as she grabbed Lusa’s arm.

“She needed it,” Lusa insisted, as Kay dragged her back to me.

“You silly old cow, she’s pregnant,” Kay hissed and Lusa’s eyes widened at me.

“I meant no harm to her,” Lusa managed. Kay snorted.

“Undo it, now,” she said. “Before I kill you to remove it.”

Lusa reached and traced a shape over my forehead and I gasped; it was like I’d been doused in cold water. My senses flared, my head spun and my stomach cramped suddenly, and I felt a wet warmth between my legs. Blood, seeping through my jeans.

Kay let out a string of swear words and swept me into her arms, banging into her house.

“I’m going to get Noma, she’ll sort you out. Don’t move, and don’t worry,” she reassured me. I still hadn’t said anything, my arms tight around my middle, Lusa fluttering in the background.

“It was nothing bad, just a ward to protect you,” she kept saying to me, and I privately willed the baby just to hold on.

“Oh, one of you,” Noma said disinterestedly as she and Kay returned, turning her nose up at Lusa before bestowing a kind smile on me. “Hello sweetheart. Let’s get you and your baby back to rights, okay?”

“I didn’t intend for harm to come to her,” Lusa said again and Kay whirled around.

“You didn’t ask. Those spells see anything aside from the person a danger, including an unborn child. It’s imperfect and dangerous magic, positively crude,” Kay snapped.

Meanwhile, Noma had me propped up on some pillows, and handed me some leaves to chew on. It was vile, with only the faintest taste of mint – like licking a swampy forest floor. But she placed her hands on my admittedly-still flat if firmer than normal stomach. The air around her hands went wavy, and I felt very tired for a second, but slowly the pains stopped.

“No harm done,” Noma said kindly, plucking the disgusting bundle of leaves out of my hand. “You need to rest for a day or two, and all will be well. Just the ward leaving your body.” She rested her hand against my forehead. “Sleep, Mary-Alice. All will be well.”

And I did.

//

It was dark when I woke up, still on Kay’s couch, with a dog looking at me. I was still wearing my blood smeared jeans, my sneakers and my coat, and the inside of my mouth felt a rainforest floor.

Clambering off the couch, sending the dog skittering deeper into the house, I padded into the kitchen, catching my reflection in a mirror.

The last four days had taken their toll, and I’d lost more weight. I looked gaunt, and pale, dark circles under my eyes. My skin looked like semi-translucent wax. I needed a shower, and food, and to go home. Suddenly, my flight from Forks, which had seemed so rational in my head, had become the panicked reaction of a child.

But I’d deal with that later.

“Mary-Alice.”

I looked up to see Kay in the doorway, looking at me with a faint smile on her face.

“Noma’s gone home for the night, but she’ll be back for breakfast,” Kay said. “You slept longer than she expected, but Lusa said you’d arrived exhausted. Sleep is a great healer. Anyhow, Noma didn’t think you deserved to suffer through my cooking, and thought you needed something to build you up, so she made dinner.”

Within seconds, I was seated at the table, with an enormous bowl of some kind of chicken, vegetable and rice dish that tasted heavenly. Kay had turned down a portion of Noma’s cooking, eating a pile of salad and vegetables that she’d dumped cold baked beans on.

By the end of my second helping, I felt better than I had in weeks. My vision was sharper, my head was clearer and I didn’t feel as tired or frail.

“Well, I owe Noma a twenty,” Kay said, as I washed up. “She said it would sort you out, but I thought it was a horrendous idea, and a waste of chicken.”

“What was?” I asked, as I plucked an apple out of the bowl and took my seat opposite her.

“The quart of animal blood she dumped in that food,” Kay said casually, and I froze. “Don’t look so shocked, love. Your mama used to pump you full of blood and venom. With her gone, you’ve been living as a human and it’s taken its toll on you. No different than depriving a human of calcium.”

Fuck.

“And before you lose it, Noma grew up with blood as an ingredient in food, so it was no different than cooking for her grandchildren. And she added a few herbs and spices for your health. I have always associated blood with vampires, which is short-sighted of me.”

“Still, it’s weird,” I said, looking at my apple.

“I doubt the baby’s father would feel the same way,” Kay said slyly, and I jumped. She really could see everything, couldn’t she?

“Was it consensual?” Kay asked, pushing her own plate away.

“Yes,” I said. “I love him very much.”

“And he knows?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m here, actually. Everyone was having a meltdown at home, about the baby, so I figured I’d check on the fact the Benoits are poking around Seattle. Give everyone some space.” At Kay’s look, I elaborated. “Jasper’s family – babies are a sore subject. Rosalie desperately wants a child, Esme lost a child, and I accidentally got pregnant even though I didn’t know I could. Mom told me I was sterile. They needed some time to grieve their own losses before dealing with me. And Dad and Simon are … I’m not sure if they’re angry or upset or both.”

“Jasper. That’s his name?” Kay said suddenly. “His surname?”

“Hale. Or Cullen,” I said warily.

“That’s a lie.”

“No, that’s what they go by at home. Whitlock, that was his surname when he was alive.”

“Let me guess, Major Jasper Whitlock,” Kat said, an evil grin spreading across her face. “Maria Moreno’s second in command, and the scourge of the South.” She started laughing, almost hysterically. “Oh, I’d love to see Lusa and your mother if you told them that. You’ve found a vampire mate, it happens to be the God of War who vanished in 1948 and hasn’t been heard of since, and you’re both having a baby. Lusa’s worrying about you getting caught up in the war, but you’ve got the best protection we could imagine. Jasper Whitlock and his ‘family’.”

I waited til she calmed down.

“I can’t imagine he was thrilled when you mentioned heading off to Canada,” Kay finally continued.

I took a bite of my apple, chewing slowly. “I may not have mentioned I was going. To anyone,” I said finally.

Kat looked at me.

“Everyone kept telling me they needed space! ‘Go stay with the Cullens’, ‘give us a couple of days before you come around again!’ Frankly, the only person who hasn’t freaked out about the baby is me. I am surrounded by a bunch of adults who are losing their collective shit over this, and the youngest of them is my father, a mere twenty-four years older than me. But me, I have to be sunshine and happiness, not ever acknowledging that this fucking terrifying for me on so many levels. I have to puke in the sink, whilst everyone else gets comforted. And I figured I needed to get the heads up about whatever dealings the Benoits were doing this far west. Let everyone get over themselves,” I slouched in my seat.

“Feel better?” Kay said kindly. I nodded.

“I’ll drive you back to Washington the day after tomorrow, gives you time to rest per Noma’s orders. We can discuss everything you need to know tomorrow, over breakfast. And I’ll be having words with both your family and the Cullens. About you and your reality, and about what is coming for everyone. It’s a fuckin’ baby, you aren’t turning Republican. I had my boy when I was fifteen, and he was a good kid. I was a good kid. It’s adults who fuck shit up.”

//

My dreams were clearer than normal. Dad and Simon had called Chief Swan about my disappearance, grudging agreeing with the Cullens’ request not to tell anyone I was pregnant. Simon had also called and visited every Planned Parenthood in our part of the state, mistakenly thinking I was freaking out about the baby.

The Cullens had tried to track me a few times, and knew I had headed towards Seattle, but nothing more. Jasper had pretty much shut down, pacing in his study, having already hacked into my phone and bank accounts, monitoring them for any signs of activity. Rosalie had sensibly hacked Child Services, in case I was picked up, tagging any mention of the names in any of my fake I.D.s I’d left behind.

Esme was frantic. Even when Carlisle had told her that the Denali clan couldn’t help us, she’d insisted on speaking with Tanya, explaining I was scared young girl who needed protection, if she kept an ear and eye out for me. But somehow Tanya managed to gently convince Esme that they were happy to come to Forks to help search for me, but there was a lot of land between Seattle and Alaska, and even then, they were assuming I had headed north.

But I woke up rested, having slept through the night. As I changed into leggings and a sweatshirt, I noticed there was colour in my face, my cheeks slightly rounder and I just looked healthier. Noma was definitely onto something with the animal blood. And I could probably stomach it, if it were mixed into human food, but the idea of sucking it warm from a freshly killed animal was enough to make me vomit.

//

Kay bundled me into the car for the trip back to Forks before dawn, letting me sleep until we crossed back into the U.S, when she bought me breakfast at the drive-through for breakfast, muttering about corporate America and preservatives, as I scoffed the unholy muffin and orange juice she’d chosen for me.

