#like it’s not really my place to discuss in depth but it always dumbfounds me when people are surprised that someone with

[lilnasxvevo]

God the other day I was reading thru the replies of a post and someone had said “ITT I learned that Mark Zuckerberg is Jewish” and like

Wh

Do you just not know…ANY Jewish people? How is it a genuine surprising revelation to you that someone named Zuckerberg is Jewish.

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 14

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Final Chapter!

< Previous Chapter | << Prolouge | Masterlist

Summary: Instead of speaking, Virgil simply pulled Logan in for a hug. Logan froze in shock for a moment before he hugged him back. He felt the tension leave Virgil’s body and just barely heard as he whispered.

“It’s finally over.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

“Thank the gods. It’s over.”

Warning/s: food mention, minor violence.

Characters: Logan, Virgil, OCs, Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus, Remy, Emile.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on AO3

14 | Finale

“After the spell is performed, you should be able to make a porthole into the fae realm yourselves without going to the pixie gate. You would still have to make it outside of the fae city to avoid magical interference of course.” Nitya stated as the group followed it through the halls of its home.

Janus frowned. “That sounds like a big spell.”

“It is. In fact, it’s not normally used by anyone, but you should have enough magic to do it afterwards… Just double-checking, you’re all one-hundred percent sure you want to go through with this?” Nitya asked.

Virgil nodded. “We came to the agreement that this is what we need to do.”

“I asked if you wanted to do it.”

The group exchanged some glances and Logan spoke for them. “We want to help people and this is a way we can. We have to go through with it.”

Nitya smiled softly. “Well, whatever happens, I hope you all find success against your foes.”

It led them to a room that looked very much like a library, with the walls from floor to ceiling holding leather-bound books.

“This is my study. All of my notes from over the years are kept here. Since it won’t be of any use to me anymore, I suppose I’ll leave it to you all to do whatever you want.”

Everleigh’s eyes lit up. “I’m in heaven.”

Nitya chuckled. “You can look at them later. First, I need to explain the spell to you all.”

“About that, will we need to participate? Because Everleigh doesn’t know how to use magic,” Logan explained.

“Ah. Well, I’m going to need to teach you all what to do, so going into a little more depth for newbies won’t be too hard,” Nitya shrugged. “You do at least understand the basic concept of what magic is, right?”

Everleigh nodded. “It’s the essence of the world itself. Of the life that flows through all things in existence.”

“Correct,” Nitya grinned. “Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.”

“Woah, is that an old poem or something?” Willow inquired.

“Hmm, simply something I learnt from another strange being,” Nitya stated ominously. “But never mind that. I need you to stand in a circle for this to work.”

The group stood in a circle formation around Nitya, just as they had been directed. Unfortunately, due to the high-risk level of this spell, I can not explain the intricacies of it to you. But I will do my best to give you a description of what happened next.

Nitya looked around to make sure everyone was ready then held a hand over its head and began to chant in an unknown tongue. The light on its fingertips steadily changed colours, fading from one into the other as Nitya drew a myriad of interconnected glyphs. As the colours began to brighten, Nitya’s voice became… strange. It seemed to echo at different pitches. Almost like its voice was not its own, but rather that many different voices were speaking from its mouth at the same time.

The teens took this as their signal to begin drawing their own runes. And as they all finished, in unison they said, “Solhart.”

The runes and glyphs turned stark white before bursting like tiny fireworks and fading from existence. Logan looked around at his companions and thought that perhaps the spell had been unsuccessful. But then at the centre where Nitya had been standing, he saw that there was nothing left of it. No clothes or feathers or anything. Just an empty space at the centre of the room.

“Did it work?” Patton asked.

Willow shrugged. “Well, I suppose there’s only one way to tell. Everyone ready for status checks?”

“You’re going to need to talk me through that,” Everleigh said.

“Oh, right, uh here I’ll show you.”

Logan checked his own status and did a double-take when he saw it.

Logan Picani

Titles: Divine Friend, Legend Wizard, Wind Tamer, +...

MP: 500 - full

HP: 200 - full

Skills: Bond-Link, Wind Tamer, Magic, +...

“Uh, is anyone else seeing a way higher status than they had before?” Roman asked. “Because I swear I only had twenty mp.”

“It worked! We’re all at like master magic level now,” Remus said excitedly.

“This is definitely going to give us an edge for going back into the fae realm,” Willow commented.

Virgil nodded. “But first, let’s discuss a plan…”

---

On his stolen throne, Ynclementia sat with a deep frown gracing his features. “What do you mean she’s still resisting the poison?”

The alchemist gulped fearfully. “S-she’s wearing down, s-sire.”

“She should already be dead.”

“I’m sorry w-we miscalculated a step. But she’ll be gone before sunset.”

“She better be. Or I’ll have your heads.” Ynclementia snapped.

Just then, a guard burst into the room. “Sire! There’s been an attack.”

“Kill them off then. I told you if anyone tries to rebel, show no mercy.”

“It’s not rebels, sire. At least, not normal rebels.”

“What do you mean, ‘not normal rebels’? Are they too much for you idiots?”

“Well, sire-” the guard was cut off by static from his walkie-talkie.

“They’re on the tenth floor! We’ve lost six men! We need backup! The d- holy f-!”

The speaker on the other end was cut off by what sounded like a roar and multiple screams before the transmission cut out.

“What is that?” Ynclementia questioned.

“That’s what I was trying to explain, your majesty. A dragon, a wolf, a human, and two elves have stormed the tower.”

“Prince Virgil’s entourage,” Ynclementia muttered before his eyes widened in realisation. “The Prince, did you see him with them?”

“We’re not sure, sire.”

“Kill them all and bring the prince to me.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

The alchemist, the guard, and Ynclementia all looked up to see Virgil standing there with a dark look on his face.

“Kill him!”

The guard ran forward first, unsheathing her greatsword to slam down onto Virgil. Vi was quicker than her though and moved out of the way before the blade could even graze his hair. He took advantage of the moment that the guard had her sword down, and threw a potion at her. She gasped and released the sword before falling limp to the ground.

“I’m paralysed!”

The alchemist then snapped out of their frightened state and pulled out a potion to throw at Virgil. He easily dodged it though so that the alchemist instead hit the guard.

“Gah! It burns!”

“I’m sorry!” While the alchemist was apologising, they had left themselves open, giving Vi the perfect opportunity to throw another paralysis potion. “Eep! Going down.”

“You useless wretches,” Ynclementia growled. “You couldn’t even handle a child.”

“How about you face me yourself, coward,” Virgil taunted.

The earl grinned devilishly. “Gladly.”

Ynclementia rose from his seat with his grin seeming to grow wider. Virgil’s eyes widened in horror as he watched the man before him morph into a creature that could barely be considered human, let alone fae. His limbs seemed too long in certain places while too short in others. His eyes had turned completely white -no pupil or anything- and his hair moved as if it was a fire burning him.

“You took a contract with a demon. That’s how you gained so much power.”

“Finally figured me out then, your highness? Well, you weren’t always the fastest to catch onto things. Hopefully, your death will be quicker than your mind.”

Virgil just barely got out of the way as the Earl shot a surge of hellfire at him. He ducked and dodged as Ynclementia sent beam after beam at him like a slew of large fiery arrows. Except the fire was the arrows and his mouth was the bow. Finally, the Earl reached a point where he couldn’t use the hellfire anymore and switched to hurling himself at Virgil.

While he was able to run just out of the fae-demon’s reach, Vi could feel his energy wearing down, and decided instead to turn around mid-run with his dagger raised to slash at him. Unfortunately, Ynclementia had seemed to anticipate this move and caught Virgil’s wrist before he could swipe at him.

Virgil could see the hellfire building in the back of his throat. In an instant, his life flashed before his eyes. His family, his childhood, his schooling, his school, his classmates, his friends, the memories hit him like a truck. He felt like he was about to die in that very second and all he could think was-

“AHHHH!” Ynclementia screamed as water hit his chest.

He released Virgil and fell to his knees in agony. Virgil stared dumbfounded at the fallen enemy then looked to the doorway where the stream of water had come from. Standing there he saw his grandmother and a very concerned Logan who immediately rushed over to him.

“Oh my gods, are you okay? Did he hurt you? Did any of them hurt you?” Logan questioned.

Virgil stayed silent.

“Why won’t you answer me? Did they put you under a spell? Virgil, please, speak up.”

Instead of speaking, Virgil simply pulled Logan in for a hug. Logan froze in shock for a moment before he hugged him back. He felt the tension leave Virgil’s body and just barely heard as he whispered.

“It’s finally over.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

“Thank the gods. It’s over.”

“Ehem,” the boys looked up to see Valeria smiling at them. “Do I get a hug too, or do you two want some space.”

“Nana! I’m so glad you’re alive!” Virgil declared, rushing over to hug her.

“I’m glad we’re both alive,” Valeria replied. “But what on earth possessed you to fight a demon?!”

“I didn’t know he was a demon.”

“Wait until your fathers hear about this.”

Virgil frowned. “Nana, they…”

“I can bring them back, dear.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Yes! … Oh, I am going to be in so much trouble…”

---

“Hurry up, kiddoes. The carriage is waiting for us outside,” Emile called.

“We’ll be down in a minute!” Everleigh yelled. “Does my hair look right?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Ev, yes.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. This is my first time in high society, you know.”

“Firstly, I’ve got about as much experience with this as you do. And secondly, we both know that you just want to look nice for your girlfriend,” Logan teased.

Everleigh blushed. “Willow and I aren’t official yet.”

“Yet.”

“Oh, stop. Also, you totally have the upper hand here. You’ve met two queens and a prince!”

“You’re friends with the prince and have met one of those queens. Under better circumstances than I did too.”

“Well, you did that magical license test thing publicly. Gods, I’ll still have to learn all the magic stuff you did. And in a more polished school too.”

Logan nodded. “That’s a good thing. You’ll get to make friends and have more than just Remy to teach you.”

“I don’t need any more friends, I think. Also, it’s totally unfair that you and the others got to learn everything before me.”

“I did offer to teach you.”

“You weren’t even sure you could teach yourself,” Everleigh pointed out. “Huh, you’ve actually come pretty far, haven’t you.”

Logan paused for a moment to think. In just under a year, he had gone from a struggling self-taught mage to an expert wizard with noble-born friends and hero status. Just two weeks ago, he’d snuck away from home with his friends to find a magical miracle and then ended up going to the fae realm and saving the fae queen from the brink of death. Saying he’d come a long way may have actually been understating it.

