#its officially been over a month of bleeding and i just got cramps for the first time in 3 weeks

[stedebonnit]

If my period doesn't end before ofmd s2 i will actually sue my own uterus. Its homophobic for me to be too exhausted to engage in fandom 😭

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[type-writers-and-rose-petals]

Fix it, Fix Me #1

Freddy Newandyke just wanted to help people. He wanted to be like the superheroes in the comics, he wanted people to be proud of him. That’s how he ended up on the L.A.P.D task force, that’s how he ended up as an undercover cop on a jewel heist. He had expected a lot of things, but he never expected to fall for the mysterious man known as Mr. White. It suddenly felt like his life was crumbling, as he found himself faced with two options, either betray Mr. White’s trust and put him behind bars, or confess and get killed. 

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Mentioned Sexual Assault, Mentioned Car Crash, Mentioned Child Death, Graphic PTSD Episode, Cursing, Alcohol/Drugs. Let me know if I missed anything. 

Freddy Newandyke knew he was fucked up. He was beaten down, used and abused his entire life. He thought maybe becoming a cop would make him worth something, but he was proven wrong when on his second week when he was dragged into the interrogation room, beaten, fucked, and humiliated, reminded just where his place was in this godforsaken world.

He hid scars behind smiles and fabric, a facade built to hide the broken pieces of his mind he so meticulously tried to hide. 

After years and years of hiding, he found he was good at deceiving those around him. 

That could have been why he was chosen to be the undercover rat for a diamond heist. Or maybe it's because the rest of the P.D saw him as disposable. 

After all, he had no family, no friends, no one who would miss him, or care. It was basically a suicide mission if the thieves found him out, so why not send him?

Freddy could care less if he died or not. He had nothing else to live for. So he took the job. 

He expected many things to come from it. What he didn't expect, however, was to fall for the tall, mysterious man known as Mr. White. 

  Mr. White was an older man, he had maybe ten years or so on Freddy, who had just barely turned twenty four. 

But God, was he gorgeous. Tall, well built, with deep brown eyes and a surprisingly kind smile for a hardened criminal. 

If things were different, Freddy might have tried to pursue him. If he wasn't closeted, if it wasn't the nineties and the aids crisis was in full swing, if he wasn't a fucking cop trying to get him arrested. 

So he made the decision to avoid him, avoid making an even bigger mistake than he already had. 

Of course, it couldn't work out that way, could it? Of course, he was paired with him. 

He was in his car now, gripping his steering wheel, his knuckles white. Mr. White was in the passenger seat, and if he noticed how tense he was, he didn't say a word. Mr White had decided to stay with him, since he had been recognized at the motel he was staying at.

"So, kid, you're awfully quiet. You nervous?" Mr. White asked, glancing over at him with an amused smile. 

"What? No, I- I'm just quiet sometimes. I'm not nervous."

It was a lie, and Freddy knew it, he just hoped to whatever God was listening that White didn't. Truth be told, anxiety was eating away at him, he felt like at any moment his heart might explode. He was way in over his head, and there was no turning back now. 

The rest of the ride to his shitty little apartment was silent, thankfully. He brought White inside, face flush with embarrassment at all the superhero memorabilia scattered around the cramped space. He should have redecorated, he should have done something, but he didn't think they'd be going back to his apartment. 

"Nice place." Mr. White said with that same damned amused smile. 

Another lie, but at least this time it wasn't from him. He was sick of lying, but he wouldn't dare tell the truth.

"Oh, uh, thanks man." Freddy said, wanting nothing more than to drop the topic of his decorating skills. "You can take the couch if you want."

Like hell he'd be letting a criminal in his bed. 

"Thank you." White gave him a nod. 

"Yeah, sure." He muttered. "I need to, um, use the commode."

He walked away, leaving him in the living room. 

He locked himself in the bathroom, locking the door and slumping against it. 

"Holy shit… how am I going to do this?" He quietly groaned to himself. 

He just… needed to avoid him as much as possible. That hadn't changed, it would just be a bit more difficult. 

He could do this. He had to do this, even if he had no other choice.