I ended up falling back asleep, my dreams swallowing me up. Dad and Simon in the kitchen, looking grim and tired. And old.

“Any calls?” Dad asked flatly and Simon shook his head.

“Nothing,” Simon said. “Not a damn thing. Jesus, I just cannot get over… why the hell does a seventeen year old have fake passports?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t spoken to Elena for years - I couldn’t find her. I have no idea what she was involved in or what she got Alice mixed up in.”

//

I was getting out of the shower when the Cullens arrived, and I could hear Jasper on the stairs, moving far faster than any human had the ability to, and three annoyed yells from downstairs.

Whatever. Kay was about to clue my family in, and I was home, and Jasper was here. Heaven was clean leggings and an oversized t-shirt.

“Alice.” Jasper hit my room like a tornado, pulling me into his arm and kissing me hard in one sweeping move. “Where the hell were you?”

“Went to see some of Mom’s friends,” I said, clinging to him, pressing my face against his chest. “Give everyone a couple of days to deal with everything. Being a dumb teenager.”

“You should have told me. I would have taken you myself,” he said, his arms tight around me, one hand sliding up under my t-shirt to rest on my stomach.

“You needed to be with your family,” I said. “Dad and Simon, they wanted some space to get their head around the baby. I think they’ve been trying to have another kid for a few years, but surrogacy is expensive, and adoption is difficult for a gay mixed race couple in this part of the country. So, me coming home accidentally pregnant brought up some complex emotions, I get it. But I know Esme and Rose were going through something similar at your place, so I figured a road trip was a solution,” I shrugged, just breathing in his scent.

“You are my family. Both of you,” Jasper said sternly. “And my entire family would chew off their own faces that turn you away.” He pulled away to inspect me. “You should let Carlisle check you out.”

“I will,” I said, stepping over to the dresser to brush out my hair. “Though I suspect that it will be the only way I’ll be visiting for awhile. Dad and Simon are going to murder me. But…” I frowned.

“But…”

“Kay’s downstairs. She’s… gifted, and she knows everything,” I said. “She’s going to tell everyone everything and hopefully, once they understand, they won’t try to seperate us.”

Jasper took the brush from my hair and took over. I closed my eyes in pleasure at his gentle touch. “Not possible. Besides, we haven’t had any time alone,” he said in a low voice, a whisper of heat building in my lower stomach, “since before we found out. And I would very much like some time alone with you.”

I smiled as he put down the brush and pulled me back into his arms. For a moment, I had no body - I was just love and desire and contentment. “Alone would be good,” I murmured.

Jasper leant down and I stood on my toes to be taken into a deep, slow kiss that was the prelude to something we wouldn’t start now, with our parents downstairs. Having any one of the adults downstairs walk in on Jasper and I would be beyond mortifying, no matter how good this felt.

Jasper pulled away, his eyes dark. “They want us to join them,” he murmured.

“Inevitable,” I sighed, pressing against him suggestively. “Later?”

“Later - if I have to smuggle you out myself,” he muttered, and I giggled.

Dad and Simon looked positively stricken when I came back downstairs, Carlisle and Esme looking tired, and Kay looking smug.

“I had… no idea,” Dad began, looking about ten years older than he was. “Elena was…”

“A monster,” I said flatly, Jasper’s hands on my shoulders. I never spoke much about Mom.

“Obviously, I will be monitoring Alice’s pregnancy extremely closely,” Carlisle said, “since this is entirely unprecedented. And your advice regarding her diet is sound, but if Simon and David are uncomfortable with that element, Esme and I can certainly make arrangements…”

“Diet?” Jasper looked down at me.

“Animal blood,” I shrugged, “you get to take me hunting.”

I jumped at the lust that Jasper emitted, and he smirked at me. “Well, now I have some questions,” I said.

“Is this something we need to consider with Cynthia as well?” Simon finally spoke, worry on his face.

“Cynthia?” Kay jumped on that.

“My sister. Mom had a baby for Dad and Simon when I was younger,” I said. “And no, she’s human enough. Mom pumped me full of venom to try and make me a full hybrid.”

“Money was involved, I supposed?” Kay said and Dad nodded.

“Elena said she needed the money,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Kay tapped her chin. “Cynthia’s existence isn’t well known, so we’ll all keep that under our hats. And you, Major Whitlock, would be wise to keep Alice and her condition quiet. The last thing we need is Ms Moreno getting jealous.”

Jasper looked stunned. “Maria and I haven’t spoken in years,” he said. “How…?”

“Oh, you have quite the reputation,” Kay said. “And you are telling me that Maria Moreno wouldn’t march her way to Forks if she heard the news? Carve the baby out of Mary-Alice’s body and then kill Mary-Alice? She always was terribly spiteful.”

If possible, Jasper would have paled at the image Kay painted of Maria harming me. There was no love lost, but Maria would never be finished punishing Jasper for leaving her.

//

We both realised pretty quickly that there wouldn’t be any sneaking out or Cullen house visits for the imminent future, so we settled for the next best thing: Jasper sneaking in. It was after midnight when he slipped into my bed next to me, waking me up with deep kisses, hitching my leg over his hip.

“Mmm, what a wake-up call,” I said sleepily, letting him peel off my camisole. “You think we can stay quiet enough Dad and Simon don’t wake up?”

“We will,” he said, his hand slipping into my pyjama pants, and I wasn’t sure if it was the hormones or how long it had been or if his gift was working overtime, but I was more than ready for him, my hands going to work on his belt as he worked me over with surprising efficiency, kissing me hard to swallow up my cries as I came down.

Moments later, he was naked on his back, his hands on my hips with me aside him, working us both into a very quiet frenzy; Jasper’s eyes were as black as I’d seen them, and he keep purring at me, egging me on to take what I needed from him. The flashes I caught from my mirror showed us as utterly obscene; he looked inhuman, the way he was gazing at me, guiding my hips, and I looked drunk as I tried to find the sweet spot for both of us.

I was going to have to blame baby hormones on this, because it was ridiculous, and intense; we’d never been together this urgently.

He left in the early hours of dawn, tucking me back into bed with a deep kiss and reassurance that he’d be back later. I passed out, sated and exhausted, with the lingering thought that perhaps this would be our new normal, this desperate and intense love-making.

//

The intensity didn’t wane over the last few weeks of school and into the summer. Neither of us could resist it; more than once I found myself in the very back of the library with Jasper’s hand up my skirt - he used my emotions to get himself off, and I spent the rest of the school day with shaky legs. He used his gift more than once to give us both some relief in an unused classroom, his knee between both my legs as I grinded against him, my face buried in his neck.

We were a walking biological disaster, and I have no idea how we managed not to get caught. Edward was fairly repulsed by us, but Emmett thought it was hilarious, high-fiving Jas every time he caught us in the afterglow.

Most of my time at the Cullens was awkward, mostly because I spent it climbing Jasper like a tree. I would walk in, greet everyone, and give minutes later, I was bare-assed on Jasper’s desk, with his lips on my throat, and my hands down his… well, he wasn’t wearing any pants by then.

Most of the family tried not to acknowledge how bad we were - we were definitely headed towards Rosalie and Emmett levels of indecency - but Edward made his disgust with our lack of restraint clear, and Emmett was apparently keeping a score card of some description that I made Jasper promise to destroy.

So far, only two people had walked in on us - Rosalie and Cynthia. Rose had walked into the garage to find Jasper on top of me in the backseat of the Lexus convertible, both of us too far gone to give a shit if someone was selling tickets. Rose had been pissed we’d defiled one of her cars, and I wasn’t entirely sure what Jasper had said or bought her to pacify her, she never said anything about it to me.

Cynthia had barged into my bedroom one afternoon after school to ask me something, only to find Jasper going down on me like a god-damned professional, my hands tangled in his hair, and my leg over his shoulder. Cynthia had shrieked, I had shrieked, and Jasper had tried not to simultaneously die of embarrassment, and then amusement when Cynthia had expressed her complete shock that ‘guys actually did that’.

Cynthia had stood there looking completely baffled for a second before looking me in the eye. “Does it feel good?” she asked, with no clear plans to leave the room.

Jasper snorted with laughter and I resisted the urge to murder my sister.

“Yes, it feels very nice,” I said slowly. “Now, go away so he can finish.”

“Oh,” Cynthia turned bright red and slipped out the room. “Dad will be home in like 30 minutes!” she bellowed as she disappeared into her own bedroom.