Just days before that he’d been worried about losing his friends to their high-class lives, and now they were all going to a ball hosted in their honour where they’d be officially receiving their hero titles and full magic licenses.

“Done! You look fabulous, if I do say so myself,” Everleigh declared.

Logan looked at himself in the mirror to double-check the make-up she’s done. It wasn’t too complex, just some eyeliner, blush, and blue lipstick to match his azure suit. Normally make-up gave him dysphoria, but since he’d completed the transition spell, he simply felt like a handsome young man.

“Wow.”

Everleigh grinned. “I know right.”

“Kids, come on- Woah,” Emile said, staring at his son from the doorway.

“Hey, dad. How do we look?”

Emile smiled. “You both look absolutely stunning. Gods, how did you grow up so fast?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “I’m only sixteen.”

“That’s too old already. What happened to my baby boy?”

“I’m still here. I just got taller.”

“Not by much,” Everleigh muttered.

Logan pouted. “Hey!”

Everleigh laughed. “Come on, let’s go! We’ve kept the carriage waiting long enough.”

The ride to the castle was short, smooth, and full of growing anxiety. Especially when Logan noticed how many people were out trying to get a glimpse at them like they were some kind of nobility themselves. The carriage stopped inside of the castle’s inner courtyard, where other carriages of nobility and foreign royalty were already parked. Remy came over to help them out of their carriage.

“There you guys are. Ready for the party?”

“Golly, there are a lot of people here,” Emile stated.

Remy shrugged. “Well, Thomas and Nico did invite everyone. Honestly, though, even I’m surprised at the turnout considering Thomas’s aversion to large crowds.”

“Perhaps it’s because Virgil’s finally making a public appearance,” Logan said, eyeing the people who looked to be around his age.

Many of them would probably be here to make a good impression on the crown prince. Perhaps a few of the bolder ones would even try to befriend him. A few may even attempt to romance him. That idea gave Logan a sick feeling in his stomach. Even worse than the anxiety of being at a high society event.

“Everleigh! Logan!” Willow called out as they ran over to them. “Hi!”

Everleigh giggled. “Hi to you too. Is it normal to run to your friends at these kinds of functions?”

Willow shrugged. “Who cares. This is kind of our party anyway. You look breathtaking by the way.”

“Th-thank you. You look lovely as well,” Everleigh stammered.

“Thanks. Your make-up looks really cool, Lo.”

“Thank you,” Everleigh did it. “Did you run away from Janus or are you here with your family?”

“Oh, my family is here, but I was just with Jan and Roman. I can take you to them then we can all hang out together.”

Willow led Logan and Everleigh away into the castle, to the huge ballroom where the majority of the party-goers were socialising. They found Janus and Roman at a table, looking as if they had just been dancing and were now resting their feet.

“Hey guys, great timing. Would you please tell Janus that I was indeed the first to confess my feelings?”

“Liar. I was the first to confess, and they’ll tell you so.”

“This is why I left them,” Willow whispered to Everleigh and Logan. “I swear, they’re an old married couple reincarnated or something.”

“It’s rude to keep secrets,” Janus commented.

“I said you’re both insufferable.”

“But I was the first to confess though. Right, Willow?” Roman prompted.

“You were not, you forgetful elf.”

“Forgetful, I have never forgotten a thing in my life, oh darling dragon.”

“Double D’s, an interesting nickname, bro,” Remus said as he popped up.

“Gah! Remus! Don’t do that.”

“Aw, but you look so funny when you’re spooked.”

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Patton?”

“I’m right here,” Patton said as he approached with a darker haired boy who looked quite similar to him, beside him. “Everyone, this is my brother Morgan. Morgan, these are my friends Janus, Logan, Everleigh, Willow, Roman and well you already met Remus.”

“Hi! Did you guys really defeat a demon?”

“Technically, Queen Valeria killed the demon. Everleigh, Janus, Willow, Roman, and Remus all fought its subordinates and I only snuck by to get to Queen Valeria,” Logan stated.

“Still, we’re all awesome,” Remus declared.

Roman grinned. “Agreed. We are indeed true heroes.”

“Speaking of, when is this ceremony supposed to start?” Janus asked.

As if to answer their question, there was a sudden sound of trumpets silencing the crowd before an announcer spoke. “Presenting, King Thomas the Just and his dearly beloved husband Prince Consort Nico.”

Everyone looked over as the King and his husband entered the room in their dazzling royal attire. They walked arm in arm to the dias at the end of the room, where three magnificent thrones were standing. As they turned around to look at everyone, the people bowed and curtsied respectfully for them.

“Thank you, all. You may now rise,” Thomas declared. “And another thank you to everyone for attending tonight’s ball. While we had originally planned for this only to be our son’s debut, as you know, things happened and now we have a lot more to celebrate tonight. But first, we’d like to proudly introduce to you our son; Prince Virgil of Srednas.”

The crowd looked back to the top of the stairs from which Thomas and Nico had descended. Now standing there they saw Virgil. Dressed elegantly in a deep purple suit with light purple makeup underneath his eyes and a gentle smile on his face. He walked with confidence and purpose down the stairs and to the dias where he joined his parents.

The people bowed and curtsied for him as well, and he said. “Thank you. You may rise.”

Everyone did, and then stared at the royals, waiting eagerly for what they would say next.

“As I was saying before. We have many things to celebrate. One being, my son, and the other being the valiant rescue that he and his friends did only a fortnight ago-”

Thomas wasn’t interrupted, but I figured you don’t want to sit through a retelling of events that you’ve already heard. Basically, Thomas retold everything that had happened from when he, Nico, and the council disappeared, up until when the teens stormed the tower, healed the queen, and defeated Ynclementia. The crowd was of course, quite captivated, and Logan found himself feeling quite flattered at how heroic the king described them all to be.

“-so, as thanks for their service, the young heroes shall of course be given the appropriate titles. Roman and Remus Leafstone, Patton Lilyhart, Janus Embryn, Willow Redrunner, and Logan Picani. Please come here,” Thomas requested.

The friends exchanged nervous/excited glances then went and stood in front of the royal family.

Thomas turned to Virgil, “You can stand with them if you want.”

Virgil nodded and joined his friends in front of his parents. He stood close to Logan and whispered. “You look enchanting.”

Logan blushed but didn’t have time to even say thanks in reply as Thomas continued talking. “As King of Srednas, I acknowledge your great deeds and grant you all the titles of Knights of the Miracle Order. May you carry your titles with the same honour and valour that you have earned them by, and let all your future escapades be just and victorious. Cheers to the Miracle Knights!”

“Cheers to the Miracle Knights!” The crowd echoed as they applauded the eight young heroes.

Logan and his friends turned around to face the crowd with bright smiles. The cheering and clapping went on for a few minutes still as they stood there. Once the cheers died down, Thomas spoke again prompting the party to continue. The musicians began to play again and everyone returned to socialising.

Before Logan could decide what to do though, Virgil had taken his hand and was motioning for him to follow him somewhere. Curious and still slightly dazed from the earlier compliment, Logan went willingly with him, away from the large crowd, outside the ballroom, to what seemed to be an empty veranda that looked out over the royal gardens.

Virgil released Logan’s hand and turned to face him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Logan replied in the same soft shy tone. “Thank you. For the, um, compliment. Earlier.”

“Well, it’s the truth. You look absolutely mesmerizing,” Virgil declared.

“I suppose I have Everleigh’s makeup skills to thank for that.”

“No. Your enchanting beauty is your own, Logan. It’s something that you’ve seemed to have ever since I first saw you. Something that could outshine even the stars.”

“Well, you’re much more handsome than me. The first time I saw you, I nearly lost myself in those stormy grey eyes.”

As silence fell over the pair, Logan found himself getting lost in those eyes once again. Tonight, they didn’t reflect any firelight. Instead, they shone purely with Virgil’s emotions. That same bright ‘fondness’ that had been in his eyes the night they had talked about their futures. It seemed to be even stronger now somehow.

“Logan, I… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. A very long time honestly. And I’ve made up my mind on it, so I can only hope you’d at the very least stay friends with me if you don’t like this. Of course, I would totally understand if you never wanted to see me again. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you to stay my friend. I also don’t want you to just say yes because I’m the prince or anything like that. Nothing will happen if you don’t want this. Or, if you really don’t want me to ever come near you again, then I-”

“Virgil, please breathe.”

Virgil shut his eyes. “I’m sorry. I am just really nervous. So nervous I forgot even my anxiety about being introduced to the public earlier.”

“Well, you made a very elegant entrance. You looked quite fearless to me.”

“Glad I learnt to hide my fear early on then,” Virgil laughed as he opened his eyes. “I still need to ask this question though.”

Logan nodded.

“Here it goes then. Logan. Would you please consider, maybe going out with me and, um, being my boyfriend?”

…

“Logan? Oh, geez, you ha-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you. And be your boyfriend.” Logan stated. “May I kiss you?”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Please.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Logan closed the distance between himself and Virgil and kissed the prince squarely on the lips. It was a sweet kiss. One that signified the beginning of a beautiful romance and the ending of our tale.

The tale of how Logan Picani went from being a simple baker’s son to a master mage, Miracle Knight, and the boyfriend of Prince Virgil. From being the underdog he rose, learning magic alongside those who outranked him, befriending his classmates and rising with them to become great magic users. From choosing to trust a friend and keep the secret of his heritage to later helping that friend save his grandmother and two entire realms from the greed and tyranny of a fae-demon. From making pseudo stars in the throne room to this moment where he was kissing the crown prince on a veranda. It had been one heck of a journey.

And Logan wouldn’t change anything.

---

A/N: Tada! The story has come to an end, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm done here of course. I have really enjoyed writing this story and getting comments during this past week of posting it, so I might make a sequel or at the very least some spin-off one-shots. If you guys would like that then please let me know. Thank you for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[padmsanakin]

a/n: anakin and rex dance + name discussions. some headcanons on slave culture borrowed from fialleril. in response to a prompt from an ask post from @barissoffee

The moonlight smoothens the ridges and the uneven parts of the rocky grounds. The wind is almost still, the campfire dances gently over the wooden logs scavenged from the green trees. Its warm light outlines the tents and the equipment neatly tucked away behind the tent. Rex watches silently as the stars dots across the skies like glittery specks of sparkles. He still had not removed his armor, he sits on one of the logs surrounding the fire. He watches, completely enamored by the stars. His mouth gapes a little as his eyes widens with amazement and curiosity.