He couldn't let his damn feelings get in the way.

~~~

It was official. Freddy was fucked. 

He had done everything to keep himself from falling for Mr. White, he had done absolutely everything he could think of, and yet he still found himself left with butterflies in his stomach any time Mr. White touched him.  

He was currently sitting on his couch, some shitty old movie playing on his cheap TV as he and White drank lukewarm beer. 

He was starting to get buzzed, as he told White some bullshit story about nearly being busted for drugs. 

White listened intently, a grin plastered on his face, his deep brown eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“And so then- hic- then he wanted to pat me down! Now, I only like to be frisked by a certain type of person, if ya get what I mean.” Freddy chuckled, his words somewhat slurred. 

White laughed, and good god, it sounded like music to Freddy’s ears. He felt his cheeks go red, as he watched him. 

He had to stop this, before it was too late. 

But the fact he was having a good time, and his liking for White won over. So instead he stood up, grabbing the empty beer bottles from the table. 

“Want another drink, Mr. White?” He asked him. 

“Sure, sure. Oh, and please, call me Larry.” 

Freddy froze up at that last part. He… he hadn’t been expecting that, at all. 

“But, uh, but sir, Joe Cabot said we wasn’t supposed to say our names.” He said, swallowing thickly as he quickly sobered up. 

“Oh, fuck what Joe said. I hate those stupid names he gave us.” White- no, Larry- huffed. 

“Oh…” Freddy frowned. It was hard enough already, why did he have to go and make this harder?

"You can keep calling me White if ya really want. Just thought something more casual would be nice." He said upon seeing him frown.

Freddy shook his head. "No, it's alright man, if you wanna be called Larry, I'll call you Larry." He said, before walking to the kitchen. 

He threw the bottles away and leaned against the counter with a heavy sigh. 

The hell was going on in his life? He felt like he was in a car with no brakes, speeding downhill. It was going to crash at any moment, he would die if he stayed in, and he would die if he got out, and the best thing he could do was just close his eyes and wait for the inevitable crash.

"Hey Orange, did ya get lost in the kitchen?" White's voice came from the living room, full of amusement and mild impatience. 

"Hold on one sec, Larry!" He called, as he got the beers out of the fridge. 

One slipped from his hands, crashing to the floor as he cursed. 

He knelt down and quickly tried to pick up the broken glass. 

"Shit!" He hissed, drawing his hands back quickly. Blood seeped from the cut on his hand, burning from the alcohol. 

His eyes widened in panic when he saw the blood. 

The metallic stench filled his nostrils, as he stumbled back. It was overwhelming, all he could smell was the blood, assaulting his senses. He fell back against the counter, choking on his breath. 

He could hear the yelling. He could hear the screams, smell the acrid smoke pouring out of the crumpled car, the blood leaking onto the pavement. 

So, so much blood. 

He clutched the counter for support, blood pouring over the old linoleum floor. He tried to tell himself it wasn't real, it was in his mind, but he couldn't.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything except stand there, paralyzed and trapped in his mangled mind. 

It was Larry who tore him from his dissociative state.  

"Orange? Kid, what's going on? Shit!" 

Upon hearing Larry's voice, Freddy looked up, eyes glazed, panic spreading in his chest. 

"Kid." Larry snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Kid, can you hear me?"

He became a little more focused, managing a nod as he glanced around the room. There was no blood on the floor, just a broken bottle with its contents spread across the linoleum.  

"Shit man, you're bleeding. The fuck did you do to yourself? All you were supposed to do is get booze." He muttered, his voice more concerned than anything. 

Freddy let out a shaking breath. "I-I dropped the bottle, and it- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Larry carefully took his hand. He swallowed nervously, looking up at him. 

“May I?” Larry asked, gesturing to his injured hand. 

He wanted to ask why, but the words got caught in his throat. He gave him a wary nod instead. 

Larry ripped a few paper towels from the roll, and wet them, before pressing it to his cuts. 

“Be more careful next time, tough guy. Don’t want ya bleeding out on your kitchen floor, now do we?” He said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Freddy just nodded, his words lost on him. 

Larry frowned and continued to clean up his hand. 

Freddy felt like such a goddamn disaster. Here he was, standing in his kitchen, too out of it to patch up his hand, and too clumsy to clean up the mess he made. At the first sign of blood he panicked, he wasn’t supposed to panic, he was supposed to stay calm and collected. Not to mention the one patching him up was a criminal that he was supposed to rat out. Why the fuck did Larry have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he have just kept away? 

Larry eventually broke the silence. “So… you wanna tell me what happened inside that mind of yours just now? Why you were standing here all panicked and dazed?” 

He winced. He could either tell the truth, at least part of it, or he could lie again. And god, was he sick of lying. 

“A few months back I saw a car crash… It was bad, man, real fuckin bad… The car was on fire and crushed like a soda can, but the people inside were still alive. There were fuckin kids… I could hear them screaming, and I couldn’t do anything to help, and there was so much blood…” His words grew shaky and uneven, as he drew in a breath. “It, uh, it messed me up pretty bad. Felt pretty fuckin helpless for a long damn time. Blood just sets off the memories I guess.” 

Larry paused. “And you saw it happen?”

He nodded. 

“That’s… that’s rough kid. I’m sorry. Shit like that you don’t easily forget… have you talked to anyone about it?” 

Freddy let out a halfhearted scoff. “What, like a shrink?” 

Larry shrugged. “A shrink, friends, family, significant other. Anyone.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t got anyone like that.” 

“Really? I find that surprising. I’d think the ladies would be all over you.” Larry said, an amused smile playing on his lips. 

“Ha, yeah right. No lady wants me.” He muttered. 

“Any guys then?” 

Freddy almost choked. “What!? No- I-” He stumbled over his words, unable to get them out.

Larry chuckled goodnaturedly. “I’m just joking with ya. Seriously though, you got no one to talk to?”

He shook his head, face flush. 

“That’s a damn shame. You’re a nice kid.” He said with a sigh. He finished cleaning the cuts on his hand and removing the bits of glass. “You got any bandages?” 

“Yeah, they’re in the bathroom cabinet.” He answered. 

“Stay right here. And no more tryna pick up broken glass, okay? Don’t be a dumbass.”  

Larry left him leaning against the counter. 

Why was Larry being so nice, so caring? Why didn’t he just laugh at him and make him pick the glass up on his own, regardless of the cuts? Why was he doing any of this?

Freddy had a feeling he would be asking why a lot in the coming weeks. And frankly, he had no idea what to expect from Larry. 

All he knew was that this wasn’t going to end well for him.

[venusofthehardsells]

Moon Blood [part 1]

ReaderxVampire!Steve RogersxVampire!Bucky Barnes

Summery: The reader is a human held against her will at a facility doing research on vampires. Her first task as a "donor" is to let the vampire Steve Rogers drink of her blood, but Steve prefers to share his meals. Warnings: noncon sex (oral), blood drinking, period blood, your typical vampire stuff A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS, this is NOT for everyone! Most of this is obviously shamelessly stolen from the plot of True Blood and was originally intended as a one-shot, but I decided to continue the story and am so far writing and planing for it to be 3 parts when finished. Also posted on Ao3. Enjoy ~ _____ The small room felt overcrowded, even though you were only ten people in it. You had been standing shoulder to shoulder and back to back for more than an hour now, waiting for the shrink to call upon one of you. You felt nauseated and feverish and wanted to strip out of the heavy bathrobe you were wearing, but even though you knew everyone in the room by now you didn’t want to stand in front of them naked, no matter how much you believed you were dying. Or at least about to pass out. An hour ago, the shrink had called number 14 into the consultation room and he hadn’t come back yet, so you assumed he was either finished for today or still donating. If that were so, maybe they wouldn’t need any of you after all. You would just have to stand here and endure until you were all told to go back to your cells. They didn’t call them cells, of course they didn’t. But none of you nurtured any illusions about them; you knew they were cells and you knew why.

Even though the whole project was promoted as voluntarily, no one in the facility had chosen to be here. Well, no one except the scientists and doctors. The rest of the inhabitants of this place were either food or guinea pigs. “Donors” and “voluntary subjects” were the official terms. You belonged in the former, but you hadn’t “donated” anything as of yet. Every day you feared you would be called upon, but so far three weeks had come and gone and the shrinks and doctors and scientists had chosen the other donors for their programmes. You knew it couldn’t go on. Sooner or later they would choose you and you would have to try and endure it. The best you could hope for was for a shrink and not a scientist to say your name. You didn’t know exactly what the scientists needed humans for, but from the devilish whispers you had heard from the others, it wasn’t something you were likely to recover from. You gritted your teeth as a rush of pain shot through the lower part of your stomach and instinctively tried to push your legs harder together. Your period had started this morning and you were terrified someone would find out. You had tried to clean up the first blood with the napkin from breakfast and now with your mind, but you knew it couldn’t hold. Folding your arms hard around yourself, you sat down and tried to look as insignificant as you possibly could while whimper after whimper stuck in your throat. After at least half an hour of sitting there, the sound of the speaker being turned on in the consultation room made you, and everyone else, look up. It was as if all of you held your breaths, fearing what would now come. “Next one, please,” the shrink’s voice announced in its usual half-bored tone; somehow, they all managed to sound exactly the same. “A girl this time. Let’s see, let’s see…” The five boys instantly relaxed a bit and were now looking at the girls with pity in their eyes. It took the shrink forever to choose one from the list. You could hear the sound of his hands going through your files over the intercom, one by one, and you could only pray he wouldn’t stop at yours. “Yes, why not. This’ll make an interesting match I would say. Number 29, will you please proceed to the consultation?” You closed your eyes and hid your head in your arms, forcing yourself to keep the tears at bay. If you ruined your make-up they would no doubt punish you. Donor number 29 was you. They had stripped everything from you upon arrival at the facility, even your name. Food didn’t need names after all. One of the others helped you stand up, but you didn’t really see who it was. The pain in your stomach had spread to the rest of your body now and every movement hurt to the bone. Your thighs felt sticky and you walked stiffly and slowly towards the door to the lift. When the doors slid open and you got in, you turned around just in time to see the remaining nine donors looking at you in relief and fear. Then the doors slid shut again and the lift moved from the basement to the ground floor where the consultation room would welcome you. The first thing you saw when the doors opened again was a large room in cosy colours that definitely did not resemble any of the cells or the hallways in the rest of the facility. This looked almost as if humans were actually meant to feel comfortable here. You swallowed and took a few very small steps into the consultation room, keeping your eyes focused on the floor to make sure you hadn’t spilt any blood on the way. “Steve Rogers, I’d like you to meet Donor 29,” you heard the shrink say and you looked up to find him sitting behind a desk in a very comfortable chair, looking at you with a pair of cold blue eyes. “She’ll be your donor today.” No matter how pleasant he sounded, you couldn’t help but feel afraid when he spoke and the more you looked at him, the more anxious you grew. It got worse when you turned your head a bit and looked at the hospital bed across from the desk where the “voluntary subject” was sitting. Even in the blue standard paper-pyjamas, which was straining quite a bit around his muscular body, the vampire’s golden hair and shining cornflower eyes made you think of a renaissance angel. Steve was otherworldly… beautiful. Like every other vampire, his skin was paler than any human’s and the graceful, almost fluid way he moved took away any doubt someone might have had. “And here I thought you were going to keep feeding me that synthesised crap for as long as I was here,” Steve said, keeping his voice down. A smirk settled on his face, but it quickly faded when he noticed how your eyes kept flickering to the barred windows and the door in the other end of the room. “What’s wrong?” He hopped down from the bed and walked over to you on legs that seemed as if they could make him fly. When he stood right in front of you his breath caught and you could tell by the way his eyes darkened with lust that he could smell the blood between your legs. “You’re afraid of me… You’ve never given blood before, have you?” He sounded breathless now and you trembled when he reached out to touch your hair, but he restrained himself to that and managed to look at the shrink behind the desk instead. “I’d like to share her,” Steve whispered, obviously fighting not to suck you dry right then and there. “Is that so?” The shrink leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk. “Why, if I may ask?” “Because she’s bleeding. Moon blood,” he added, when the shrink looked puzzled. “I never drink from a girl alone when she is having her moon blood.” “Really?” “You asked about my drinking habits before and I know you’ve been asking the others the same thing as well. And some of them have quite curious habits regarding how and when they feed. Well, this is one of my curious habits.” The shrink smiled and you wanted to kill him. “Very well. Is there someone in particular you want to share your donor with?” “James Barnes, the one with the long, brown hair. We’re in the same ward.” The shrink nodded and picked up a phone next to the stack of donor-files. His words as he spoke to someone through the phone sounded faint and dream-like and you turned your head to look at the vampire again. He was staring at you with some of the same pity the other donors had expressed when you were called upon. “It’s going to be all right,” Steve whispered, still obviously aware that you were about to black out from a good mix of cramps, terror and period-induced feverishness. “I’m not a heavy drinker, I’ll be as gentle as I can. And James is not going to take anything you’re not willing to give, okay?” Even though his words were soft and tender, you could tell he used a lot of self-control to keep as calm as he was now. “We’ll make it as good for you as possible.” You looked at him with eyes that had never been more bursting with tears, but you didn’t set them free even though you wanted to. You wouldn’t give the shrink the satisfaction of knowing they had broken you. Instead, you let Steve take your hand and slowly walk you to the hospital bed in the other end of the room. He sat down and gestured for you to sit next to him. As soon as you moved your legs, a hot sticky feeling ran down your thigh and you could hear him moan under his breath as he watched you take the few insecure steps towards him and sit down. Carefully, he slid his hand in between the folds of the bathrobe and you shivered as he traced his fingers all the way up your leg to your soft inner thigh. “Just a taste while we’re still alone,” he whispered before lifting his fingers to his mouth, now sticky and glistening with blood, and sucked them clean one by one. His breathing grew ragged with every lick. “It’s the first time in months I’ve had real blood. Thank you.” He leaned in and kissed you on the cheek, just as the door to the consultation room was opened and another vampire was led in by two armed guards. If Steve was a blonde renaissance angel, James Barnes was surely a white version of Jesus in the same painting. His brown wavy hair fell softly around his face and onto his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard accentuated his perfect jawline. A smile came upon his face as soon as he saw you and his pale eyes practically lit up. “Oh god…,” he breathed, taking a few steps closer. His eyes were glazed and dark and you could tell he too had to restrain himself. “I’ve been longing for this ever since morning, that scent is all over the compound. Darling, do you have any idea how irresistible you smell?” It seemed as if he wanted to get closer, but he held himself back when he realised you weren’t alone. With slow movements he looked at the guards and then at the shrink, before finally looking to Steve. “This is a test, isn’t it? They’re not going to let me have her.” He swallowed thickly and looked at you again as if you were made of gold. “You’re quite wrong,” the shrink assured him with the same disgusting smile as before. “Mr Rogers actually invited you here. He thought this particular donor was better shared. You can leave,” he added to the guards. “I’ll take it from here.” Oh, if only they’d kill him, you thought when the guards left. One man against two vampires shouldn’t be a problem, but you knew how easy it would be for someone guarding the doors outside to push one button and the roof would move aside and reveal the splendid deadly shining sun. Steve placed an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “Just remember, we’re not going to hurt you,” he said, kissing you on the jaw this time. “Not remotely,” James added. His voice was soft and warm, as were his eyes behind the glaze. He leaned down and kissed you on the lips, hungrily, voraciously, before kneeling down in front of you and licking his now swollen lips. Gently, he placed a hand on each of your knees and made you spread your legs in front of him. Steve pulled back the bathrobe and James leaned in to lick the blood off your inner thighs that had already smeared across your skin again. Automatically, you tried to twist away, but James’ hands firmly kept your legs wide open and Steve had placed his arms around you, holding you so tight there was no way you could possibly move. “Relax,” he mumbled into your ear, positioning himself behind you to get a better hold of your waist. “You’re going to like it.” The moment the words had left his mouth, James slowly moved his tongue to the folds between your legs and gently he began to lick you in lazy but skilled circles and your breath caught. You could feel James’ smile against you and he moved upwards just enough to nibble briefly at your clit. Your breathing sped up; it was impossible to pretend you didn’t enjoy it, you realised helplessly as Steve began softly massaging your hips. “I told you we’d make it good for you,” he whispered teasingly against your ear and his hands left your hips to brush away your hair and the bathrobe, exposing your neck, shoulder and breasts. A blush rose to your already flustered face as started to kiss the skin right beneath your ear and you bit your lip, forcing a whimpering moan to stay in your throat. He chuckled and nibbled at your neck the way James still occasionally nibbled your clit as he sucked the blood you were spilling anyway. Very slowly, Steve worked his way down your neck, letting his tongue taste every inch of skin on the way. He stopped right where neck and shoulder meet and kissed you greedily until your skin was numb and your breath so fast and superficial it was difficult not to cry out. “Just relax now,” he moaned and you tried, you really did, but James’ tongue was now working so fast between your legs you could hardly sit still and Steve tightened his grip around you before he carefully let his fangs sink into you. The prickling pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure James tirelessly kept giving you. You weren’t even sure when exactly Steve began feeding and you didn’t care. His hands were all over you, James was still feeding off your moon blood, his tongue swirling inside of you and you had to let out a moan somewhere between your ragged gasps for breath. Finally, James had taken every drop of blood you had to give and he increased the pressure from his mouth on your sensitive bundle of nerves until you convulsed and cramped around his tongue, curling your toes and gasping for breath in Steve’s firm embrace as your orgasm rolled through you. He smirked when he pulled away and licked his lips to make sure not a single drop of anything went to waste. “Delicious,” he breathed and looked at Steve, who proceeded to slowly pull his predatory teeth out of your neck and then drag his tongue over the puncture wounds. “Thank you,” he said before turning your head enough for him to kiss you deeply on the mouth. You were still quivering and out of breath when he let go of you and your heart was beating so fast you thought it might pump its way out through your ribs. Somehow, you wanted to curl up in their arms on the narrow hospital bed, but then your eyes fell on the door and then the desk and then the shrink, who had been silently observing you the whole time. Immediately you wanted to get sick. Your whole body began to tremble and you could feel your gorge rise in the back of your throat. “Calm down,” you could hear James breathe next to you as he sat down on the bed too and put his arms around you, steadying you against his cold, solid frame. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. People are coming to free us.” He was now speaking so low you doubted even Steve could hear it though he was sitting right on the other side of you. “And when they do, I’ll make sure you get the honour of killing off this one. Just a few more days now, darling.” He placed a soft kiss on the tip of your ear, before resting his head on your shoulder. Steve quietly folded the robe around you again and lifted your hand to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. The two vampires were both looking at you in utter adoration. You felt paralysed. Only then did you realise you hadn’t spoken a word.

[alcheminary]

uhhhhh yeaaaaaah I’ve got an order for some edwin featuring parental roy and riza, hold the royai?

merry new year, @bifullmetal, I’m your secret santa for 2018!! I’m sorry this is late, I was held up by some travel plans that popped off a little earlier than I thought they would

you asked for basically anything, so my plan going in here was to deliver a wintery and modern spin on the classic mermaid au fic. of course it ran away from me, so now you get a wip of a fic, and that just seems like a bum present so I draw art to make up for that, and gosh dude I just hope you like it

thanks to @fullmetalsecretsanta for putting this event together for 2018, you guys are awesome, for sure

anyway, here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter!

(edit: sorry for the extra late posting, I saved this to my drafts again on accident which is kind of the most embarrassing mistake I could possibly make)

“The Sea Bleeds Blue” Chapter 1 (prototype)

“... the man is reported to have been under the influence of alcohol during the time of his encounter…”

The tiny little TV blares throughout the house from its perch on the kitchen counter, a feat much more impressive in possibly any other structure that isn’t a cramped beach house. Like, seriously cramped. The kind of cramped where you can barely lay flat across the floor without hitting a wall.

It’s not like Winry Rockbell hates her grandma’s beach house. In a way, she gets it. You get older, your health starts to go, the warm weather is easy on your joints and the air is just so much easier to breathe compared to city smog. And everyone else your age has the same idea, too. When you have a nest egg and no other obligations, why not? Why not just live at the beach, wake up every morning to the soothing ebb of waves, sip your coffee on a porch overlooking the scenery, be a family vacation destination in and of yourself, and just wait to die?

That’s her whole bugbear with the thing actually, now that she thinks about it. People come to the beach to die.

She blinks hard, reaches for her wire cutters, and tries not to think about it much more than that.

“... officials like park ranger Jean Havoc however say the injuries are more likely to have been caused by a particularly territorial sea lion,” the newscaster on the TV continues, her voice tinny and distorted by the on-board speakers. Honestly, she could fix those if Gran would let her...

“He might’ve been feedin’ ‘em, harassin’ ‘em… Sea lions ain’t known to be gracious about their personal space, so all it takes is one loud, persistent jerkwad to ruin their whole day. Heck, mine too! Hahaha.”

“The man was admitted to the hospital this morning, and is expected to make a full recovery…”

Paninya scoffs, loud enough to startle Winry just as she’s threading the headlight through its socket. Luckily a less delicate part of this process. “Sea lion my butt. I’ve bounced frisbees off those things and they haven’t moved.”

She pauses as she considers that image. “Please tell me you don’t make field goals out of sea lions on purpose.”

“Of course not! They’re just… big. And bouncy. And all over? You can’t go down the boardwalk without tripping on them. Like, seriously, is there like a sea lion sanctuary nearby or something? Don’t they migrate?” Paninya asks, her nose scrunching up.

“Uh, I think Mr. Hughes might—”

“No, wait, that’s beside the point,” she interrupts. “And the point here is that I’m not buying what that park ranger is selling.” Her deep brown eyes watch Winry expectantly.

Winry puts down the wires she was futzing with and turns to give her a long-suffering smile, resigning herself to the next few minutes being completely unproductive. “Alright, detective, give me the scoop. What’s really going on in Brightly Cove?”

Paninya always gets this wild grin on her face when she does this. The corner of her smile lifts up just so, her eyes glint, and she squares her shoulders like she’s the hardboiled crime noir star the situation needs.

“Okay, so,” she starts, “You saw the gashes on the guy, right?”

Winry shrugs. “A little bit.”

“Okay, well, they’re completely inconsistent with a sea lion attack. We’d be looking for bites and puncture wounds, and he got approximately uhh, NONE of those. So either sea lions have mutated to have razor sharp claws in the past week, or it wasn’t a sea lion and the park ranger is bullshitting us to cover up what it REALLY was.”

“Right, I’m following so far.”

“So, let’s set the scene.” She stands up to stalk around the incredibly small kitchen table toward Winry. “You’re a dumb tourist that came to the beach in the winter. You’ve brought a brand new jet ski with you, completely oblivious that the water is way too cold for that right now. Because you’re a dumb tourist.”

Winry takes the cue. “I’m a savvy tourist because I’ve arrived when no one is here and none of the shops are open! Locals LOVE my business! Sure hope nothing happens to me without any lifeguards!”

“You’re out on the water when you get caught… in a current! Waves come and pummel you towards the shore, one by one! Before you know it you’re smashed up against the rocks,  no shore to save you. You’re stuck.”

She musters the most dramatic slump over the back of the chair that she can manage. “Woe is the fate of a tourist such as I.”

“But wait!” Paninya raises a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from some kind of indoor sun. “What’s that coming toward you? It couldn’t be, is it a person, come to save you in your darkest hour? But then it comes closer, and you realize fate has never been so kind… because there, in the distance… is…“ She leans in close to Winry with a grave look.

“Is…?”

“Bigfoot with a machete.”

“Bigfoot with a—?!” Winry sputters, pushing Paninya away as she absolutely howls with laughter. “Your idea of a more likely culprit than a sea lion is Bigfoot with a machete?!”

“Uh, yeah?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Come on Winry. The gashes. The rocks. The collectible shot glass he leaves at the scene of every crime. It’s totally Bigfoot’s m.o.”

Winry turns back to the mess of robotics on the table. “I’m done with you. Completely done. I’m kicking you out.”

“What? Noooo, come oooon, I’ve got nothing else to do today! I’m gonna be so bored, Winry, pleeease,” Paninya whines, flopping bonelessly onto the table with her best puppy-dog eyes. Winry is mostly unaffected.

“Why not just go hang out with Lan Fan?” she asks. “She puts up with you way more than I do.”

“Can’t. She’s out with her grandpa ‘scoring sweet holiday deals’ at the outlets.” The complaint comes with air quotes. “Besides, you’ve been talking about how cool this project is gonna be for like, mooonths. I can’t miss it after that kind of hype.”

“I have kind of been taunting you with it, haven’t I?” Winry sighs, curling a loose wire around her finger. “Tell you what. If you can be quiet and not so… Paninya the amazing living distraction on me, then I’ll let you come with me later to do the experiment.” Paninya’s whole disposition perks up like a labradoodle. “But! That means no distractions.”

“Aye captain, no distractions,” Paninya promises with a little salute.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Several hours in that ramshackle beach house kitchen, crammed around a table and dutifully trying to keep potato chip crumbs from invading her whole zone (which, to Paninya’s credit, does not technically count as a distraction), and it’s finally complete. Just in time for low tide, too. The thing she’s been dreaming of doing for months, the senior project that will launch her college applications from drab to fab, the thing that will get her out of this backwater beach town for good...

“Okay, so. No more secrets. Tell me what your project is, Win,” Paninya demands, handing her a roll up cord out of the backpack they brought with them. Winry beams at her.

“Wwwweeell, do you remember those guys from like, San Fran who started building an aquatic robot to explore a hole that was rumored to have treasure at the bottom?”

Paninya pulls out a half-eaten bag of Ruffles from the backpack. “No, but that sounds completely rad. Is that your project? Oh shit, are we gonna find treasure?”

“Probably not,” Winry casually admits, ignoring the way Paninya deflates. “But the robot, yeah. The one they built was a world-wide collaboration across the internet. They had a goal, and people would test their builds by building one of their own, tweak it, and report their findings on those tweaks. It was super cool.”

“Yeah, cool for nerds maybe…” Paninya mumbles around a chip.

“SO,” she presses on, “I built one of my own. With some tweaks. You know, in the spirit of the thing. Now I just need to test it out, record my success, and write a whole essay on it.”

“Which is why we’re in the spooky cave that you can only get to at low tide and has a mysterious bottomless pit in it? So you can see if your ‘bot dives or fries?”

“Yep!” Winry answers cheerfully. “And why not just use Ling’s pool to do this instead? My legs don’t get good traction in here. I almost slipped earlier. I almost died.”

“Because Ling’s pool isn’t saltwater, and you’re fine.”

“Wow. Cold. Is this what a shitload of free time your senior year does to you, or is it just the overachieving itself?”

“Both,” Winry chirps, and plugs the cord into the tablet. She moves to plug in the other end into the robot itself, but frowns. The waterproof chassis doesn’t look right, like it settled in transport, skewing the whole design just slightly enough that it kind of worries her. Just that tiny bit of pressure on the cable could knock it out with the right bump, or damage the whole port.

Oh well. That’s why a scout’s always prepared, right? She pulls a knife out of her pocket and carefully shaves the plastic away to make room. And just like that, the plug fits like a charm. Nice and snug.

She turns to Paninya, and nods. “It’s show time.”

“Wait, waaaait,” Paninya stops her, waving a cheese-dusted hand around as the other reaches into the backpack. “It’s bad luck to sail a ship without a name. Got one?”

“Uh… I’ve just been calling it Divebot mark 1?” she offers.

Paninya stops digging through the supplies to stare. “Come on, Win. I’ve taught you to ‘yes and’ better than that.”

“Ugh, fine, okay. Um… Divey Jones?”

“Better.” Paninya reveals a can of ginger ale, and at Winry’s own disbelieving stare, shrugs. “It’s not like I have champagne, dude. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Gently, Winry eases the newly christened Divey Jones into the pool of water in front of them at the same time Paninya starts vigorously shaking the can. It floats on top of the surface, gently bobbing, and Winry tosses a grin at Paninya. First success: buoyancy. Next: video feed.

She boots up the tablet, jailbroken to run an open framework because nobody wants you to sandbox their stuff anymore, and opens the custom app she programmed just for this project. One part video capture, one part robot controller. It saved her the parts cost of making a controller, but also? It’s just a little more impressive for whoever looks over her work. Look, she can engineer hardware and software!

When the window prompt comes up to sync the devices, she starts to get jittery. It was one thing to test out at the house, where everything seemed to work just fine, but this was it. This was what either made her winter break a vacation or a mad dash to troubleshoot whatever could have possibly gone wrong in her schematics. The only thing separating her from either possibility was the flip of a switch.

She picks Divey back up from the water, turns it over, and flips it from “off” to “on”.

Immediately, it begins whirring to life, humming in her hand as the battery does its work. She picks up the tablet and pulls out a notepad lined with little squares to check off as she goes through the boot up process: Video feed online? Check. Headlights? Check. A quick figure eight around the little pool confirms that the fins and motors are working, and she checks that off as well.

It’s time for the big moment. She and Paninya nod at each other.