Jasper was still sniggering at my idiot sister, and I smacked him with a pillow.

“I need to get a lock put on that door,” I muttered before looking at my boyfriend, who was smirking at me. “Now, are you going to finish what you started or am I going to have to do it myself?”

Jasper snorted and gave me a deep kiss, before sliding back down the bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

//

Jasper left within moments of the parental units arriving home. I managed to grab a quick shower, and Cynthia was waiting for me outside.

“I have questions,” she said, following me downstairs.

“Try Google,” I said.

“What does it feel like? Is it weird?” Cynthia began asking me, as I hurried towards the kitchen, hoping Dad and Simon’s presence would stop the barrage of questions.

“Wait, do you do oral sex on him?”

That was the question Cynthia settled on as we burst into the kitchen, that our parents clearly heard. Dad was choking on his drink, and Simon dropped the yoghurt he was holding.

“Kill me, please,” I pleaded with my fathers. Cynthia appeared to have no shame, with laser-like focus on me.

“I have so many questions,” Simon managed, as my father cleaned up the mess.

“Me too!” Cynthia said enthusiastically.

“No you don’t,” I said, holding up my hand. “Question time is over.”

“You didn’t answer any,” Cynthia pouted.

“Oh my god,” Dad looked like he was having a mental breakdown and Simon had gotten out a bottle of whiskey.

“This is so beyond the realm of okay,” I said. “And you two are doing nothing.”

“I find myself fascinated by your answers, Alice,” Simon said, as my father took a long swig of the drink Simon had poured him. “Answer the questions and then we can all pretend this never happened - after you explain how we got on this topic of conversation.”

“She doesn’t knock,” I hissed.

//

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  fragilecapric0rn! @fragilecapric0rnn has written 22 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 21 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@cheatghost recommends the following works by @fragilecapric0rnn:

It Might Be Worth It For Once

clown music at the disco

you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost

Catch Me (I'm Falling)

Anyway, It's About Old Friends

"Sen's body of work is like a truly love letter to the characters. No matter the universe, Steve and Eddie always feel authentic to themselves. Sen's love for classic rom-coms influences a lot of her writing and makes for really romantic, touching stories. It's an absolute delight to dive into a world crafted by this author!" -- @cheatghost

Below the cut, @fragilecapric0rnn answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I think in May of 2022 I was bit by the same bug as everyone else. Before I started writing Steddie, I was on a 4-year fic writing hiatus, and it was like seeing those two interact on screen zapped my brain awake. The chemistry, the potential, the fact that one half of the ship got ripped away from us too soon. All of those components really did something to my brain and I decided I had to write them and I haven’t looked back since!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a idiots to lovers! These two really have the potential to fit that trope so well!

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Second-chance at romance! If you’ve seen any of my fics, you know that I love and will take any chance to write 90s older steddie, haven’t spoken or seen each other in years, who re-meet and fall in love. It is so them, it is my favorite version of them. It’s the version of them that lives in my head!

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

There are so many good ones to choose from, but I think I have to go with Show Me the Place Where He Inserted the Blade by the incomparable, the magnificently talented and outstanding Cheatghost. Lou, who I am very proud to call a friend, is one of the most talented people I know and I feel very lucky to have had them brought into my life via the Steddie brainrot.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Is it lame if I say no? LOL. Honestly, I have written almost everything I have felt the need to explore with this pairing. A lot of my ideas moving forward are expansions/continuations of ideas that I already started or have posted before. 

What is your writing process like?

Right now it’s at its most unstructured because I am rawdogging life without my ADHD meds for the first time in 7 years, which has been a whirlwind but I am managing. However, it usually depends on the fic I’m writing! For a lot of my longfic, I have a physical notebook that has an outline and major plot points I want to hit at certain times in my stories. Other times, for the shorter fics/one-shots, I just write them all in one go. It starts with a (usually silly) idea, and then I get possessed by the writing demons, and suddenly, I haven’t moved from my chair in 2 hours and I have four thousand words on my screen. I contain multitudes!

Do you have any writing quirks?

I am a victim of the: One word. One phrase. Lin breaks for emphasis. And I will be doing it until someone who is being paid real money to publish one of my original works tells me to knock it off!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Again, asking if it’s bad if I say neither? When I first started posting fic again, I was very much writing it all and then posting it over the course of a few days. But now, I tend to write sporadically and post even more sporadically. And I prefer the latter! Fanfiction, and fandom in general, is a collaborative experience in its heart and soul. One of my favorite things about longfic is posting a chapter and seeing what people take away from it, because 9/10 it’ll be different then what the writer thinks they’re going to take away! And the chance to change and rework and let yourself be influenced by other fans of the ship is taken away when you write it all at once and post it all at once.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Anyway, It’s About Old Friends. Even in its unfinished form, it is my magnum opus. My white whale. I have done some of my best writing in it (chapter 2 MY BELOVED) and the fact that its so close to the end is both exciting and terrifying. It is a fic I wrote and continue to write for me, and the fact that other people are reading and enjoying it is a win!

How did you get the idea for It Might Be Worth It For Once?

HA! So, I was chatting with my friend Emily (JudasofSuburbia) about a potential Pornstar!Steve AU offhandedly back in the fall. Then, I got paired with them for a little fic exchange between friends, and it felt natural to take that one off little conversation and turn it into a fic for her. It was one of those fics that started out as a silly idea and then suddenly it’s been six hours and I wrote the whole thing in one go! After some polishing and editing, it became a Pornstar!AU with not as much smut as I expected. It was so fun to write, made even more fun as it was for a dear friend.

When writing Anyway, It's About Old Friends, what was something you didn’t expect?

I didn’t expect it to change and mold and morph in the way that it did. There is a version of this fic where they do hook-up earlier, there’s a version where they re-meet at gay club and not a wedding, there’s a version where Steve marries a Evie and Eddie is Raul. But, this version feels the most right. It’s a story about heartbreak, about finding love (in all it forms) in unexpected places, and it’s about found family most of all. All of that was stumbled on accidentally! My only intention was to write a Steddie-fied When Harry Met Sally fic, and accidentally flashed my heart and soul. Whoops!

What inspired clown music at the disco?

I used to be an opener at a coffee shop and there is something so disorienting and mind altering about having disco music blasting on the speakers at 4am. But, it was in one of those moments, where I was so tired I was nauseous, that the fic idea came to me! I had already been thinking of writing as my first fic, Steve and Eddie accidentally have a Devil’s Sacrament moment at the gay bar, but the line “But it’s Disco Night”, came to me at the ungodly hour of 4 in the morning. What a time!

What was your favorite part to write from you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost?

The Never Have I Ever Scene! It was the first time I wrote the entire party in one scene and it’s chaotic and a little messy but it was one of my favorite parts of the fic. It also made me realize how much I love writing ensemble scenes! Just everyone trying to talk over each other, chaos in its best form.

How do/did you feel writing Catch Me (I'm Falling)?

I wrote this fic in the span of like almost 3 weeks? I was sick and burnt out for most of the time I was writing it, but it was almost a compulsion. I had the idea and I just HAD to write it. No outline, just vibes and Steve Harrington in a cheerleading uniform! I took it down for a while because I was turning it into something else, but then had a change of heart and put it back up. And part of me is glad that I took it down for a moment because people love to be weird about the feminizing Steve’s character, and even though I was writing him as a cheerleader, I tried really hard to keep him earnestly himself, and in character.

What was the most difficult part of writing Anyway, It's About Old Friends?

Writing about San Francisco while being the most homesick I have ever been in my life. Also writing Eddie in those first few chapters as an asshole but not unlikable. I didn’t want him to be “fine” (because no one is fine in this universe, especially not in the beginning) but I also didn’t want him to do or say anything too bad. I think I got a handle on it pretty well.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

In Faces Freedom With A Little Fear, the first scene in the hospital with Steve’s sister. She storms in, threatens federal agents, all for her brother. JJ Harrington you will always be famous!

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Just my current WIPs! Anyway It’s About Old Friends; the When Harry Met Sally AU of my dreams. Hand on My Stupid Heart; the modern AU, where the UD exists but everyone has iPhones and Steve deals with his bisexuality!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Shout out to my boys! Kkpwnall, judasofsuburbia, figthefruitfaeth, gideoncharov, cheatghost, fastcardotmp3, snowangeldotmp3 you guys rule and they’re all so talented!!!! Thank you to whoever nominated me! I feel the love and give it back to you tenfold!!!!!!