Snow begins to fall, white flakes dancing from the depths of the clouds that had not quite obscured the view of the stars. Rex does not move at all as bits of the snow falls onto his warm palms, quickly melting away into beads of water. The fire crackles as he turns his head. His general stands, his luscious honey-brown locks framing his face as Rex momentarily freezes in the spot. A moment of silence passes between them as the General walks towards him.

Rex’s smoky brown orbs locks with his beautiful ocean blue; it pulls him into the depths of the young man’s soul. He knows that his General wore his heart on his sleeve, reading his emotions were surprisingly easy. It is often frowned down by the Jedi, but he is one of the few Jedi who actually seemed to care. He is dumbfounded at the small quirk of a lip he received. Rex stands as his face turns red. He feels the urge to just walk away but he can’t. His heart skips a beat as his skin brushes with his tunic.

“General Skywalker, shouldn’t you be asleep?” Rex asks, as he feels his shoulders sag as he sits back down.

Anakin follows suit, his gaze shifted elsewhere, “Yeah, but, didn’t feel sleepy,”

Rex thinks for a moment, his fingers running through his blonde hair. He watches his General thoughtlessly pick at the glove that covers his prosthetic. The snow continues to fall as flakes begin to cover the ground like a thin blanket, the white powdery substance easily slips away in his palms. Rex has always wanted to tell him that he has pretty eyes. He stares into the blue orbs that stood out in the darkness as his face is illuminated dully by the fire.

Anakin abruptly stands, his hand reaching out for him. Anakin’s face lit up by an awkward smile, his flesh arm tangles into his hair, as Rex looks up. The latter feels his heartbeat quicken, his mouth dries. He stares into his beautiful eyes, his mind fuzzes out whenever he tries to form a coherent sentence. After a moment of silence, Anakin exhales softly as his flesh arm lowers, “Y-you want to dance?”

Rex pauses for a moment, mulling over his options. He knows this is against military regulations. However, it is his General asking. His brave, courageous, kind-hearted, beautiful General asking, his blue eyes looks so hopeful. He feels guilty about even thinking about refusing. Another part of him wants to do it, he wants to throw his arms around him and embrace him like there was no tomorrow - he wants to kiss him. Rex flushes, his ears twinged with dark red. Anakin’s gaze is so expectant and hopeful, the clone sighs as the conflict within him dissolves.

“Yes,” he whispers softly. There was no one to see him like this, right?

Rex notices how young his General is - the boyish slenderness has never really left - he knew there are kids in this war zone. Padawans, most barely over younglings, are thrown into the mess of the war. They are given the position of Commander and a responsibility more than what their scrawny shoulder should hold. The worst part is that they are expected to act the part. Commander Tano is one of them. It is a miracle that she is as stable as she is. However, what he does not expect is that his own General is barely above a padawan. Rex knows that his General was knighted much younger than most padawans. He was 19 when he was officially deemed as a knight.

Rex realizes that he is being led by a shiny Jedi.

He shakes his thoughts as his hands are placed on his General’s shoulders, Anakin’s arm gently wraps around his hip. He feels hot under his armor for a moment, his cheek is tinted by a rush of red. His hand clasps Anakin’s palm, Anakin makes a momentary strange noise. Rex can not help but be pulled in by his dazzling eyes, they slowly move through the rocky grounds. He stumbles through the first few steps, Anakin remains surprisingly patient. His heart races when Anakin’s lips quirks into a small smile. Rex’s heart flutters.

The snow continues to fall, the white powdery substance found its mark on his apple rosy cheeks. Rex feels the urge to brush it away. He manages to get into the rhythm of the non-existent music as the twirl and dip around the campfire. The fire rims their figures as Rex dips down with Anakin’s arms preventing him from falling. As he returns back up, his thumb strays to his General’s face, brushing away the flakes of snow that covers his face. Anakin smiles, slightly wider than usual, and it was enough for the clone to freeze in his tracks. Anakin’s eyebrows quirk up, heat rushes into Rex’s face as he squeezes Anakin’s palm a little harder.

The snow continues to fall, melting away upon touching their skins; it never stays very long anyway. Anakin drops a quip, Rex rolls his eyes fondly. Anakin grins like the di’kut he is, he can not help but return with a small smile of his own. Anakin frees his flesh arm from his grip as he brushes away a stray flake of snow that dots Rex’s nose. He flushes almost upon touch, his mind goes blank.

“Just returning the favor,” Anakin says, his voice barely above a whisper and humor was clear in his tone. Rex puffs his cheek out in a sudden rush of frustration but he does not mind, really. Anakin chuckles under his breath as his flesh arm clasps around the clone’s warm palms.

“Why are you called Rex?” Anakin asks, his question catches the clone off guard. Rex mulls over his words as they continue to dance slowly. The snow falls onto his luscious locks of hair, the clone smothers the urge to go ahead and ruffle his hair to get rid of the white powder. He bites his lip as he tries to form a coherent response. His General does not seem to be in a rush, he hears him humming softly to a tune the clone did not recognize.

“Well, er -” Rex pauses, as his palm slips from Anakin’s grip, rubbing the back of his neck, “In a language that precedes Basic, Rex means King. My batchmates tend to, well, call me that because I always led them when we were cadets. And, it just stuck,”

Anakin’s countenance twists into something of thoughtfulness, Rex could not help but chuckle at how his General’s face has screwed up. His General scowls playfully, the Captain just smiles knowingly as they twirl away from the warmth of the campfire. The snow continues to fall onto them, it is not heavy yet. It feels just right.

“What about your name?” Rex asks casually, his brown orbs meeting with his gem-like blue ones. Anakin pauses for a moment, his gaze shifts onto the ground. Despite being a head taller than the clone, Anakin looks rather small.

“My mom named me,” Anakin begins softly. Rex feels a feeling of apprehension take hold of him. He knows that Anakin was inducted into the Jedi Order far later than most. This means that he knows his mother. And often, it is a taboo topic around Anakin. The General would often brush it off or quickly change the subject; however, his face always held this simmering rage and sorrow whenever she was brought up in conversation.

“It means sunshine in an old language… it is a native language to Tatooine before the Hutts came about. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to speak it,” Anakin admits sheepishly,” My last name was derived from Ekkreth, a trickster who frees slaves. In Basic, it means Skywalker,”

There is a pregnant pause between the two as Rex’s eyebrows knits in concentration, keeping up with Anakin’s pace. Something about this dance feels so surreal to Rex, sure, he has heard stories from Bly and General Secura wanting to suck their faces out for an hour straight or those other ones in which General Vos and Fox go on undercover dates which were usually located in the nearest janitor closet. Heck, he has even heard from the 212th that Cody - his ori’vod - wanting to kiss General Kenobi. Rex feels hot under his collar, he regrets not taking off his armor until he realizes that it is still snowing.

He is convinced that he is going green at the thought of his ori’vod kissing his General’s surrogate ori’vod. Rex is pulled out of his thoughts as Anakin’s eyes lock with his own. He feels the urge to talk, just to diffuse the awkward silence that follows.

“Sunshine, huh?”

Anakin shrugs in reply, “My mom has always viewed me as a blessing and she thought calling me sunshine in an ancient language would be fitting - ,”

“Well, you are kinda like a sunshine to me and my vods,” Rex explains, his fingers tangling into Anakin’s locks of hair as he brushes away the snow that dots across it, “ A blinding piece of beacon during battle - kind of like the sun,”

Anakin snorts; his eyebrows quirks up. Rex traces the scar over his eyes as they continue swaying along to a music they cannot hear. He twirls around as he dips down once more. Anakin lifts him back up, accidentally stepping his shoe. Rex hisses in pain as Anakin mumbles profuse apologies. Their dance begins to wind down as Rex feels a sense of calmness bubbling in his chest.

“Sunshine. C-can I call you sunshine?” Rex asks softly, a blush crept over his cheeks.

“L-like in private?” Anakin asks, red creeping over his face.

“Yeah,” Rex replies, a bit more sure of himself.

Anakin hums thoughtfully, “I guess,”

Their dance winds down, their steps begin to slow. They slowly come to a stop as the fire was about to die out. It flickers pitifully, grasping onto the last lease of life it has. Anakin and Rex part, stepping backwards. The snow begins to pelt down slightly harder than it did when they were dancing.

“Thanks, s-sunshine, for the dance,”

Anakin perks up, a smile melts into his face, “Thanks, Rex, a-and I love you,”

Anakin leaves a quick peck to his neck, Rex stands dumbfounded. His heart flutters as he feels warm and fuzzy. His surprised expression morphs into a smile as his shiny General disappears into his tent almost immediately. Before he disappears into the tent, Rex calls him out.

“I love you too, cyare,”

Anakin smiles, a little brighter than before. His smile was so blinding, Rex enamors himself at the beauty of his smile. With a light chest, he disappears into his tent and falls asleep contently.

[lihikainanea]

Can we discuss Tiger acknowledging Gustaf’s sensual essence. She’s not attracted to him in a legit way, but she recognizes how he’s just a walking sexual being and Bill finds this out and is just like please no. He’s a little jealous but also insecure cause that’s his big bro who he’s closest to and that’s his rock. Bill feels all the feelings.

Look man, Gustaf’s sensual essence is just....it’s impossible to ignore. I know little to nothing about this human, and yet I feel like I know his soul. Gustaf is good people. He’s calm people. He’s kind people. And while I’m still reeling from that sweet, sweet--god SO SWEET photo of him and his grandmother that he posted awhile ago (I think it was Mother’s Day in Europe?I can’t remember) but he’s just....Gustaf is one of those dudes that you never quite get over. Even if you’ve broken up, even if it’s years down the line, somehow--you always still think about a dude like Gustaf. And you wonder. You wonder if he’s well, if he’s found someone he's happy with. You wonder what he’s up to, if he ever ended up getting that motorcycle that he could never shut up about. You wonder if he still drinks his coffee black, if he still takes a bubble bath at least once a week and listens to Enya. You just...wonder.

But like look, you know what gets me here? Is maybe tiger acknowledges his sensuality, his mystique, in a far more subtle way--which in turn, just makes Bill so much more angry.

Hear me out.

So I like to think of tiger as a little ball of absolute fucking fire--she’s bitey, snappy, sassy, angry all the time and quite loud about it. She’s just hell on wheels, and Bill is her big calm dude who is always even-keeled and mild mannered. Ever notice how big dudes tend to be the most gentle? They tend to be the calmest? It’s because they know they can win the fight. All these other little dudes have to puff their chests out like peacocks, full of machismo and male ego, trying to prove a point. Big dudes are rarely like that. They don’t gotta prove nothin’.