She deflates the swim bladder a little bit, and as Divey Jones begins to sink into the black abyss, Paninya opens the can of ginger ale to a satisfying arc of spray across the cavern, whooping and laughing at the mess it makes. “Bon voyage!!” she calls down the hole, and Winry shakes her head, smiling and turning her attention to guiding the robot on its way.

The “bottomless pit” is an old volcanic magma tube of some sort, five feet in diameter at the top but quickly narrowing as you go down, and filled with water that pours into the cave at every high tide. The cave that contains it is only accessible on foot during low tide, and you have to be careful not to get caught in the cave during high tide. There’s a ton of warnings on a sign outside that attempt to dissuade tourists from trying to camp out in it, and for good reason.

She got stuck in here at high tide once, when she was a kid. Blacked out and woke up to an ambulance and her grandma freaking out. Couldn’t step foot into the place for a few years after that, partly because of trauma, and partly because the park rangers have tightened up their watch on the place ever since.

So. She and Paninya aren’t really supposed to be here. But, you know. It’s for science.

Paninya leans her head on Winry’s shoulder and watches the video feed on the tablet, the only indicator of where the robot is now that it’s turned a corner out of sight. She presses a chip to Winry’s lips, who mindlessly opens her mouth to accept it she’s so focused.

“How deep is this thing, anyway?” Paninya asks after a few more moments of watching video of dark gray rock walls float by.

“Hopefully less than fifty feet? The cable isn’t any longer than that.”

“Yeah, and you’re almost out of rope,” Paninya observes, looking at the coil beside them that grows thinner and thinner as the robot dives onward. “So now might be a good time to say you see the bottom.”

“Well, I don’t see anythi… wait.” Winry leans forward, bringing the tablet screen up to her face, her brow furrowing. There’s a small irregularity in the tunnels further down where it opens up a bit more. It’s like… what it looks like when an octopus camouflages itself against a rock. But the video on Divey’s tiny little camera is so grainy… and it looks so, so much bigger than an octopus.

Paninya leans in closer. “What? What do you see?”

“I… don’t know?” she answers honestly, and then something really startles her. “Oh fuck, it moved. It just moved—”

“What moved? Where am I looking?”

“Right here!” She points at the screen, at the tiny mass of pixels that is growing and changing and moving, even as the robot sits still, and she doesn’t know what it is. A thought occurs somewhere in her head that maybe she should start backing Divey up, but before she can do anything the mass surges forward in a terrifying blur and the feed cuts to static.

“Divey, no!!” Paninya squeals, and Winry nearly tosses the tablet across the room. But she’s cool. She keeps her cool. She’s smarter than to throw away the one thing containing most of the several past months of work.

“What the hell could…” She stops, the zippy sound of cord sliding across rock catching her off guard. That pitiful coil of cord that was slowly disappearing into the abyss with Divey is disappearing so much faster now, and with the tablet still connected to it.

“Winry, Winry Winry Winry, the tablet, you’ve gotta let go of the tablet—” Paninya babbles, scrambling to get onto her feet, and Winry doesn’t even think this time. She fumbles for the knife at her side, and in one swift motion, severs the line, just in time for the newly frayed end to get sucked into the hole like spaghetti.

Her mouth is dry as she looks up at Paninya.

“Run.”

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 28 - To The Sea

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Ninth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon

The hunt chased through a golden wood. Laughter and the jingle of the bells on the horses’ harness kept the pace even though the thick growth of summer leaves obscured all but the path ahead, while above, through blinks in the canopy, the sunward wall of Castle Cousland lounged upon its spur of rock, a warm, comforting weight on the horizon, indomitable against the first autumn turning of oak and beech.

Bryce Cousland reined his horse out of a gallop in a glade dotted with wildflowers. “The quarry is close, Pup,” he said to Rosslyn at his side. “There, through the trees – if you look closely. After it now!”

She kicked off after the flashing shadow, the rocking gait of the horse beneath her steady and sure. There was no sign of the hart ahead but she knew it was there, just out of reach, just beyond the fading of the laughter and the bells.

When she emerged into the orchard – not Highever’s walled garden but the half-wild grove of Aeylesbide – she found the hart at last, a great proud beast crowned with broad antlers that seemed to pierce the sky. He was waiting for her. His breath was warm and soft against her face, amber eyes and russet fur she knew would feel like sable running through her fingers.

Do you think it that easy?

She turned at the voice, but too late. Summer dissolved. She fell through winter, through swirling snow and the crack of ice, down into the dark, the rushing current where the cold gripped her bones and stole hr breath, and indifferent shadows moved in the world above.

She lurched awake, caught in the steel trap of the old nightmare and the confusion of finding herself in unfamiliar surroundings. The strange rocking of the floor brought panic rising like bile up her throat until she remembered the mission to the Storm Islands and the schooner setting sail from Redcliffe. Tension shivered in her limbs even when she tried to force it away, rubbing a hand over her face and through her hair to tear the last shadows from her mind. It had been a while since that particular dream had troubled her enough to wake her, but as she pinched the bridge of her nose she decided she should not have been surprised. Being on water always brought the memories back, and that was without the uncertainty of the task that lay ahead.

As she followed the thought, she looked across the room at the dividing curtain that separated her cot from Alistair’s. There had been a moment of awkwardness earlier as they changed for sleep, when conversation faltered and they were left with the silent awareness of each other just out of reach, the hazy silhouettes the candles painted against the hanging sailcloth. Now, she listened for the sound of his breathing, wanting to make sure she hadn’t woken him, but she heard nothing save for the slow lap of the water and the occasional creak of timber. Cuno’s familiar weight was also missing; the echo of warmth where he had been sleeping against her leg was cooling rapidly, and she had to search for the shadow of his bulk in the darkness.

“You need to go out?” she asked in a voice scratchy with sleep.

The dog looked back at her from the door and wagged his tail.

“Alright.” She shrugged the blanket over her shoulders, yawning as she climbed to her feet and stretched the kinks out of cramped muscles. “I bet he’s out there already and you’re just worried you’re missing something.”

The dog chuffed a reply, pawing at the door in his eagerness to be out of the cabin. He didn’t wait for her when she finally got the door open, instead padding up the gangway with the hollow rattle of his claws sounding on every step.

It was almost dawn. Rosslyn found Alistair by the portside rail, talking to Connor with his arms folded behind his back in the manner he used when trying to be less imposing. The conversation looked uncertain, stilted – completely understandable given the stories she had heard in the week of being at Redcliffe, about Alistair’s treatment under the arl’s care and Isolde’s insistence on sending him away for fear of him usurping her own son’s place. She hadn’t missed Alistair’s expression when Eamon proposed taking the boy with them to be fostered with the Storm Giant’s court, and seeing him now, trying to forge a bridge with someone he had every right to resent, made her less than willing to interrupt his privacy.

Cuno, of course, had no such reservations about propriety. After a cursory sniff at the base of the capstan, he approached the pair wearing his signature doggy grin in a polite request for fuss. Connor, who wasn’t yet much taller than the dog, drew back slightly. When he saw Rosslyn, his eyes widened and briefly flicked to the tower on the lake, before he turned and muttered something to Alistair and slipped away down the forward hatch.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said as she joined him at the rail.

He shrugged. “To be honest there wasn’t really much to intrude on. Couldn’t sleep?”

“It’s not that unusual for me.” A loose strand of hair caught in the breeze and she tucked it back behind her ear. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Uh…” Alistair looked down at the thin linen nightshirt and loose breeches he had worn to come up on deck, with his bare toes peeking beneath the hem. “I wasn’t really thinking about that when… I mean, I was warm when I came up.”

Rolling her eyes, Rosslyn swung the blanket off her shoulders. “Here,” she said, stepping closer. In one fluid movement she draped the garment around his back and pulled it closed like a cape. His breath puffed against her cheek as she tweaked it to sit right, drawing her attention upwards to notice how very close to him she was brought by the gesture. His eyes softened with smiling, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

“What about you?” he asked, close enough she felt the words vibrate through her skin.

“Me?” she stuttered. “I’m, uh… I’m a little… overheated, actually, now you mention it – wait, what are you –?”

With a breathy chuckle, he shrugged one shoulder out of the blanket, readjusted it, and enveloped her in the trailing edge so that they stood still facing each other in the cocoon of warmth, with her hands braced against the broad, solid plane of his chest.

“How’s this?”

Rosslyn cleared her throat, looking around to try and catch her attention on something other than the way his fingers brushed against the back of her hand. “Very cosy.”

He grinned. “Good.”

“Are you alright?”

“You know,” he sighed, letting the smile fall from his face, “I swear there was one point when you couldn’t read me so well. Not that I don’t like the state of things now,” he added hastily, to stop her pulling away, as a frown darkened across his brows. “Do you ever just stop and think how much things have changed since we first met, all the things that have happened to us?”

She looked out at the water. “All the time.”

“Of course,” he groaned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think –”

“It’s alright,” she interrupted. “My family’s gone, but they taught me well, and I carry that with me. Besides,” she added, poking him lightly in the ribs, “it’s not like you’re going anywhere – or at least I hope you’re not.”

Alistair’s words caught as she glanced up at him. He swallowed, but his mind seemed stuck, unable to process her words and the uncertainty beneath her lopsided smirk. The feel of her so real against his frantically beating heart rooted him in panic, and it took all of his will not to imagine leaning down to kiss her, and to have her kiss him back.

“If you’re worried about the Storm Giant, you don’t need to be.” She looked away. “He isn’t that scary… most of the time, anyway.”

“You say that, but I do still get lost in my own shirts on occasion – more often than I should admit, really.” With his courage dented, all the anxieties of the mission at hand came clawing back. “It was bad enough when I was just meant to be Cailan’s spare – I have no idea why he thought I could be all – all official, like a real prince.”

“It can’t all be sitting on soft cushions and sampling expensive dainties,” Rosslyn teased.

“There’s also kissing babies and attending tourneys – I could do that.”

They fell silent, content to watch daytime colours bleed into the sky as the stark towers of Kinloch Hold drifted past. A flock of gulls took flight from the shore and wheeled towards their morning fishing grounds, their mocking calls carried away by the wind as they shrank into white specks that merged with the light reflecting off the waves of the lake.

“I was meant to be a templar,” Alistair blurted as he watched them disappear. “Eamon was going to send me to the academy in Bournshire, but Teagan stepped in at the last minute and took me to Rainesfere instead. I’m not sure what my life would look like now if he hadn’t.”

Rosslyn frowned. She studied him, the way the rising sun painted a halo over his features, and the faraway look in his eyes as his imagination took him across the water to another world in which he was nothing more than a stoic watcher, a shadow in an alcove with a ready sword. Others like her cousin Irminric felt a calling, but templar training was unforgiving, it had to be to forge individuals who wouldn’t hesitate to carry out sentence on those under their care. It would have warped him into something entirely against his nature.

“We might never have met,” he said, as if the idea puzzled him.

She had to look down, the breath stolen from her lungs. He was so warm and solid next to her, so steady and generous, the thought of being without him – of what would have become of her alone over the past few months – left a chill across the back of her neck. Without quite acknowledging the movement, she turned into him, cheek to shoulder, heart racing as she laced his fingers within both her hands. She thought of secrets, and inclinations, and all the myriad ways they might still be separated.

Her thumb stroked a distracted line along the length of his. “I’m glad we did.”

The rest of the journey passed smoothly, and with the wind still behind them they reached Lakehead by early afternoon. The docks here dwarfed the constructions at Redcliffe and the other ports they had seen on the journey north. Instead of a few, rough-hewn piers and a rickety shed for the harbourmaster, here the stonecraft of ancient Tevinter was in full view. A grand, colonnaded forum led out into six wharves arranged like the spokes of a wheel, each of which could easily fit multiple ships twice the size of the schooner. These in turn were enfolded in two wings of a towering harbour wall, and at the very tip of each, a pair of lighthouses guarded the gap for the benefit of any ship that needed guidance out of winter storms. Once, these lighthouses had been fashioned to resemble some magister or other, but time and the need for masonry elsewhere had whittled the faces away to more Fereldan practicality. As they passed through the eye and into the calmer waters of the harbour, Alistair finally understood why most maps labelled this port town as ‘Lake Calenhad Docks’, as if none other existed. Even the homes of the merchants and sailors who lived here seemed tacked on additions to the ancient architecture, like mice clustering in the straw beneath an ox’s hooves.

It took hours for the cargo to be transferred, first from the schooner’s hold to a series of carts, and from there onto barges that would take the whole party and their goods through the long, winding canals of the Seacatch, which led down to Lakehead’s sister-town on the shore of the Waking Sea, and the ship that would take them on the final leg of their journey. There was little for either Alistair or Rosslyn to do; the inventory was managed on either end by Captains Morrence and Mhairi to ensure none of Cailan’s gifts to the Storm Giant went astray, and the organisation of each trunk and bundle was supervised by Brantis himself, who refused to entrust the task to anyone else.

As the dockmen worked, the sky overhead clouded and the wind picked up, promising rain to come. The harbourmaster, a broad woman with a booming voice and a face weathered like polished chert, came to chivvy proceedings along, but a gust caught one of the cranes and only significant coaxing brought Wade around to the idea that a slight wobble was not going to damage his precious anvil. The need for caution in the worsening weather only slowed proceedings, however, and it was dark before the last sweep of the schooner’s hold was completed. And then the process had to be completed again in reverse when the time came to offload the carts.

Eventually, the last of the baggage was secured, with guards posted along the length of the convoy of barges to ensure protection in case of bandits. Those not on duty clustered into the tiny cabin of the foremost vessel, finding floorspace where they could in a room meant to house no more than half the people it contained.

Morrence was the last to board, her drop onto the deck steadied by Leliana, who had taken it upon herself to distribute blankets.

“All set, Your Highness, and all accounted for,” she said.

“Right then,” Alistair replied, turning to the bargemaster who stood above them on the wharf. “That’s everything, we can cast off.”

The man grunted a reply and loosed the mooring ropes. “The current’ll take ye along nice enough,” he explained. “The canals tame the current from the lake falls, but there’s still enough on it ye’ll make the port by morn, nae botha.” He saluted smartly and gave the signal to open the lock gates, and with that, the stream nudged the convoy into the first channel that formed the twelve switchbacks of the Seacatch.

At first, there was little to see. The canal was dug into a steep gully of rock that rose high on both sides, the original course of the waterfall that had once brought water thundering over the faultline that separated Lake Calenhad from the relatively short distance to the sea. The sheer sides closed them in, blocking what small amount of light was left in the sky. As the ground began to fall away, they reached the first of the cataracts, a tank cut into the bedrock where the water level could be raised and lowered as needed. The vaulting arches carved into the bedrock wall revealed the Tevinter origins of the engineering, though draft animals had replaced slaves to work the lock gates, and solid Fereldan stone had plugged the gaps where the original masonry had crumbled away. The shouts of the lock keeper and the complaints of the mules forced to work at such an unholy hour formed a sharp contrast to the almost eerie silence of the past few miles, but the noise fell away again as the gates opened onto the second watercourse, and they were once again left to the dark.

They passed through six more gates before the switchback rounded a knoll and the vista opened enough to offer a view of their final destination. Only a few lights shone in Invermathy, muted by the late hour and the worsening weather, but the bright eye of Sevuna, winking behind scudding clouds, gave shape to Lakehead’s sister-town, nestled on the edge of the ocean like a crab tucked into a crevice in a tide-pool. Seeing it and the faint glitter of water beyond, Alistair turned excitedly to Rosslyn, only to find her slumped in her seat with her dog curled as small as possible in her lap. Glancing around, he saw that almost everyone else was asleep as well, and smiled to himself as he readjusted her cloak around her shoulders, determined not to wake her.

“You really do care for her, don’t you?”

He choked. “What?”

Wynne was watching him, her arm a protective shield around Connor’s shoulders. For whatever reason, she had taken the boy under her wing, a devotion matched only by the almost desperate fierceness with which the boy clung to her, even in sleep.

“That look in your eyes,” she murmured. “I believe the correct term is… ‘enraptured’.”

“I – uh – I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” he answered, with a nervous ruffle of his hair and a glance sideways to make sure Rosslyn was in fact very much asleep.

“No? You try to hide it, but you two seem almost joined at the hip these days – and you watch her, with great interest, I might add.”

“She’s – I’m still new at this, I look to her for guidance.”

“Guidance?” Wynne crinkled a smile at him. “Yes, I’m sure those swaying hips are the perfect place to look for that.” She sighed at Alistair’s spluttered indignation. “For what it’s worth, I think you make her happy, too. What you’re doing isn’t easy, and I’m glad you found each other.”

He peered at her suspiciously. “That’s it? No more barbs? No more looking like the cat who swallowed the pigeon?”

“It’s usually canary, but no, that’s all, Your Highness.”

“Riiiight.” He glanced at Rosslyn again, her eyes rolling under the lids as she dreamed. “Well, thanks, I guess.” With a sigh, he turned to look out of the window again, and the steadily growing swathe of darkness, dyed with the first wash of blue from the light of a new day. “You know, I’ve never seen the sea before.”

The smell of detritus rose as they passed through the final cataract, clean salt undercut by algae and rotting fish. As the light rose, figures snaked their way through streets of brightly-painted houses, all winding for the harbour and the ships bobbing like hounds eager to chase after the scent of a hare.

“They’ll have to be quick today, if they don’t want the weather to catch them,” Rosslyn murmured as she woke, casting a leery eye over the harbour and the rising swell as the barges finally slipped into the loading dock.

Alistair started. “You’re awake.”

She hid a yawn behind her hand. “Just about. I’d best let Cuno stretch his legs for a while before we have to cram him on a ship for the next week. Come on, you,” she added to the dog, who merely groaned and tried to readjust his head in her lap.

“I think I can hold off the charge until you get back,” Alistair teased, before noticing a figure approaching, opposite the flow of traffic. “Who’s that down there, do you think? He looks like he’s come to meet us.”

The sailor, a lanky Marcher with dark red hair and faded tattoos along his forearms, introduced himself as Casavir, quartermaster on the ship that would take them on the final leg of their journey to the Storm Islands.

“It looks doubtful we’ll make it out today,” Rosslyn said once she returned from her walk with Cuno. She passed an eye over Morrence and Brantis, debating some detail or other as the barges were unloaded, and the rest of the entourage milling about without much direction.

“A weather eye have you?” Casavir asked. “Aye, it looks like it’d be in your blood. You’re right. The wind’s turning against the tide, and only looking to get worse when you’re not even unloaded yet. If you’d been half as fancy, we might’ve pushed off today, but no way is the captain going to risk her ship getting smashed against the breakwater.”

Across from him at Alistair’s side, Mhairi stood at stiff attention, trying not to show her impatience for the sailor’s rough manners.

“Of course, you were lucky the harbourmaster’s raven caught us,” he continued, oblivious. “We were Kirkwall-bound not a week ago, after every other ship with sense, and most of those saw none in accepting the king’s offer – not the best luck for a merchant to get involved in politics.”

“What makes you different?” Alistair asked, curious.

Casavir chortled. “You’re paying us, ain’t you? It’s a bit blunt but coin is what makes the world go round. That and the captain looks further ahead than most – we’re out of Denerim, usually, and this place doesn’t have a patch on it for fine goods. Unless Loghain gets ousted, trade’s going to be crippled, so we’re happy to help especially if it means getting in cosy with the Storm Giant. And between us,” he muttered, leaning closer, “she has a disliking for slavers.”

“It’s good to know your captain draws a line somewhere,” Mhairi noted dryly.

“You got a name, love?”

She glared. “Guard-Captain.”

Casavir laughed again. “Worth a try. How about we trot along and I can show you the old bark, and the mateys can follow on after? It’s either that or the tavern to get out of this rain.”

With little else to do, Rosslyn and Alistair followed their guide down the sloping streets to the harbour. Most of the smaller fishing vessels had already set out, leaving only one or two larger ships further out to show that the town was occupied at all. The water swirled a stormy grey beside the wharf, almost hypnotic in its rhythm despite the force with which each wave broke against the stone. Their ship was moored at the far end, rocking like a living thing in the swell from the harbour mouth, the sails of its twin masts tucked up like a guillemot’s wings. A fierce eye was painted on the prow, scowling towards the open sea. The name above the eye, scrawled in an elegant script, read Siren’s Call.

[writingsfromthenight]

Hi, I officially get to kill myself. It’s only a month into your sentence and I’ve almost OD on ibuprofen twice and tried running into oncoming traffic how many times? I think putting myself in a coma for the next year would be less painful than dealing with it.Today was horrible. First I went to bed crying because of your letter. You didn’t even write anything super deep and meaningful, it’s just that I miss you so much. It feels like period cramps, but in my heart. For you it would be like getting kicked in the balls, but I feel like it my heart. You always used to tell me to quit being a baby when it came to cramps and my nails breaking. That shit hurts though, my cramps aren’t bad its just that I end up not feeling well and I just want to lay down. But nails fucking hurt. When you come back in doing your nails and I’m going t rip one off. I broke two of mine today and one started bleeding. Seriously it hurts so bad but it’s like a really sharp sting, so I’ll be okay. It still hurts though. I woke up crying this morning because of my dream. I had a dream my family was going to New York for the weekend but I knew it was your weekend to come home so I decided to stay home. I love New York so me staying home was like a big deal in my dream. I was coming home and walked into my room and Lilly was there and she told me not to go into my moms room. I walked in anyways and I saw you fucking haley Schiller. I started screaming and hysterically crying and I just kept asking how you could do this to me when all I did was love you. You told me the only reason you did was because she told you she’s been saving herself for you. I told you how stupid you where and I told you what a whore she was and I still kept screaming and crying asking how you could do this to me. Then, I woke up crying so bad. Picture me red faced, tears rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably, tear stains on all of my pillows, and I was unable to stop crying for 20 minutes. That is honestly my biggest fucking fear. I’m so scared that when you come back, you’re not going to want to be friends, you're not going to want to be a thing anymore, you're not going to like me that way, you’re going to be mad at me for some reason, you’re going to end up liking someone else like alters or Anna or someone else again, I’m worried another big fight is going to happen between us, I’m worried when you get back you’ll get into trouble again. I have so much fear for when you come back. I think the worst part is I can’t talk to you about it and ask you. All I can do is wait till you come back. Do you have these fears too? What what scares you the most abut coming home? How are you holding up? Seriously, when you get back I want to know every emotion you went threw and every fear you felt and every experience there. I’m so worried about you. I want you to call so bad and know how you’re doing. I was talking to Tyler a couple minutes ago cause I’m crying while writing this, he said your first home visit could be anywhere from 6-8 months. I can’t mentally do that. I really hope you write me a letter or get call me soon. This mental battle is something fierce. I can’t even imagine what you’re going threw. I won’t know until our phone calls aren’t limited by three dollars for 15 minutes. I miss our calls that would last of hours. I was listening to my voicemail and I found one that you left me. It was you screaming because I wouldn’t pick up. I also found one from when you got suspended for a day and you wanted your google verification numbers. You know what I was also thinking about today? Our trolly stop date. I remember wrestling behind the building for my vape. Watching you ride your faggot bike. I remember showing you dick pics under the table. I remember laughing at god knows what. Big dawn yelling for whatever reason. I miss hanging out. I didn’t talk about it yesterday, but in the letter you said you would come around more if you where off probation. I hope you do. I’ll be driving by then so we can go anywhere. It was light up night tonight and I wanted to go so badly with you. Next year I can drive us down town to that. It’s probably not as fun as it looks, but I still want to go. There’s so many things I want to do with you when you get out. But I honestly I don’t care if we do them, I just want you home. It snowed for the first time today. It reminded me of our trolly stop date, meeting you to give you the switch blade, and when you came over and we put a swim cap on your head. It hurts knowing those are memories and that I won’t see you for a while. I just want to hear your voice saying you’re doing okay and that you love me and I’ll see you soon. I still have hope, not a lot, but some. I hope you have hope too. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope you’re being good. Hope you write to me or call me soon. I’m going to try writing to you, once I know for sure where you’re at. I don’t feel like writing the same letter four times. I could type it, but it means more if it’s hand written. Writing these emails kinda makes time go by faster. I can’t believe it’s only been a month. In a way it feels shorter but also longer. I’m sure once it hits 2019 things will go by faster and with each event it will too. If I just focus on something else like thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, your birthday, valentines day (I’m actually killing myself then), my birthday, my moms birthday, getting out of school, and I’m sure there will be other things along the way. I don’t know how I'll handle summer. I already feel lonely enough in summer. I hope by then you get home visits. I really wish you could see these now and that you could re assure me everything will be okay. Like I said I’m going to try and write to you. On a goodish note though, they called me off work tomorrow. I’m working minimum fucking wage though, my paycheck is literally going to be two fucking dollars. When you come back I might not have a job after all. We’ll see. Only time will tell. Well I’m going to try and start my book. Did I tell you about that?I have 17 unread books, so I’m going to try and read them all before you’re officially home. Wish me luck! Please be good honey. Don’t make my heart cramps hurt more. I love and miss you so so so fucking much,   Your tadpole

day 31 without my tadpole

[chalantness]

fic: Meet Me Under the Spotlight - Part II

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: ~5800 Characters: Steve/Natasha and the ensemble Summary: A continuation of that celebrity social media au no one asked for.

A/N: I hesitated about revisiting this story because the format was so unique and it flowed incredibly well and I wasn’t sure if I could replicate that. Also, in terms of the universe itself, I wasn’t sure what story I wanted to tell next that would still be fun to read through social media. With that said, I thought about it a lot and had so many things I wanted to add and other characters I wanted to include. I just planned on revisiting this ‘verse through headcanons or blurbs for you darlings, but I took another crack at it instead, and I had just as much fun writing it this time as I did the first time!

By the way, I’ve officially dubbed this ‘verse the Marvelous ‘verse. Because I will be coming back to it.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

‘Marvelous’ Season Finale Recap: “How the Mighty Fall”

May 25, 2017. 8:12 AM PST

SPOILER ALERT! This post contains plot details from the Marvelous season three finale, episode twenty-two, “How the Mighty Fall,” below.

Let’s start by getting this out there: no, we’re still not over it. And with three whole months between now and when Marvelous is scheduled to start filming Season 4, we’re sure the tears won’t stop flowing for a while.

Last night’s episode was the culmination of every heartbreaking fight we had to endure between our heroes, and every hasty action they took came back full circle with a sucker punch to our hearts! This was the lowest point the series has come to yet, and even after watching an entire season of everything falling apart, we still didn’t expect it to happen in such a spectacular fashion.

We’ll be back to get into the gory details soon, but in case you were too caught up in your tears to follow every minute of the finale, here are the highlights:

Black Widow’s betrayal that sent fans into a rage at the end of last week’s episode - episode twenty-one, “A Butterfly in a Web” - turned out to be for good reasons. Which we never doubted, but did you have to take such a hard shot at the Captain to do it?

Evidently, yes. Because not only did the Captain realize too little too late that she was protecting him, but his initial abandonment of her after their fallout ended in grave consequences. He barely makes it to her in time before she can bleed out to death, and when she wakes up, she has no recollection of anything. Not of what happened to her, not of betraying him, and not of anything that has to do with the Team at all. We’re not sure exactly how far this memory loss goes, but it was very clear from her confused and shaken expression when she wakes up that it’s pretty grim. And now that she’s without her memories, the Captain is more lost than ever. Guess it takes temporarily (hopefully temporarily?) losing every precious moment together to put things into perspective.

The escalating tension between Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch is irony at its finest: Quicksilver has spent the entire season as the overprotective older brother to Scarlet Witch, which unfortunately meant that Scarlet Witch has spent the entire season feeling sheltered and suffocated. She finally gets what she wants - a chance to put her newfound control over her powers to work, without Quicksilver hovering over her shoulder - and that left her open to being kidnapped. Understandably, Scarlet Witch could have avoided this with her eyes closed and both hands tied, but she had a little something else to deal with:

The Winter Soldier and Falcon, who have had no love lost between them this season, are quite literally at each other’s throats when they join Scarlet Witch to investigate a lead that takes them into the mountains to sniff out a secret bunker. Their fight last night had been the biggest and ugliest yet, and as expected, they don’t realize how gravely it would cost them until Scarlet Witch - too wrapped up in trying to keep them from killing each other - is snatched from under their noses. And no, it wasn’t the thing they needed to come to some kind of truce. If anything, it only made things worse.