Thank you to our author, @fragilecapric0rnn, and our nominator, @cheatghost! See more of fragilecapric0rn's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[sirowsky-stories]

The Old Prince

Part 13

Author's Note: It's been an intense week for me, my loves, (I quit my job of 9 years!) so this was severely delayed, but here you are!

Description: You're forced to make a really tough decision, and as the war rages, you finally realize what it's gonna take to win.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Angst. Severe injuries. Word Count: 6427 Author's Masterlist

   You’re not quite sure how Simon’s managing to change the oceans so quickly, unless he’s concentrating all his efforts solely on the Atlantic, not trying to expand in all directions at once. Still, there is a lot of ocean to get through, and he’s advancing terrifyingly fast, turning thousands of square meters of the water into the same goop you saw in the Mexican Gulf, every few seconds.

   This is what allows him to stay at the front of his army, riding a bizarre wave of dead things at the head of his legion, while Oberyn circles above, keeping just under the shadow of the cloud, as if itching to reach new land to destroy.    Seeing him sends shards of glass through your heart. He’s not a spirit, which means your light won’t be able to save him, and you have to be prepared to kill him if you wanna win this war. There’s no other way this ends.

   But no matter how badly changed he is, you still see your beloved prince when you look at him. Your heart won’t stop choosing to see the love he gave you. It just won’t.    His gift will live on in you for as long as you survive this world, and in Day for the rest of all time, which is the only comfort you can find while you stand there in front of the now once more glowing lighthouse, waiting for the storm to hit.

   He is lost. But not gone. You can still save one small part of him.

   The cloud reaches over your heads just as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, no doubt a precisely calculated time-plan on Simon’s part, but the dragon pulls back then, remaining above the mass of the army as the gunk which replaces the sea makes landfall.    You guess that he’s being held back so he won’t kill too many people before they can be converted and added to the ranks, but it makes no difference as the island itself rejects their arrival.

   It’s more than a little satisfying to see the Darkling literally fall over when his wave of death is brought to an abrupt stop, as if hitting a wall, once it tries to spill over land.    You can’t help but grin smugly at him when he glares at you while getting back up, which of course, only further angers him.    But there’s no use. The light holds.

   “That’s a neat little trick, Lux. But you won’t keep me out forever,” he growls, and the slight tone of incredulity in his voice tells you this is something he hadn’t anticipated.

   Which must mean your spirit has never managed something like this before.

   “I thought you were the new and improved dark one. The best one ever,” you taunt, feeling a tad superior to have finally found an angle he can’t immediately break through. “I thought you knew all my tricks and had already figured out how to counter them.”

   “Like I said, it’s just a matter of time.”

   You refrain from replying that you can reach around the entire world like this, since angering him further isn’t gonna do you any favors.    Then Oberyn’s flame suddenly drops on you from above. As if spewed from one of those airplanes with water-tanks, used to combat wildfires, it cascades over the entire western coastline.    The dragon is sick of waiting for his cue, it seems.

   You can protect the island from the dark forces, which means he can’t land or swipe at people or animals on the ground, but his fire is just fire. Neither belonging to light nor darkness.    The people aren’t frightened of it, so they just stand there as it hits them, melting their bodies in mere seconds.

   If you don’t do something, the entire island will be destroyed. But the only thing you can do is try to kill the dragon.    The thought fills you with pain and sorrow, and Simon immediately senses it.

   “Poor little Boo. How awful it must be to know you have to kill your lover if you want to save these pitiful people.”

   You can feel him prodding at your mind, trying to slip past the light so he can disrupt your power, but you’ve been down this road before and you’re still immune to him.    Flooding your mind with all the happy memories, all the curious conversations in the beginning of your time at the castle, the immediate connection you’d felt with Oberyn and how it had eventually blossomed into love, you shove Simon out of your being with such force that it once again unbalances him.

   And when the dragon lines up for his next run, you use your connection to all the people around you to increase the strength of your beam, before unleashing it from your chest.    It hits him at the base of his throat before he veers off, but you maintain the beam, chasing after him until you’ve hit him again, leaving a glowing trail along his spine.    He crashes somewhere to the northwest, and the sea of malice swallows him whole.

   It’ll heal him, you know it will. He isn’t nearly damaged enough to be out of the game, but it gives you a while to think. And what you think is that you can’t fight a war by being only defensive.    Your enemy can and will wait practically forever for your barriers to fall. His army isn’t dependent on food and water to survive, whereas yours is.

   The only offensive measure in your arsenal is your light-beam but it won’t be enough to decimate Simon’s forces. You need to find a way to put a weapon in the hands of every living thing you’re connected to. But how?    While you’re working that problem, the Darkling continues to let his evil spread through the ocean, killing millions of water-dwelling creatures in the process, and when you see the black goo travel past the island, you suddenly wonder why your light hasn’t seemed to reach the underwater population at all.

   Reaching out towards Europe, you try to feel if your powers seem to have reached into the landlocked rivers and lakes, but the only answer you find is no.    Which means, given time, all water on the planet will eventually be infected and undrinkable, killing everything no matter how much light you try and infuse things with.    If you can’t find a way to protect the water, you’ll lose.

   You can’t see Caelum anywhere, so you have to assume she’s hiding and waiting for her moment to strike. But you’re also highly aware the other spirits are absent as well, meaning Simon knows you can restore them and is keeping them out of your reach.    Fuck!    You need more time. There are too many unanswered questions.

   Then something unexpected happens. A person on the beach below you loses his light, and the darkness instantly swallows him through the gap in your armor, giving it a foothold on the island. It can’t spread any further unless more people give in to it, but it still worries you.    The dark one must be whispering to them, reaching into their minds just like he tried to do with you and just like you expected him to. But you didn’t expect him to succeed in persuading anyone so quickly. It’s only been minutes…

   One problem at a time, that’s as much as you can work on, and right now, weapons take priority. You need a way to distribute light through something other than yourself.    Another person falls, further inland, leaving a second beast in her place. It writhes and screeches, clawing at the invisible barriers which contain it, already hungry. Desperate to consume.

   Consume… wait, that’s it!    Using your hand, you shoot a highly concentrated beam at the newly formed creature down on the beach, turning him into glowing dust. Your light has now consumed and transformed him, just like the darkness does to the living. Except the dust he becomes also becomes a part of you, because it’s light.

   Out of seemingly nowhere, Caelum suddenly swoops down over you, heading straight for the glowing dust and then beating her wings against it, sending it flying off over the blackened sea.    Taking the opportunity given, you attempt to amplify the light of those little specks as they disperse, and it works.

   Like fireworks, each and every particulate becomes a sizzling little bomb, which when it hits a creature of the dark, multiplies and creates a chain reaction which kills thousands in mere seconds.    Simon manages to stop its rampant progression by throwing masses of thick vines in its path, essentially drowning the fireworks. But this time, you’re the one who can sense his fear growing, because this is an effective weapon, and one he won’t be able to wait out or prevent.

   There’s no reason to hold back, so as soon as the first volley is extinguished, you launch a second one, and Caelum is right there, helping you disperse it with her microbursts of powerful winds. This time, you use both hands separately and aim your beam along as much of the front lines of the dark army as you can endure, before your hands are once again charred.    But it pays off. The chain reaction which follows is massive, destroying at least a tenth of Simon’s army before he can halt it.

   Then, just as the battlefield grows louder with the shrieks of anger from the decimated forces, there’s a rumble from below the semi-solid surface of the black ooze, and then Oberyn comes thrashing out of it.    It holds him back, weighing him down with its oily muck, leaving him struggling to get his wings up, having to beat them hard repeatedly before enough of the shit has been removed to allow him to take off.

   He comes straight at you, fully aware that you’re the one who brought him down and obviously eager to retaliate.    It takes less than a second of seeing his distorted and enraged face glare at you, before your mind reverts into thoughts of grief and despair, and just like earlier, the moment you do, the Darkling pounces and tries to invade your mind.    You’re not threatened by it, but it does scatter your resolve, leaving you frozen.

   It tortures you. Seeing this, knowing that it’s your Oberyn but you’ll never get to see him proudly glide across the skies again. Knowing you’re the one who has to end him.    There isn’t enough light in the universe to keep those thoughts away.    He closes in so fast, and yet it seems to happen infinitely slowly. Jaws wide and the churning heat within, trained solely on you, needing to destroy with such desperation.