In any case, maybe it’s the famed Skarsgard family camping trip and tiger has been even more high strung because of work stress. Tiger is basically being insufferable to Valter, and she’s sniping at Bill but he’s taking it in stride because he loves her anger. Gustaf though, Gustaf just watches it all calmly. Gustaf plots. He observes, but then he waits.

And maybe when tiger is having tea out by the dock, he comes over with a big blanket, undoes it, places it on her lap.

“Did you know,” he starts lowly, sitting down and resting his forearms on his knees, “That your shoulders are up by your ears?”

Tiger glares.

“All that tension must hurt,” he said, “Come on, take a deep breath.”

And tiger--like any warm blooded female--tiger has a bit of a soft spot for Gustaf. He’s not one you sass. So instead she huffs a bit because she just has to voice her displeasure somehow, but then she does it--takes a big, deep inhale through her nose, and breathes it out slowly through her mouth.

“Good,” he says, “Stand up for a second.”

And the difference is, Gustaf--much like Bill--doesn’t give tiger a chance to say no. He stands, takes her mug and places it on the table, then pulls her up gently, walking behind her.

“I tend to carry all of my tension right....here,” he pokes between her shoulder blades and she’s wound so tightly that she flinches, “And it seems you do too.”

Two big hands wrap around her shoulders, and she instinctively stands a little taller.

“Deep breath again,” he says. Tiger inhales, and on the exhale, Gustaf pulls her shoulders back. She nearly sags in relief, feeling the ball of tension in her back easing.

“Again,” he says, “And this time, try to pull away from me.”

So she takes a deep breath, and as he pulls her shoulders towards him, she resists and tries to pull them forward.

“Oh my god,” she moans at the deep stretch, “Oh fuck.”

He makes her do it three more times, and at the end he just runs his hands down her arms, throws the blanket over her shoulders.

“Tomorrow morning,” he says, “Sunrise. Out here.”

“Oh, no. No no. I don’t do mornings. I sleep through sunrises.”

But he smiles gently, runs a thumb across the deep bags under one eye.

“You’re not sleeping at all these days,” he says. And without another word, he retreats into the house.

And like, look. For a solid week, tiger joins him out on that dock, and he starts introducing her to yoga. Maybe a bit of meditation. Just very, very gentle stuff--no tough poses, nothing that hurts, just focused a lot more on breathing. And tiger is....slowly becoming much more peaceful, under his tutelage. And she starts to cherish those mornings, because Gustaf is sensual but tiger doesn’t feel it in a sensual way. She kind of just...she wants to cuddle Gustaf. Just wants to be in his presence, because he’s so incredibly calming and so nurturing. Gustaf is good people, he always was. So tiger spends nearly every morning with him and she comes back refreshed, calm, positive, invigorated. And Bill isn’t really any the wiser, because he sleeps like a log with the country air and tiger is usually back before he can even wake up.

But Bill notices one rainy afternoon, when they’re all in the living room playing Mario Kart. She’s on the couch and he’s on the floor in front of her, her legs over his shoulders as he strokes idly at them, his nose in a book. But he’s keeping an eye on the screen--and this is the fifth straight round that tiger has lost spectacularly. She’s either gone flying off the rainbow road or Valter has annihilated her with a tortoise shell of death--every round--and Bill flinches a little, in anticipation of the impending storm. He waits for it, ready to catch the controller that will for sure go flying by his head en route to his brother’s, maybe he even grips her ankle a little tighter to get a better hold in case she decides to fling HERSELF at Valter’s head. He clenches his jaw, wincing already and just hoping the trail of cusswords isn’t screamed too loudly or too closely to his ear.

But instead, he hears the controller be placed gently back on the couch, and he hears tiger take in three deep breaths--calming, rhythmic, steadying. And he peers up at her curiously just in time to see her eyes reopening, her shoulders lowering back to their normal position. And he’s just about to ask her if she’s feeling alright, until it happens.

It happens.

Gustaf reaches over, and gently taps the back of his knuckles on her bicep.

“Atta girl,” he says, “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Bill’s blood runs cold. 

And it’s not that he thinks Gustaf would ever do something, it’s not that he thinks TIGER would ever do something--it’s just that Gustaf’s aura is addictive, it’s undeniable, and Bill is a jealous bean when it comes to his Little Human. And this type of thing happens all the time with brothers, it’s normal. Bill isn’t threatened so much as he is just...a little irrational about it all. And he’s also pretty disturbed because he loves tiger’s fire, and he loves his role in it--tiger gets all up in ends about everything and it’s Bill’s job to smooth it out, calm her down, make her feel better. He likes being that person for her, he likes being her balm and her sense of reason with everything.

And in true Bill fashion, I’ll bet he lets it eat away at him for the entire day. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even squeak when Gustaf and tiger get into a really deep conversation about the powers of the psyche, the depths of the mind, ways of using emotions to control physical reactions in your body. Tantra. Bill doesn’t say a word.

But later on that night as they’re getting ready for bed, tiger pulls him down for a sweet kiss.

“I like this,” she runs her thumb over his scruff, “It’s sexy.”

“Why didn’t you yell at Valter?” he asks suddenly. Tiger looks at him, confused.

“What?”

“Valter needs to be yelled at,” Bill pulls his face from her hands and walks over to the door, opening it and jutting his chin.

“Go yell at him.”

Tiger is dumbfounded, and Bill eventually sighs heavily and slams the door shut a little too hard.

“Why are you so calm?” he demands.

“Why are you so...not calm?” she asks, “Bud, what’s going on?”

“Tiger, I like your fire. I like that you’re just....always angry. Because then I get to be the one who comes in and...helps. And I know you don’t need my help, but I like being that guy for you. I like that you get all angry and pissed off and that you snap at everything, because I like how it feels when I’m the only one who can talk you down,” he say, “Until, apparently, I’m not the only one who can talk you down.”

But tiger’s not an idiot. She knows there’s more.

“And what else?” she prompts. Bill shifts those big eyes of his, but tiger just crosses her arms.

“And you’re in love with Gustaf,” he mutters.

“There it is.”

She sighs, walks to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Bill, I’m not in love with Gustaf,” she says, “He has good energy. He was showing me tricks to try and relax a bit more.”

“But he’s....tiger, every single female on this planet is in love with Gustaf,” he pouts, “All this energy meditative calming tantra bullshit. He’s all sensual and mysterious and--”

“Bill,” she cuts him off, “So are you. Do you ever wonder maybe where you might get that from?”

His pout deepens, but he stays silent.

“Buddy, you have the closest bond with Gustaf because you two are so much alike,” she continues, “You have good in your soul. You have kindness in your soul, god just the way you take care of me is incredible. Your calm nature, your empathy. These things can't be taught, but they can be cherished and nurtured. And I think Gustaf did that for you.”

She plunks her head on his chest, puckers her lips for a kiss and he bends slightly, lays a soft peck on her mouth.

“I’m intrigued by Gustaf. Calm people intrigue me. But I’m not in love with Gustaf. I’m not even attracted to Gustaf.” she says, “It’s you, Billy Goat. You. You you you.”

He kisses her softly again, but then he pouts.

“There’s a ‘u’ in Gustaf.”

“Bill.”

[gripefroot]

My Dead Girlfriend [1/6]

“Ah, yes, that is a special teleportation charm of my brother’s,” Thor was saying - bellowing, more like, as Tony and Bruce, sitting next to each other on a couch, bend over a curious looking octogonal device. “Simply throw it on the ground, and you will disappear. Most handy in a tight spot, though one never knows where one will end up.” 

“How?” Bruce asks dumbly.  

“Because Loki is a jokester. He would find it greatly amusing if the user materialized fifty years in the past or on a distant planet.”

Tony and Bruce stare at Thor. Thor’s expression does not flinch.  

“I meant - how can something make a person disappear?” Bruce tries again.  

“Oh, it’s very simple - ” And Thor launches into an explanation that sounds anything but simple. Bucky, watching on and knowing this discussion is probably leagues above him, at least enjoys seeing Stark and Banner dumbfounded. 

“What’s this?” Natasha asks, reaching over to pick up a horse charm.  

“Ah!” Thor boomed. “That is the disembodied spirit of my first stallion, Gisl. He was one of my fondest friends; he had the driest sense of humor going into battle. If I am lonely, I can call upon his spirit to keep me company.” 

“What,” Tony says.  

“Must have been a real good friend,” Clint mutters.  

“Ah, that is my mother’s spyglass,” Thor says proudly, startling Sam into nearly dropping a glass tube. “She foresaw the armies of the dark elves marching upon our fortresses two weeks before they arrived. And what a battle we gave them! It was a mighty day.” 

“What about this?” Natasha pokes a necklace carrying a black stone.  

“A gift from my sister,” Thor’s voice lowers slightly, and Bucky leans forward, now slightly more interested. “She is the goddess of death. She made this charm to resurrect dead beings.” 

Natasha immediately flinches away from the necklace, but Steve reaches over the table to pick it up, examining it closely. “What do these runes say?” he asks.  

“The one who holds this charm and thinks of the dead will find within it solace and dread,” Thor says.  

“No, what does it really say,” Tony says sarcastically. Thor frowns.  

“No, that’s it.” 

Bucky leans over Steve’s shoulder to look - the stone, whatever it’s made out of, doesn’t seem quite substantial; as if it’s gathering in the light from the common area of Avengers Tower and...deleting it. Consuming it. If Bucky knew what a black hole looked like, he’d hazard it would be like this. The silver filigree holding the stone in place is carved with the runes Thor had translated.  

Steve proffers the stone to Bucky, and he lets it fall in his hand. It’s cold; as if drawing the warmth from his own body to fuel its life. Life? Stones don’t have lives.  

“Freaky,” Steve says.  

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees.  

“Can I bring back my dog?” Clint asks.  

“It’s a one-time use charm,” Thor explains. “My father imposes strict rules for the use of such deep magic. I would rather you not.” 

“Saving it for an emergency?” Natasha asks with a smile. 

“I’ve always wanted to speak to Marie Curie and ask her - ” Bruce starts to say, and Bucky stops listening. He glances over at Steve. Steve is frowning, staring at the stone.  

“Who would you bring back?” Bucky asks quietly, even though he already knows.

“Peggy.” Steve lets out a sigh, and the dark look in his eyes disappears. “What about you, Buck?” 