Hawkeye and Thor had left in the previous episode to follow a lead of their own, and as expected, they also run into a nasty baddie of their own. And the blowout was far more fatal than you could imagine. When Agent 13 and Agent Hill were finally able to find them and bring them back to the safety of the Facility, they realized that Thor’s powers were completely gone - so it looks as if healing his eye isn’t something that will happen soon - and Hawkeye is in a coma.

Looks like we’ll need to stock up on tissues for now, because with no indication about how things will end up for another few months, we’re left with broken heroes and even more broken hearts.

What scene was the biggest tearjerker for you? Let us know in the comments below!

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On the Air with Phil Coulson: ‘Marvelous’ Co-Stars Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers Talk Season Finale and Summer Plans

[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff standing under a floral arch, smiling to someone out of shot. She’s holding a blue and white bouquet and wearing a white dress with a crystal bodice and tulle skirt, a veil attached to her headpiece.]

912,518 likes

carters13 Just got back to set and @nataliaromanov already has the best wardrobe! Glad to see some things never change.

View all 1,402 comments

AUGUST 14, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, and Thor Odinson standing in a row, looking in different directions. They are all wearing tuxedos with matching navy blue ties and blue iris boutonnieres.]

813,320 likes

ohsnapwilson First day of filming and none of us know what’s going on. Gonna be a long season. (PS. We paid attention during the table read. Mostly.)

View all 1,840 comments

AUGUST 14, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff sitting down between takes. Steve is wearing a tuxedo with a navy blue tie and blue boutonniere, and Natasha Romanoff is seated on his lap in her wedding dress, the both of them laughing.]

925,556 likes

MarvelousOfficial #Marvelous Season 4 is officially back in business, and we’re so excited about it that we’re getting a jump start on our #MarvelousSneakPeeks!

View all 1,934 comments

AUGUST 14, 2017

The Late Night Show with Peter Quill @PeterQuillTonight -- September 28     Hey #Marvels did you know @therussianprincessnat is stopping by tonight? I hope she brings me a present

Marvelous @MarvelousCW -- September 28     #Marvels be sure to tune into @PeterQuillTonight and show @therussianprincessnat some love. Retweet if you’re watching!

Wanda Maximoff @littlewandamaximoff -- September 28      want to help a girl out #Marvels? @theothermaximoff says there’s no such thing as a @PeterQuillTonight viewing party :(

Sam Wilson @snapwilson -- September 28      so #Marvels got any plans tonight? mine include @PeterQuillTonight, a cramped apartment, and stale beer

Pepper Potts @twopeasinapott  -- September 28      hey #Marvels, the @MarvelousCW gang is back to watch @therussianprincessnat on @PeterQuillTonight! Wish you were here <3

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- September 28      Better get ready @PeterQuillTonight because @therussianprincessnat is a lethal charmer. You won’t know what hit you.

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ star Natasha Romanoff appears on The Late Night Show, drops exclusive Season 4 teaser trailer (September 28, 2017)

Everything You Need to Know About the ‘Marvelous’ Season 4 Teaser Trailer

September 29, 2017. 12:55 AM PST

Last week the Marvelous official Twitter announced that the show’s teaser trailer would not be included in the CW sizzle reel due to “production complications”, much to the disappointment of us Marvels everywhere. Little did we know that not only were we still getting that teaser, but we were getting it an entire week early!

When Natasha Romanoff dropped by The Late Night Show last night, it seemed like a typical guest appearance. But we should have known something was up when, just hours before airtime, the Marvelous cast and crew posted tweets upon tweets encouraging fans to tune in, then took to Instagram to post photos of the entire gang gathered in Nick Fury’s penthouse apartment to watch the show. We know this cast and crew love to show their support for each other, but all this seemed like a lot of fuss over a simple talk show appearance, right?

So. Wrong.

“I was so sure I’d get her to dish about her trip,” Peter Quill shared after the show, referring to the Hawaiian vacation where Natasha Romanoff and co-star Steve Rogers seemed to be closer and cozier than ever. Photos of the couple out and about across the islands had made fans swoon over their screens, but not nearly as much as the incredibly intimate photo the pair had posted to Twitter themselves! But if we thought that Peter Quill would finally get the scoop we all wanted, we were mistaken. “I was prepared for every trick Nat could’ve thrown my way except for this one!” Quill had laughed. “I still want answers, but, come on! How could you top that surprise?”

In case you’ve been living under a rock -- or if you want to watch it a few dozen more times like we have -- then here’s the Marvelous Season 4 Teaser Trailer that Natasha surprised the world with last night.

...Couldn’t get the video to load? Don’t worry, we’ve got all 1:15 minutes of it broken down:

We start with a black screen, and the Captain narrating: “When I woke up, they told us we’d won. That the war was over.”

Flashes of scenes in quick succession: Hawkeye in an infirmary bed connected to tubes, bandaging wrapped around his eyes; Scarlet Witch screaming, hands pressed to her head; the Winter Soldier and Falcon on a snowy mountain, both doubled over, blood on the snow; Agent 13 throwing Iron Man’s helmet across the room, nearly hitting Agent Hill’s head as it cracks against the wall.

Black Widow standing in her room, her back to the camera as she reaches for something on the desk, fading into a shot of the Captain watching her from the doorway as his narration continues: “But they didn’t tell me what we’d lost.”

Thor and Quicksilver in the training room, Quicksilver grabbing Thor’s arm and yanking him back as he says, “We have to go after her!” with Thor curtly replying, “If we do, she’s as good as dead.”

Scarlet Witch gathering her energy between her palms, her eyes glowing as men in the foreground aim their rifles; a quick second of nothing, then a shot of a bunker in the snowy mountains erupting into a red explosion, fading into a scene of Falcon and Winter Soldier watching it collapse from afar.

Agent Hill, Agent 13, and Hawkeye (his eyes still wrapped in bandaging) standing over a holographic table as Agent 13, clearly distraught, asks, “All that sacrifice and we only put a Band-Aid on the problem?” Agent Hill answers with, “Maybe, and it’s going to be for nothing if we can’t fix this,” to which Hawkeye scoffs and replies, “Look at us. We can’t even fix ourselves.”

An ominous shot of the cube-like form of energy used to seal Thor’s powers within it, currents of electricity sparking out from its core; then Thor wincing in pain before hurling a weight across the training room.

Black Widow and the Captain standing close together as she hesitantly reaches up to touch his face; then the Captain sitting on his bed, head down, as Black Widow kneels in front of him and asks, “Tell me what to do to help,” to which the Captain replies in a strained voice, “I don’t know.”

Scarlet Witch in the snow, surrounded by the debris of the exploded laboratory, and then the Winter Soldier lifting her into his arms as she tucks her face into his chest, her entire body shaking.

Falcon pressing a kiss to Agent 13′s hair as she closes her eyes, his voice playing over the scene: “So how do we do this?”

Then Falcon and Agent 13 startling as someone enters the room, Iron Man emerging from the doorway with his arm in a sling and a bruise on his cheek. A quick cut to Agent 13 crying as she throws her arms around Iron Man, his voice playing over the scene: “We start with my least favorite thing to do.”

Cut to black, with Iron Man finishing his dialogue: “We ask for help.”

Then a close-up shot of purple light passing over someone’s skin and dissolving into a black, textured material as it spreads. This figure turns around, revealing a complete shot of his high-tech, full-bodied, cat-like suit; then he glances up at the ceiling as another figure -- slighter and smaller in stature, in a blue-and-red suit with a spider across his chest -- repels from the ceiling, landing on his feet.

Best. Teaser. EVER.

And with Marvelous not returning until December, it’ a good thing that we Marvels know how to keep ourselves busy. Bring on the theories!

What did YOU think of the teaser trailer? Let us know in the comments below!

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Maria Hill @aproblemlikemaria -- October 10      you know you’ve been filming too long when @therussianprincessnat and @stevefrombrooklyn turn into an old married couple

Thor Odinson @corethor -- October 10      apparently on hour 16 of filming @therussianprincessnat and @stevefrombrooklyn start arguing in latin. about latin? idk

Peter B. Parker @pbandparker -- October 10     @therussianprincessnat just looked at @stevefrombrooklyn and said “get me donuts” and HE DID. pretty sure she’s a jedi

T’challa T’chaka @ttchalla -- October 10      @therussianprincessnat just jumps onto @stevefrombrooklyn’s back when she’s tired of standing. Think I might try it out.

Clint Barton @cbarton -- October 10      @stevefrombrooklyn went MIA. turns out @therussianprincessnat fell asleep on him and he didn’t want to wake her

Clint Barton @cbarton -- October 10      update: @stevefrombrooklyn and @therussianprincessnat held up filming for 15m and @nickfurry just SHRUGGED. i’m suing

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- October 10      @stevefrombrooklyn we need new friends

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- October 10      @therussianprincessnat i think you need another nap

[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff and Peter Parker in their Black Widow and Spider-Man suits, with Peter resting his elbow on Natasha’s head.]

1,057,583 likes

nataliaromanov @peterbenjiparker us spiders have to stick together, right?

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OCTOBER 22, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers kissing Natasha Romanoff’s cheek as she laughs, holding a melting cup of ice-cream.]

1,002,318 likes

stevenrogers I knew I couldn’t compete with @peterbenjipaker’s natural charm so I brought her ice-cream instead. #latenightshoots

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OCTOBER 22, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff between takes on the training room set. Steve stands behind Natasha with his arms around her, leaning forward as Natasha whispers into his ear.]

842,102 likes

peterbenjiparker Have you ever eaten something so sweet that it gives you a sugar rush and sugar crash at the same time? That’s what it’s like to watch @stevenrogers and @nataliaromanov on and off camera

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OCTOBER 23, 2017

Just In: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff spotted filming in a downtown Toronto shopping mall, pose for pictures with fans between takes; when asked if the ring on her finger was important to the scene, Natasha coyly responds, “what do you think?” (October 27, 2017)

Happy Halloween! ‘Marvelous’ Treats Fans with More Insight on Upcoming Season

October 31, 2017. 8:25 AM PST.

SPOILER ALERT! This post contains on-set stills from Season 4 of Marvelous.

When we were kids, we gorged on candy for Halloween. Now, we gorge on spoilers!

(But candy would still be appreciated.)

This morning, the Marvelous official Twitter announced that they had a little something special for us Marvels on the show’s official site, and they did not disappoint! Not only were we treated to on-set photos -- confirmed to have been from the start of filming back in August -- but we were also given the official synopses of the first three episodes!

Bonus: none of scenes shown seem to be related to the scenes teased in the trailer.

Can you say, “more spoilers”?

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers in a tuxedo and Natasha Romanoff in a wedding dress, Natasha’s hand tucked into Steve’s elbow as they smile at each other. The seats behind them are filled with the main and recurring cast, dressed for the occasion.]

[Image Caption: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, and Wanda Maximoff driving through a snowy mountain in a jeep. Sam is at the wheel as Wanda and Bucky are shown talking in the back seat, Wanda wearing the Winter Soldier’s jacket.]

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff standing in the infirmary. Steve is holding onto Natasha’s arm, his eyes closed as he kisses her forehead.]

[Image Caption: Thor Odinson and Maria Hill sitting on a couch together with a mostly-emptied bottle of whiskey on the table. They’re both holding tumblers of scotch and angled toward each other as they speak.]

[Image Caption: Sharon Carter and Tony Stark in the infirmary set, Sharon seated at Tony’s bedside with a hand in her hair and her face wet with tears.]

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff in the gym, a punching bag hanging between them. Natasha has a hand on the bag, her expression concerned as she looks at Steve, whose fist lingers on the punching bag as he angles himself away from her.]

[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff in the kitchen of a suburban house. Natasha is sitting on the kitchen island next to bags of groceries, her arms draped around Steve’s neck as he’s smiling at her.]

But wait: there’s MORE!

IN SOMNIS VERITAS - Season 4, Episode 1

As the Captain (Steve Rogers) struggles to deal with Black Widow’s (Natasha Romanoff) memories being lost, Agent Hill (Maria Hill) tries to pick up the pieces of the Team’s latest fallout, especially as Thor (Thor Odinson) starts to spiral without his powers and Hawkeye (Clint Barton) remains in a coma. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes) and Falcon (Sam Wilson) fear that their time to rescue Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff) may be running out.

THE DARKEST NIGHT - Season 4, Episode 2

Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff) realizes that her powers are fluctuating due to the experiments performed by her still-unnamed abductor (guest star Edwin Jarvis), which she fears will have catastrophic side effects. Elsewhere, as extraterrestrial weapons continue to move between counties, Agent 13 (Sharon Carter) urges the Team to take action. Realizing the distress she’s causing the Captain (Steve Rogers), Black Widow (Natasha Romanoff) asks him to help jog her memories.

BEFORE DAWN - Season 4, Episode 3

With the Captain (Steve Rogers) opening up to her and the Team reunited once more, Black Widow (Natasha Romanoff) starts to get flashes of what she believes are her lost memories, though she hesitates to tell anyone. Meanwhile, the return of the Director (writer/producer, guest star Nick Fury) gives Agent Hill (Maria Hill) a new push to rally and regroup, while the arrival of Black Panther (T’challa T’chaka) and Spider-Man (Peter Parker) gives the Team the motivation to move forward.

While we now have a little insight on what to expect from the start of the season, we’re still wondering about those wedding photos posted by the cast back in August. Is it a dream? An illusion? A flash-forward?

Tell us your thoughts in the comments below!

Related Articles:

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Peggy Carter Expected to Direct ‘Marvelous’ Mid-Season Finale

‘Marvelous’ Newcomer T’challa T’chaka Scheduled to Appear on The Late Night Show

[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff standing with her back to the camera. She’s wearing a Dodgers jersey and baseball cap, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb at the “ROGERS” stitched across the back of the jersey.]

1,085,340 likes

nataliaromanov Told @stevenrogers that this was my funniest Halloween costume yet.

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OCTOBER 31, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff on set, laughing with their arms around each other. Steve is in his Captain suit while Natasha is wearing Steve’s Dodgers baseball cap and personalized jersey.]

1,072,342 likes

stevenrogers @nataliaromanov dressed up as me and then started hugging everyone on set. Don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.

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OCTOBER 31, 2017

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[Image Caption: Steve Rogers dressed in his Captain suit and Natasha Romanoff dressed in Steve’s Dodgers baseball cap and personalized jersey. They’re sitting on their set chairs with their backs to the cameras as they talk.]

914,134 likes

iambuckybarnes dude wouldn’t let me try on his precious jersey when he got it, yet Nat steals it from his closet and prances around in it and he’s fine #messagereceived

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OCTOBER 31, 2017

Just In: ‘Marvelous’ writer/producer Nick Fury tweets on-set photo of Natasha Romanoff, Maria Hill, and Sharon Carter sharing a warm drink between takes, and fans are quick to notice the diamond ring on Romanoff’s left hand; when his Twitter is flooded with questions, Fury responds with a cryptic, “you’ll see” (November 4, 2017)

The Official Twitter of Access Entertainment @accessentertainment -- November 13      Only one month left until the #Marvelous Season 4 premiere, but of course you #Marvels already know that.

The Official Twitter of Access Entertainment @accessentertainment -- November 13      To celebrate, we asked the cast what their favorite lines of the season are so far #MarvelousLineswithAE

James Buchanan Barnes @iambuckybarnes -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “It’s not about the fear. It’s about how you react to it. That’s what you taught me.”

Wanda Maximoff @littlewandamaximoff -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “Unlike you, I can still tell the difference between saving the world and destroying it.”

Sharon Carter @sharoncarter -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “I used to think that love got in the way of duty. But maybe love is our greatest duty.”

Sam Wilson @snapwilson -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “If I focus less on the blame and more on the hurt, it makes it easier to heal.”

Steve Rogers @stevefrombrooklyn -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “There’s nothing and no one that could take your place in my life.”

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “That isn’t something I have to remember. That’s something I just know.”

Nick Fury @nickfurry -- November 13      #MarvelousLineswithAE “Please say yes.”

Natasha A. Romanoff @therussianprincessnat -- November 13      @nickfurry you sap                Natasha A. Romanoff Retweeted                @nickfurry #MarvelousLineswithAE “Please say yes.”

AE! Exclusive: Spoilers Straight from the Cast of ‘Marvelous’

November 14, 2017. 8:02 AM PST

SPOILER ALERT! This post contains plot details from the season premiere of Marvelous.

(If any of you Marvels successfully resisted the urge to continue reading, know that we are incredibly impressed.)

That’s right, Marvels. With the Season 4 premiere just a month away, Access Entertainment! received an exclusive invitation to visit the set. And while we were there, we sat down with some of the cast and crew to squeeze out juicy details on what to expect from the upcoming premiere.

(WATCH: Access Entertainment’s Entire First Look from the Set of ‘Marvelous’)

Ready for the spoilers? Yeah, neither were we.

1. The premiere will center around the theme of dreams, and Steve Rogers (playing the Captain) shares that the entire episode should be an emotional roller-coaster. Ready your tissues, Marvels.

STEVE ROGERS: There’s a very blurred line between dreams and nightmares and that’s something the premiere really plays on. We shot two or three, sometimes even four versions of the same dream scenes that were so tonally different from each other. There are really low points but there are really high points, too, and it’s just one of those things you know will have that punch and then keep on punching.

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: And we’re guessing one of the Captain’s dreams must involve Natasha [Romanoff, playing Black Widow] in that gorgeous wedding dress all over Instagram?

ROGERS: [laughs] That was actually the very first scene we shot of the season. We read the script together, so we knew it was coming, just not when. But it’s the first day, and we’re all in tuxes and gowns and they’ve got us in this beautiful church set. And I didn’t even see Nat in her dress until we started filming. Nick [Fury, the show’s writer/producer] still won’t admit it but I’m sure that was intentional.

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: How romantic!

ROGERS: Yeah, don’t let the guy fool you. He’s just a big softie.

2. We’ll pick up right where the finale left off. Which means throwing salt onto all those wounds that still haven’t healed; their wounds AND ours.

SHARON CARTER [playing Agent 13]: You can watch the finale and then the premiere back-to-back and it’ll sort of be one extended episode. That’s the idea. We put these characters through every circle of hell and back and we don’t want to just jump forward and make you fill in the gaps. We take you with us every step of their emotional journey like we always have, and I can’t share anything, of course, but it doesn’t take long for them to start bouncing back. It’s sort of our way of saying, ‘Hey, we broke your hearts and made you wait half a year because we suck but now you’ll reap the rewards.’

3. After watching an entire season of our heroes falling apart, we can look forward to them coming back together stronger than ever. It’s no secret that watching episode after episode of our heroes fighting among each other was heartbreaking. But Wanda [Maximoff, playing Scarlet Witch] dished that this won’t be the case for the upcoming season.

WANDA MAXIMOFF: You won’t have to worry about us being at each other’s throats nearly as much anymore. When you hit rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up!

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: Thank goodness!

MAXIMOFF: I know! [laughs] It’s always fun to play those kinds of scenes, you know? They’re very raw and real, and it’s cathartic but in a very safe way to channel all your emotions and let them out. But it’s still draining. We were all so tired from “fighting” with each other by the time we wrapped. We looked forward to having a little fun again and Nick absolutely gave us that

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: So we can expect a lot more smiles this season? Maybe even a few laughs?

MAXIMOFF: Absolutely! The first few episodes will deal with the aftermath of the finale, of course. You don’t just sweep that under the rug. But everyone has suffered so much individually, this season you’ll see them lean on each other to heal. At the core, they have a bond you can’t really fit into one type of mold and it’ll be what helps them turn things around.

4. This season will explore the dynamics between our characters in ways we thought we could only dream of. Which means, yes, Marvels. They are in fact listening.

MAXIMOFF: You’ll see characters share scenes together that didn’t have much interaction outside of the group before, and you’ll see relationships in new lights. Iron Man [played by Tony Stark] and Quicksilver [played by Pietro Maximoff] got off to a rocky start, and they’re in a civil place now, but you’ll see them develop a genuine friendship. Iron Man will really pull through for Quicksilver and that finally gives them some common ground. Agent Hill [played by Maria Hill] and Thor [played by Thor Odinson] have always butt heads here or there because they’re just so different. They’re almost the last duo you’d expect to come together and that’s the beauty of it. They end up leaning on each other and it’s beautiful. All of these odd, new dynamics will get their own spotlights and it’s so much fun.

There’s even some role reversal in key relationships. Like with Hawkeye [played by Clint Barton]. He was an important mentor to Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, and now with his condition he’ll turn to them for guidance. And with Black Widow, she really built up Scarlet Witch and helped her become confident in her abilities and now Scarlet Witch will get to return the favor. She’ll be there to help Black Widow get back on her feet. She becomes Black Widow’s biggest confidant, and that will be such a strong thing for Scarlet Witch, who is in a dark place at the start of the season. These more intimate moments - they’ve been my favorite to film so far.

5. Newcomers Black Panther (played by T’challa T’chaka) and Spider-Man (played by Peter Parker) won’t take long to join the fray. We learned that we won’t be seeing them in the premiere, but at least we won’t have to wait much longer! It’s confirmed that Black Panther and Spider-Man will make their debuts before the end of the second episode.

T’CHALLA T’CHAKA: I was surprised to learn during the table read that Nick wasted no time introducing us. He had us involved from the very first day of filming, even though Peter and I would traditionally not have been called to  the set just yet. We were very much included between takes. You would think coming onto a show of this magnitude, joining a cast so established - that would be an intimidating thing, you’d think. But as soon as I got the part everyone reached out to me on their own. We talked, not always about the show. I felt a fast connection. So when Peter and I were watching that first scene being filmed, when Natasha and Steve recited those vows, we were hit just as hard as everyone else. I choked up. I don’t mind sharing that, I’m not heartless. [laughs]

6. There’s a very good chance that every (well, ALMOST every) character that has crossed our heroes’ paths will make a reappearance before the end of the season. At least, it seems that way.

SAM WILSON [playing Falcon]: I’m just making guesses here, but with the way these last three months have gone, it’s probably a good guess. I think we’re somewhere between episodes nine and ten right now and we’ve already brought so many faces back. Sometimes we’ll walk onto a set or get rewrites, and we’ve brought back someone we thought had been written off definitively, and in these cool twists you won’t expect.

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: Any names you can hint at?

WILSON: Nah! No, don’t get me in trouble. [laughs] I can’t even hint at anything, but - trust me, it’ll be good. Fans will be excited to revisit these characters and see these shout-outs to old subplots. Some of it will be tying up loose ends, some of it’s just plain fun. Nick’s even got plans to have every guest director come back for an episode if scheduling works out. Don’t worry, I was allowed to share that. I asked. But Peggy [Carter] is already coming back for the mid-season finale and I think they’ve talked about her having a bigger hand in the second half of the season.

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: Oh, that’s exactly what we wanted to hear. She’s been involved in those episodes that make me swoon every time!

WILSON: Yeah, she knows how to tug on those heart-strings. She and Nick sat down, I think it was the middle of Season 2. But she and Nick sat us all down and we went around and said where we thought our characters would be in a few seasons and what we wanted for them. And it was all domestic. [laughs] No matter how crazy the world is, those same basic dreams are at our core, you know? And those are Peggy’s favorite stories to tell. Old romantics will be very happy with the intimate moments we fit into these episodes. It’ll be good. Real good.

7. Speaking of intimate: “It’s a very romantic season,” Bucky [Barnes, playing the Winter Soldier] shares. Cue squeals!

BARNES: Obviously the tone of the series will still be there, we don’t deviate into some kind of romantic drama. But you’ve seen the highs and lows of all these relationships, you’ve seen these characters go through so much and now they’ve earned this happiness. It’s a big turning point for our favorite couples, and rather than “will they, won’t they” you get to see them as a unit. That’s kind of the theme of this whole season, “us against the world,” whether it’s couples or friendships or the Team. It’s a great message.

ACCESS ENTERTAINMENT: Can you give us any hints?

BARNES: I wish I could, I really do. We just - we’re all having such a hard time biting our tongues. Each script is better and better and we want to share that with everyone, we want them to be excited with us. But I promise you, if you’ve sat through the last three years with your fingers crossed it’ll pay off. We almost jump the gun in a sense, because it goes from this slow burn to just diving head-first and it’s so satisfying. Even for myself, as a fan of this story and these characters, I see how far everything has come and I just get all tingly. [laughs] It’s great.

Well, there you have it!

It seems like this season will be the most emotional one yet, and luckily for us it sounds like it won’t be of the heart-breaking variety. Hopefully.

What are YOU most excited about for the upcoming season? Let us know in the comments below!

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‘Marvelous’ Co-Stars’ Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers Recap Season Finale, Discuss Their Sizzling Chemistry

YouTube Personality Skye Johnson Posts Adorable Video to Announce Landing Unnamed ‘Marvelous’ Role

[Image Caption: Close-up of Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers at night. Steve is kissing her hair, and Natasha is smiling softly with her hand on her cheek, showing off a glittering diamond ring - different from the ring she had been seen wearing in an on-set photo that writer/producer Nick Fury tweeted.]

1,056,813 likes

stevenrogers my favorite present has always been you

View all 1,965 comments

NOVEMBER 22, 2017

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[Image Caption: Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers on the set of Marvelous, kissing, her glittering diamond ring resting against his cheek as he dips her. The cast and crew can be seen out of focus in the background, cheering.]

1,195,381 likes

nataliaromanov I said yes

View all 2,110 comments

NOVEMBER 22, 2017

[tumelo-mabuya-writer]

Desperate Enough

Unclean.

That’s what they called me for twelve years. Never to my face though. Nobody would ever be caught talking to someone, something, as impure and vile as me. Over forty-three hundred days of nonstop bleeding and pulled be away from everyone I knew and loved. More than a hundred and forty months since I had last touched anybody. And nobody wanted to approach me anymore. Even in all the layers of clothing I wore, it was difficult to mask the stench of constant blood. I reeked of it in this heat. After twelve years the odour had permanently become a part of me no matter how much I scrubbed my clothes and washed myself. I missed being near others. I missed my father’s smile. I’ve almost forgotten what an embrace feels like. When was the last time Mother hugged me? The pit in my heart always felt deeper each year I thought about it.

“He’s over there!”

“He’s coming this way!”

“The Rabbi!”

The crowds in the main street in front of me got larger as people shoved each other aside all moving in the direction of Galilee. Parents carried children on their shoulders. Carts and wagons were hastily pulled out of the street as the crowd knocked over tables and stalls as they struggled forward.

“I’m telling, He’s got to be John the Baptist raised from the dead!”

“Pffft! Two denarii says he’s Elijah! We know he went up to Heaven by chariot. He must have returned to us!”

There was an excitement in the air. An energy. An urgency. Only one man could cause this much commotion in town. Yeshua, the prophet from Nazareth, had returned. He was all the people ever talked about. No one had spoken to me in years but about the carpenter turned rabbi but talk about Him still reached me. The chatter about Him was often loud.

“I heard He’s single!”

“Girl, did you see His arms when He was in Simon’s boat?”

“Those years of carpentry have been good to Him! Lord have mercy!”

“Amen to that!”

Some of the ladies neatened their robes and straightened their head coverings as they pushed their way through the crowd. Would I be acting like those silly girls were it not for my condition? I certainly hope not. I hadn’t thought much of Yeshua myself in the beginning when all the chatter started. There had been a lot of chatter about that Baptist at the Jordan River as well. Despite the fact that he ate locusts he had been quite popular. People had even begun calling him the Messiah.  But that all died down once he was arrested and beheaded by King Herod. But this man, Yeshua, was different. The very mention of His name divided people. Even the Pharisees were divided. Many people believed He was the Prince of Demons. But many more said He was the Messiah. I remember how I shook my head to myself the first time people said that. A Messiah from Nazareth? Impossible! Nothing good comes from there! But then word of many miracles started spreading whenever Yeshua was in town. The sick and injured were getting healed. The lame I had seen begging in the streets for years were walking and working (I swallowed a lot of bitterness the first time I saw that). Demons were getting cast out of people. I’d heard even that Magdalene girl had been delivered. There was even talk of healed lepers re-entering their cities. It seemed too good to be true. And yet it was.

I doubled over in pain and twisted my robes in my hand. A wave of cramps, the sixth wave I’d had today, washed over me and focused on my lower stomach. The pain was so intense I dropped to my knees. The pain increased like a dozen knives, one after the other, were being driven into me. My eyes welled up with tears not for the first time today.

“Adonai... please... heal me...” I pleaded again like I had for the past twelve years.

Oh I hated this cursed body! Of all the women in the world who could have had this issue of blood, why did it have to be me? I kept the Law as best as I could. I honoured my parents. I always tried to do the right thing. Why was I being punished? Why didn’t Yahweh Rapha take this away from me? Why did He not show the many physicians visited how to help me? I took ever cure and remedy given to me, so why did I only get worse instead of better? Why must I suffer like this, in pain and untouchable, while others got to live their lives, be together, touch, get married and have children? It wasn’t fair! Living like this was not fair! Why must El Shaddai permit this?