   You wonder if there’s more behind it.    His very existence depends on your obliteration, that much is easy to conclude, but somehow, you feel as though this need is fed by more than just the fear of death.    It was the fear of losing you which brought him here, so it stands to reason the same fear is still what ultimately controls him, even if his memories are gone.    But none of this really matters. It’s just thoughts, coming to you now as your own desperation is brought to a head. A last attempt to put off the unthinkable… but inevitable.

   Stop..

   An image flashes before your eyes, obscuring the jaws which are about to reach you, and you hear your own voice whispering inside your head, just as it had sounded back then, while something occurs to you on instinct.    You’d made it stop that day in Detroit. The creature attacking the policemen. But it hadn’t been sunlight you’d put in its way.    Once again you scream the word, not as loud as you can, but with all the might you possess… and the dragon stops.

   He’s brought to a halt so abruptly that he flinches backwards and then crashes down onto the beach below you as if an invisible rope had snared and pulled him down.    You look up, checking if there are reinforcements on the way to try and aid the dragon, only to see Simon’s face contort into pure rage at the sight of his presumed perfect weapon against you flailing as he tries to get back up.    But the monster makes no attempt to help his minion.

   Turning back to Oberyn, your breath is suddenly stifled as pain floods your being with the knowledge of what you’re about to do. He’s helpless to defend himself while you hold him down, pinning him to the sands as you try to prepare. Except there is no preparing for this. No amount of conditioning is going to make this one damned bit easier.    You need to touch him to finish it, so although it’s the last thing you want to do, you start to walk down towards the beach.

   He thrashes against the invisible chains you have wrapped around him, screeching through his ruined throat for his master to save him, but the dark one isn’t going to spare his resources on a lost cause.    Whether he knows what you’re doing or not, he knows he’s powerless to stop it.

   “Shhh…” you soothe, making your way to the once so mighty king of the skies, and his writhing eases up a little. “It’s gonna be alright.”

   By the time you’re standing in front of him, he’s completely stopped moving, laying his head down in the sand, staining the tiny crystals black with the oil that seeps from his ruined skin.

   “It wasn’t the sun which stopped that creature in Detroit,” you explain, even though you know he doesn’t have the ability to understand you anymore.

   You just need to. One last conversation. Your final chance to ever say anything to him again.

   “It was conviction. In that moment, I truly believed myself strong enough to stand up to something so evil. And I believed it so completely, so fiercely, that my voice reached into its dead brain and sparked the idea that maybe there is something more powerful than darkness.    That’s all it took to stop it in its tracks. Just an idea. The barest hint of a flaw in the fabric of reality woven by the evils of this world.”

   Taking one final step, you lay your hands on the tip of his nose, ignoring the thick, oily goo you sink into slightly, and which starts to trickle down your lower arms in sluggish dribbles.

   “Such a simple thing. And yet, I couldn’t convince you of it. Because around you, I didn’t think I had to be that person. With you, I thought I could just be… human,” you shrug unhappily, giving yourself just a few seconds to let the tears fall. “I should’ve known better.”

   He watches you, giving no indication that anything you say is affecting him, and even though you knew it wouldn’t, it still hurts you to know he’ll never look at you with those big brown, adoring eyes again.    Light flows through your hands and your chest, and you watch as he slowly dissolves before your eyes, until all that’s left is the glowing dust. And the love of your life is truly gone.

   Pain overwhelms you, bringing you to your knees, but there’s no longer any fear within you.    The worst thing that could ever have happened, has already happened.

   What’s left is agony and loneliness, but this doesn’t concern you, because you now know those feelings won’t take away your love or your hope. That they don’t eliminate positivity, but each exist alongside one another instead.    You now realize both are born from the same place. Equal parts of the same core, and each vital for the existence of the other.    And this understanding makes you truly untouchable to the Darkling.

   But you can’t force this kind of understanding on other people. It’s not something one can be taught, so there’s no way for you to render others equally untouchable.    Oberyn’s final act was to make you invincible against the darkness, not so that you can singlehandedly stop it, but so that the forces of light will always have a leader.    No matter how long this war rages.

   “You may have temporarily weakened me, Boo,” Simon snarls then, “but so long as the spirits belong to me, you will lose.    I have all of eternity to wait for you to recognize that.”

   With those words, he and his army retreats, although the Atlantic remains ruined after their departure.    He’s not defeated, not even close. He’ll regroup and head for another coast, another continent to try and infect, and he’ll keep doing that for however long he has to.    Because he’s right. Without the spirits, you’ll never stand a chance.

   As if knowing you’re thinking about her, Caelum comes to your side and lands in the sand beside you.

   “We can’t let him drag this out,” you say through the tears and the snot which has accumulated in your nose, while you follow your enemy’s departure with your gaze. “I don’t know how, but we need to free your sisters and we need to do it soon.”

   In your periphery, you see her nod decisively, probably also aware the longer this takes, the more people will eventually succumb to the darkness no matter how diligently you try to safeguard them. And perhaps even more importantly; the more of nature will be destroyed.    As you stand there, a plan begins to take form inside your mind, and you wonder if she somehow speaks to you, because you don’t feel like all of this is coming from you.

   “Has it ever been this bad before?” you ask her, turning to meet her eyes now.

   She holds your gaze for a few moments, but if she replies, you can’t tell. You don’t know if she even remembers things from as far back as the last dark one, but you also feel like whether she does or not, she’s no longer the same thoughtless entity of raw emotion she’s meant to be.    Her stoic stillness somehow feels like an answer, though, and not a good one.    But however bad you might try to imagine things could get from this point; nothing could’ve prepared you for how truly awful they would become.

--=¤=--

   You sigh heavily as you feel another person die. Not by the Darkling’s hand, though, this was natural causes. A young man somewhere on the northern Australian continent, you’re not sure exactly where.    It stopped being important a while ago. The exact locations. They’re all just losses.    Caelum senses it too, and you feel her sorrow, which annoys you. You’re not sure when you stopped being able to grieve the lost ones anymore, but it seems like a long time ago.

   You still care, perhaps even too much. Because each and every one who dies feels like your failure, but after so long and so much death, it’s gotten harder and harder to let yourself feel it. To let your love for the world carry your burdens and lighten your heart.    It’s so hard when you’re connected to everything, because people die, in all sorts of ways, every minute of every day. And even if it isn’t traumatic or horrible, even if they just die in their sleep, you feel all of them as they leave the light.

   How long has it been? How many deaths have you felt at this point?    The fight takes you all over the world, so time-zones have stopped having any meaning to you. You battle the dark for as long as you can, and then you find a place to rest, sleeping for what you assume are a few hours, and then you get back to work.    That’s the routine. Day after day.

   The world fights with you, holding off the black hurricane and the senseless death it protects, even when you sleep. Determined not to fail, feeding off the light you still pour into it with as much hope as you can muster.    But for all their courage and strength, Simon’s power has not been weakened. You’ve made almost no progress in recovering anything he’s already corrupted, leaving the American continents his adult playground.

   He’s frustrated, though. You can tell. His need to consume makes him crave fresh bodies. Living things to torture the light out of so he can feed his stale existence and give it purpose.    His army is restless, spending its time tearing at itself in search of relief from such a pointless existence, needing to tear, rip, destroy something. At times it gets bad enough that they even start dismembering themselves, further mutating their bodies as the removed limbs grow back even more distorted.

   Time, it seems, is no more their friend than it is yours.

   Caelum has changed as well. She’s no longer limited to non-verbal communication, having learned not just how to speak telepathically with you, but how to remember things from one moment to the next.    Ordinarily, she shouldn’t be capable of thought or reasoning of any kind, but circumstances have forced her to evolve.

   “Please, stop,” you ask her without saying a word out loud, when she continues to grieve for the dead man, and her sharp eyes refocus on you.

   “You are the one who recognizes the strength of caring,” she chides, not for the first time.

   “I’m aware. But lingering on the dead won’t help, will it?”

   She doesn’t respond to that, but something about her gaze makes you feel guilty.

   “I just mean we need to keep looking ahead, find solutions. We’re not a single step closer to ending this war and it’s been… how long now?” you ask, genuinely trying to work it out but coming up short.

   “Three and a half years,” she replies, and for a moment you just stare blankly at her.

   Your own assessment was off by about an entire year.

   “Fuck…” you sigh, bowing your head in recognition of your absolute failure.