Bucky doesn’t respond. Staring into the depths of the stone so that none will see his expression, he traces the unreadable runes with the tip of his metal finger. It’s hardly a question at all. But now’s not the time to explain that sordid history to Steve; for all the years since it had happened, Bucky isn’t prepared to talk about...her. 

The runes flame orange, and the stone grows hot. Bucky drops it on the carpet, where it blackens the fibers as the conversation around his ceases. Tendrils of smoke curl the air from the charm, and - the black stone is gone.  

“What did you do?” Natasha asks, staring.  

“Odin’s beard!” Thor bellows. “The metal armed man cast my spell!” 

“I didn’t mean to!” Bucky says, panic rising.  

“Why did he get to do it? I wanted my dog…” Clint was whining.  

“This isn’t going to end well,” says Steve.  

Despite there being no windows open, a brisk, stale air smelling of sulfur whips through the room, swaying lamps and messing up Natasha’s hair. Thor stands, tall above the group as he looks upwards - everyone else looks up, too, and a black sort of hole opens above them. And through it -  

A body drops through, face up, and lands hard on the coffee table. The table breaks apart in an explosion, sending glass and wood everywhere - Bucky instinctively throws up his hands to protect his face - and Thor’s trinkets are scattered.  

The black hole is gone with the reverberating boom of thunder. The wind stills.  

His heart pounding, Bucky lowers his metal hand to stare at the wreckage. Everyone else is staring, too. For in the center of the room, surrounded by the debris of the coffee table, is a splayed out, unconscious woman. She’s dressed in outdated tac gear, complete except for two ragged holes in the front of her vest, through which her whole, unblemished skin can be seen.  

Bucky winces.  

Natasha swears in Russian. “Way to go, Barnes,” she says sharply, standing and brushing dust from her pants. “That was great. This is great. Wow. Now what, genius?” 

“It was an accident,” Bucky snaps back.  

“I do not think he meant to do this,” Thor speaks in Bucky’s defense, surprising him. Quickly he looks at Thor, and babbles out,  

“I’m sorry, man - I really didn’t mean to, and I know you were saving it - ” 

“Hush!” Thor holds up a hand, his eyes back on the woman again. Bucky gulps.  

The woman is stirring. First a little moan parts her lips, and then she shifts her arms and legs. Bucky’s mouth has gone dry; it’s as if the last forty years haven’t passed; this picture is horribly familiar… 

Her eyes open. There’s a detached confusion in them as she glances around, blinking rapidly. Then she sees everyone circled around her - Thor, Tony, Clint, Sam, Steve. And to the back, Natasha and Bucky. Her eyes widen.  

Breathing raggedly, she scrambles backwards on her hands and feet away from Bucky - crunching on broken glass -  stumbling right into Tony’s legs. Her head whips around, and Tony gives a cheeky wave. Bucky scowls as the woman yelps in surprise.  

Thankfully, Natasha has decided it’s time to step in - literally. She snakes around the wreckage of the coffee table, crouching down beside the woman and speaking rapidly in low Russian. Bucky can hear what she’s saying, even though he’d rather not. 

“Эй, все будет хорошо. Мы не причиним вам вреда. Что-то странное произошло, но мы все выясним, хорошо?” 

 “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We won’t harm you. Something strange happened, but we’ll get this sorted out, okay?” 

The woman, heaving in panic, is staring at Natasha as if seeing a ghost. Then she dips her head in a bare nod, bringing one hand to her chest as if to calm her breathing. Her fingers find one of the holes in her vest. Baffled, she looks down, and then - up to Bucky, brows creasing dangerously. 

“Hello!” Thor suddenly booms, causing everyone to jump. The woman jerks around. “This man accidently brought you back to life. What’s your name?” 

“He accidently brought me back to life?” the woman asks, her voice shaking but quite clear. And accented familiarly. Bucky had forgotten her voice - the sound wrenches in his chest in the most painful way. But her gaze is daggers on him again as her voice turns cold. “Well, that’s - what’s the English word for it? Irony. He’s the one that killed me in the first place.” 

“About that - ” Bucky says awkwardly, to the tense silence that follows her pronouncement. 

“It’s been over forty years,” Natasha interrupts quickly. “I don’t know what you remember - ” 

The woman blinks, her eyes roving the room to take it in a second time. “I remember…” she begins. Back to Bucky, and her eyes well with tears for just a moment. “I remember him. He lured me into a deserted chamber in Siberia. And he - he - ” She swallows back a choke, and looks away. Bucky feels as though he’s been punched in the gut, especially when Natasha turns to glare at him.  

“I am uncomfortable,” Tony remarks. He’s ignored; Natasha turns back to the woman, reaching out her hand to place on her arm in comfort -  

The woman disappears at Natasha’s touch. Where she had been sitting, lengthened shadows from the tipped over lamps, blacker than night, and a cold wind that freezes Bucky’s gut in horror. He half-jumps out of the couch, but Steve grasps his arm.  

“Ahh!” from Sam.  

“Don’t,” Steve says to Bucky in warning. “We don’t know - ” 

“Fascinating,” Thor says impressively. 

Natasha jerks her hand away, and at once the woman reappears. There are tear tracks on her face, but her eyes are wide with terror as she braces her hands on the floor, fingers digging into the carpet. No one speaks for a moment. 

“What - ” she starts to say.  

“A gift,” Thor says, not vaguely at all.  

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Only the woman’s ragged breathing can be heard as she buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. 

“I shouldn’t have asked about - about who you’d bring back to life,” Steve says under his breath. “Sorry, Buck. I didn’t realize you were holding the stone.” 

“Well, this is enough soap opera drama for me,” Clint says loudly, running his fingers through his hair. “Excuse me if I now retire to my nest. Good night. Thanks for the show and tell, Thor. It was interesting.”  

There are awkward murmurs all around; everyone apart from Natasha, Bucky, and their new visitor sidle out of the room with varying excuses. Tony says something about sending someone to clean up, and Thor mentions sending a raven to his father. But Bucky isn’t paying attention.  

“Go, Barnes,” Natasha says coldly. “I’ll take care of her.” 

“Nat, I didn’t have a choice - ” 

“I know. And she knows too.” Her voice softens slightly. “But it’s still better if you go.” 

Bucky surges to his feet, temper clashing with his regret. A low growl erupts from his chest, but he turns on his heel nonetheless and stomps from the room.  

Even though you know when he’s gone, you can’t stop tears from overflowing again. 

~

Ahem. Ahem, is this thing on?  

The image of a tall woman, perched upon a throne of fire, is so real you feel like you could touch it. Heat is emanating in waves, uncomfortably so. Behind her, flames writhe as high as mountains, sparking with all the rage of fire and none of its comfort. Are those screams you’re hearing? You gulp. The woman’s eyes are soulless black, and they roam around until they land on...you. 

Greetings, undead one. Her lips don’t move, but the force of her voice thrums through your body. Her long, pale fingers are wrapped around a staff of obsidian, black as her eyes. This is an automated message. If you have received it in error, shout “Error.”

Pause. 

Good. You have received the gift of a second life. Perhaps you have noticed a few changes from what you remember of your first life. Those are side effects that generally wear off; if they do not, please contact the Office of Hell, and one of my representatives will assist you. 

Are you dreaming? You can’t tear your gaze away from the terrifying woman. 

I am legally contracted to warn you, by order of Odin, god of wisdom, poetry, war, divination, ec cetera…

Even terrifying, there’s no mistaking the boredom in the woman’s mind-voice. 

That if you are found to be guilty of wielding your privilege of a second life to harm others, you will be promptly destroyed and devoured by Odin’s ravens. Have a nice day. 

continue

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #20: Limbo

From @alexprompts‘ post:  “Of course I don’t fear death - she raised me.”

Day 20 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1450

Constructive criticism welcome!

I embraced the wind as I ran across rooftops. From gap to gap, I leapt. Traversing the town from so high above placed a smile on my face. People milled about below me, some shooting confused or alarmed looks at me. It had been three hours since I left my house and it was time for a break. Crossing my legs and peering over the edge of a building, I made eye contact with a friend. She signalled at me to come down. I grimaced, knowing what she would say. Containers lining the side of the building paved my way to the ground.

Abby studied me with her arms folded and her brows furrowed. “You don’t fear death, do you? You’re always doing parkour in your free time. Can’t believe you haven’t had a bad fall yet.”

I smirked. “Of course I don’t fear death — she raised me.”

“Haha, funny. Come along — I’m grabbing lunch at your favourite place.”

“No, really. Let me tell you about it,” I insisted. “I’ve never gotten to tell my story.”

——————-

My birth name had been Ana Mitrović. My new name was Anna Miler. I still remember the phlegm clogging my itchy throat. Simultaneous hot and cold as I lay swaddled in the blankets of my cot, the raging fever waging a war with my body. Breathing was laborious. My mother’s face — worried, anxious, stressed — looking down at me, wondering how she could make me healthy.

A burning sensation overtook everything. I shivered, an infant clueless of everything but the pain I was feeling. And then it went dark: replaced by chilly water on my back and the kiss of a passing breeze. Someone was wading towards me. I broke out in tears and called for the reassurance of my parents. The only person that came was a lanky woman, clothed in white. Her hair was silk, her skin as pale as milk. Her eyes, however, seemed darker than the deepest night. 

She cradled me, placing a hand on my forehead. The warmth came back as she did that. This time, I was unscathed. It was pleasant, like a loving mother’s kiss. An orange glow shone on her palm as she drew it away. A smile turned into an “O” of surprise as she carried me away.

I must have fallen asleep, for I remembered waking up in a room full of cots. My clothes had been changed. I knew I was safe there. The pale woman came in and stood by my cot.

“This is your home now, Ana. Welcome to Limbo. You can call me Mother Death.”

Turning to a woman at her side, she whispered something. The only things I could pick out were, “the fire we’ve been looking for.” Many years had to pass before those words uncovered their meaning.

———————-

The schoolyard was packed with other kids — all having died very young — rushing to their class. Although the dorms were close to the campus, everyone left it to the last minute. A television anchored to the roof of the main corridor blared news from the world of the living. It was like a pair of binoculars to the chaos that Death had saved us from.

In class, the Soul Harvesting teacher pulled out a huge leather-bound journal. It was inked with the haphazard inscriptions of Mother Death herself. We were Mother Death’s helpers in the making. Souls were finicky: sometimes they fled the body too fast, while some refused to join the Underworld. We were taught about the different depths of Hell and where to place the souls of the sinners (in the flames for the malicious, deep in icy water for the deceitful).