The cramps persisted for a full minute before they passed. I realized I was lying on my side in the dirt. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It probably wasn’t going to be the last. The cramps were one of the many things that afflicted me as my blood flowed endlessly like an endless stream from a crack between the rocks. I felt so uncomfortably wet. But that had become a normal constant. I let out a shaky breath and pushed myself up onto my knees. My lower back was killing me like someone stepped on it. Despite the heat my face was cold with my sweat. I wanted to cry but I held it back. That would have to wait for tonight as my weeping always did. I couldn’t waste that energy during the day.

The crowd in the street shifted a bit as their direction changed slightly. None of them had noticed me on the floor in pain. Or perhaps they did notice and didn’t care. Everyone kept their distance for fear of being ceremonially unclean and dying that way. I caught bits and pieces of what those nearest to me were saying.

“...He’s on the move...”

“...Who’s that with Him?”

“...I can’t see...”

“...I heard somebody say it’s Jairus the synagogue leader...”

Jairus. He was one of many religious leaders who had personally inspected me, and officially declared me unclean according to the Law. He had been kinder to me than most of the religious leaders, but thinking back to that day still made my stomach twist up uncomfortably and the pit in my heart burrow deeper. And now, if I heard correctly, Jairus was with Yeshuah. Yeshuah, who people said forgave a healed a paralyzed man and sent him home with his mat. Yeshua, who healed a man possessed by a legion of demons. What I would have given to be near Yeshua the Healer. I had thought of approaching Him many times but there was always a crowd around Him. Day or night, crowds surrounded Yeshua and any house He slept in. it was impossible to find Him alone to plead with Him. Not without touching people and making them unclean. Not that I hadn’t thought of doing that many times. If the Rabbi could heal me, what should it matter if I make people temporarily unclean? They can always just wash themselves and their clothes to be clean again. Nothing I do will ever make me clean. I’m living filth. Wet, smelly, living filth. I should be allowed to enter the crowd and just shove people aside to get near the Rabbi. But they’d never allow me to do that. People like me had been beaten away with sticks for trying. And I’m so weak most of the time, I’d never manage to get far even if they didn’t beat me. It wasn’t fair. Men never had to go through this. Why must we women suffer so much? It was becoming very hard to fight back the tears as I felt the lump form in my throat.

Then I saw it. A small dog was squeezing through the crowd, bobbing and weaving between everyone’s legs. Nobody paid it notice as it padded along. It managed to wiggle its way out of the street and entered the alley I was sitting in. It walked right up to me, face to face with me as I was still on my hands and knees. It stared at me with its big brown eyes a moment, sniffed me, sneezed and walked past me. I watched it go as it disappeared around the corner. I looked back the way it had come. Dare I crawl on my hands and knees like a dog? And at this time of day? I could feel the rags beneath my robes were becoming too damp. I needed to wash and change them before the blood flowed through my layers of robes. But if I could get near enough to the Rabbi to heal me, then I could wear new clothes and throw these rags away. I could be clean. My skin tingled with goose bumps at the thought.

Clean.

But what if the people noticed me? They may remove me from the Rabbi before I could finish making my request. No, I’m unclean. They would back away from me to avoid being touched. But what about the Rabbi? What if I told Him of my issue of blood and He refused to heal me? What if He refused to lay His hands on me because it would make me unclean? Would Yeshua show me mercy or would He follow the Law and demand I leave His presence? I wouldn’t blame Him. I’m disgusting.

I shuddered as I felt a drop of blood flow down my thigh. I really needed to change and wash myself. I should just go home and do just that.

“He’s your only chance,” I told myself. “You have to try. You’ve tried everything else and you’re only worse for it. Could doing this do anything worse to me? This Rabbi... I have seen the people He has healed. They were like me. Incurable. He has power, power beyond normal men. Perhaps such power flows into His clothes? Surely a man could not contain God’s power in His body alone. Perhaps it flows out of Him into everything He touches. Yes, I don’t need to speak to Him. He might reject me because I am unclean. Just get close enough to touch His clothes. Touch His garment. If God is with Him, that will be enough. If I can just touch His robe, I will be healed.”

I let out a shaky breath and began crawling. Then I stopped. What if someone looked down and recognized me? I opened my shawl more and wrapped it around my face as best as I could.  I gathered my robes around me as best as I could. I needed to move quickly before I began making a trail of blood. My arms were trembling. My sweat stung my eyes. I crawled forward.

It was chaos as I was in the crowd. I wasn’t the only one on the floor. Many people had been pushed or fallen over. Some even stepped on. People were shouting trying to get the Rabbi’s attention. Dust from all their stepping and stomping was in my face. It was hard enough seeing where I was going through all the legs and robes. I could vaguely smell the dust, sweat and body odour through my own putrid stench. Someone stepped on the hem of my robe but I was too weak to pull it out no matter how hard I yanked at it. Finally, he stepped off and I could crawl forward again. I slowly moved in the direction the crown was flocking to. I barely managed not to cry out when somebody stepped on my hand. Somebody else kicked me, maybe by accident or on purpose. It was hard to tell.

This was stupid. The people were becoming more frenzied the deeper I entered the crown. I was going to get myself killed. I’d be stampeded before I could get near enough.

Why waste your time? A voice in my head asked. You always get your hopes up anytime a physician or healer is around. What has that brought you? You have spent all your money trying to get better and only grew worse. What if approaching this Rabbi makes you even worse? You’re risking your life, risking everything, just to touch His clothes.

“I risk everything because I have none left to risk,” I told the voice. “I have nothing to live for.”

You have your family

“A family I cannot touch or be with.”

You have friends.

“Friends I haven’t seen in twelve years.”

You’re on the floor like a dog! It’s undignified!

“I left dignity behind long ago. I will crawl like the dogs to get what I want. I will swallow the dust and trail my blood behind me if it will close the flood.”

You are breaking the Law by letting these people touch you. You’re selfish.

“I have spent twelve years alone. Selfish is all I have.”

The people will stone you!

“I’ll risk it. I’m desperate enough.”

Someone kicked me in the face, nearly ripping off my shawl. I was knocked down on my side and shakily got up and pushed on.

“If I can just touch His robe, I will be healed. If I can touch His robe, I will be healed.”

My head was throbbing. I felt so dizzy. My arms shook like they wanted to buckle under me. Somebody stepped on my leg and fell on top of me. He swore and cursed as he pushed himself off of Me. I don’t even know if it was directed at me or not. I was in so much pain. Both my hands were bleeding and bruised from being stepped on repeatedly. I wanted to quit and return to my alley. But I had made it this far. I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t.

“If I can just touch His robe...”

And there He was. I caught only a glimpse of Him before someone stepped in front of me and blocked my view. I was so close. I crawled on. Slowly bobbing and weaving around legs as I got closer to the Rabbi. Yeshua came in and out of my view repeatedly. I could barely catch a glimpse of His face but I recognized His clothes. I had always observed Him from a distance as He preached to the people. I recognized Jairus walking ahead of Him hurriedly. I crawled faster, knocking into people and shaking it off as I pressed on.

If I could just touch His robe, I could be healed.

“If I can just touch His robe...”

I was so close. I could return to my family. I could embrace them again. I could kiss my nephew for the first time. I could get work. I could marry.

“...I will be healed.”

The throbbing in my head increased. I could feel the cramps returning. The pain in my back was almost unbearable. I stretched out my hand, straining. He was right in front of me but moving away. I managed to grip the hem of His robe between my thumb and forefinger for a second before it pulled out as He walked.

“Oh, Lord... my God. My Mighty God...”

I felt it. One second my blood was flowing, like I couldn’t stop peeing; a stream that flowed without end. A cursed sensation that had become a part of my life. Then it just stopped completely. My rags and inner robes were still soaking wet and uncomfortable, but the bleeding had stopped. The cramps, headache and back ache subsided with it. I even felt... stronger.

“Who touched My robe?”

It was the Rabbi. I realized that the crowd had stopped moving. Everyone was standing still but the crowd was still loud. He was scanning the crowd. He couldn’t be looking for me, could He? How could He know?

Somebody, probably one of His disciples, spoke to Him. “Master, look at this crowd pressing around You. How can you ask, ‘Who touched Me?’”

But the Rabbi kept looking around, scanning the faces around Him. “Someone deliberately touched Me, for I felt healing power go out from Me.”

Oh no. No, no, no! He was looking for me! He knows I’m unclean! I stole power for myself without asking. I would be stoned. Perhaps I could crawl away. Perhaps I could run. But if He could feel the power to heal me leave Him, perhaps He could track it. Better to face Him now and face the consequences than be caught and suffer worse fates.

I slowly stood up. What if He took the power back and I started bleeding again? What if He returned the illness to me a hundred fold? Yeshua clearly had power.

“Who touched Me?” the Rabbi repeated.

I stepped forward through the crowd and fell forward on my knees in front of the Rabbi and began sobbing. I was shaking uncontrollably. I was sweating, bawling and absolutely hysterical. He was going to take the power back! I just knew it!

“Oh, Y-Y-Y-eshua, Lord, I am S-s-s-o s-sorry!” I sobbed and stared at His toes. “I-I-I was selfish, My Lord! I had an issue of b-b-blood! I s-suffered for t-t-t-twelve long years of constant bleeding and g-g-grew only worse after visiting many physicians. Y-y-you can even ask Jairus. I spent all I h-h-had to get better. I d-d-didn’t think You would h-h-heal me. So I th-thought to myself, ‘If I can just touch His robe, I will be healed’ and s-s-s-o I crawled on the floor l-l-like a d-d-dog j-j-just to touch Your robe. And I did and I was immediately healed! You are powerful! So powerful! God is truly with You! I took power from You without asking! I’m sorry! I am so, s-s-s-so sorry! Son of David, have mercy on me! Please understand I was so desperate to be well again!”

I fell on my face and sobbed. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds but it felt longer. Like the twelve years I had suffered was washing out of me.

“Daughter,” the Rabbi said gently.

I sniffed loudly, took a deep breath and looked up at Him.

The way He looked at me was... unexpected. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t offense. It wasn’t even the disgust I had been accustomed to. It was joy, absolute joy. And kindness I had never seen. And love. Not even my parents had looked at me with such affection. He looked at Me like He knew me. There was so much understanding in His eyes like He had seen me my whole life was so relieved to be near me. He smiled at me in a way that warmed my heart and sent a tingle through my body through my toes.

“Your faith has made you well,” The Rabbi said and stretched out His hand to me.

He wanted to touch me? Me?

I took His hand and He lifted me up. I knew I still reeked but He didn’t seem to care. His hands covered my bruised and bloodied hands so tenderly. Despite the crowd, He kept His eyes on me like I was the only person in the world. He looked so pleased to see me. How was that possible.

“Go in peace,” those were His last words to me before He turned to address Jairus, who looked very distressed. I stared at Yeshua for a long time as He and Jairus went on. Eventually the crowd dispersed with Him. Many stared at me in amazement as they passed. Many congratulated me as they passed. I realized I had lost my shawl at some point so they could all see my face. They recognized me but didn’t ridicule me.

I felt so strong, so whole. So light. I felt my feet carry me and it was a while before I realized I was walking home to my parents. First I was walking slowly. Then briskly. Then I was running. I was running for the first time in years. I was finally strong enough. Like I had been when I was younger.

“Thank you Yeshua,” I whispered as tears flowed down my face and my grin grew wider. “Thank You, Messiah, Ben Elohim, Son of God.”

[pokeanangel]

Remembering..

I remember when I first met you..

I was dating someone else at the time and I was introduced. You were just a guy. In a mall. Playing what you loved. Smh. I never thought anything of it other than I thought you were cute. I nodded and said, “nice to meet you,” and walked away with the boyfriend I had at the time. I never thought anything more than.. He is cute..

Little did I know.. You would be back in my life…

Almost 2 years ago..

We worked together before we started talking. I remember some chats we had outside our workplace.. Numbers were exchanged.. But nothing ever came about.. We would talk about anything and everything. Still, maybe it wasn’t our time. Or maybe.. It was a learning curve for us.. But two years ago. Not to the day… Aug. 23, 2015 I messaged you. I asked, if you wanted to join me and a few friends for karaoke. I had plans on hooking you up with someone. I still feel bad. I mean, I wanted her happy.. I didn’t care about myself.. We didn’t talk that much before.. Who cares right? So, before we ALL went out.. I invited you to dinner. I had just worked a 12hr shift and was running around the entire town doing work. I was hungry and I wanted company. I picked you up at your place and we went to dinner.. Applebees.. We talked and shit. I explained what was going on and how I felt. You told me that you didn’t like her like that… Of course… I felt horrible. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.. But I think that my friend will at least enjoy one night with you. I remember taking you back to your place.. And we went up stairs to talk… After that… I knew I was in for it. Just talking to you made me worry.. I didn’t think anything of it. But I really did think you were cute. If only ppl knew how much I truly loved you. After that night. I think we constantly saw each other. I didn’t want to catch feelings. And I told him that it was happening.. So we backed off from each other. I still wasn’t wanting this thing to end between us. A couple of months went by and next thing you know I’m constantly sick.. I drank a few more times than I should have and was smoking too. I found out I was pregnant. I wasn’t sure how to feel. But I was scared… Scared to have another child. Scared that my oldest would be jealous.. Scared that this was a mistake. Another mistake that I honestly didn’t think I could handle. I didn’t want to be a single mom. I cried.. I cried because I wanted another so badly. But still was scared. I wanted it to be loved so much from both sides of the family.. I told you. It was shock.. It was.. I don’t know what it was but… It is what it is.. I avoided you. I couldn’t help but want to crawl into a hole. You didn’t want to have kids. Then this! I left. I was relieved to just have told you. I just lived life.. I didn’t know what else to do.. I worked long hours away from home. Barely got to see my oldest. Then a month later I went to the OB and I was cramping.. I noticed I was spotting but it didn’t usually mean much. Sometimes it happens. You bleed a little because of implantation. I get to the OB and it got more and more painful.. The OB warned me. I could miscarry because of my HCG levels weren’t raising quickly enough for their liking. I got an ultrasound preformed and what I dreaded.. Had happened. They weren’t very caring. They just sent me on my way. I went to tell you and you just… Were relieved and happy. I mean, I saw you.. I just needed to go.. I got out of my car and told you. I remember looking at you and you just said, it was for the best. You weren’t ready. I completely understood. I wanted to just leave. I’m about to get into my car and your friend calls me over. I really should have left.. But he is your best friend and I figured this would probably be our last encounter. I came up on his deck and we talked. He asked about my pregnancy.. I told him i miscarried. He quickly said his peace on everything with us and moved onto the next item. After that night… I went home crying. I was a mess. Pieces of me were just everywhere. No one understood wtf was wrong with me. I shut down. I hated my job, men, women, just everything. I couldn’t think straight. I still talked to you once in awhile. I honestly didn’t know why. I hated how I felt. I didn’t realize I was hooked on you. You truly were this drug. A drug that shouldn’t be on the streets.. He… IT would be so addictive that it would kill anyone or thing in it’s presence. You think I would have learned my lesson.. However, I did not. I immediately started birth control after the miscarriage. I couldn’t imagine putting myself through another.. I was stressed out and fumbling around with myself. I would talk to you.. I never realized that it would go too far. But this addiction I had.. It overtook me. It stripped me of my entire being! I was so angry.. I wanted to just let my world crumble, but I was also depressed. So, so sad. Do you know what it is like losing something? Something so important that it eats at you because you know you lost it? Because.. Losing a baby… Even tho it may have been so small.. Microscopic.. It’s still a baby in a person’s eyes.. Its crushing for someone that had wanted something so badly. Never wanted to feel that crushing pain again. So, birth control it was! On the mini pill. Ugh. It sucked. Why not the ring or shot or whatever? Because the hormones messed me up so bad.. I thought it was bad before.. Ugh Horrible after everything except this stupid mini pill. I remember seeing you.. I had gone shopping with your sister for Christmas after this.. Situation… I remember going to your place and hanging out with you. I handed it over.. A journal.. Zelda.. Nothing special, at least, I thought.. Ya know… To this day I really don’t know if it was important to you. Of course, you seemed to like it. We sat there talked.. I remember thinking I should probably just leave. We talked more.. The rest was a blur. I remember waking up after our round of..fun.. And getting dressed and leaving. I think I went home then work.. It was awkwardly warm out. I can’t remember much. I feel like I blocked out that month.. On Dec 28th I was in Stephen City, VA. The Wal-Mart. I was walking into a store.. And I got sick! Threw up into a storm drain.. I just had a sip of coffee. I love coffee. I didn’t think anything of it. Then I realized… I had been sick feeling for a couple of weeks.. The last time I saw you was two and a half weeks prior.. I had my period the beginning of that month. I ran to pharmacy and grabbed a test. I kept saying.. I couldn’t be. I don’t need this. I’m so scared. I panicked. I paid for it Then ran to the bathroom. It was faint, but it was positive. Have you ever stopped one day and truly watched one of those ‘Clearblue’ commercials? How the women that had that positive outcome.. Were happy and in tears and the other half was smiling? Then you look at me.. At mine.. Sheer fear. I went and got two more.. Kept one for the following morning. They all came back positive. I remember just sitting there.. Not happy.. Definitely cry.. But they weren’t tears of joy. I stopped drinking and smoking. I made sure that if this was going to be a full term baby.. That I will be as healthy as I can be. I remember having to tell you over the phone that I was pregnant. That I am keeping it and regardless of how you felt.. I wanted to just not go through this empty feeling again. It’s not something that’s unfamiliar, but I’d be damned to feel it. I tried so hard to keep myself safe. I just remember going to see you some time on the 31st.. And you asking me to be your girlfriend.. I thought you were joking. *rolls eyes* I truly wish you were looking back. It was the 31st. New Year’s Eve.. I came by to talk to you about things. To rationalize myself in doing this on my own.. And you said.. Yeah.. Be my girlfriend. *blink* ‘do you wanna be mine?’ I think were your words.. I remember saying.. Something like.. My son is my life and chris is his dad.. But it all stopped because you kissed me. That was it. Sealed everything with a kiss. We officially started dating. I was elated, to be honest. We went to his friend’s house and it was a party.. You introduced me to everyone as, “this is Alex, my girlfriend,” we acted like we were teenagers or something. Careless a bit, too. It was all in fun. I remember when midnight came.. We welcomed the new year together as a couple. With an itty bitty on the way.. Little did I know.. We wouldn’t make it a whole year.. This is my letter to you. You may not even read it. Maybe you will? I really don’t know nor care enough to dwell. I wrote this thinking I would get closure. I still haven’t gotten any. I still have those stale tears on my tank top from when I started this 'letter.’ You taught me that… Even if I did everything right in a relationship. Even with a few fuck ups on the way.. That anyone could leave me. I gave you my heart. Literally, placed it into your hands. And you held it. Crushed it.. Spit on it.. Then decided that when you were all done you could just slowly piece it back together. Possibly with apologies? Or meaningless kisses on my cheeks.. Heartless whispers into my ears. Knowing that I still loved you. Because loving you was a huge feat for me.. I never cared about your past. I worried about our future. Our child and my older son. I wanted to conquer the world with you. Side by side. Like evil villains. We were this fucked up couple that totally got each other, but no one got us. We did stupid things together, and if we were separate.. We could read each other’s minds. It was so liberating I hadn’t had anyone like that in my life.. Ever. No one. I thought that being this duo… This couple.. We could take on the world. Together. Forever. We would sit and look at things and just know what to say.. What you would say.. Or I actually wanted to learn DDR. And to this day I want to. You promised you’d teach me.. I hope you stick around. Mainly for your son. I want you there for me, but that’s just my hope that you would come back. Begging to stay the night with me. To move back 'home’ and to sleep next to you every night… I would be so happy. Happy. I can’t believe you did this to me.. I was whole without you.. I was a complete person before you. And I fell into these.. Sharp jagged pieces of myself! I don’t hate you. I don’t! But I can’t fully trust anyone with my heart. It’s been six months and you have yet to even say something about our relationship, because… It’s who you are! Because I know that stupid conversation by heart. Because we couldn’t be adults about it.. It had to be petty. I think I cried more over you than most know. I’m pretty sure my best friend thinks that I’m hopeless! Yeah, so what? Maybe I am! Maybe.. I’m stupid and told myself that on a day like today he’ll come around and say, 'I’m sorry,’ but 'sorry’ won’t be enough by then.. I really want to be happy. Having a family was my happiness. My goals in life were to have a family whether it be broken or whole.. I just didn’t want it to be without my sidekick. I’m still lost. I wake up in the morning hoping for a text… Or maybe a phone call..? I truly don’t know anymore. All I want right now is to forget this feeling. Because this feeling I have inside me… I wish it was dead. So I never have to feel it again. And I try to not have these feelings. I work rather hard on not feeling them.. I don’t even get it. I just want it to be gone. If I could stop loving you! But every single time I see you. Whether it is a picture.. Text.. Call.. These feelings come back. And in full force. Damn you.

[lykegenia]

The Things We Hide Ch. 3

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 Previous chapter on AO3

Words: 3,526 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: The Blue Spirit spends his nights fighting crime in the lower reaches of the Caldera. Tonight, under the light of the full moon, he runs into someone he did not expect.

Read it on AO3

Night in the Fire Nation summer always came with a sigh of relief, the sky powdered with stars and the dusty streets of the capital sagging after the day’s strain of busy travel and hot sunlight. People opened the lattices on their windows to tempt in the breeze rolling in off the eastern sea, and pulled mosquito curtains around their beds to keep the biting insects out. In the better districts, lanterns illuminated the metalled highways and cobbled alleys, tempting evening patrons towards the eateries and teahouses, and reassuring the wealthy that even in pernicious darkness they could walk without fear of cutpurses or thugs.

The Blue Spirit never frequented these brightly lit streets. The guard concentrated their patrols in the central part of the city, and that, coupled with the stringent punishments meted out for criminals who attacked nobility, meant only the very stupid or truly desperate succumbed to the temptation to pick well-lined pockets.

Sometimes, people saw him as a shadow flitting over the rooftops, nothing more than a silhouette against the stars, but he was gone so swiftly and made so little noise that most of the sightings were put down to wild imaginations or, more probably, indigestion. The guards tasked with tracking down the elusive vigilante faced more problems than just the Blue Spirit’s skills, however. In the few months since whispers began to permeate through the entire capital, he had become a fashionable topic of conversation, and young ladies swooned over reports of the shadow’s trim physique while their escorts grumbled about how he made a mockery of Fire Nation justice.

Very few in the richer areas of the city paid any attention to the reason for the Blue Spirit’s continued presence.

Crouched on the roof of a warehouse in the merchant docks, Zuko kept watch. The tiles were still warm beneath the touch of his thin gloves, the smell of fish and tar almost overpowering through the holes in his Blue Spirit mask. No lights shone in this part of the capital, populated as it was by the poor and broken-down, those who spent the long hours of their days toiling in the factories or on the coal ships that brought raw materials for the industry that drove the war. After the sun set and the whistles blew for the end of shifts, fatigue ruled here as the workers trudged home and waited for the next inevitable day to begin.

What few businesses had survived the stranglehold of the war were being starved out by the gangs that roved through the night-time streets, paying off or intimidating the official guards ordered to the wards as a show of force. With so many conscripted into the war, only the vulnerable remained, and they continued to be exploited because it was easier to let the poor suffer than to root out those causing the city to crumble from within.

Footsteps approached. Zuko’s hands clenched into fists as he recognised the hulking, scarred figure he had hunted for two weeks, but he forced himself to stillness. If he made a mistake now, all his research, all the risks he had taken, would come to nothing. The brute, an enforcer named Lao Shu, the Tiger, turned down a gloomy side alley, lost to sight briefly as Zuko moved to follow him. Any noise his feet made as he pursued was lost in the gentle lap of waves against the stone-piled harbour wall.

Wherever Lao Shu was headed, he wanted nobody following. Twice he changed direction to avoid the sound of voices, and when he finally came to a stop, he flicked his eyes left and right to make sure he was alone. From his vantage point on the cargo crane above, Zuko watched as the man knocked on a rusted door set in the side of a dilapidated boat shed, grunted a password, and slipped inside.

Behind the mask, Zuko’s eyes glittered. He waited for Lao Shu to emerge, and when he didn’t, he stretched out the cramp in his leg, climbed down the neck of the crane, and leapt wraithlike onto the shed. The roofing timbers were rotten, so Zuko trod carefully, using the light of the newly risen full moon to pick his way along the shingles. A jagged hole yawned just below the spine of the roof, and grumbled voices rose with flickering light through the cracked wooden planks, too low for Zuko to hear their words.

He recognised the tones, though. The high whine of the man nicknamed Guard Dog, who acted as a scout and a runner for the others; the gravelly bass of Lao Shu, who had been an engineer aboard a battle cruiser until a Water Tribe attack left soot in his lungs and half his crew dead; others Zuko knew by face if not by name, all of them lieutenants for the man he had come to find, the man who called himself the Captain.

As he crept up to the opening and leaned over the lip, a flash of grey feathers exploded out of the darkness. The pigeon-rat veered and fluttered into the night, the confused slap of its wings against the air loud in the quiet.

Zuko flattened himself against the roof in case his shadow gave him away. Below, the voices died away.

“What was that, Captain?” came the timid voice of Guard Dog, when nothing else moved.

A deeper voice grunted. “Lao Shu, did anyone follow you?”

“N-no, boss.”

“Did you see anyone!” demanded the Captain.

“No, I looked, I swear!” Lao Shu replied.

Another voice spoke up. “What if it was the -”

“Don’t say his name, Kazon,” Guard Dog hissed. “It summons him!”

“It would, if he wasn’t just some jumped up nobody in a mask,” Kazon retorted. “Stop being so paranoid. We stick him, he’ll bleed just like anyone else.”

“It cannot be the Blue Spirit,” declared the Captain, raising his voice to be heard above the squabbling of his lieutenants. “Nobody among you would be foolish enough to squeal after what happened to Yan Yu, would you?”

The men gathered around the Captain shuffled their feet, darting glances at their hands and those around them. Nobody wanted to remember their last sight of Yan Yu, a low-level grunt terrified of the Blue Spirit and the Captain both, as he pleaded forgiveness for spilling secrets to the city guard. It didn’t stop the Captain torching him from the feet up and then pushing him down the breakwater.

“No, boss,” they mumbled.

They startled when something tapped on the outer door.

“Heh, it’s probably just an alley scrounger,” Kazon joked, though he looked towards the open roof nervously.

“Guard Dog, whatever it is, deal with it,” said the Captain.

“But -”

“I’ve had enough of your paranoia. Do you really think the Blue Spirit would knock?”

“I… no, boss.” Guard Dog ducked his head and sidled out of sight of the others, down the narrow corridor that once connected the master’s yard with the foreman’s office.

Once his footsteps died away, the Captain turned to the rest of his lieutenants. “Does anyone else have something to say? No? Good.” He rocked to his feet, using the piled cord-rope he had been sitting in to steady himself. Although luckier than most of his battalion, he was still pained by the injury he sustained at the first siege of Ba Sing Se, when an earthbender swiped a boulder into his kneecap and brought him crashing down. He had been sprawled in the dirt when in a flash of brilliant light the avatar appeared and levelled the entire army, killing the general’s son and most of his friends.

“Since the subject has been brought up, it is time to discuss our shadowy friend,” he said, pushing away the memories. “Too many times has this rogue got in the way of our work. He doesn’t seem to realise only the strong survive in this city. Worse, he creates hope for the peasants, which means there is less room in their tiny skulls for fear of us.”

“It’s cutting into our profits!” cried Kazon.

“If he worked with the guard it’d be easy to sort him out,” Lao Shu grunted.

“He knows the guard work for us. He handed Ty Mai to that sake merchant in the coiner’s quarter. He and the butcher messed him up real bad, I heard.”

The captain growled for silence. “It appears our solution is simple. To protect ourselves and our investments, we must -”

“Hey,” Kazon interrupted. “Where’s Guard Dog?”

Guard Dog hadn’t returned from the door. He wasn’t the only one missing. Outside the small ring of firelight cast by the makeshift hearth, only six of the ten lieutenants remained, their pale faces sweaty with nerves. They pressed together so they could face the darkness and the threat that surely lurked within it.

Then, caught in a dim patch of moonlight, a shape moved.

“H-h-he’s here,” someone whispered.

“Then he’s saved us an effort,” the Captain snarled at them.

“What do we do, boss?”

The mask floated towards them, no sound of footsteps or breath with which to tell that there was really a man underneath it. The eye-holes were pitch black and blank, boring straight through to the fear in their hearts.

“He’s brave taking us out one at a time,” said the Captain. “But he’s no match for us all at once, and in the light, he has no advantage.

The mask paused its advance, cocking its head as if the small fire was something it had not considered.

“See? What do you have to be afraid of? Get him!”

The mask veered backwards. Behind the thugs, the flames roared to the height of the ceiling.

And extinguished.

Unable to see, unsure of what made them blind, Lao Shu and the others panicked. When of the first of them grunted and yelled in pain they lashed out, swinging fists and fireballs into the darkness.

Zuko danced between his opponents. His swords sheathed, he used his fists to break their stances, tripped them with his legs. Most of these men had been his father’s soldiers once, spat out by the system when they lost their usefulness, and he didn’t want to kill them. But many were twice his size and in the brief flashes of the Captain’s firebending he saw the murderous intent in their eyes.