   It’s the fifth time since that day you’re back on Faial Island, standing in front of the lighthouse and looking out over the Atlantic.    You had eventually figured out how to heal the ocean, and all water, once Simon had left, so today it glistens blue against the horizon to the west. It turned out that all you had to do was change the wavelength of your light for it to travel through water.    But that’s also about as much as you’ve accomplished.

   The plan you’d once had, to try and sneak back into the States and covertly reach some of the spirits by using your conviction to gain control over a darkened creature and use it as cover, had failed on multiple occasions, leaving you scratching your head for some other idea.    Brute force wasn’t gonna work, because as much as the world would stand behind you, they couldn’t operate offensively and would be of little help to you. And powerful though you are, even if you could muscle your way past an entire army, you still can’t kill Simon.

   But somewhere deep inside you, there’s a glimmer. A truth, or knowledge, you’re not sure which.    What you do know is that this glimmer is the answer, if you can just tap into it and learn what it’s trying to tell you. Because there is a way to win, you’ve never doubted that, and you never will. You just need to find it.

   “Hey,” a voice quietly greets from behind you, and you recognize it as Andreia.

   She comes to stand next to you, and you glance at her with a polite nod and small smile. She always comes to see you whenever she sees you arrive by the lighthouse where she still works.    That’s another thing which seems very odd to you. How the world still has to keep going as usual, even with the truest evil trying to devour it. How the stock market has been affected by Americas destruction, how the politics of the world have shifted.

   It feels like all that should’ve just stopped. Been put on indefinite hold while you all band together and fight. But that’s not how it works.    Oddly enough, the planet has probably never seen a more peaceful time in all its existence, with the entire population so devoted to hope. There are no ongoing conflicts, virtually no crime even on the smallest scale of offences, and people are generally behaving more helpfully and tolerantly.

   What a strange world this is, where the end of this war will see it return to those darker traits in very little time.

   “Any progress?” she asks, following your gaze across the sea.

   “No, not yet. I’m… stuck. In my head, you know?” you ponder, grateful to have someone other than the owl to talk to, just because humans relate to you better and understand things which no spirit can. “I keep trying to look at the problem from new angles, looking for something I could’ve missed, but as much as I know in my fucking bones there is an answer, I just can’t find it.”

   “Maybe you need to write it down.”

   At first, you dismiss her suggestion, since you can’t see what difference it would make, but when she continues to explain her reasoning, you start to come around.

   “It activates a different part of your brain, which sometimes helps with problem solving.    Singing does too, but I don’t think there is a song for this situation.”

   “I don’t know. People have been making music for ages, covering every topic under the sun. I’m sure if we looked hard enough, we could find something eerily appropriate,” you shrug, laughing lightly at the subject.

   Ever since you lost Oberyn, laughter hasn’t come as easily for you as before. It’s harder to let yourself be happy when he can’t be there to share it with you.    But it’s also so important that you do hold on to the good moments and allow their brightness to infect you.

   “How about… Ironic by Alanis Morissette”, she offers, making you snicker.

   “Definitely. Or Everybody by Backstreet Boys.”

   She hums approvingly, and a few more songs are exchanged between you, getting more and more ludicrous.

   “Mr. Brightside by The Killers. I mean, come on, both the song and the group are appropriate,” you suggest, and by now you’re both struggling against incessant giggling.

   “Lose Yourself…” Andreia replies, but then forgets the artist for a second, “…by uh…Eminem!”

   But your laughter dies then. Partly because while the song does fit the theme overall, the message you’ve always taken away from it is simply about living in the moment and appreciating what you have, however unimportant or insignificant it might seem to someone else, which doesn’t really fit with going to war against ancient evil.    And partly because of how the woman herself doesn’t seem to know why she chose that song at all. The moment she said it, confusion flashed over her features and with every second since, she looks increasingly befuddled.

   “Lose yourself,” you repeat on impulse, but this time saying it as a suggestion to yourself.

   Immediately, there’s a strange little click inside your head, and then the glimmer suddenly comes into full focus, so distinct now that you know it.    How did you never think of it before? Oberyn even said it to you, in your final conversation on your way north from Antarctica.

   You cannot possibly think that anything but giving it everything you have is going to be enough to free them all.

   Every word he ever spoke to you or around you, lives in your mind, remembered in such vivid detail you can even recall the slight tremor in his voice as he’d said it.

   “Andreia,” you say, turning to face her and pulling her into a tight hug which she bewilderedly reciprocates. “Thank you. You may have just saved everyone.”

   You pull back and smile at her, but before she can say anything, Caelum picks you up and flies off with you, having heard you call out to her in your mind the moment the realization hit you.

   “Am I to head west, then, Lightbringer?” she asks even as she aligns her beak to the shrouded horizon.

   “Yes. It’s time to end this,” you answer out loud, because these words should be heard. The time for sneaking around and whispering between shielded minds is over. “I finally know how to free your sisters.”

   Your once again brimming confidence rubs off on the owl, and she sets a nearly impossible speed, excited by the prospect of seeing her fellow spirits restored to their rightful glory.    It doesn’t take long before you’re back underneath the poisonous cloud, and right away you can tell that it’s changed since your last visit, maybe a year and half earlier.    The air is so thick with soot and ash that it clings to your skin and colors you black, while also wreaking havoc on your lungs in mere minutes.

   Undoubtedly, this is what the entire world would eventually become, once all life had been consumed and all that was left for the armies of death to occupy themselves, was to torture each other, flooding the air with their oily blood and mutated skin cells.    You’re grateful to know that this will never come to pass, while you cough up some of the black goo which has already begun to accumulate in your throat and lungs.    It doesn’t harm you since you’re continually healing the damage it does, but it hurts more than one might imagine.

   Looking up, you can see that Caelum isn’t affected by it, beyond how it obscures her sight, so you do your best to help her navigate by trying to get a sense of where Simon is.    You find him quite quickly, detecting a massive surge of energy as he realizes his enemy is back. Which is probably the only thing he’s had to be excited about in a very long time.    Directing the spirit there, you instruct her to drop you from an altitude high enough that she’ll be safe even if Octopus should be around and attempt to reach her with its enormous tentacles.

   “Such a fall will break many of your bones,” she notes, not really out of concern, but more like she’s just making sure you know.

   “I’m aware. It’ll be fine.”

   The weightlessness is strangely liberating. Instead of falling, it makes you feel like you’re soaring, maybe because of how hopeful your realization has made you. But still no more than a trick of the mind.    Hitting the ground removes the illusion when your legs completely shatter, all the way up to your hips, and fractures to your spine, ribs and arms make themselves known moments later.

   You can still move, though, and as you feel Simon approach, you manage to claw yourself up to a seated position, finding that ignoring the pain is easier than you’d thought this time, which gives you comfort even as your enemy reaches you, sporting a large smirk on his disfigured face.    Whatever’s been going on here for the past three years, he’s clearly begun to mutate himself, because his features aren’t entirely recognizable as human anymore.

   He still has two legs and arms, and only one head, but the true shape of the Darkling has started to emerge, and it’s fucking hideous.

   “Eww… the hell happened to you?” you ask, breathing hard through the pain, but otherwise mostly disgusted by his appearance.

   Unlike his minions, the dark one is dry. His skin is a pale grey and where it’s cracked from the lack of moisture, mostly on his arms and hands but everywhere else too, there are miniature faces growing out of his flesh. Not like images of faces, but rather as though tiny people are actually trapped inside of him, trying to crawl out through the gaps but held back by some thin, partly transparent film.    He’s at least ten feet tall now, so there’s much more space for these trapped people to crowd around, but they’re still fighting each other for room.

   “You don’t like it?” he asks, and even his voice is unrecognizable. “This is my collection. The ones I like the most get to live inside me. The ones who are the most frightened… they make such delightful music inside my mind.”

   You were hoping it wasn’t what it looks like, but clearly, it is. He probably grows larger with each soul he devours, and since he couldn’t have infected any new people for a long time, these must be his own creatures.    Which would mean, once the mutated body is destroyed, the original human soul is still there, to some extent.    But not in a way that would enable them to be restored. Their bodies are gone and no power on earth could bring them back. But at least the destruction of the Darkling will set them free.

   “You’re using them to protect yourself.. aren’t you?” you ponder, trying to buy time for the spirits to reveal themselves, but also hoping to understand more about him, since that will help you take him down. “You cover yourself with them to make it harder for anyone to reach your dead heart.”