At times, we would get a teacher from ten centuries ago. Everyone in Limbo did not age past twenty, but there were girls in 1920s flapper fashion and men in Roman robes. Despite barely having seen anything  but the dark cave walls of Limbo, nothing was missing.

———————-

“Ana. Mother Death has asked to see you,” my professor told me. “Now. It’s urgent.”

I nodded, shoving my notebooks into my bag. Faint blue light led my way out of the university campus. I swerved through crowds and inched my way through the Central Market. As I passed by a stall hawking mushrooms, the vendor grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in.

“You can feel it in the air, can’t you?” she whispered, looking around with wary eyes.

“Feel what?”

“Hell is stirring beneath us. It’s been grumbling for years — but recently it’s been getting worse. I thought you’d know. You seem like one of them.”

“I don’t get it. Sorry, but I have to meet Mother Death now.”

“Hold on. Let me check whether my instincts were right.”

Her grasp on my hand tightened and became warmer. The fire. The heat tingled and intensified. A flame rose from my palm. I yelped and jumped back, knocking over a container of wares.

“When you died, did it feel like a flame burning you up?”

“Yeah. I died of a fever.”

She smiled at me and said, “That wasn’t the fever. It was Hell trying to get to you.”

———————-

Mother Death sat at her dining table in her cottage. Even though she headed the city, she loved the seclusion of the corners of Limbo. She poured two cups of tea with nimble fingers and invited me to sit across her.

“I’ve heard that you’re doing exceptionally well in university. You’ll be amazing in the soul research field, my dear.”

My cheeks glowed with her approval. She had returned me the life that was snatched from me. She provided for all.

“It’s all thanks to you, Mother,” I paused before continuing, “There’s something very odd that I heard today from a vendor at the Central Market.”

She motioned for me to continue. I poured out every detail of the encounter, my hands trembling as I held the cup for its comforting warmth. Midway through my recollection, she extracted a notepad from her tremendous desk drawers. With a quill and a bottle of ink, she wrote with a deft hand. Her eyes were keen, concentrated on my every word. Encouraged, I retold the day’s affairs with a fairytale-like flourish.

“That is what I wanted to discuss today. From what you told me, you were speaking to Marie. She sees people’s fates. A wonderful talent that hasn’t grown obsolete.”

“Why does she have that power?” I played with my belt buckle, agitated by what Mother may say.

“The souls in Hell don’t like being in Hell. Every few centuries, they try to break out into the world of the living. She helped me piece together a team for the last attempt.”

The fire we’ve been looking for. I was part of the team. My hands… Their flames! Dancing balls of light that emerged in my moments of vivid emotion. When I failed my Soul Harvesting final… The textbook that burned. My head bobbed up and down in slow acceptance.

“Something’s different now. They’ve been speaking to me in my dreams. I don’t know what they’re saying — the connection’s somewhat garbled,” Mother Death said.

“What do I do? I don’t know anything…”

“You’ll have to return to the Overworld. Use a new name — Anna Miller?”

“And then?”

“Spend some time on Earth. Soon, I’ll come for you again. You’ll have to experience me a second time, I’m afraid.”

“And that’s how I infiltrate Hell? Death under a new identity?”

“Smart girl. I’ll accompany you to the Gate of Rebirth and no further.”

———————-

Abby was dumbfounded, struck by silence. Patting her back, I looked on as she struggled to process it all. Her eyes were locked onto the ground. She drew in her lips and nibbled on them as she delivered her viewpoint, “Damn, Anna. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Let’s go to the restaurant. Pretend nothing happened.”

I helped her up to her feet and we walked to the nearby Italian restaurant. The aroma of food took a load off our shoulders as we pored over the menu. Service was quick; my plate of carbonara arrived seven minutes after ordering. I dug into it, revelling in the rich creaminess of it. 

A few minutes into the meal, a headache crept in. I should’ve slept more last night. My chest was fluttering. Too fast. Way too fast. And then it slowed down. A pale woman came to our table and took my wrist. Abby’s eyes darted to her, alarmed, confused. 

“Are you ready?” the woman murmured.

MOTHER.

My body shook and then stiffened, everything fading to black.

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting

[darkmindsotome]

Risque Rouge pt6

Tagging: @umbralaperture​ @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly. 

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 6

When he arrived at the performing house, he could already sense something was terribly wrong. The building was as silent as the grave which felt like part of his ominous premonition from before had manifested itself. His body propelled through the building at high speed, his coat billowing behind him as he ran. His keen senses could smell the same scent in the air as back at that building and he felt his stomach and heart lurch.

Emotions were still a deciding factor for life, even for the immortal. It could make a smart man dumb or the bravest turn coward. He could get angry and vengeful to the point where the fury he had inside him could be felt rolling off his calm exterior in waves. Very few had seen Comte in righteous indignation and the ones that had, no longer spoke of it. The cool calm gentleman transformed into a biblical judgement as he struck down opponents without breaking his stride.

Still, in all the centuries of his life, he was always reminded of how powerless he was in the face of fear. It made him feel slightly ridiculous. In truth, there was little for a pure blood to be scared off. They were at the pinnacle of the predatory evolutionary scale. Death would be a release if it should even find them. Injury was temporary, fleeting like the life of a human in the expanse of eternity. Naturally, should the injury result in loss of limb they were no reptile or creature capable of regrowth. Even the frozen stasis of their bodies had limitations. Fear, however, that was a universal thing affecting all be it human, animal or vampire.

Stubbornly creeping up his spine, that familiar sense of dread probably had a much better name for itself. It was a cool chill coursing through his veins, a desire for answers and also a wish to remain ignorant. Fear really was a strange force to conjure with. Even with centuries of experience to draw on, it still knew how to give a good fight.

Repressing a curse under his breath he pulled back the curtain revealing the truth. It was a nightmare that would have fitted perfectly in the scriptures of any horror novel. Raven black hair curled in a tangled curtain covering in part some of the sight. The scent of blood filling the air had his mind reeling and as he pushed back against his own instincts, he noted the debris on the ground. The medicine destroyed and it was then he noticed the identity of the figure in the Princess’s arms. Le Comte was not a stupid man he could make an educated guess as to what happened and his own blood boiled thinking of how differently the events might have played out.

“Evie?” The young woman’s head moved, detaching herself as she looked towards him with a sound crossed between a groan and moan emitted from her. The clarity of those eyes made even him gasp, their pinpoint focus and depth were disarming.

It was true he had known what she was, although it had taken a couple of visits to confirm his suspicions. The same instinct that had drawn him to Leo when he discovered him in Italy, was playing a part here as well. The only difference was Leo knew exactly what he was and this woman didn’t seem to have even that basic knowledge. He felt guilty for his selfishness as he looked at the scene of the horrific tableau. He had avoided telling her, questioning and second-guessing his own decision, not wishing to cause her distress. He had soothed his worries with a promise he would make a more appropriate time to discuss such matters and focused on simply discovering more about her as a person. Nothing in his wildest dreams could have produced the vision in front of him.

The feral predator, both as deadly as it was beautiful. Her elegant fingers coated in dark glistening blood and her lips stained in the same. The demure and delicate poised figure from before had become a reflection in a black mirror and her capabilities were on full display. There was a low grumble that might as well have been from the pits of hell, neither of them moving.

"Are you alright ma Cherie?" His voice was as tender as ever. No judgement, no hatred as he patiently waited to see if she would manage to regain herself. They remained in a stalemate as they each regarded each other, two predators alone in the night. Hunger could do some terrible things and bloodlust was not something easy to fight. It drove the vampire to the brink of madness and threw them weakened into the abyss. Comte was worried for the girl as she had been weakened for so long, but her strength of mind was sound enough that he believed she could recover from this. He hoped she would recover.

“C- Comte?” The soft frail voice that answered him made his chest hurt. The angular shape of her body wrapped around her pray relaxed along with her expression as the predatory mask fell away. He felt himself give a small sigh of relief and some of the tension of his own body evaporated as well. Evie looked down at the weight leaning on her and yelped, hurriedly pushing the figure off her and scurrying backwards on her knees. “What have I done?”

She looked down at her hands in horror at the red painting her skin, the smears of it up her arms. The more she examined herself the deeper she felt herself slip into stunned terror. The cream coloured nightgown that clung to her sweat-soaked skin was ruined with torn buttons and fabric dyed in blood. She ran the tip of her tongue tentatively over her lip, finding more of it, her mind went blank realising what she had done. Her body started to shake violently and all the tears she had failed to shed before came out like a burst dam.

“It can’t--, I… I’ve never done something like that be-before.” Her voice was so quiet as if she was speaking only to herself but Comte heard every word uttered and felt the weight of grief in each one. He slowly stepped over the corpse on the floor and crouched down next to the young woman. Her face looked up at his, blood-stained and wet with tears. Her twin emeralds shimmering under a lake of moisture as she sobbed. She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, rocking in place as she tried to reconnect with her own sanity. “What is wrong with me? I’m a monster, aren’t I?” She averted her gaze and looked at the bloodied mess she had created. It was everything she didn’t wish to see again but knew she would always remember.

“Shh… My dear sweet girl. Hush ma petite.” He gave little care for the crimson that might also paint him in the same shade as her. Comte wrapped her small frame in his arms, easily moving her with him as he carried her to her bed and sat with her there on his lap. Her arms latched on to him like he was the only solid thing in her world. Stroking one hand soothing up and down her back as he cradled her head against his chest. He felt her trembling and the dampness of her tears as they soaked through his shirt. Once more his chest gave a painful pinch as he held the trembling girl in his arms silently trying to calm her.

---

Time lost all concept while he held the trembling woman in his arms. Seconds turned to minutes, that bled into hours, and the only thing he was aware of was that when she finally stopped shaking the sky outside was painted in ribbons of sunlight and muted dawn shades.

She felt the exhaustion in every part of her body as it stilled and her tears finally stopped. Her eyes travelled back to the elephant in the room unable to place the feeling she had inside her now. It was a form of uncomfortable acceptance that made her feel guilty as sin for the apparent numbness she now felt. Was it a form of shock or had something else come to fill the gap in her mind to prevent her from delving headfirst into madness?

“Mon pauvre petit. Ca va?” The warmth from the man she had clung on to, in what was left of the night, brought her mind back to his presence. His large hands rubbed up and down her back once more as if trying to chase away the thoughts that would drag her back into herself. He still sounded so comforting as he enquired after her which presented new problems.