Someone grabbed him around the shoulders, pinning his arms at his sides. Lao Shu lumbered towards him with an iron chain whirling above his head. Zuko ducked, dragging his attacker to the floor with the unexpected dead weight of his body, then surged upwards. He caught the big man in the groin then struck an elbow at the back of his neck to bring him down.

Within minutes all six lay sprawled on the floor in a circle around the Blue Spirit, groaning over their injuries or else unconscious in untidy heaps. Only the Captain stood unscathed, his hands out to ward off the silent figure who every moment seemed more and more like a demon. He heard the dry rasp of steel as the Spirit reached up and drew his signature liangdao from the sheath on his back.

“You’ve got some nerve,” the Captain growled. His voice broke over the words. “What do you want?”

The Spirit remained implacable.

“Hey, now listen,” he stammered as the Spirit moved toward him. “I could use a guy like you. What are you after? Money? I got more than enough for you.”

Another step.

“Not money. Alright. You’re right, I know it’s not fair, what we do, but what else is there? Nobody cares about us, not the Fire Lord, not the guard, nobody. They use us up then cast us off like we’re nothing. What’s wrong with taking a little back?”

You don’t take back, Zuko wanted to yell. You do to others what those in power did to you. He forced his anger down. There would be time to deal with the ministers and the bureaucrats later. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

The Captain staggered as his weakened knee buckled beneath him, flames igniting in his palms. “What do you want?”

The Spirit halted. His mask tipped to the side and paused, then, very slowly, one of the swords raised until it pointed straight at the Captain’s chest. The message was clear.

Rubble shifted behind Zuko. He turned just as Lao Shu lunged out of the darkness, hoping to catch him off guard and slam him to the floor. The Captain took advantage of the momentary distraction and sent a stream of fire hurtling from his fist, but Zuko was already twisting away, and the flames caught on his adversary’s clothes instead. Lao Shu screamed as they licked higher, filling the dank meeting place with the stench of burning hair and cooking meat.

 The Captain fled. Zuko hesitated, but saw in an instant Lao Shu couldn’t be saved. The man’s flailing tipped him into a half-rotten barrel of tar that collapsed under his weight. Black liquid spilled against the walls, the fire trailing after, hungry for the scraps of sailcloth and seasoned wood stockpiled for boat repairs. The men still lying unconscious wouldn’t stand a chance, and Lao Shu was already dead.

Cursing, he sheathed his swords and grabbed at the bodies on the ground. The fire raced him. It slithered along the walls of the corridor as he dragged the survivors to the door and the clean air beyond. Heat scorched his throat though he tried to push the flames back with his bending, so slow its spread. Smoke stung his eyes. Just a few more steps…

He kicked the door off its rusted hinges. Air sucked in with a roar to feed the blaze behind him. Zuko bent it back and hauled the four he’d been able to save clear of the structure. So much time had cost him a lead on the Captain.

A groan wobbled up from near Zuko’s feet. Guard Dog slapped his hand over his face, rubbing fingers over eyes caked with ash to see the impassive face of the Blue Spirit staring down at him, framed by the burning building.

“You – you – we were in there?” he gibbered. “You saved us, why -?” But he blinked and the spirit vanished.

The Captain was already three streets away. He tripped over a flock of cat-gulls scrounging through a wharfside midden, startling them into affronted, squawking flight. Although he had known these streets most of his life, terror and the darkness turned him around, until he found himself limping across the main thoroughfare that led from the city proper to the military docks in the northern part of the bay. In the full moonlight the flagstones shone like pearls, he himself a dark and easily tracked blot upon their flawless surface.

He folded to his knees, the old injury flaring with a stab of white fire up his leg. Smoke clung to his clothes and his breath dragged in his lungs as his body recovered from the unaccustomed exercise. Let the Spirit catch up, damn him, and throw him to the guard. He had survived the avatar’s attack at Ba Sing Se, he would survive whatever this jumped-up vigilante had to throw at him.

But something strange was happening in the harbour. The water churned and bubbled with froth that shone in the moonlight, making the boats tied at the outer jetties bob like toys in a bathtub. Above the low splashes against the breakwater came a steady, metallic groan of protest as the three gigantic troop carriers anchored in the deeper water strained at their mooring lines. Astonished, the Captain watched as they pitched and heaved as if caught in a maelstrom on the open ocean rather than safe behind the breakwater on a clear, calm night. He heard one anchor chain snap, saw the ship buck one last time as it was carried across the bay, felt the rattle in his bones as it crashed and broke open against the stone pilings that held back the ocean.

From the roof of an armoury warehouse, Zuko saw it too. The impossibility of the sight brought him to a standstill, all thought of the Captain forgotten. The welding along the hull of the second ship popped and contorted, its spine broken against its mate, the whole side of the vessel splitting like an egg to reveal the internal structure and the few unlucky souls trapped within. Fires broke out where sparks met engine oil, and Zuko smelled the tang of hot metal on the wind.

He had to move. Such an act of sabotage… he had to stop it.

As he leapt between buildings he lost sight of the carnage, but the disturbing sounds coming from the dock spurred him onwards. In place of screeching metal something large glugged and sucked at the water. Zuko picked up his pace.

He skidded to a halt moments later as the last line of buildings fell away. Nothing stood between him and what was happening on the water, and nothing prepared him for what he was seeing.

“What the…”

Backlit by the burning wrecks of the two other troop carriers and the moon above, the third ship had been pulled to the mouth of the harbour by ropes of mud and seaweed that seemed born of the ocean itself. Waves lapped white at the dark hull as it was dragged under, crushed in an awful display of elemental power.

“Look over there!”

It took a moment of panicked scrambling for Zuko to realise he was already well hidden, and that the people spilling from the tavern weren’t looking at him. The grizzled old sailor who had spoken pointed at the pier where the largest of the troop carriers had been moored.

Someone stood there. From such a distance, details were impossible to make out, especially given the figure’s black clothing and the dim, wavering light of the flames. Without conscious thought, Zuko started running again, his eyes fixed on the stranger and the strange swinging movements of their arms. Several people shouted shocked curses behind him, but he ignored them like a moose-lion would flies. He had to get to the pier. He had to stop whatever madness this was, before the situation got worse.

Lights bobbed from behind the nearest row of buildings ahead as the city guard closed in. At their panicked calls the figure turned, hands raised in a defensive stance. Zuko tumbled to a halt from his headlong sprint less than fifty yards away, liangdao poised and every line in his body prepared for an attack.

Even so close he couldn’t be sure the stranger was human. Face paint in shades of black, grey, and white striped sharp angles across whatever defining features the saboteur possessed, blurring it at the edges and exacerbating certain features into something unearthly and grotesque. Looking down, Zuko found his face growing hot behind the Blue Spirit mask. Whoever this person was, she was female. The material that hid her intentions in the darkness did less to hide the lithe curves of her hips or the soft swell of her breasts. His gaze lingered despite his best intentions, watching as her shoulders lost their predatory tension. Her eyes, wide and pale in the moonlight, roved over him from mask to feet and back again, though he couldn’t tell if she was just surprised or observing him as keenly as he was her. An unexpected tingle shivered down his spine.

“Over here! The Blue Spirit!”

The sound of his name made him spin around, swords raised to face the threat of the guard. They halted at the edge of the dock, unwilling to approach the dangerous vigilante but conscious that short of diving into the water, he had nowhere to run.

“What are you waiting for, lads?” called out their captain. “Get him!”

Zuko shot a look over his shoulder as a pair of firebenders stormed towards him, but the strange woman was nowhere to be seen. He cursed inwardly and shook her from his mind as he fell into a fighting stance. The faster he dispatched the guard, the sooner her could sneak back to his rooms and catch some sleep before the inevitable chaos this act of terrorism would cause.

The night shattered with a deafening crack. The guards stuttered to a halt to watch and Zuko used the distraction to dart through their lines, not slowing his pace until he gained the roof of a fish-salting warehouse and gave in to his curiosity to look back. Bystanders gasped and raised prayers to Agni as they watched the final troop carrier sink beneath the sea, snapped in half by the forces pressing it from all sides. Already mutters of spirits and supernatural retribution rippled through the crowd. By tomorrow the tale be exaggerated, the wreckage scattered on the breakwater a damning corroboration of the story and an unsettling message to the Fire Nation’s enemies across the ocean.

Zuko was about to have a very long day.

[eirianerisdar]

Fic title idea: "Heart of Kyber"

Heart of Kyber

Summary: With part of the Open Circle Fleet docked forsome much-needed shore leave after a harrowing battle, Obi-Wan gives the restof the 212th the slip and wanders planetside alone. As per his usual style,everything descends into chaos, especially when Anakin decides to join theparty. Humour, angst, fluff. Set mid-Clone-Wars era.

A sequel to Little People(Where Obi-Wan is interviewed by the Holonet Press) But no need forprior reading.

Characters:Obi-Wan Kenobi, AnakinSkywalker, Commander Cody, Captain Rex, Satine Kryze (mentioned)

Note: I’m cross-postingthis to fanfictiondotnet as well because of the length and premise.

It is not easy to slipunseen out of a Venator-class star destroyer.

Obi-Wan slides the smallmaintenance hatch shut, and is faced with the words ACTIVATE MAGNETIC SOLESNOW painted there in bold capitals. He ignores this; there are nomagnetic boot-soles in standard Jedi boots.

He hangs there for amoment, and considers the half-kilometre drop down to the bottom of theRepublic naval dockyard.

If he had cared to lookup, Obi-Wan would be faced with the yawning cavern of a ventral turbolaser; buthe does not, and so he simply swings gently in the breeze. Twenty years ago,when he was a young and green padawan, he might have paused and gave somethought to the fact he is hanging by one hand off the belly of a stardestroyer, right in the blasting path of a turbolaser emitter; but the thoughtdoes not even flicker through his mind, now.

So.

Hidden in the shade of themassive destroyer’s shadow, Obi-Wan spies a perfect landing spot. He closeshis eyes, feels for a gap in the breeze, and loosens his hold on themaintenance bar.

He drops like astraight-backed statue, russet cloak streaming up above him. Then he tucks hisknees into his chest, and his cloak presses against his back as he curls intothe cushion of the Force, slowing his fall.

His boots are silent asthey impact the duracrete, precisely in the small cul-de-sac between threecargo crates.

Obi-Wan straightens, runsa hand through his windswept hair, and readjusts his cloak.

It is not easy to slip outof a star destroyer.

But it is not anywherenear difficult, either.

He saunters out of thecargo area with an easy step and makes a discreet motion to the slack-jawedguard at the gate. The guard snaps both to attention and his mouth shut,nodding in understanding.

“Not a word, sir,” theguard says, in a hushed voice. He is not a clone. The Republic’s prizedclone troopers are too valued for combat to be wasted on a cargo bayguard-post, out here on an affluent Mid-Rim planet.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wanreplies, smiling.

Raising his hood, hedissolves into the crowds in the plaza adjacent to the docks. For the nexttwelve hours, there is nowhere he needs to be.

So he goes anywhere.

Obi-Wan is well awarethere may be a mild panic aboard ship when his absence is discovered. Buthe has not been derelict in his duties; he has used the first three hoursof official leave in visiting the wounded among his men, and made sure Codyknew he had left the ship. There is less to worry about with hissecond-in-command there to fend off any questions from the rest of the 212th.

What is left of the 212th,that is.

He slows his walk.

Their last battle hadended in victory, but a victory so hard-won that Obi-Wan had thought, in thecramped corners of his mind not occupied by deflecting blaster bolts andshouting orders and hauling wounded men away, that he would really havepreferred it if Anakin were there.

But Anakin was not.General Skywalker and the 501st had been called away six hours before thebeginning of the battle; doubtless to another world under Separatist siege, toface the horrors there.

And there, on a namelessplanet, surrounded by enough natural resources to fuel a small army (partly whythe Separatists took it in the first place), the 212th were cut down to halftheir number.

Obi-Wan’s boot catches onan irregular paving stone. He does not trip; but there is a stutter in his pacenevertheless. A passing Rhodian nearly collides with him. He senses rather thanhears the angry shout.

The last time they hadcome out of a battle this badly was Point Rain.

Obi-Wan ducks out of thecrowd and into an alcoved doorway, pressing a hand to his side. The smashed rib- yes, smashed, not bruised or cracked or even broken - from thatparticular incident is aching, as it does every so often. It is supposed to befully healed.

It occurs to him that manybattlefield wounds are supposed to be fully healed, when they are not.Especially those not seen.

“Are you all right?”

Obi-Wan glances up at thevoice, startled.  The door beside him is held open by a middle-aged maleTogruta; the Togruta frowns worriedly at Obi-Wan, apron crinkling as he bendsto peer under Obi-wan’s hood.

Obi-Wan steps smartlybackwards and lowers his head, evading those questioning eyes. “I’m quitefine, thank you,” he murmurs. “My apologies for blocking your doorway.”

The Togruta’s magnificentmontrals tilt into the bright late-morning light as he follows Obi-Wan out ontothe stoop. “I’m not sure who you are, mister, but you look like you needsome good caff in you.”

“I prefer tea,” Obi-Wanreplies, not allowing his wariness to bleed into his tone. He watches carefullyfrom beneath the rim of his cowl instead.

“We have that, too,” theTogruta says cheerfully, rubbing a hand on his apron. “Come on in. Youlook winded.”

After a moment’shesitation, Obi-Wan steps though the doorway. He finds himself in a brightlittle cafe, with a polished bartop and small, real-wood tables scattered abouta chequered floor.

The cafe is filled with alively number of patrons, though it is not so packed to be uncomfortably full.Obi-Wan takes the barstool indicated to him, and blinks in surprise when asmall plate is slid in front of him.

“Our compliments to newcustomers,” the cafe owner smiles at him. “You haven’t tasted Oi-oi berryshortcake until you’ve tried ours.”

“…Thank you.”

“The name’s Kuthun, by theway.”

“It is good to make youracquaintance, Kuthun.” Obi-Wan picks up his fork, still keeping his eyeslowered.

Kuthun places a papernapkin down by Obi-Wan’s plate with a calloused ochre hand. “I know you donot have a face, but surely you can afford to give me a name?” The question isteasingly affable.

“I’m…” Obi-Wansearches for a name that is not an outright lie. “…Ben,” he saysfinally. “I’m Ben.” Mandalorian starlight, and far-away Sundari…

“Forgive me for asking,Ben, but why the hidden face?”

The first forkful of Oi-oishortcake makes its way into Obi-Wan’s mouth. He is not surprised at howdelicious it is. Two months of field rations will do that to a man.

He takes his time chewingand swallowing before answering the question. “I have a well-known face,”he says, simply.

Kuthun pauses in arrangingthe caff-cups behind the counter. “Ah. Got caught on the bad side of the law?”

“No, I’m not running fromthe law,” Obi-Wan replies softly, head still lowered to allow his the shadow ofhis cowl to fall over his face. A thought occurs to him, and he grins ruefullyto himself. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“A celebrity, then? I’mafraid I most likely won’t know who you are. I don’t keep tabs on the popularstuff. That’s all for the younger generations.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan murmurs,spooning up another forkful of cake.

“What tea would youprefer?”

“Do you have Sapir?”

“Of course. It’s cominginto short supply now because of the war, but we even have some Noorian-blossomSapir here if you would-”

Obi-Wan’s heart leaps inhis chest. “Yes. Noori- I mean- Noorian-blossom Sapir. Please.”

“I’ll just be a minute,then.”

As Kuthun turns away tobrew the tea, Obi-Wan notices the voices coming from the holoscreens on everycorner. He risks a glance upwards at the closest one.

To his horror, he sees himselfon the screen.

It is that interview,given a few weeks ago. The one and only holonet press interview he has everbeen coerced into in his life, and a disastrous one at that. The interviewerhad seemed to ask all the wrong questions; memories Obi-Wan had kept carefullyrestrained had threatened to rise to the surface, and he had almost but notquite lost control when the interviewer asked a particular question about hismen.

And then Obi-Wan noticesthe other patrons.

The friendly cacophony inthe cafe lowers in volume as customers turn in their seats and give the screenstheir full attention. Kuthun reaches past Obi-Wan to turn up the volume on oneof the screens; Obi-Wan hurriedly adjusts his hood again. It will not to do berecognised, especially now.

The Obi-Wan on the screensits with languid grace.

The Obi-Wan in the cafe huncheson his barstool, hoping to make himself smaller. He cannot risk keeping hisface upturned to the screen, so he listens keenly instead.

Oh dear. It seems to bethe part about romantic attachments.

The producers appear tohave have edited the interview with customary holo-press aplomb. With thescreen flashing alternatively between the presenters’ comments and Obi-Wan’sactual words, he seems…evasive.

“Oh, the poor dear,” anelderly Twi’lek lady pipes up from behind Obi-Wan. “He’s obviously shy.”

“Considering that he’scalled The Negotiator, I should think not, ma’am,” Kuthun calls cheerily in herdirection. There is an answering chuckle from the rest of the cafe.

The presenters on-screenare talking very fast, now. Obi-Wan can imagine pictures being pulled intoview, gossip and slander and speculation-

“Heseemed to be hiding something, don’t you think? Now I can’t speak for him,obviously, but an anonymous photographer came forward with some veeeeryinteresting holos captured just half a year ago, at a landing pad in the SenateDistrict of Coruscant.” 

“Now,dear viewers, I believe that’s Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore!”

Obi-Wan has snapped up hishead to stare at the screen before he can stop himself.

The holo is not clear. Itwas obviously taken from a very long distance, and most likely by paparazzifollowing the Chancellor, and gleefully cashing in on the sudden appearance ofGenerals Kenobi and Skywalker - but what it shows is unmistakable.

A ring of Mandalorianroyal guards facing outwards, and in the centre-

Satine, caressing hischeek.

I’m stillnot sure about the beard.

Why?What’s wrong with it?

It hidestoo much of your handsome face.

Someone wolf-whistles inthe back of the cafe. The sound jars Obi-Wan out of a place somewhere in theaether, where he his doing something akin to screeching. But Jedi do notscreech. They…spar.

He really, really wishesAnakin were here right now. They always could fight out the worst of theirmoods together.

The cafe is a murmur ofexcitable voices now.

“Do you think they kneweach other from when they were younger?”

“Forbidden love! How romantic!”

Obi-Wan nearly chokes onhis last forkful of cake. On second thought, he might not want Anakin hereafter all.

Six months, thatphotographer had those photos. Obi-Wan muses that perhaps the photographer waswaiting for the highest bidder.

“A cup of Noorian-blossomSapir, perfectly brewed,” Kuthun says proudly as he places a steaming ceramiccup before Obi-Wan.

“My thanks,” Obi-Wanmanages. He is glad his voice is somewhat hoarse, because he can hear hisnormal voice issue from a speaker directly above his head.

“You don’t care for theJedi generals?”

“I’m sorry?” Obi-Wan says,surprised by Kuthun’s question.

“You don’t seem to takethe same interest in them as the rest of us do.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan sips at histea; the heat takes away some of the ache in his side, and brings to mind thetranquil days of his apprenticeship. It centres him, and allows him to speakwith clarity.

“I would think thatthat they are presented as something other than what they are,” he says softly.He senses Kuthun frown.

“If you’re talkingabout how they’re presented as heroes, that’s exactly what they are,” theTogruta says firmly. “Generals Kenobi and Skywalker, especially. I can’t imaginefighting three campaigns back-to-back like they usually do. I don’t know whereI heard it from, but those Jedi have hearts of kyber.”

“Hear, hear,” a heartyvoice sounds out from near the window.

“I wonder if they reallyare so…perfect,” Obi-Wan murmurs, staring at his tea. “It seems rathercontrived.”

He had endeavoured tospeak softly, but it would seem the rest of the cafe has heard him anyway,there is an immediate clamour as his words are denied.

“Now, you seemed like alikeable person before, Ben,” Kuthun says, calming the customers. “But thiskind of talk isn’t right. The Jedi fight for us. We should thankthem.” His voice is overly loud in the sudden silence; there is only thetittle-tattle of the presenters on-screen to counter him.

“You should also thank themen who fight with them,” Obi-Wan whispers, curling both his hands around histea. He is glad he is wearing his standard Jedi robes. Bracers would be a deadgiveaway.

“No doubt,” Kuthunreplies, seemingly mollified. “Without the clones, we’d all be Seppiefodder.”

“They all look the same,though,” a voice rings out. “Do you think the Jedi can tell them apartwith some mystical sort of power-”

Obi-Wan stands abruptly.The screech of his chair on the tiles drowns out those last words. He drainshis tea swiftly, and hands the cup back to a wary-looking Kuthun.

“My thanks for the tea.How much do I owe you?” Obi-Wan says, emotionlessly.

Kuthun blinks at him.

Obi-Wan raises his headjust a little, enough for Kuthun to catch the clear blue of his irises and thesharp edge of his auburn beard.

Kuthun’s intake of breathis sharp, shuttered.

“I had no idea,” theTogruta whispers. His eyes are wider than the small cake-plate between them.

Obi-Wan raises a finger infront of his lips.

“The tea is on the house.”

Obi-Wan falls completelystill.

“It’s the least I coulddo,” Kuthun says. Some of his easy affability is bleeding back into his bodylanguage, now. “Thank you.”

“And I thank you inreturn,” Obi-Wan says, not without warmth. “I’m afraid I won’t be able toreturn and sample your Oi-oi shortcake any time soon.”

“That’s fine,” comes thewhisper. “You do have hearts of kyber, you know. Every one of you.”

Obi-Wan searches for anappropriate farewell. His customary one will not work.

“Goodbye,” he says, withfinality.

As the door closes behindhim, he hears Kuthun dismiss the first of many questions from the customers.

Obi-Wan stands on the edgeof the crowded square for a moment, and takes a calming breath.

The whine of repulsors suddenlycuts across the square. A sharp wind roars into the crowd from above. There arescreams, at first; but then the screams turn into squeals of excitement.

Grasping the edge of hishood, Obi-Wan squints up at the sky.

He fights the urge togroan as he senses the same time as he sees.

Anakin.

“Hey, Obi-Wan!” Anakinyells down at him from the open side of the LAAT/i, hanging precariously fromthe sliding door with one hand. “I’m back! And Admiral Yularen wants ameeting!”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes,and opens them again.

The tracker in his communit. Of course.

Without any choice in thematter, he steps forward and lowers his hood. “Anakin,” he shouts up atthe transport. He hopes the severity in his tone carries up even in this din.But then the wind from the LAAT/i repulsors picks up again, and there is arenewed squeal from the onlookers at his sudden appearance, so he gives up on that,too.

“Come on up!” Anakinhollers. “I wouldn’t have come to get you, but it was urgent! Leave yourcup of tea for later, old man!”

The crowd is positivelyshrieking, now.

Standing there, with hiscloak whipped about his knees and street debris fluttering about him, Obi-Wanwonders what sort of disciplinary action this will incur from the Council.

And then he decides hedoesn’t care.

He flexes his knees andleaps upwards. The Force buoys up under him and carries him to Anakin’s forearmclasp and into the LAAT/i. The next moment he has risen from his crouch and isgrasping a support strap from the ceiling.

“Sir,” Cody says, from hisright.

“Sir,” Rex repeats dryly,behind him.

“Cody. Rex.” Obi-Wanacknowledges, looking at nothing at all. Especially not Anakin.

But he does see something,right before the LAAT/i door closes and they rise up away; he sees Kuthun runout of his little cafe and spring into a salute.

The LAAT/i door shutsbefore Obi-Wan can return it.

The inside of the LAAT/ismells as every LAAT/i does: Metal, sweaty clone, and the tang of blood.

But the taste of Oi-oishortcake is still on his tongue.

END

Many thanks for reading! A I mentioned above, I’ll be cross-posting to fanfictiondotnet. A review, reblog, or even a comment in your tags is well-appreciated.

For more aboutNoorian-blossom Sapir, try Tea andDeathsticks.

For more obitine and Obi’s view of Point Rain, try The Rain Curtain.

My fanfiction masterlist

My ff.net profile

[lilacdarkcircles]

something personal

about a month ago i found out something terrifying. i noticed i was gaining weight fast and my body was taking tolls left and right. i was in the stall at forever 21 when i decided a walmart trip was needed. i bought what i needed and ran to the bathroom. i took the most life changing test of my life. i was pregnant. naturally being 18 and not even in a full year relationship with my boyfriend, my best friends’ immediate reaction was “don’t worry you can just get an abortion”. i’m sure in their mind it wasn’t too big of a deal. it’s something with a solution and that was that.

i went to my boyfriends house that night. i told him in person and cried in his arms. he’s 20 years old and we both agreed we never wanted kids. but when i looked at him he was smiling. i felt a blanket of relief. we told a close friend of ours and she agreed to take me to the hospital the following day to confirm. she asked me what i wanted to do with it and told me “its okay” when i said i truly didn’t know.

the pricked my finger and made me pee in a cup. in pennsylvania you cant outright say “im pregnant test me” at your local hospital so i complained about typical symptoms of pregnancy. they tested me for all sorts of things that (thankfully) came back negative. the only positive test was that i was for sure pregant.

next came the questions and appointments. i was on birth control that i started about late october. i didnt take the placebos so i hadn’t had a withdrawal bleed (its what your “period” is while on birthcontrol) so honestly there was no telling how far along i was. i was scared and with so much going on i decided it would be best not to keep it. i scheduled an appointment at planned parenthood for the following friday. i was sure i was at least 6 weeks but i doubted i was any further than 13. unfortunately, pennsylvania law requires you watch an educational video about the abortion process, including risks and alternatives like adoption. i was worried it would be conservative propaganda telling me i’m killing my baby and i’m the worst person alive. thankfully that wasn’t the case but the anxiety leading up to it was terrible. the day of my appointment was the worst. it felt more and more real and while i’ve spent my whole life being pro choice and recognizing the difference between a baby and a clump of cells i still felt guilty. i got my finger pricked, peed in a cup, and finally the invasive ultrasound. they shoved the prong up me with little warning. it hurt like hell and gave me triggers to my r*pe as a child. the woman doing my ultrasound was cold and sounded annoyed as she continued. after 10 minutes of reading the screen, without even glancing at me, she said “you’re 17 weeks so we’ll get you a referal to a different clinc. you’re finished here.” i couldn’t breathe. i cried and gasped for air and i was scared and confused. the refunded me most of my money and sent me on my way. protesters shoved their pamphlets in my face as i left the building. i got to the car and called my boyfriend. we spent the rest of the day at the zoo and the local cat shelter. my boyfriend and our friend tried their hardest to comfort me and make sure i was doing okay.

i called a scheduled my appointment at the new clinic. it would be the following friday and since i was so far along the price went from $530 to a whopping $1400. abortion services aren’t covered by insurance in pennsylvania and theres very little funding. i felt trapped and it felt like a sign. it was another obstacle i had to face for a baby i secretly wanted to keep. i told my two best friends about my feelings on the subject and they both simply said “you cant keep a baby youre too young”. i felt crushed and unsupported, even if they were right. my boyfriend held me as i cried and told me every chance he could get that it was my choice and he would support me no matter what.

a few days before my appointment i got a call from the new clinic. my anesthesiologist couldn’t make it in on my scheduled date and they couldn’t find a replacement. i felt myself snap. i was showing at this point and my body was breaking. i could feel the baby moving inside me and it was starting to feel less like a clump of cells and more like a fetus. my heart was breaking and this made me wish further and further to keep it. unfortunately i had gotten drunk and smoked pot and was on birth control for 3 out of the 4 months i was pregnant so even keeping the baby had so many risks. my boyfriend and i are broke and we have a month long trip planned for out of country in august. there were so many obstacles with both deciding to keep it vs an abortion i was feeling more and more trapped. i rescheduled for a different appointment and it would now be a two day process.

the week approching my appointment was strangling me. i relapsed and cried myself to sleep. i wanted to keep it so badly but i knew i couldn’t live with myseld bringing a baby into my world that wasn’t anywhere near functional or ready. my boyfriend was incredibly supportive and held me while i cried. he promised me he would be here and happy if i decided to keep it. i spent every day at his house and he rubbed my belly and brought me water. he helped me around and gave me vitamins and medicine i needed for nausea and pain. my belly was getting bigger and i resorted to baggy tshirts to hid it from friends and family we didn’t feel comfortable telling. my boyfriend researched everything possible about the risks of abortion, the risks it could have of futher pregnancies, and the risks the baby would face if we kept it. he became a medical genius in a very short amount of time so he could offer me comfort in every paranoid thought that crossed my mind.

three days before my appointment i snapped. keeping the baby was the only thought in my mind. i begged my boyfriend to make the decision for me. i know it sounds unusual and probably wrong but i felt like my opinion was jaded. i was carrying the baby and i’m sure feeling it move made me feel more and more guilty. after hours of talking we officially decided we couldn’t keep it. we were going to try in a few years and be more prepared. we’re do everything right and watch my diet and make sure there was no trace of drugs, alcohol, or nicotine in my system. i felt my heart break a little but i knew our decision was the right one.

day one of my appointment: dilation

*trigger warning: sexual abuse description*

i arrived at the clinic at 8:45am. i spent most of the morning in and out of rooms getting my blood taken, peeing in cups, signing papers, etc. i got my second ultrasound (done normally this time, no invasive stick) and i was 19 weeks and 4 days. paying was a hassle. since they predicted i would be 20 weeks i would’ve gotten funding. my entire procedure would’ve been only $960 but i missed the 20 week mark. total came out to $1260 and unfortunately i had to borrow money from my dad’s girlfriend. after paying i was back to the waiting room. next was going to be dilation. no one had told me how exactly it would happen and what they were going to do but i didn’t think it would be terrible. they called my name and i followed them to the procedure room. i undressed and put on a gown. they laid me on a chair and put my legs up on leg rests. the doctor came in and told me he would be putting his fingers inside me. i was terrified but i was ready. he wasn’t gentle and i really wasn’t taking it well. i started crying but i tried my best not to be obnoxious. (the following im about to describe may be inaccurate because i honestly wasnt told what he was doing but i believe i figured it out by what i was feeling.) next he shoved some device inside me and started opening me so he could insert the dilators. i screamed and cried and the nurse had take my finger out of my mouth because i was so close to biting it off. next were the dilators. one by one he clamped them inside me. before each one he would say “here comes another cramp you’ll be okay” and i could feel my whole body go into shock. i screamed in a way i’ve never heard myself do before and my body took me back. flashes of the r*pe i had gone through when i was 9 flooded my head and i couldn’t take it. when he was finished the nurse walked me into the recovery room, gave me antibiotics, gingerale, pretzels, information on the next 24 hours and sent me home. the rest of the day was spent laying in bed. i had diarrhea and vomiting. i was dizzy and experiencing the worst cramps of my entire life. i didn’t think i would make it through the night.