   “Well, of course. Who’s gonna try and reach into this mess of scared little people, so desperate to escape their hell, they’ll crawl into the skin of anyone who touches me, driving that person mad.    Ingenious, wouldn’t you say?”

   “I suppose. In a devilish sort of way.”

   “You will make a very nice addition to the flock…” he pauses, and puts a finger to his lips as if trying to think of something which evades him, “…oh, what was it Oberyn called you? I only heard it once, but it was something Egyptian, wasn’t it?”

   You don’t really wanna hear that name spoken by anyone else, but since you’re still not sensing any spirits, you play along.

   “Kaivalya.”

   “Ah, yes! Freedom. How insulting a name to give to a creature whose entire life has been doomed to this ending from before she was even born,” he laments, putting on a very noticeably fake tone of compassion just to irritate you.

   His voice already grates your eardrums. It’s so dry and course he can’t get much volume to it, but it still manages to cut straight into your brain with how it breaks on the high notes.    The fake sentiment only manages to mildly annoy you in comparison.

   “It was a promise…” you spit through teeth held tight against the pain of your legs trying to realign themselves so that the bones can be set, only to hurt more when the angles they’re trapped in won’t allow the movements.

   “A promise? That old prince promised you freedom, and you believed him?!” Simon squeals before starting to laugh, further abusing your ears.

   “No,” you counter, once you’ve adapted to the new level of pain. “He didn’t promise me freedom… He couldn’t have, because I was never his prisoner.    He named me Freedom because that’s what I gave to him. A heart free to love again.”

   You can tell he’s about to counter, it’s easy because his smirk returns every time his own thoughts amuse him, but you’re done with this distraction so you continue before he can.

   “That’s what you took from him. I gave him this amazing gift… and you ripped it out of him.”

   “Prince Martell sealed his own fate by allowing his fears to rip him apart,” he challenges, no longer smirking, though. “He was so scared for you. So worried you’d lose and he’d have to live on without you.    And so, the coward you loved, the man who knew better than anyone how important it would be to keep hope alive in the time of the Darkling, chose to die rather than fight for you.”

   Fuck. He’s found your weak spot and thrown a knife into it.    You shouldn’t care what he says but you can’t help how his words cut through you, because they’re the same ones you’ve battled with in your nightmares. The same ones you’ve been unable to answer ever since it first dawned on you that he’d turned.    Why did he give in? He knew what would happen. How could he leave himself so vulnerable?

   But this is why you’re here. To set things right, no matter what happened in the past. You’ll never get those answers, so all you can do is let the questions go.    And just as you begin to calm yourself, you feel it.    They’re coming. He’s summoned them to watch as he devours you. And to protect him, should you have some trick up your sleeve.

   “Tell me something, Si…” you start, giving them time to come closer before you get this over with. “Did you really think you’d ever get me to surrender to you?    Is that what all this flaunting of your achievements is meant to do? To win me over?”

   He sours while he listens, clearly unable to think of a witty comeback because you’re right. He absolutely thought that this, beating you, would be such a triumph you wouldn’t be able to resist admiring him.

   “I’m the fucking goddess of all light, you prick. I was never gonna bow to you, you’re nothing but a shadow under the bed, a cockroach hiding in the bottom of the sink.    You named me Boo, remember? Because even back then, I was better than you.”

   You’re not actually trying to antagonize him, you just really wanted to give him a piece of your mind before you get this show going.    But true to form, he’s enraged by your insults and comes at you with his arms raised and ready to beat you into the ground.    The nine all are there, too far away for your eyes to make them out in the dark and dusty air, but close enough that you can feel them, standing in a circle around you and their master.    And Caelum circles directly above you, just as you’d asked her.

   “Don’t hesitate,” you tell her, as you watch Simon measure his first punch.

   “Your sacrifice will not be in vain… Kaivalya,” she replies, and unlike the Darkling, her use of your most beloved name shows you just how much she respects you.

   Nothing else is said between you. Nothing more is needed.

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[infinity-or-oblivion]

so my loa batkids au has gained a little traction and i’ve hit a bit of a wall when it comes to writing new stuff so here’s an infodump to hopefully kill my writers block xoxoxo

first of all, jason. my forever number one blorbo. there’s a bit of a role reversal here because compared to all the rest of them, jason arguably had it the easiest. like we’re not going to compare traumas but an argument could be made. i honestly don’t remember if i mentioned it at all in the actual series yet, but the story i have for jason is that his childhood with willis and catherine was about the same as canon/commonly accepted fanon, meaning he was homeless around nine years old. however, instead of living on the streets for years, it was only a few months tops before meeting bruce.

and bruce! this is very fun to me, but basically i was thinking that if he didn’t raise dick, then why couldn’t this version of bruce be younger? so bruce becomes batman in his early twenties, which is also around the time that he visits the league of assassins for training and damian is conceived. (for a little more about that, here) and bruce is roughly 25 when he finds a tiny 9-10 year old jason trying to steal his tires. just imagine that it’s so fucking adorable and heartbreaking ANYWAYS bruce, despite being overall a disaster, doesn’t let a malnourished 10 year old out to fight crime right away, so there’s a couple years between when jason first meets bruce and when he becomes a child soldier yayyyy!!!! but legit, it makes a lot of difference to jason, because you know how canon!jason has some self-esteem issues (for lack of a better term) around bruce not really loving him/seeing him as a son because bruce started training him as robin (and as dick’s replacement) immediately after adopting him- you know that whole thing? yeah well here, despite jason actually offering to help bruce as a vigilante, this bruce is like hell nah you’re literally ten years old and the size of a six year old no way, and those few years in between really stick in jason’s mind as solid proof that bruce really does love him, not for what use he can provide, but simply as a son. also being the only child definitely helps with that

(that little detail of jason and bruce’s relationship is slightly inspired by minimum height requirement, which is absolute batfam gold btw)

okay so. slight pet peeve of mine is in aus where dick isn’t the first robin, the legacy is still called robin for whatever reason (lookin at you reverse robins aus) because!!!!! how dare you erase mary and john grayson’s importance!!!!! (look there’s more nuance to it than that i know but. to put it simply it feels like flying graysons erasure to me) so in this au, jason can’t possibly be called robin. the real robin has been missing for roughly seven years at this point

and listen. i tried to be creative and come up with something cool and original for jason’s vigilante name i really did, but apparently i used all of my naming talent on nighthawk (fucking love that name for dick it’s so fantastic) so we just have bluejay. womp womp

also! on my list of things to expand on: main timeline stephanie!!! i’ve had an absolute blast making myself cry while writing every heart sings a song, incomplete and those who wish to sing always find a song, but spoiler steph will always be my babygirl. and duke!!!! i have not written barely anything for duke in this universe but believe me i have some Thoughts. perhaps even Ideas. basically a lot of steph&duke and steph&babs and steph&duke&babs because i love my little underrated trio

also just more babs in general, because like. i’ve had so many tiny little snippets of cass and babs and their sweet little relationship just sitting in my notes for literal years now that i really just need to organize and expand into their own fic. and yet. i have not done that. but rest assured cass&babs are very very important to me

such is the curse of female fanfic writers: always destined to fixate more on the male poor little meow meows than the female bad bitches. seriously what the fuck is up with that guys i don’t get it why does this happen

[ncisfranchise-source]

The ’90s were not, in fact, only 20 years ago, no matter what you might think and as the creative team behind CBS’ “NCIS: Origins” knows all too well. We are as far away from 1991, the year the freshman series is set, as 1991 is from 1958. This is, for everyone keeping track, the year “Vertigo” hit theaters. But in terms of technology, it might as well be 1858.

Sure, fax machines and outdated computers are there for the taking. But getting them to work? That’s a whole other story. “It’s dead technology, so you need to skin it and change the button that says copy, and you can only use a bottom loader instead of a top loader where the paper goes through,” Pat Russo, the series’ head of props, told IndieWire. “So, it’s complicated.”

Complicated is an understatement. “NCIS: Origins” is both a prequel to the beloved “NCIS” (about Gibbs’s early days at the fledgling NCIS Camp Pendleton office) and a period procedural, which means the attention to detail (and period accuracy) is paramount. Every now and then, things might get fudged for the sake of storytelling (don’t get Russo started on dot matrix printing; he luckily convinced everyone that laser printing, which did exist in 1991, was the right choice for audience comprehension). But for the most part, the team behind bringing each episode to life is dedicated to being as accurate as possible. Like with military uniforms.