They were in a room with a dead man, covered in blood and the performing house would soon see the return of its people. It was a situation that failed to show how any of this could end well for either of them as they sat on her bed. She believed she deserved whatever fate she would be given to atone for her actions but what of the caring Comte?

He was innocent in this. No doubt someone would argue a case for his complicit assistance. He had failed to raise an alarm or attempt to stop her. There really did seem to be no end to the consequences of her cruel actions. Her heart sank at the thought of him doomed to be tarred with the same brush that would have her locked behind bars for life. When his only crime was being kind enough to care for her.

“Your kindness may be your undoing. I don’t scare you?” She muttered not daring to make eye contact for fear of what she might see reflected there. The sight of her flinching in his arms softened his expression more. She was like a scared little animal and it was almost unbearably endearing.

“Why would I be scared of you, ma Cherie?” She gasped and looked at the man still holding her to him in his arms. Did he not notice the dead body? The blood staining him where it transferred from her? He couldn’t have missed the fact that she was the one to do something so horrific. How could he be so calm? Stunned and at a complete loss of words she looked at him in complete disbelief. “You did not answer me. Are you alright Princess?” He made no attempt to pull away as he rephrased his question, pressing for an answer.

“I think so?” She nodded still dumbfounded and he patted her head, moving her off from his lap as he stood up gracefully.

“Mm, well that will do for now.” He walked over to the horrific diorama and gave a light tap to the dead man’s foot with his own. The warm toffee brown eyes were glazed over with a look similar to cataracts, the spark of life they once held gone. The lingering warmth she felt from him near her seemed a million miles away as she watched him now acting in such a detached manner. “I don’t suppose you would have a measure of rope in here?”

“Rope?” She became curious enough that she slipped from her bed and used objects around her to aid her attempt to walk. Every part of her body felt alien to her as she attempted to stand, stumbling like a newly born deer to his side. The marks she knew were on the body caused by her mouth had faded into obscurity, little more than bruising on the flesh. The sickening look of rapturous euphoria on the dead doctor’s face had her feeling queasy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen…” Death was a concept she was familiar with but never had she been this close to it. Her words trailed off as she stole a glance at le Comte and guiltily clamped her mouth shut.

“You are still young. If you have no rope then we have to make other arrangements.” Saying this he gave her a reassuring smile and moved over to one of the windows. His calm and collected behaviour had her tipping a balance between awe and curiosity. Was he so used to such things that this was nothing to him? After opening the window to check for casual pedestrians he tied a scarf around it and used his elbow to punch out the glass.

“What on earth are you doing!?” Evie cried out rushing to his side in time to see him remove the scarf and scattering its contents on the sill and her bed.

“Hush now, Cherie.” Comte put a finger to her lips before raising it to give a small bop on the tip of her nose and continued to do whatever he was doing in her room. “If we cannot remove the evidence, we have to find a way to explain it. I might not be a great detective or an impossibly brilliant inventor but I have learnt a few things in my long life. At least enough for this.” He paused in his actions and glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You might want to freshen up a little.”

She looked at her reflection, the ornate frame of the dresser mirror surrounded her image like a terrible painting. Her face had tear-stained rivers through darkened dry blood and puffy red eyes. Bringing her hands to her face as if she couldn’t believe the reflection was her own, she wondered how she had not noticed the aftermath of the night clinging to her till now? She dashed to the basin and tipped some freshwater into the bowl. Dipping a cloth in she began to scrub and dab away the rotten mess. With a last douse of clear water, she felt a bit better and turned to find the macabre scene from before had changed.

If she hadn’t known better, she might have said it now looked like more of a struggle had taken place. Furniture had been tipped over and the doctor had been moved so his body was now face down pointing towards the door. With the addition of the broken glass and window, some more of her clothes had been removed from their hangers and now lay haphazardly around adding to the disorder.

“That should be enough.” Comte nodded and looked over to her giving her a reassuring smile before they were disturbed by a familiar figure tunelessly whistling as they entered carrying a tray of food.

It was a thing of perfect comedic timing had the situation been less grim. The small black eyes of the owner moved between Evie and le Comte, questions clearly forming in his mind before they dropped to the floor and his hands released the tray with a clatter.

“Oh My Lord! What in the --?” The owner cried out as his voice trailed off. His jaw hung open mystified as he tried to process the scene. His face drained of colour as he failed to remove his gaze from the scene he had just walked into. A corpse in the room, blood spatters and broken glass, the whole place was a complete mess.

“There was an incident last night.” Comte answered calmly with a slightly apologetic look on his face.

“I can see that.” The owner answered automatically, the way someone does when spoken too as they are lost in their own thoughts while he continued to look around the room. His eyes landed on the girl and finally seemed to take in her appearance. “Ah! Evie are you alright?”

Practically tripping over his own feet, and the tray, the owner rushed towards her bundling her up in his arms whilst trying to look her over from head to foot. The strength of his grip had her unable to breathe properly or reply. His eyes were full of concern and the guilt she had inside bubbled up again. Her eyes prickled as she tried to avoid the tears, she had thought to be all dried up and gave an awkward smile with a nod in reply.

“I’m afraid I returned after hours.” Comte spoke a bit louder than needed as he began walking closer to the entwined pair. “I remembered something I had to tell the Princess and stumbled upon… well.”

As she peeked out from the crushing embrace Comte’s golden eyes met hers with a silent request to let him handle this. The owner shifted his body so he too could see the approaching man and when the two men made eye contact, she could have sworn she saw those same golden orbs glow. The tight grip surrounding her seemed to slacken and the probing look on Uncle’s face melted, replaced with a look of relief. It was only for a fraction of a second but time felt slower as what she convinced herself to be a trick of the light made Comte’s eyes even more magnetic.

“Oh, dear Sir! Thank you. I mean naturally, I am not happy that you should think to return with it being so late, but thank the Lord in heaven that you did.” Uncle was acting like he was a little drunk, his focus was clear enough but there was something about his movements that just made him feel different. The owner pulled her tight to him once more placing a kiss on the crown of her head before pulling back and trying to smooth out her hair as if she were still a child. It made her feel embarrassed but in the back of her mind, she just couldn’t seem to ignore the sensation of something being off.

“I was actually about to summon a constable.” Comte continued to speak as he took up a blanket and draped it over Evie, effectively placing a barrier between her and the rest of the world.

“The police! Yes, excellent idea. I er…” The Owner suddenly looked very uncomfortable as he looked once more towards the dead man in the room.

“You would prefer not to involve the authorities?” Comte raised his brow in query a knowing look settling on his face.

“Ah, no it isn’t that.” The man muttered worriedly and looked once more at the young woman. It wasn’t just le Comte that was worried about dangers being brought to their house.

For Comte, it was a fear of a secret existence being revealed and the resulting chaos that would swallow all he knew and held dear. For the owner, he was already operating in a grey area of society, while the libertine lifestyle came with a certain level of romanticism it also held a rather low level of security against the cruelty of the world.

Yes, the desire to protect your household and family can take many forms and sometimes the actions taken to do so came from some questionably moral avenues. The consequences of such things would directly affect more than a couple of others and it was a matter of moving in the right manner to minimise the damage. A simple fact that le Comte was all too familiar with.

“I can appreciate the issue.” Comte nodded perceptively and moved closer, placing a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “Would you agree to place the Princess in my care? I could provide rooms and distractions until this unsettling matter is cleaned up. It would, after all, be nothing if not fulfilling my duty as her sponsor.” The words tumbled from him as naturally as water flowed downhill which did make her feel like this was a prearranged performance. She couldn’t shift the idea that everything could have been a lot more complicated, should have been a lot harder. The memory of his eyes came back to her, the glow.

“My good Sir that would be a weight off my mind.” The owner sighed with sparkling eyes. If a look could be more inappropriate given the situation she struggled hard to think of it. The jump from one extreme of mood to another made her head spin, it was as if someone had suddenly turned on the sun.

Comte’s large hand resting on her shoulder remained in place, his gently grip flexing slightly. Evie couldn’t tell if it was meant as a gesture to tell her to relax or a subconscious movement. The owner took both her hands in his, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I’m sure you had a terrible shock and it pains me I was not here to protect you. I should reconsider relocating my room to somewhere closer…”

“Uncle?” Evie softly called to him. The sight of his kind heart being so fully on display had that gnawing seed of guilt sprouting up inside her again. Struggling to find words she simply squeezed his hands. Even in his rambling state where he could become so flustered, she wondered how he had not succumbed to ill health relating to his nervous disposition. The man in front of her had never once shown her anything but care and kindness.

“Oh, pay no mind to this old fool Princess.” The owner gave a lopsided smile bringing one hand up to her face to smooth out the signs of concern she had there. Releasing her once more he turned away from her again, as if looking at her too long would hurt him after making his choice to send her away. “Still, the police will be here stomping around for a while and we will have to close for a time no doubt. I shall have to redecorate this room as well…” He was running his hand through his slick hair, causing it to become a temporary mess before being corrected once more. His mind clearly running through a to-do list that she had no doubt was growing by the second thanks to his worry.

“Uncle please. You—” Tears she tried to hold back were now running again. Her heart was hurting and she felt like someone was placing bricks steadily one by one on top of her. Everything was her fault and she hated it. All she had ever wanted to do was try to repay him and the others in the performing house for everything they had done for her.

“Ah! No little Princess no need to cry.” Beady black eyes went saucer round when the owner saw her crying. “It’s nothing to worry yourself over but I would like for you to accept the kind offer until this is all in order.” He moved swiftly back to her before realising the coating of pomade on his hands and rubbed them on his trousers before collecting her hands again. “Would you?” He was stooping to try to get a better look through the tears at her face.

The hand of Comte gave a gentle squeeze, and she nodded pushing back down the words she might have said. She was acutely aware of the warmth from both men and their concern for her. Evie resigned herself to do as was requested if it would bring any form of comfort to her fretting guardian. Seeing her attempt to give a weak smile the owner gave a small sigh pulling his face into a blended expression that landed somewhere between apologetic and grateful.

“Excellent! I shall leave my dear child in your care Monsieur. Pardon, I must go and find an officer and you simply must both not be here upon my return. Don’t worry I shall take care of everything. A beintot little Princess, Au revoir Monsieur!” With those few words of advice, the animated man gave a wave and scurried out of the room.

The silence that filled the room afterwards felt oppressive. Everything was like a terrible dream except the smell in the air and the way her bloodstained nightdress was clinging to her told her it was all real.