day two of my appointment: the abortion itself

i got to the clinic. i was scared but really all i wanted was the dilators taken out. i signed the last bit of papers acknowledging the risks and the biggest question “is your decision final?”. i sat in the waiting room and they called me back. they stabbed my arm with a needle seven times unable to catch the vein. they needed to hook me up to an iv. i took some medication and sat in the recovery room for two and a half hours. the chair was uncomfortable and i had no heating pad. peeing was painful and i wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything. finally they called me back and i laid back on the table and i couldn’t stop shaking. my whole body was in shock and never felt my body move so much. i was out immediately and woke up later back in the recovery room. the diaper they put on me wasnt on all the way but i was too out of it to care. i bleed all over the chair and my gown and my lega. i cried asking where my cat and my boyfriend were and i was so exhausted i was in and out of sleep. they gave me antibiotics and gingerale and sent me home. i cried the entire ride home and crawled back into bed blood covered and crying.

this experience has no lesson. there is no beautiful outcome or something to be learned. im physically and mentally damaged from everything and guilt is weighing me down day by day. i hate being around anyone aside from my boyfriend and i want to block out the past month’s events. making the decision to abort isn’t easy and neither is the process. keeping a baby isn’t easy especially when you spent most of your pregnancy intoxicated. i don’t think i will ever truly move forward from this.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life -  #52, Absolutes pt. 1

52: Absolutes 1 - Crossing Worlds is Impossible

Return to Willsdale, Part 1/4.

A disclaimer for this chapter, Folks. I normally make a habit of confronting the proverbial elephants in the room in this story and especially focus on acknowledging the gritty and unpleasant sides of reality to balance out the fluffy mushy stuff, but this one has more than usual. Honestly, it's liable to upset a few folks, but I stand by it…and, unfortunately, it's true.

There's a lot to be loved about Missouri, especially southern Missouri and the Ozark Mountains, but there's a lot of unpleasant stuff here, too. I've been all over this state and have yet to find a single part of it that doesn't reek from agriculture and idiots cooking meth. The weather's unpredictable and the people even more so. The list of embarrassments goes on forever, but just like it, so does the list of positives—we have the most biologically diverse ecosystem of any US state, and our conservation department is rated among the highest. There are plenty of ignorant hicks, but there are just as many—if not MORE—honest, genuine, and amiable people to be found among them. Despite the difficulties we face from calling this state home—high heat and humidity, crazy weather, rocky dirt and susceptibility to tornadoes, droughts, floods, earthquakes, AND fallout-storms from hurricanes hitting the Gulf, AND at least one (inactive) volcano—many who call this state home do so by choice rather than by necessity—we live here, love here, and thrive here against all odds.

Anyhoo. That said, when you read the unpleasant sides of Willsdale—unpleasant sides common to many Missouri small towns AND much of the state—please also keep in mind the positives you'll also read. Don't let the ugly stuff scare you off—if you give MO a chance to prove herself, by gor, she will. She IS the "Show-Me State" after all, and this chapter's dedicated to her. ;)

Lastly, the next four chapters are going to be way more OC-centric than previous ones—the only canon you'll be seeing for the most part is Donnie and you're mostly going to be seeing Amber and her family. Those are the primary reasons these chapters have been a PitA to get cranked out quickly enough. These chapters ARE, unfortunately, vital to the ongoing plot-line and will provide answers to a few ongoing questions, so please be patient. As of Chapter 56, we'll be back to the usual routine and variety. That said, hope y'all enjoy!

Check out the official "Return to Willsdale" playlist on Spotify!

Suggested Listening: The Rasmus "No Fear," Nickelback "Far Away"

Another world, Willsdale, Missouri

Day 1

The first thing to register was blindingly bright light; the second was an unparalleled stench that tripped Donnie's gag reflex. By the time he was sure exhaling wouldn't lead to vomiting, the yawning portal behind them was fading into crumbling, soot-stained brick. At his side, Amber cringed, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Crime-in-it'ly!"~ she swore clapping both hands over her nose and mouth. "I don't remember it smellin' this bad!"

"This place normally stinks?" Don asked dubiously through his own hand.

"Unfortunately," Amber admitted with a wince, "yeah. Willsdale's a farmin' town, an' the state it's in is often called the 'meth capital of the country.' The Missouri Ozarks are a beautiful an' amazing place, but there're enough morons cookin' crank to make the whole state reek." Still grimacing from the oppressive odor in the air, she warily scanned their surroundings for any sign they were spotted. Nothing—no one was in the area as she expected, and the area was far too remote for anyone to ever be nearby—but one thing was definitely off about the area dappled with sunlight from above and shadow from neighboring trees.

In utter disbelief, she stared at the ruins around them—barely visible concrete foundations, a few scattered stones, a pile of moldering wooden shake siding… "What happened to this place?" she muttered as she wandered around inspecting the faint remnants of the former residence. "This ain't right…there was still a whole wall left last I saw—an' that pile'a wood was a shed, still half-standin'! What—" Having turned a full circle, she fell short, staring in befuddlement at the queasy mutant half-crumpled in front of the only standing remnant of the long-burned cabin: the fireplace. "Oi," Amber muttered with a crooked grin. "Harry Potter, eat yer heart out!"

"Really, Amber?" Donnie muttered dryly. "You seriously went there?"

"Well, someone had to," she teased with a shit-eating grin, but that grin faded into confusion as she scanned their fog-hung surroundings more closely. "Still," she remarked approaching the stand of trees just beyond the ruins. "Somethin' just ain't right here…" As Donnie slowly acclimated to the stinking, humid air and wandered over to her, the brunette solemnly came to a stop at the base of an odd tree. Sharp, menacing thorns littering the trunk and branches, palmate branches of odd round leaves, long bunches of small pinkish-white blooms dangling like grapes on the vine…she reached up and caught one of the bunches in her fingertips, easily twisting off a single tiny bloom.

"This is…this is a Black Locust," she muttered, face pinched in bewilderment as she inspected it closely. "But…but they—it shouldn't—!" Before Donnie could get out a single word, she bolted—sprinting through the thick tree-cover off into the distance with a surety of step that only living in the hills could bring.

"Amber, wait!" he called out taking off in pursuit. Even with the way well-lit, he struggled to find his footing—the earth was hilly and rocky, thick with years' worth of fallen leaves and debris and marshy from recent rains. It seemed every step he stumbled over a rock, a hole, an up-thrust tree root, or even just an uneven patch of turf. "Amber, slow down—hold up!"

Unhearing, drowning in dismay and disbelief, Amber sprinted through the close-growing Locust trees, ducking thorny branches and side-stepping fallen limbs. All around her were signs she recognized—signs that made no sense considering how much time had passed since her death. The massive grove of Black Locust trees was almost a carpet of pale, pendulous blooms, interspersed with flowering Pawpaws and pink-decked Redbuds. Fog hung heavy along the ground, every now and then interrupted by blooming umbrella-shaped may-apples. Off in the distance, familiar wildlife called—woodpeckers hammering and knocking, the musical trilling of Gray Tree Frogs, the raspy comb-striking bark of a grey fox posturing for its mate—No…no, this couldn't be, it wasn't possible, it—

"Amber!" Donnie's sudden shout finally broke the horrified brunette from her thoughts and she turned to acknowledge him. The very sight of him, scratched and bleeding from the thorny trees and slightly limping from a possibly cramping ankle, reminded her that he wasn't used to the terrain—he was used to the city and this hilly, rocky deathtrap she was familiar with wasn't easy for non-natives to navigate.

"Sorry," she muttered carefully picking a few stick-weed seeds and bramble twigs from his suspenders and mask. "Something doesn't make sense, Dee…I don't understand it." He waited patiently, for once unable to fill in the blanks she left him. "Black Locusts, May-Apples, Pawpaws, an' Redbuds bloomin', tree frogs singin'…"* She scoffed scanning the overgrown tree stand around her. "None'a that happens 'til late spring, early summer, but when we left home, it was late fall! I've been in yer world about ten months, Dee, it should be about February, here! There ought'a be ice-storms all over the place an' it ought'a be too cold fer much to be bloomin'!" A pair of strong hands latched onto her shoulders, grounding her.

"Honey," Donatello reminded gently, "breathe." It took a moment to see his point, during which she could do nothing but stare at him in dismay, but she finally conceded. "Now," the mutant continued in a low, calming tone, "maybe time moves differently between different worlds. What exactly has you so worried about us arriving in Spring?" She avoided his eyes, glancing nervously to the patches of hazy sky visible between the trees overhead.

"If…If I'm readin' all this right," she explained, "then it's probably May…" Haunted green eyes met Donnie's again. "Willsdale's smack-dab in the middle'a tornado alley, Dee, an' May's the middle'a the first tornado season!"

"Wait, the first one?" he asked finally releasing her.

"Yeah." Amber reached up to her shoulder to latch onto one of her braids, only to remember she left her hair in a tail instead of braiding it, and her hand instead fell to tightly grip her opposite wrist. "Officially there's only one season, Spring, but unofficially there's a second, shorter one in Fall—anytime ya got enough hot an' cold air collidin' durin' the transitional seasons, ya got a chance of tornadoes. I'm…Dee, I'm not ready fer another May yet…"

The unspoken, hidden between the lines out of embarrassment and shame, hit Donnie like a sucker punch. "May fifteenth," he muttered under his breath, unable to meet her eyes. "You died on May fifteenth." He tugged at his neck. "Surely we didn't…arrive before then? –or shortly after?"

"No," Amber acknowledged weakly. "World-hoppin's weird enough, no way can time travel be possible. That's just ridiculous…but so's the idea that I've only been dead a few weeks." She shuddered at the very thought and turned to lead him up a steep forested hill to the North. "Aaron's place isn't far, just outwith~ the edges of the Locust grove…if we haul-arse, we'll make it out in no time. Stay close an' ya won't stumble as much." After only a few paces through the underbrush, a harsh, raspy chittering noise split the air echoing as though coming from every direction—something almost like a dog coughing, rapid-fire scoffs interspersed with wheezing ku-ku-ku-KWAAAY-KWAAAY calls. Several more followed in swift succession from seemingly every direction and Donnie nervously scanned the surrounding area for the source.

"What on earth?" Donnie muttered, his brow furrowed in irritated confusion. "That's an annoying bird call!"

"'S not birds," Amber explained with a teasing smile. "Jus' squirrels cussin'. Ya never gotten bawled out by a squirrel before?" It took a moment for him to register that she was teasing him, then he gave a sheepish grin.

"Not really – they're usually only in parks, and we don't exactly fit in in the parks." Shortly afterward, they reached the crest of the hill and drew up short. As far as the eye could see, the land bucked and dipped with tall hills, some heavy with trees and others nearly bare of vegetation; between each hill stretched low valleys hung with thick misty fog. About a mile to the northwest lay Willsdale proper centered on the Town Square and surrounded on every side by sprawling farmland and rippling, jutting hills and hollers. Most remarkable of all, up on that hilltop as Amber and Donnie were, they seemed on top of the very world—almost high enough to reach out and touch the blistering surface of the star just above them.

"They say that he got crazy, once, and he tried to touch the sun." Amber's voice, relating borrowed words from her last lifetime, was hushed with wonder. "John Denver was singin' 'bout Colorado, but the meanin's the same here—when the sun rises over the bluffs an' sets over the knobs an' hollers, it seems close enough to reach without the aid of wax wings."

"So this is your home," Donatello remarked in quiet awe. "It's…it's incredible…and it seems almost—almost familiar…"

Amber hesitated a moment, debating asking for an explanation, but ended up deciding against it. "See that white box at the edge of the trees?" she pointed out instead. Donnie nodded, his eyes quickly fixing on a small structure flanked by two smaller outbuildings; it wasn't far off, maybe half a mile away. "That's Aaron's place—we should be there in about fifteen minutes tops if we follow the path right." As they made their way down the steep side of the hilltop, though, Amber's thoughts weren't so much on Donnie or Aaron as on the world they were now in. 'Well O'Brien,' she thought to herself with a slightly snide expression that made Donnie blink in confusion. 'Welcome home…try not ta gitcher arse killed this time.'

The last time Amber was in the dark, shabby trailer home, she, Mercy, and Aaron Willis were piled around his living room with takeout and the two blonds were engaged in a particularly vicious Halo match. That was a lifetime ago—New Year's Eve of 2010, if she recalled correctly—and the room was entirely different. Before, the room was full of clutter but clean; now it reeked of dirty cat-boxes, cheap beer, household garbage, and unwashed bodies and laundry. Other than the towering shelves of water-spotted game cases, the furniture, and an old, cheaply-made flatscreen TV, the room was unusually empty...perhaps, she considered, because Aaron's trailer received heavy damage from the two storms that ended her life in Willsdale. If his belongings were destroyed, he wouldn't have been able to replace much of it; he was among the stubborn sort who believed maintaining insurance was a sure-fire way to end up needing it, then suffered for it when shit hit the fan anyway.

Though he never admitted it aloud, Donatello was appalled, partly because the back door was unlocked and propped open, partly because he saw no less than three cats lounging on the sofa alone, and partly because of the state of the mobile home. Empty beer cans lined the surface of the coffee table like sloppy soldiers blowing a surprise inspection. Empty pizza boxes and beer cartons were stacked on top of the trashcan. Dirty clothes littered the floors and draped over furniture. Amber froze in the doorway to the living room, her eyes instantly locking on the unmoving lump sprawled across the sofa half-buried in cats and a familiar black afghan.

Aaron. Amber hesitated, one foot on the kitchen's grubby peeling linoleum, one foot on the living room's gritty stained carpet, stunned by the sight of her dear friend fallen so far. Finally, she got herself together and crept forward, a cautious glance reminding Donnie to stay in the shadows. "Hey, Numb-Nuts," she greeted the fluffy black tomcat, reaching out to teasingly pat its backside; when it snorted and began ignoring her—his way of accepting her presence—she turned to scratch the perpetually-itchy cheeks of the twin calicoes curled up on the nearer armrest and the couch occupant's hip. "Asshat, Assbutt, you two been takin' care'a Daddy for me?"

"Why're you insulting the cats?" Donnie whispered.

"I'm not," she answered with a cringe. "Those're actually their names…Aaron's a piece'a work.# There should be three more around here somewhere—Kirk's probably patrolling for mice an' Barf-Breath an' Dillweed are a lil' wary of strangers."

"I can't imagine why," the genius muttered in derision. "With a name like that, I'd hide too." Amber rolled her eyes at him—a gesture he interpreted as something like 'preachin' to the choir'—and reached out to shake the shoulder of the body curled up on the sofa.

"Aaron." No response—of course, he stank of stale beer and old vomit, so she wasn't too surprised. She shuddered to think how he managed to reach this point—a level the awkward country boy only ever sunk to after his stepfather died and left Aaron, his mother, and his younger sisters deep in debt and even deeper in medical bills. "Aaron, please wake up."

No response from the man passed out on the sofa. Amber carefully peeled the afghan away from his face only to recoil in disgust; his reddish winter beard was long-since grown into full-on mountain man and his blond corkscrew curls were greasy and matted. 'I take it back,' she considered amidst the aching of her heart, 'he's never been this bad—even after Ron died he still bathed every now and then.' These were desperate times for Aaron Willis…and desperate times called for desperate measure. "Willis! I brought yer favorite pizza an' it's got pickles on it!"

The result was instantaneous. Off-kilter blue eyes shot open wide and their owner gasped in horror, nearly sending Donnie through the roof. Without so much as stopping to grab his perpetually-bent glasses, Aaron vaulted off the sofa, got tangled up in the afghan and hit the floor, fought free, and took off for the dark kitchen like a shot. In the doorway he slowed to a stop, silently taking in the empty room that didn't even remotely smell of pizza; his shoulders slumped, his face fell, and to Amber's complete disbelief, his eyes welled up. The sound of his fist impacting the wall rang through the air; Aaron crumpled to the floor, choking. Without a second thought, Amber stalked toward him and did precisely what she'd been longing to since the last time she dreamed about him: she whacked him upside the head.

"Aaron Elvin Willis!" she barked as he turned to her in absolute disbelief. "What'd I tell yer arse about gettin' tanned~ alone?! Ya can't hold yer liquor worth shite—ya stink'a~ vomit!" Aaron gaped at her, silent, disbelieving; his eye darted around the room, perhaps searching for some proof he was dreaming, then landed on her again, wide and bewildered.

"Amb…O'Brien?" After the false start, the name was soft, hushed, almost reverent despite the disbelief.

"Naw," she scoffed pointedly. "I'm the ghost'a Scotch-snobs past, here ta skelp yer arse fer drinkin' without me. Yes it's me, ya honkin' mink!~" For a moment, nothing happened—Aaron stared at her in disbelief, soaking in the sight of her as though expecting her to vanish into thin air. Finally, he reacted…by poking her in the arm. Unsurprised, Amber crossed her arms, arched an eyebrow at him, and waited for the inevitable freakout when she didn't vanish right before his eyes. The realization that his fingertip impacted something solid was followed by a cascade of emotions playing across his face—joy, fear, despair, then, finally, determination.

Amber would later realize that determined glint in his eyes should have warned her about his intents; for the moment, she was taken completely by surprise, both by his sudden launching himself to his feet and the equally sudden way he planted his lips on hers, latching onto her like he'd never let go. Sputtering and cringing from the feel of his greasy beard and the smell of old vomit and older beer clinging to his clothing, Amber frantically pushed at his chest. Finally, satisfied that she was actually there, he relented and backed away a pace. Massive paws gripping her arms with surprising gentleness, he drew his eyes from hers down to her feet then back up again, reassuring himself that she was unharmed.

"How's this possible?" he asked as she led him back over to the sofa to sit. "Amber, how're ya here? You—ya died! We buried ya!"

"It's a long story," Amber admitted nervously brushing a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear.

"I've got time."

The explanation seemed simple in her head; in reality, it took the better part of an hour. By the time everything was in the clear, Donnie's presence was revealed, and Aaron was off to get himself cleaned up, the sun was beginning its slow descent. His initial return was greeted by a startled shout from Donnie. "Don't diss the white 'fro," Aaron grumbled smushing his bouffant blonde curls flat to his head; in defiance, the locks sprang right back up again. His already dry hair stood out almost straight, surrounding his head with a frizzy woolly puff the size of an inflated beach ball.##

"...right..."

Now, clean if not clean-shaven, the blond stood silently in the doorway, good eye locked on the woman silently loading his dishwasher. "Yer really here," he muttered shuffling over to help her. "I thought…well, ya know what I thought." Amber uttered a wordless sound of agreement and gave him a fond smile. "Ya look different…younger, healthier…" He hazarded a quick once-over and his nose crinkled in distaste. "...skinnier..."

"The body I snatched is younger an' healthier." She shrugged. "Kimber dropped out, ran away, an' joined a gang, but she never got hit by a minivan. Ya win some, ya lose some, right?"

From the doorway, Donatello studied the older man curiously, particularly curious about the blond's pale blue eyes—eyes that were visibly trained on different targets. The genius didn't realize he was caught looking until Aaron turned toward him, pointedly focusing first one eye on him, then the other, then going back again in a 'shifting' motion. Ruddy brown streaked across Donnie's cheeks in embarrassment and he averted his gaze to the floor. "Sorry," the mutant mumbled awkwardly. "Amber never mentioned you have Strabismus…I just wasn't expecting it."^ Aaron smirked, clearly amused by the other's embarrassment over something that didn't really bother him.

"I didn't think it mattered," Amber remarked pausing to elbow Aaron in the side in reminder of his promise to be at least halfway polite. "It's not like he's blind in one eye or something." To her disbelief, the blond blanched, turning to haul another load of plates out of the sink. The Aaron she knew would have had a dozen smartass remarks to follow up with and wouldn't have hesitated to use any; this Aaron was hiding something and she knew exactly what that was. "What?!" she demanded bodily turning him to face her again. "When'd that happen?! When I died ya could still see out'a yer right eye!"

"It was a'ready goin' to shit when ya died, O'Brien," Aaron grumbled at his upset friend. "'bout a year'n a half ago it finished the job." Amber stared at him, brow furrowed in confusion, and shook her head in denial, and Aaron busied himself with breaking down the boxes piled next to the trashcan.

"How's that possible?" Amber asked quietly, glancing to Donnie for confirmation. "That can't be—I haven't even been in his world a whole year!"

Aaron froze. His stubbled throat worked around a swallow, the motion visible now that his facial hair was trimmed back to his usual handlebar-goatee. For a moment he seemed to work himself up to something—seemed to gather his wits and steel his nerves. Eyes weary, he turned back to Amber, setting aside the cardboard to catch her by the shoulders in a steadying, calming grip. "Amber," he professed in all seriousness, "You died two years ago tomorrow…it's May 14th, 2013."

It was bad enough for Amber to think she was back in Willsdale shortly after she died there; to find she arrived just before the second anniversary of her death was almost unbearable. By the time she managed to process this she knew there was only one thing to do—there was only one way to cope with such an insane situation as she was in…getting completely rat-arsed.~

Thus, after a nerve-wracking ride to town on Aaron's handlebars without a helmet, Amber and Aaron crawled into the local watering hole—the Staggering Rat Pub—and seated themselves at a dark corner table. Up at the bar, a pair of dove-grey eyes noticed them, widened in surprise, then darted around the room for some sign their owner was hallucinating. Bhaltair Devon studied the young woman and the older blond in confusion trying to wrap his head around the occurrence, with or without his ponytail of fine white hair. Only the arrival of a familiar face—the solemn green-eyed waitress he hired a couple years back—broke him from his thoughts.

"Yew been by table five yet?" "Bart" asked under his breath. A mere couple years ago, his pronounced brogue would have stunned Kimber Bryant almost as much as finding out she socked a mutant turtle in the jaw during a gang war. After almost two years working for him, though, the other-worlder didn't even bat an eye; after all, Bart's father Glen Devon had a much thicker accent and Kimber herself had a pretty thick Jersey accent before her death – an accent she was attempting to fade just like the twang she eradicated as a teenager. Never let it be said she didn't appreciate a challenge.

"Naw, not yet," Kimber answered with a chagrined half smile. "I had to duck into t'a~ powder room, was just on my way t'ere." Bart waved her off with one hairy mitt, the other snagging a pair of menus from behind the bar he manned.

"Ah've goat'em," he insisted with a reassuring smile. "The young lahss looks a lil' fameliar."~ Before Kimber could question him, he brushed past, headed to Amber and Aaron's table, and set the menus on the old oak surface with a disarming smile. "Ahfternewn, Wellis," he greeted the horrified blond, easily recognizing that Aaron's younger companion was likely kicking him under the table in reminder to keep cool. "Who's yer lahss?"~

"I'm not'is lahss," Amber corrected with a tight smile, unaware that her pronunciation of the word—the use of a flat-a instead of a sharp-a—gave her away completely. She spoke like someone used to the word rather than a local hijacking the term…and her observant uncle recognized it instantly. "I'm just a friend of'is—name's Kimber, I'm from up North." The white-haired older man gave a wide, disarming smile that seemed all crooked upper teeth.

"Funny, tha',"~ he remarked with an easy laugh. "Yew see tha' lovely young'un at the bar? Her name's also Kember, an' she's a Northerner, tew."~ Amber froze, struggling to keep her nerves from showing.

"I-It's a common name up there," she stammered hoping to throw him off. After all, the middle of a bar during the lunch hour wasn't the time or place for a dead woman to reunite with her family, and there was sure to be drama when that reunion occurred. Right now all she wanted was a moment to process the passage of time and enjoy a glass of her favorite poison with her friend. "There were three of us in my graduatin' class alone—drove the professors insane." The staring contest with her uncle spanned a few moments longer, every breath of which passed with the brunette poised for flight. Increasingly frantic, she cringed and added onto the mistruth in hopes of derailing his suspicion with humor. "They ended up callin' us by our last names to keep us straight, so I was just 'Butz.'^^ It was awkward." Finally, Bart gave another wide grin and laughed as though imagining the young woman hiding her face at roll call.

"Ah'll say!" he teased nudging the menus toward them in a silent hint. "Ah'll send the other Kember yer way in a wee bit fer yer orders. Welcome to Wellsdale, Kember Butz, we're glahd to have ye."~ The moment the white-haired owner was out of earshot, Aaron gave Amber a hard kick under the table that made her curse in pain.

"Kimber Butz?!" he demanded accusingly. "Professors?! This ain't Europe—no one here calls'em professors, we call'em teachers!"

"Not everyone does!" Amber insisted feebly, "my…" She fell silent, realizing the truth with dismay.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed sternly. "Yer family called'em professors because yer family ain't from around here. Ya totally blew yer—"

He cut himself off suddenly, eyes locking on the tall, slender redhead approaching their table with a confident sway in her step. "Hey t'ere," she greeted with a coy smile. "Can I take yer order?"

Amber looked up. A pair of glass-shielded grey-green eyes locked with a pair of bottle-greens impeccably lined with smoky eyeliner; the owners of both gaped in disbelief, Amber recognizing the waitress from dreams and the waitress recognizing her from the mirror. The air crackled with tension as the Jersey Nut-Job locked eyes with her old body and the Crazy Celt stared up at the owner of the body she unintentionally snatched. Bewildered by the two women's awkward, intense stare-down, Aaron glanced back and forth between them, searching for answers.

Finally, the stare-down was broken but not in any way Aaron expected. By the time he realized what happened, Amber was already out the front door, sprinting toward his bike like the Jersey Devil was on her heels.

Not twenty minutes after Amber and Aaron headed to the bar for "a sesh,"~ the front door of the trailer wrenched open with a screech and slammed shut so hard the windows rattled. "Remember what I said about time travel bein' ridiculous?" Amber called out to the mutant sprawled out on the lumpy sofa. "It's back on the ta—" Upon seeing the old photo album open on Donnie's lap, propped up by the head of one of the clingy calicoes from the look of it, she pulled a verbal about-face. "What're you doing?"

"Found it under the sofa," the mutant explained with a half shrug. "Your smelly friend doesn't have cable and I couldn't see a router. I got bored."

"The router's in my room," Aaron contradicted with a narrow-eyed scowl that made him closely resemble his cantankerous counterpart. Donnie brushed it off, scooting over for Amber to sit beside him. The moment she did, she caught sight of the page the album was open to…or, rather, the only photo on that page.

"Oh jeez," she groaned, slapping her palm over her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. "Willis, I told ya to burn that photo an' salt the ashes."

"What?" Aaron's expression was entirely innocent—as innocent as Mikey's puppy-dog eyes when the last soda went missing. "It's proof ya had a rack under those tents ya wore."

"I'll say," Donnie muttered glancing from the photo to Amber and back again in contemplation. "Kimber's hair is more brown—here, it's almost auburn." He considered the photo a moment longer, inwardly comparing it to the Amber he only ever saw in his dreams, then closed the album and set it aside. "Now what do you mean time travel's back on the table?" She seemed lost for a moment but soon caught up.

"Kimber's workin' at my uncle's pub," she explained gravely, holding Donnie's eyes over the rims of her glasses. "My uncle hired my counterpart, Dee, an' she recognized me—I mean her—I mean—" She gave up on finding the proper term and gave a 'screw it, you know what I mean' gesture with a loud, frustrated utterance the mutant could only interpret as "GACGH!"~

"Kimber's in this world," he repeated slowly. "She died in 2016…"

"…an' now she's in 2013," Amber acknowledged. "Just like I died in 2011 an' showed up five years later. Whatever's responsible fer this travesty's got a sick sense'a humor." The couple avoided one another's eyes, both considering the impact this new twist would have on their mission. It was already going to be difficult to make sure everyone was safe and get home without being found out, but with Kimber there, too…

"This…complicates things." Amber slumped back into the cat-hair-covered sofa, shaking her head weakly.

"Now I really need that drink."

Memory was a fascinating thing—sounds, smells, sights, all manner of sensation came together to save moments for future recollection. Every now and then, though, the process could go awry, convincing people they recalled something that never happened. This moment was one such instance—a memory without a moment to fall back on.

Soft Spring breezes rippled tasseled grass. Cotton-tail clouds drifted across a field of forget-me-not blue. As far as the eye could see, bunches of white and powder pink blossoms carpeted the hills all the way down to the foggy hollers. Willsdale…this was Amber's Willsdale, the world she came from and the world she just made it back to. Perched tensely in the middle-most branches of a familiar gnarled Pin Oak, she studied the landscape silently, ruminating, recalling a dream she almost forgot.

"Amber?" She startled, losing her grip on her freshly-plaited braid and nearly falling from her limb. Down below, Donatello waited with arms crossed, lips spread into an amused grin. "Now how did you get up there?" the genius asked through a chuckle.

"I climbed, ya silly speccy," she teased back, but her smile fell away. Haven't we been here before? Footsteps lead down to the open front door, but how have I come here once more?^ Easily recognizing that she was lost in thought, Donnie latched onto the lowest branch, swung himself upward, and skillfully made his way up to settle along the limb nearest hers. It took a moment of staring her down in open, obvious worry, but she finally spit it out. "It…it feels like we've done this before."

"It's probably just déjà vu, Braids," Donnie reassured with a small smile. "I know for a fact I've never seen this place before, much less climbed this tree, so the likelihood we have done this before is nil to none." She shot him an mildly irritable glance.

"I know we haven't been here before," she muttered. "It was a dream, months back. You found me here, we were chatting…and you kept playing with your phone." Donnie froze, wide eyes torn from the screen of his cellphone to fix on Amber. …she couldn't have seen him pull it out…could she? The tender scales at the back of his neck tingled, a sensation he mentally compared to what hair standing on end must resemble. "We talked a while," Amber continued nervously without ever noticing him ease his phone back into its pocket, wary eyes fixed on her as though expecting her to spontaneously combust. "A storm hit out'a nowhere…we ran for shelter but…you…"

'Everything will be okay—I swore to protect you, and I will!' Screams—bloodcurdling screams and the sound of an oncoming train. Amber forcibly shook herself from the memory, took a moment to regulate her breathing, and reached out for Donnie's hand. The gentle, encouraging squeeze was just what she needed to regain her grip on the situation. She wasn't the same person she was when she had that nightmare—she was stronger now, capable of stopping panic in its tracks and steering herself back to confidence.