 ”That’s where the authenticity becomes really important,” costume department head Jill Ohanneson told IndieWire. “We’re very lucky that we have a fabulous consultant with us, but also, I have on my particular crew a dedicated military expert. He’s been doing it all his life, and he knows it with his eyes closed. So I’m very, very blessed to have him on my team.”

The more casual clothes are a different story. There’s a very easy way to signal the era (geometric patterns, loud colors), but that doesn’t work for the “hard-working, blue-collar” crew solving crimes every week, as Ohanneson said. “We wanted them to be grounded in a way that felt natural and normal and relatable because a lot of the clothes from the ’80s are a bit caricature. So it was really important that that didn’t happen on this show.”

Ohanneson worked to create a color palette for the show to streamline the process, eschewing reds and bright whites and anything too contrasting “because I don’t want to take anything away from what the actors are saying, what their emotions are. I don’t ever want the clothes to overpower the character or the story.”

It’s a testament to the work behind the scenes that “NCIS: Origins” feels of the period without feeling at a remove. The 1991 setting is just another nuance to what we’re seeing, not the defining characteristic of the series. At the same time, those details inform the actors’ performances.

  ”It’s a police show, so right away, you’re going to have a gun, a paddle holster, cuff pouches, magazines,” Ruso said. “When I got the first script, the first thing we do is establish Southern California and Camp Pendleton. So right away, we’re on the 5 freeway, and there’s surfboards and wetsuits on cars. And then I’m going, ‘Wait a minute, I remember those old white plates with the square red letters, but how charming would it be to mix some other cars in with our old blue and yellow plates and our old sunset plates?”

The station at Camp Pendleton is also a mix of eras since the real-life Marine Corps base didn’t remodel until after 9/11. “When they first purchased the land right after Pearl Harbor, they instantly set up a compound, and Quonset huts were a military type of architecture and something that they could throw up fairly quickly,” production designer Rusty Smith told IndieWire. “[Our set is] dressed like [the late 20th century], but it’s got a lot of leftover military artifacts from the ’40s.”

Smith said he’s lucky to have all of Los Angeles for locations, something that aids in his quest to keep the show grounded and “gritty,” looking to “Top Gun” and “A Few Good Men” as inspirations. Those films have a similar costume aesthetic to what Ohanneson is doing, as well. “We’re not high fashion. We’re not in the Hamptons,” she said. “It’s very much middle America here, and the clothes need to be functional. I also wanted to give us somewhere to go. We’re in ’91; if [future seasons push] into the mid-’90s, and I put all of my best ’90s looks out there right at the front, then I’m going to run out of inspiration pretty quickly.”

 Russo and his team are also working slightly behind 1991, with an even greater degree of difficulty. “We have an FBI agent on a cell phone, so right away, we’re looking for cellular phones that at least light up to save money on VFX because that becomes a $3,000 red light,” he said. Once the appropriate phones are located, Russo orders as many as possible because, as he said, “If you have one, you’ve got none when there’s a problem. If you’ve got two, it’s too few.”

Just like the characters on any good cop show, the production team for “NCIS: Origins” needs backup — for everything.

[daitranscripts]

Iron Bull: Warm Approval

Tell Me About Your Troops

Iron Bull Masterpost

Available after meeting the Chargers and if they are not sacrificed.

PC: I’d like to hear more about the Chargers.

After Demands of the Qun Iron Bull: They’re good. Riding high after we hit those Venatori. Glad they made it out alive, too.

Iron Bull: Always happy to talk about my guys. What do you want to know?

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: How did you start? [2]

Investigate: You must have crazy stories. [3]

Investigate: Your group is diverse. [4]

Investigate: Tell me about Krem. [5]

General: Goodbye. [6]

2 - Investigate: How did you start? PC: How did you start the group? Iron Bull: It’s easy to make a name for yourself as a merc when you’re a head taller than most folks. I spent a year or two working for Fisher’s Bleeders, but their captain was crap. Figured I could do better. The best folks in the Bleeders agreed with me, so we split off.

Dialogue options:

Special: What about Fisher? [Back to 1]

7 - Special: What about Fisher? PC: I imagine Fisher disagreed. Iron Bull: (Grunts.) He came at me. I snapped his sword in half, and we talked things out over drinks.

3 - Investigate: You must have crazy stories. PC: What are the craziest jobs you’ve ever taken? Iron Bull: Besides this one? There’s a lot of violence between the nobles here, but that’s standard work. The fun stuff is when they party. They always want to impress each other, and that means getting something shiny. We’ve hunted wyverns, fought through caves to find some old magical crap, even went giant-baiting once.

Dialogue options:

Special: Giant-baiting? [8]

[Back to 1]

8 - Special: Giant-baiting? PC: What’s giant-baiting? Iron Bull: So this old guy, Comte Vanchess, has some kind of pageant planned, but he needs a giant, which is off in some damn cave. He’s got some kind of rare charm to control the giant, but no way he’s going into that cave himself. So we go in, kill some spiders, find the giant, and wake it up. It attacks us, because of course it does, and we let the big bastard chase us outside, where Vanchess is waiting.

Dialogue options:

Special: You let it chase you? [9]

[Back to 1]

9 - Special: You let it chase you? PC: That was actually your plan? To let a giant chase you? Iron Bull: Yeah. We had to stay out of reach but close enough that it wouldn’t give up. It was tricky. Good news is that giants are slow. Long as my guys ahead could clear out the spiders, we were fine. Bad news is that giant spiderwebs slow you down a bit more than you’d think. PC: But at least Comte Vanchess got his giant for the pageant. Iron Bull: Ah, turned out that charm was a phony. Giant ate the poor guy alive. It’s okay, though. We still got paid. [back to 1]

4 - Investigate: Your group is diverse. PC: You have people from plenty of different backgrounds in your group. Iron Bull: Yeah. Well, when you’re in Orlais and you look like me, you can’t be picky about who you take in. A lot of ’em got turned away from other companies that didn’t want a knife-ear or a crazy dwarf. Their loss. You get my back in a fight and carry your own weight, you’re good with me.

Qunari PC Iron Bull: How about you? You had a company of your own. How did you put yours together?

Dialogue options:

General: I took all kinds. [10]

General: I mostly stuck with humans. [11]

General: I used Tal-Vashoth. [12]

10 - General: I took all kinds. PC: Like you, more or less. I took anyone who could take care of themselves and follow orders. Iron Bull: Great minds… [back to 1] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 11 - General: I mostly stuck with humans. PC: I only had humans, for the most part. I thought I’d get more work with the nobles that way. Iron Bull: Yeah, that makes sense. Some of them only want the right people bleeding for ’em. [back to 1] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 12 - General: I used Tal-Vashoth. PC: My company was mostly Tal-Vashoth, like me. Iron Bull: (Grunts.) Well, it’s better than becoming bandits, I guess. [back to 1]

5 - Investigate: Tell me about Krem. PC: I’d like to know more about Krem. Iron Bull: He’s a good soldier, and a better second-in-command. The troops need someone to complain to when I’m being a hard-ass. He’s good for that.

13 - Dialogue options:

Special: But you hate Tevinter. [14]

Special: Him being her isn’t an issue? [15]

[Back to 1]

14 - Special: But you hate Tevinter. PC: You don’t have a problem with him being from Tevinter? Iron Bull: Nah. PC: But you hate “the Vints.” Iron Bull: Sure. But he’s not a Vint. He’s just Krem. I can get worked up about a group or a nation just fine, but people… It’s too much work to hate them one by one. [back to 13]

15 - Special: Him being her isn’t an issue? PC: You don’t have any problems with him being a woman? Iron Bull: He’s not a woman.

Iron Bull (Qunari PC): Look, you and I have to walk carefully so we don’t accidentally break the furniture or the elves. Iron Bull (Dalish PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You’ve got pointy ears and those freaky, big elf eyes. Iron Bull (dwarf PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You only come up to my knee, and you can’t dream. Iron Bull (mage PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You can shoot fire out of your ass. Iron Bull (human PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You’ve got a magic mark on your hand that makes demons pop out of the sky.

Iron Bull: We’re probably not the best people to go around deciding what’s normal. Krem’s a good man. I don’t give a nug’s ass that it’s a little harder for him to piss standing up. [back to 13]

6 - General: Goodbye. PC: See you later, Bull. Iron Bull: Nice talking with you, boss.