"Even if the first part of the dream was true," she insisted with a wry smile, "the rest was absolute horse-hockey. It's not unheard of for multiple tornadoes to touch down in the same place an' time, but hundreds at once is farkin' ridiculous." Still. Despite her insistence she reached straight above herself—felt for the tree branch Aaron carved the trio's names into as teenagers—but her hand closed over thin air. "Huh?" she muttered turning to investigate. Sure enough, the branch was gone—broken off—and from the weathered, splintered wood at the trunk, it wasn't anytime recent. "That's different, too—limb's gone. Maybe we're not gonna croak after all." At first, all Donnie could manage was staring at her in confusion, but he finally came to the conclusion she was making a morbid joke. "You're about to say this seems like a great place to grow up."

"I wasn't about to say anything," he argued shaking his head. "I was just thinking."

"About?" A trace of muddy red darkened his cheeks.

"That…photo," the embarrassed mutant admitted. "The one in the album from under Aaron's sofa." Amber blushed hotly, cringing into Kimber's cleavage. "You were so worried I'd find out how you looked in this lifetime—worried I'd be disgusted. You know what was on my mind when I found that photo?" Moss green darted toward him—nervous eyes meeting his askance with an obvious question. "How did you manage to get down from that tree limb without breaking your neck, especially with your shirt falling off like that?"

"No idea," Amber laughed nudging him in the side with her elbow. "One minute Aaron was bein' a smartass an' takin' that picture, next minute he was bleedin' an' cryin'." Donnie stared her down suspiciously. "Tree branch broke. I landed on'im. He makes a good pillow." Chuckling at her overly innocent expression, he wrapped one lanky arm around her shoulders; Amber leaned into his one-armed embrace with a sigh. One thing was certain…even with her worries about her family, she was glad to have a chance to show Donnie the world she called her own. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" she asked softly.

"Not a clue," the genius teased and leaned closer to nuzzle into her hair. "I look forward to finding out a little at a time, though…and I suspect it's about as much as I love you." Drowning in sappy feels, Amber tipped her head intent on stealing his lips, but a holler from the house stopped her in her tracks.

"Oi! O'Brien! Nerd!" Aaron stood on the back porch, grinning and waving them over with, not a metal spatula, but a folded takeout menu. "Quit neckin' an' git in here – I ordered pizza!" Another thing, Amber realized with a chuckle, that was different from her dream. At least she wouldn't have to keep Aaron from burning his house down.

Donnie hopped down from his limb and held his arms open to catch her; no matter how far she fell, he always caught her. His arm wrapped around her waist, her head leaning on his shoulder, the couple made their way back to Aaron's trailer. About halfway there, Amber paused, turning to scan the skies for a danger not present; recognizing the significance, Donnie squeezed her opposite shoulder. "It's alright, Braids," he reminded his nervous lover triggering an embarrassed blush – a blush he gently nuzzled away. "I'm right here with you—I'll be here every step of the way." Grateful green eyes met his, then turned instead to the setting sun.

"We're doin' a Karate Kid marathon over dinner," Aaron declared as the couple followed him into the kitchen. "No arguments accepted—an' if I catch you two spit-swappin' durin' the movies, I swear, I'm'onna barf in yer laps."

"Aw, but Willis," Amber teased the blond already tearing through the pizza boxes on the table. "We did it all fer the glory of love!" Aaron snorted, his whiskered lips quirking into a smart-assed grin.

"Heh," he sniggered with all the maturity of a ten-year-old. "You said did it." Never again would Amber take Aaron Willis's childish nature for granted; for that reason, she gave him an extra-hard brain-duster, all the while rolling her eyes. However long it would last, it was good to be home.

Day 2, just before dawn

Aaron Willis couldn't recall the last time he was woken by a blood-curdling scream. Was it when his youngest sister dropped by unexpectedly and found him napping on the sofa naked? Was it when Kirk caught a mouse while Amber was staying over and left its furry little carcass on her pillow as an offering? Whenever it happened, he didn't care much—this scream came from his living room where his somewhat-deceased best friend was sleeping on the sofa.

In record time, Aaron yanked on a pair of shorts, smushed his glasses onto his face, and bolted out the door of his bedroom. In the hallway, he froze, taken aback by what he was seeing. Amber and Donatello sat facing each other on the short sofa, the mutant murmuring gentle reassurances as the brunette worked through the dream-triggered panic attack. She inhaled slowly, held her breath, then exhaled twice as slowly, all the while focusing on the sensation of Donnie's fingertips rubbing circles into the skin of her upper back. Once her breathing was steadied and her pulse slowed, Amber tugged Donnie down by his suspenders, stealing his lips in a slow, gentle kiss. Right before Aaron's eyes the genius cupped her salt-shiny cheek in one massive hand and returned that first kiss with several more – each more tender than the last – then followed up with a teasing nose rubbing. Her fears fully calmed, Amber gazed up into Donnie's eyes, beaming like he was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Can you really lose someone you never had? Aaron had no answers…if he ever had Amber to begin with, it was clear that somewhere along the way, he lost her. His whiskered lips slanted downward into a confused frown. Why didn't that realization hurt as much as he thought it should? Perhaps he knew from the beginning that he and Amber weren't good together…perhaps that was why he never told her he loved her. Whatever the answer, he wouldn't find it watching her necking with a supposedly fictional character on his sofa, especially since he was still struggling to wrap his head around that fictional character being not-so-fictional after all. What a mind-fuck his life became.

The blond turned to silently retreat to his room, but at the last moment, looked back. Hazel eyes, veering brown in the dark room, met Aaron's over Amber's hair—Donnie held her tucked into his plastron, a rueful smile at his wide lips. It's alright, that sympathetic expression promised. Don't worry, I'll take care of her. A bit rankled that Donnie thought he needed reassurance—even though he probably did—Aaron rolled his eyes, snorted, and stalked back to his bedroom. The moment the door creaked shut behind him, though, the front disintegrated and left sorrow behind.

He loved Amber, so he let her go…she came back, but when the time came, he'd let her go again. He loved her too much to cage her and he knew he wasn't the one she needed. Still, it hurt that the one she needed was so little like him.

WORDS (Scots, Gaelic, Scottish slang/dialect - SS)

~ Crime-in-it'ly! – actually spelled "criminently," this is a generic (somewhat localized to the Midwest) oath meant to portray disbelief, disgust, etc. The awkward spelling here reflects the way my closest family and I actually pronounce it, and the most common pronunciation in our area. First time I said it around Cold he thought I was talking about the Italian Mafia, LOL!

~ Outwith – SS for 'outside of.' "Outwith the locust grove" means Aaron's home is just beyond the trees.

~ Gettin' tanned / A session/sesh – SS. First, regarding people: getting drunk. Regarding structures or objects: getting/being vandalized. Second: a night out drinking or a visit to a bar.

~ Ya stink'a vomit – Aaron reeks of puke.

~ Naw, I'm the ghost'a Scotch-snobs past, here ta skelp yer arse fer drinkin' without me. Yes, it's me, ya honkin' mink! – 'No, I'm the ghost of (people who enjoy Scotch Whisky way too much for their own good) past, here to (SS, Skelp your arse – swat your butt) for drinking without me! Yes, it's me you (SS, honkin' – smelly/dirty/stinking) (SS, mink – person with poor hygiene)!' The 'ghost of Scotch-snobs past' bit is a direct—and horribly groan-worthy—reference to Scrooged, a modern parody of A Christmas Carol. Specifically Amber's evoking the Ghost of Christmas Past who spent most of her time onscreen beating the crud out of the MC while maintaining a cute, innocent, poisonously sweet smile. It's a HOOT!

~ Getting rat-arsed – SS for getting drunk. This phrase is the origin of the name Bart gave the pub he owns and operates—the Staggering Rat. Needless to say, Amber's exaggerating a little here—after finding out Aaron's been drinking too much she's not going out to get wasted with him, she just needs a break.

~ Ah've goat'em—the young lahss looks a lil' fameliar. – I've got them [ will take care of their orders] – the young lass [SS "lady"] looks a little familiar.

~ Ahfternewn, Wellis, who's yer lahss? – Good afternoon, Willis, who's your lady-friend?

~ Funny, tha'. Yew see tha' lovely young'un at the bar? Her name's also Kember, an' she's a Northerner, tew. – Funny, that. (That's funny/suspicious.) Do you see that lovely young lady at the bar? Her name is also Kimber, and she's a Northerner, (usually from the Northeast) too.

~ Ah'll say! Ah'll send the other Kember yer way in a wee bit fer yer orders. Welcome to Wellsdale, Kember Butz, we're glahd to have yew. – I'll say! I'll send the other Kimber your way in a little while for your orders. Welcome to Willsdale, Kimber Butz, we're glad to have you here.

~ GACGH! – a non-word sound indicating frustration and disgust. Starts like 'gal' and ends with phlegm. You can blame this one on my friend Autumn.

GENERAL RULES

~ Adding 'e or 'is to the end of a word – means he or his

~ Adding 'er to the end of a word – means her

~ Adding 'em or 'eir to the end of a word – means them or their

~ Adding 'a to the end of a word – means of, have, or to, depending on the rest of the sentence. You can generally figure out which one with little difficulty just by considering which word the 'a is added to and the rest of the phrase. (IE, "sort'a - sort of, "should'a" - should have, and "wanna" - want to.

~ Adding 'n to the end of a word - means and, as in Rock'n Roll.

~ Words ending with –in' – This word ends with –ing but has been shortened to portray accent.

~ With Kimber, words beginning with t'– this word actually begins with th- but she's dropping the –h-. examples include t'a – the and t'ere – there.

NOTES

* Explanation of the fauna and flora described here. Black Locust trees have been mentioned previously, they bloom May to June but sometimes last longer, and the wood is incredibly hard, ranked at 7th hardest of any tree in North America, even harder than the infamous hickory family. Locusts can spread by seed but more often, they spread by root suckers creating large groves—this rapid root-spreading can lead to a single tree growing thickets of off-shoot trees that can span miles in each direction. Pawpaw trees are an unsung native fruit tree; they flower March-May and fruit September to October. Eastern Redbuds are a local tree that makes a wonderful blooming Bonsai tree; they burst into bloom late March to May and remain covered with deep pink blooms long before they ever develop leaves. May-Apples are a bizarre wildflower that resembles a tiny green umbrella popping up out of the ground; plants with more than one leaf will bloom with a single white flower and eventually develop a small round fruit underneath that frankly resembles 'plant testicles.' Missouri has a few different varieties of frogs, including the ever-popular Spring Peepers, but the little Grays are most commonly seen tree frogs. I'm not 100% certain but what I've read in my research indicates that Grey foxes are more common in the bootheel region and Missouri Ozarks than Red foxes, which are more common in the rest of the state. Of course, what call "Ky-oats" (proper spelling is 'Coyotes') are spread statewide and normally more common than either breed of fox. Even in urban areas like ours coyotes aren't exactly rare. Lastly, 'stick-weed' isn't so much an actual plant as it is a slang term referring to any wild flora that tends to hitch a ride on passers-by; these species are spread across the world and can be a major PitA to get out of clothing and fur. Some common varieties of 'stick-weeds' or 'stick-tights' include Beggarticks, Spanish Needles, Bur-Marigolds and Water Marigolds, and Tickseeds.

** Quote from "Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver. – "He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below. He saw everything as far as you can see, And they say that he got crazy once and he tried to touch the sun, And he lost a friend but kept his memory."

*** Numbnuts, Asshat, Ass-butt, Barf-Breath, and Dillweed, and Kirk – Alas, this is from experience. My hubby Cold—the nutjob Aaron and Daron are based on—is HORRIBLE at choosing names, but loves cats. When we first met every single one of his dozen-plus housecats and farm-cats was identified by a different insult-name with only one exception, and she was named for the Grim Reaper. Yeah. Guys. Supernatural fans may recognize Ass-butt as Castiel's failed attempt at name-calling, LOL! The last name, Kirk, was Amber's attempt at breaking the 'insult name' trend – it's Scots for 'Church,' chosen because the cat was found at a local church. On a personal note, when Cold and I first met, his mother had a cat named Churchill, or, "Church."

## "Don't diss the white 'fro." - IRL, this is something Cold's known to say since he has the same hair. It's a little off-color but the description is 100% true - he's white but his hair is literally afro-bushy. It's extremely thick and curly, and the combination results in a gravity-defying POOF of blond curls surrounding his head no matter how long he lets it get. For visual, if you've seen the second "Hotel Transylvania" movie, consider the part of the movie where Dennis has his hair slicked back in the middle and it spontaneously SPROINGS back up. Yeah. Cold's hair does that, especially when it's freshly washed. It's a freakin' hoot.

^ Strabismus is a vision problem characterized by the eyes being unable to focus on the same target at the same time, rendering the eyes perpetually crossed or, as in Aaron and my hubby Cold, facing opposite directions. The disorder affects more boys than girls and is caused by a weakness in or differing length in the ligaments that control eye movement and, if caught early enough and effectively treated, it can be reversed. I've read that it can also be surgically corrected but haven't found much on the effectiveness or risks. Because he was lazy about his treatment and his mother didn't push it, Cold is perpetually (as he puts it) "Able to keep one eye on [me] and one on the waitress' ass at the same time." (He's a pig, LOL!) Aaron's 'eye-shifting' here is a common behavior of Cold's, but Cold usually does it simply because someone's making eye contact and he wants to be a smartass. ;) Unfortunately, when you have un-treated Strabismus you eventually learn to 'block out' the signal from your weaker eye in favor of the stronger one, and this can in time be detrimental to your vision. It isn't uncommon for people with Strabismus to eventually lose all vision in their non-preferred eye; in many cases this blindness isn't a matter of the eye but rather the brain—there's physically nothing wrong with their 'bad eye,' the nerves and muscles responsible for receiving signals from that eye atrophy. True to that statement, Cold's bad eye has been growing weaker and weaker over the last twenty years - longer than I've known him - and we suspect he'll be completely unable to use it well before he hits his fifties. It sucks but he's made his peace with it, and even half-blind, he'll still be able to out-game young'uns without trying.

^^ Butz – this is actually a valid surname. It's uncommon in the US and derived from High German bütze meaning 'well or puddle.'

- "Haven't we been here before? Footsteps lead down to note on the door that says I can't stay here anymore." – The line in-story is based on this lyric from "Haven't We Been Here Before?" a track on the Styx album "Kilroy was Here."

- "The Glory of Love" – Song by Peter Cetera, from The Karate Kid Part II. Yes, Cold is actually as immature as Aaron is in this scene, if not worse. My hubby has the mentality of a ten-year-old. -_- Boys...they never grow up.

UP NEXT: 53: Absolutes 2 / 4 - The Living Cannot Hear the Dead

Chapter List

[sydneyis-crazy-blog]

My Creative Outlet

Okay... so hi. My name is Sydney. I like to write and I guess this will be like a public journal. I want to use this as a way to vent and also maybe help other people who are going through similar situations. 

I’ll start by telling you guys about my family life first. So, basically my dad and mom are divorced. Most families have divorced parents now, but I never really expected mine to split. Like 2 years ago, a new family, the Miles, moved to Maryland and started going to out school. Their oldest boy, Vinnie, was in my brother, Trent’s, class. They also had a younger boy named Vito. Denise and John, their parents became friends with my parents. After a while, we were basically going to each others’ house every weekend and hanging out all the time. Denise became my mom‘s best friend. Denise and John were starting to have problems so eventually they got divorced. Not long after, my parents started to have issues too. They would fight, but always behind locked doors. It was nothing at first, but they would fight more often. My dad would leave our house at night and sleep at my grandparents. He cut off any interactions with my mom’s side of the family too. My dad soon started to stay at Denise’s house but didn't tell my mom or me. Denise was renting a small, one-story house that was pretty crappy. When my dad was staying there, my mom started to get really depressed. She wasn't telling anyone what was wrong though. She was constantly doing things to try to save their marriage, but nothing was working; my dad had fallen in love with Denise. No matter what my mom did, he would always go to Denise. My dad rarely came home anymore. He would pick me and my brother up from school, then take us out to eat, drop us off, then leave. One time, he took us to Denise’s house, even though my mom told him not to. My mom was infuriated! She yelled at him and they ran around the house(in the snow) screaming at each other. It was awful! I cried myself to sleep that night thinking my dad didn't love us anymore.

The afternoon everything changed was like a Lifetime movie. My mom was holding her emotions inside and built a wall saying she was fine when she wasn't. Her depression built up and she couldn't take it anymore. She left two suicide notes on the kitchen counter. My dad picked us up from school and drove to our house. He walked inside, read the letters, and walked back outside. I wasn't supposed to read them, but I did. One letter held her jewelry and the other explained why she was doing this. She said that it was all just too much and she couldn't handle it anymore. I was devastated. My dad called my mom’ s parents and my aunts. They didn't know where she was either. My dad called the police and his parents. The sheriff showed up right before my granddad took us to his house. My dad didn't want us around any of that. Luckily, the sheriff was able to track down my mom’s phone. She was apparently in a motel and had taken a lot of pills. They were able to get her to the hospital where she stayed for a couple days. She was able to recover very fast and she is now happier than ever. 

My dad, however, still didn't see that his decisions were that bad. Him and my mom got divorced over that summer. He officially moved out of my mom’s house and took a lot of our stuff out. He moved in with Denise and made me and Trent room there. We had to stay at Denise’s(now my dad’s too) house while my mom was in the hospital. We had six people living in an one-story, one-shower house! It was so cramped and everyone was invading my privacy. I would stay in my room for hours and my dad would have to pry me out of my bed sometimes. It was so awkward. And anything I said to him about how I didn't like Denise or her kids or the house, he would tell her and then shed get really mad at me. It wasn't my fault she stole my dad way from me! It always felt like a competition for his attention with her. I would cry every night alone in the shower, hoping someone would knock to see if I was okay. Her kids, Vinnie and Vito, were no help either. It was a living hell! They would scream and make up lies about me and my brother, or complain about nothing. It was torturous! Towards the end of living there, we got a great dane named Lola. She was cool, but we had to give her away because she was so big. There were six people and a freaking great dane living in this tiny ass house! It was terrible!

Obviously, we need to move. My dad and Denise found a house and moved all our stuff there without us knowing. They surprised us about two Christmases ago with it. I don't know why, but seeing that house made me feel empty inside. It made me realize that they wanted to build their lives together. (Oh, let me just add that Denise is 12 years younger than my dad, so I think she’s just using him for money.) My dad made me come out of my room more often which made me angry and upset. He was forcing me to be a perfect goddamn daughter, but we don't have a perfect goddamn life! We had been living there for about 3 months before things really started to turn bad. I was turning 12 so I was already in a weird stage. My dad was being mean verbally and Denise constantly made me feel like shit. I was beginning to become depressed.

There were a couple other reasons I was feeling depressed too. My teacher was a giant dick-wad. I wasn't very happy with my weight. Boys at school were treating me bad( not for a particular reason, they were just assholes). My face was breaking out. Vinnie and Vito were being super awful. I didn't have a lot of friends and the ones I did have were pretty shitty. Everything was just bad. I didn't really fell “suicidal”, but all my thoughts wrapped around the idea of it. I still cant even say that word without realizing how terrible I was being about it. I would tell one friend about and she would call me selfish. I stopped talking about it to her, but would secretly take pills or drink cough syrup just to see what would happen. Nothing terrible would ever occur, I would just be loopy the next day. One night, I took a pair of nail clippers and cut a small sliver off my wrist. It wasn't to big, but it was enough to bleed a bit. The next night, I had cut a lot more right on top of my vein. It gave me something else to worry about rather than all the other shit going on around me. A girl at school noticed and called my mom that night and then my mom called my dad and long story short, I wasn't cutting anymore. Every once in a while that thought would come back and it was a huge weight on my chest, but I never physically hurt myself. Mentally, I would call myself names or curse at my thoughts. I hated the way my brain was working. I started seeing a counselor and was put on medication so now I am super better and a lot happier. 

Sure, life for me is still pretty shit. I'm just happy I'm not thinking bad thoughts anymore. I found an amazing group of friends who support me and help me and my teacher this year is pretty awesome. Yeah, I do still have the other dick-wad teacher, but I try not to let him affect me or my day. I honestly think that everyone should just be nice to one another. If you just smile at someone, you could save their lives. “You are a human with one life, and its up to you to make it the best life you can”

-Sydney (thx for reading- i’ll post a lot more if you all want :p)

[nguyenx33]

Happy 1 week to our baby girl 💕👶🏻 we’re mommy and daddy now!! officially newly parents 👨‍👩‍👧💝 everything happened so quickly it’s CRAZY. I remember it like yesterday, where Layne and I just met. How hard we fell for each other. We were inseparable since day one. Our first date, to our second and third. Us sitting at the beach hands in hands under the clear blue skies. It was a beautiful night on O3.22.16 💕 Almost one year later, here we are blessed with a beautiful daughter. our little sweet bundle of joy 💕 I’m so in love with her. I love and adore everything about her. I remember the moment we found out we were becoming parents how overwhelmed I felt, how scared and nervous I was. It was a mix of emotions inside of me. the fear of possibly not being a great mother to my child, the fear of not knowing how to be a parent, the fear of just bringing another human to life. I feared so much. Listening to Riley’s heartbeat for the first time made me forget my fears. Her heartbeat made me realize how how precious it was having another life grow inside of me. What I feared no longer matters. For my daughter, I can overcome any fear. Her growing inside of me is the most beautiful thing ever. From the first flutters to the first kick. I love everything about being pregnant MINUS the contractions.

As we all know Riley was suppose to be due on 1O.26.17 📆 but my baby girl could not wait to see this world! 🌎 O9.O7~ waking up for my routine pee around 1am. I was bleeding. there was a blood clot. we went to kap and apparently I was having contractions but I didn’t feel them at all. cervix exam and I’m not dilated. doctor said it was normal to bleed during the third trimester and nothing to be concern about 🤷🏻‍♀️ cool, no biggie. discharged and home we went. after coming home from the ER, believe it or not. I started to feel the contractions. it was NOT braxton hicks. my contractions started from 6am slowly creeping up through out the whole day. I contracted every 3-4 minutes with 30-50 seconds long. I was in pain. people say contractions feels like cramping but 1000x worse. funny thing is I’ve never cramp in my whole life when I have my menstrual. toughing it out until Friday. I pulled through and made it to work. believe it or not I was contracting every 3-4 minutes and I knew I had to go back to the ER. took half day on O9.O8 and went straight to kapiolani again. cervix exam and I’m not dilated. I’m contracting but the nurses and doctor said it’s normal to have contractions. they monitored me for several hours and discharged me. “Drink lots of water and rest” at that point I’m already over it. Here I am in pain, contractions every 3-4 minutes, I just wish this would go away. Friday night came, as much pain I’m in. We were able to have dinner at my grandma’s house. Dinner was not enjoyable because I was still contracting. The way I’d like to describe my contractions feels like my whole lower back is tighten and crushed together where my stomach felt rock hard at every contractions. I have not slept for 2 days because of these contractions. I kid you not, it was the most painful feeling ever. Saturday came and I’m still in pain. I really have no idea how I made it through the whole morning at home by myself with contractions every 3-5 minutes. Layne was at work and here I am at home wishing these contractions would go away, but it didn’t. I started to bleed again. at that moment I started freaking out. I called Layne and he calmed me down and told me to just keep an eye on it. although the bleeding stopped. The contractions were coming off stronger and stronger. By the time Layne got home, I was drowning in tears. The pain was so intense. This didn’t feel right. We rushed to kapiolani and guess what?! I’m 1.9 cm dilated and our baby is dropped real low into my uterus, which is why I’m getting intense contractions 😥 good news is apparently our baby is 2 weeks bigger then babies at 33 weeks. She’s a chubby baby 💕 O9.O9 ~ I’m admitted to kapiolani for observation for preterm labor. I was given 2x steroid shots for Riley’s lung development if she was to come out early and was offered morphine and nifedipine to help slow down the contractions and ease the pain. a day later I’m dilated to about 2 cm. contractions were slowing down with the help of nifedipine, the pain was bearable. We had a neonatologist stop by to talk to us about the NICU and covered all the questions we had if Riley was to come out early as a premature baby. Dr. Jack was awesome. Before he left he told us, hopefully he does not see us anytime sooner then Riley’s due date. I sure hope so too!! O9.1O~ Layne’s family had a planned baby shower for us 🎈🎁 I could not make it because I’m still admitted. I was so bummed out. Layne faced timed me while he was there with everyone. I’m so bummed I could not be there. Sadness overload 🙁 here I am still contracting but the contractions were bearable just because of the medications. The plan was to stop the nifedipine the following next day and see if my contractions will come back. O9.11~still admitted, still about 2cm dilated. stopped my last dose for nifedipine at night, I felt a little better. still contracting but pain is tolerable. Doctor OK’d for me to get discharge. Advised us that it’s okay to stay dilated and gave us instructions to come back if this or that happened. Believe me, I was so happy to go home. Ive been in and out of kapiolani multiple times for these contractions and had my cervix exam so many times by so many different resident doctors 🤦🏻‍♀️😐 I felt like a prisoner there. I felt so bad for Layne having to sleep on the uncomfortable couch. My poor baby. I was ready to go home!! So excited to leave 😌 We got discharge about 10 pm. Heading home, I started to feel the contractions again 😖 it was slowly creeping up on me. From 10 pm to 12pm, I started contracting so hard, so intensely, it was every 2 minutes. My stomach starts to tense up and that’s how I knew I was contracting. I could not lay down at all. As soon as I laid down I started contracting. I tried SO SO hard to tough it out. I did not want to bother Layne at all. My love was sleeping so soundly. I could not bare to wake him up. He’s been running around and taking care of me these past few days and I already feel bad as it is. I tried breathing in and out and relaxing through out the contractions, but it was so intense I could not do it. Around 3 am I could not take it anymore, I had to wake up Layne. Since the time we got home 10 pm to 3 am I was contracting every 2 minutes. I called the Physician’s exchange line and spoke to Dr. Sugibayashi to see what I should do. I was balling and drowning in tears. she advised me to go back to kapiolani. O9.12~ 4 am, back at it again to the ER. This time its official, I’m in preterm labor. I went from 2 cm last night to 3 cm. The contractions was so intense, so painful, it was unbearable. The doctor said my cervix is thinning out so quickly that the chances of me giving birth is high. She told me the best option for me at this point is to get an epidural. I told her straight up as much pain as I’m in, I do not want to get it. She then offered me fentanyle which can help with the pain but that does not last long. It will wear off within an hour. Here I am laying on the bed in pain, quick thought. I held off on it…. I was delirious at this point. I just wanted these contractions to go away. The more I wanted it to go away, the more it came creeping up on me. I was holding on to Layne’s hand in tears, wishing the pain would go away. I gave in to taking fentanyle. I wanted the easy way out even though it’s only for one hour. Getting an epidural was my very LAST resort. within a minute of getting the medication I felt my eyes rolling back, my whole body started to feel woozy. Not even 5 minutes in my contractions started creeping up on me. I was back in INTENSE contractions. That shit did not last an hour. Here I am again laying here in agony. I could not do it anymore. Couple hours past, my mind started to shut down and I gave in. I asked for the epidural shot. I turned to Layne for support and advice. He looked at me in my eyes and said to me, “it’s okay baby, just take it if you need to.” His words did it for me. I know it was hard on him seeing me lay there in pain and there’s nothing he could do to help. While getting the epidural Layne was asked to leave the room. The nurse said a lot of dad’s ends up fainting while watching, so now they’re not allowed in the room… 🤷🏻‍♀️ Getting the epidural was fast and quick. The anesthesiologist was super cool and thorough. I felt nothing but a pinch. I kid you not- not even close to a minute I no longer felt the contractions and my whole lower half went numb. Suddenly I felt so much tension release and I was able to lay there relaxed and calm. Several hours in, Dr. Sugibayashi stopped by to check up on me and checked my cervix. Guess what?! I’m dilated to 4 cm and my water broke the moment she stuck her hands in. Dr. Sugibayashi: “Yes! We’re having a baby today!” Believe it or not, I still can’t believe everything happened so quickly. I’m giving birth one month and couple weeks early!! So much was running in my head. I just want my baby to be healthy and okay. That’s all I ask for. My nurse was superior!! I couldn’t ask for a better nurse. She said to Layne and I, “baby will most likely arrive before lunch time with the contractions you’re having” Sure enough, one of the resident doctor checked my cervix again and I’m FULLY dilated. From 4cm to fully dilated within hours. How crazy is that?! We then started doing push trials by 10 AM. They paged for Dr. Sugibayashi and by the time she got there, we got the whole team inside the room about was 10-13 people in my room awaiting for Riley’s arrival. Here walks in Dr. Jack with a smile and look on his face like" here we meet again" Funny thing was we saw him the day before and he said hopefully he wont see us anytime soon. After some push trials and 3 sets of pushes, our baby girl was slowly making an exit out of the birth canal!! All I heard was Layne saying, “push hunny! she’s right there” Dr. Sugibayashi, “she has a lot of hair!” “Take a nice deep breath, next one we want you to have a baby” I seriously was pushing with all my might. My lower half was so numb that I could not feel if I was pushing or not. On my last set of push when the nurse said, “the baby’s heart rate is a little low so we need you push a little harder” that did it for me. with one last push, our baby girl arrived at 10:23 AM O9.12.17// 5 lbs and 14 oz! 💕👶🏻 the first thing I saw was her little tiny foot. that moment was beyond beautiful 💕 I can’t believe I just gave birth. Riley was then taken by Dr. Jack immediately for evaluation and daddy followed them to the NICU where Riley will be staying for several weeks. All I can say is child birth is hell of an experience!! Aftermath, placenta comes out, I’m all drugged up, got several stitches on my vagina, I’m so GLAD it’s over and done with 😌 we did it! I seriously don’t know what I’d do without Layne. I love him so much and I’m so thankful for him in every way. I’m seriously lucky to have such a wonderful man in my life and blessed with a beautiful daughter 💕 Thinking about child birth now I seriously would do it all over again 😌❤️