“We should be leaving.” Comte prompted gently releasing his grip on her shoulder and instantly moving into a perfectly elegant swooping motion to collect her, as the strength in her legs gave out.  She hadn’t noticed that just one single hand of his had somehow been applying support to her whole body, denying it’s failing sooner. “Careful now.” His voice was so close it seemed to shock the tears right out of her. She looked up and gave a very small noise realising how close his face was to hers. “You might want to hold on until we can reach the road and hail a carriage. I promise I won’t drop you, but I cannot guarantee smooth sailing through these halls.”

“You intend to carry me out?” The look of disbelief on her face as she asked her question amused him. Her pale skin of the most delicate porcelain that had been stained with tears and blood now shone with a dusty rose tint courtesy of her freshly acknowledged embarrassment.

“I don’t believe you are in a fit state to argue differently.” His voice came out with a stifled chuckle and a rather ungentlemanly urge to tease her swelled in him seeing her innocent face. “I cannot force you to do as I’ve requested though.”

“Ah!” She cried out and clung on to him as he made a sudden movement to begin walking out the room. His body lurched uncharacteristically for one so graceful and Evie found she was forced to throw her arms around his neck in order to prevent herself from tumbling. “You did that on purpose!”

She wanted to be upset with him. How could an elegant gentleman do such a thing? When she looked up and saw how he laughed she found she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The shame and guilt, all of the emotions she couldn’t begin to name were still surging through her like a roaring tide. She buried her face in his chest, her hands draped around him as he carried her in his arms, wondering if she was allowed to feel this kind of warmth and safety.

---

[taeheyhey]

Close to Normal

Chapter 15 - Let Her Know

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 3.9k words

A/N - Hello again! It's that time of the week! I really hope you enjoy this next chapter you lovely lot. Thanks as always for the likes and the reblogs and the lovely comments, you all make my day so many times over ♥♥♥

One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

Taehyung was sat silently in one the airport lounge’s many unoccupied leather chairs, completely motionless since he and Seong-min had met up with the rest of the group half an hour or so ago. He had lowered his mask to just below his bottom lip, and he stared across the room at nothing in particular, the only sound escaping him was the occasional world-weary sigh.

When they had first entered, Jimin had been so happy to see Taehyung that he practically leapt from his seat to run over to him, startling Yoongi and Jungkook awake in the process. His excitement was short lived however, once he saw the dark expression on his face.

“She wasn’t there, Jimin-ie,” he had informed him quietly. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” 

Jimin felt his heart go out to his friend, yet he could think of nothing to say that might offer him any solace. He had never seen him look so dejected, and he stood dumbfounded as Taehyung walked past him without meeting his gaze and sat down heavily, dropping his bag on the floor clumsily. In an attempt to pass the time without his phone, he turned in his seat – after a few moments of fidgeting restlessly – and stared out at the planes meandering slowly in to position on the asphalt on the other side of the huge window which took up an entire side of the lounge.

The rest of the members remained silent for the most part, each of them casting sporadic concerned glances in Taehyung’s direction. Apart from Jimin, the only member who was really able to talk him around when he had his melancholy moments was Namjoon, and he was busy elsewhere talking with the managers about the changes in the schedule the unusual turn of events had caused.

After twenty minutes or so, Yoongi and Jungkook had drifted back off to sleep and Hoseok and Jin were engrossed in some video on Hoseok’s laptop, each of them sharing one pair of headphones between them and occasionally chuckling softly so as not to draw too much attention in the otherwise silent room. Now their focus was pulled away from the sombre form of the second youngest, Jimin decided to seize the opportunity to comfort Taehyung without the attention of the others making him self-conscious.

Jimin made his way over to where his friend had alienated himself and sat on the arm of the chair, leaning over him and handing over one of his ear-buds the same way Taehyung had done for him many times before, and draping the other arm around his shoulder. Taehyung met his eyes gratefully and nodded his head slowly, pressing the tiny speaker in to his ear and offering Jimin a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before turning away again.

They sat close together, listening to the music on Jimin’s phone and staring contemplatively through the window, Jimin occasionally opening his mouth to speak but thinking better of it. Taehyung would talk about it if and when he felt ready to, and it could take hours if not days for that to happen based on previous experience.

After a short while, he heard a shaky sniffing sound and looked down to see his friend on the verge of tears, his face red from the effort at trying to stop them from spilling. He tightened his arm around Taehyung’s shoulder and pulled him closer to his side, wrapping his other arm around his front to clasp his hands together around the brunette’s frame, which had begun to shake with barely restrained sobs.

It wasn’t the first time Jimin had comforted him when he had been in distress, and he thought about how much more serious Taehyung seemed to have gotten in recent months. It was rare, but he also seemed to talk about the drawbacks of their fame, not to mention the demands of adhering to their carefully cultivated public image, much more often than he used to. 

It occurred to Jimin that you had offered Taehyung a taste of what his life could be like away from the scrutiny of the public in the last couple of days and, despite the frenetic sneaking around and the confrontations with Seong-min, it was almost as if a weight had been physically lifted from his shoulders during the brief time you had spent together, and it had warmed Jimin to see it.

How he wished he could offer some words of advice, but he felt entirely out of his depth as Taehyung continued to make sniffling sounds in to the crook of his elbow as the black-haired boy's arms surrounded him protectively. The position was awkward, but Jimin was loathe to move away from his friend’s side despite the discomfort that was beginning to form in the bend of his spine.

It was at this moment that Namjoon returned from his discussions with the staff. He made his way over to his pile of luggage nearby to where Jungkook was sleeping, until he spotted the huddled shapes by the window and realised that Taehyung had returned from his detour. Jimin flashed a meaningful look at him as he approached them.

He stood in front of then both and looked momentarily lost, feeling somehow like an intruder on their interaction. His eyes shifted from side-to-side as Jimin squoze his hand around the younger man’s shoulder to indicate their hyung’s presence.

Embarrassed, Taehyung sat upright and briskly wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his top and regarded Namjoon cautiously. Jimin made moves to leave them to talk privately, but before he could lift himself from the arm of the chair Taehyung’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. He turned back to see him looking up at him pleadingly with watery eyes, and Jimin was reminded how childlike he could be sometimes in spite of his burgeoning maturity.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Namjoon said eventually, pulling a nearby chair over and seating himself in it, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His tone was neutral, it wasn’t accusatory or assumptive, he was genuinely asking if his dongsaeng was in any state to discuss what had happened and how he was feeling.

Despite Namjoon’s calming tone, Taehyung was still wary. “Haven’t you heard everything already? Didn’t Seong-min tell you it all? That’s where you’ve been right?” He spoke with effort, his voice shaky and uneven as he tried desperately to get his breathing back in check, and the words were spat from his lips bitterly.

“Taehyung-ah...” Jimin said softly in gentle admonishment.

Namjoon shook his head in assurance to quieten him. He turned his attention back to the youngest amongst them. “You’re right, I have.” He placed one of his hands on Taehyung’s knee and ran his thumb over it in an attempt to soothe him and show him he was on his side. “But I’m asking you. Do you want to tell me about it?”

He softened and raised his eyes to Namjoon’s penitently, inhaling deeply to steady his tone. “What’s the point? I can talk and talk but it won’t change anything. She’s going to think I just left her.”

“Would that be such a bad thing, Taehyung-ah? In the long run it might be easier. You know how difficult it would be for both of you to be together right now. With the press –”

“All she wanted from me was me. She is the first person I have met in forever who treated me like I was just a person and not some idol singer. Can you remember the last time you felt that? Do you really think I care about the press?”

“No, that’s not it...” he trailed off softly and reconsidered his words. “We have been dealing with that kind of attention for years now and you know it still freaks us out sometimes. How is it going to be for her? She doesn’t know what she would be getting herself in to and it’s not fair of you to say it doesn’t matter on her behalf.”

Taehyung chewed on his lip plaintively and leant his head back in to Jimin’s arm, still resting around his shoulders, allowing it to loll to the side to look at the planes again. After a few moments he responded quietly. “I was going to tell her everything,” he knitted his brows together and licked at his inexplicably dry lips. “Before we left I was going to tell her, and ask her to wait for me to come back again.” He turned his gaze to Namjoon, his huge eyes earnest and glistening. “But I’ve ruined it now, and she’s going to think she doesn’t matter to me and she matters...she matters.” He repeated and leant forward with a sigh and rested his head in his hands.

Jimin was surprised to hear how Taehyung's voice wavered and the sincerity that laced his words. Even though he had spent the best part of the last few days talking about you with him, he had no idea that Taehyung’s feelings ran so deep. He exchanged concerned glances with Namjoon, who was also seemingly oblivious to the depth of his affection for you.

“Namjoon-ah!” came a voice from across the room, and both he and Jimin turned to the lounge's entrance to see Seong-min waving the leader over.

He rose from his seat, patting Taehyung on the leg and smiling apologetically at Jimin for his departure as he did so, and made his way over to the manager. Jimin shifted over to the now unoccupied seat and stretched out his back, grateful for the change in position.

Mirroring Taehyung’s posture, he leant forward and gently wrapped his hand around one of his friend’s forearms, urging him to look at him. “It really got serious quickly, eh V-ssi?”

He had hoped that adopting a more jovial tone might brighten the mood and encourage Taehyung to open up little more, he also knew how much the second-youngest hated to cry in front of the others – even his roommate – and he wanted desperately to calm him somewhat before the other members began to pay closer attention.

Taehyung laughed humourlessly and sat back in his seat. “You could say that, I guess. I never met anyone like her before, not anywhere. In all the places we’ve been Jimin-ah, no one has ever come close to her.” He looked to be examining his fingernails as he spoke, and it appeared to Jimin as though he was embarrassed to be so candid about his feelings for you, while at the same time in desperate need to share his thoughts with someone. “I can’t even understand most of the things she said, but I'd listen to her for hours if it meant I could just be next to her. I suppose it sounds stupid, right?”

It should have sounded stupid, Jimin knew that, but it somehow seemed to make perfect sense as he recalled the unbridled joy that took over Taehyung’s face when he spoke about you or to you, or even when just simply looking at you. “No,” he paused for a moment and considered if he should vocalise his thoughts, as improbable as they may have been. “Taehyung-ie...it sounds like you might...sort of...um, love her...a bit.”

Jimin pre-emptively cringed in anticipation of his friend’s response, expecting a vehement denial or an emotional outburst of some kind. To his surprise, Taehyung lifted his fingers to the necklace around his neck and chewed thoughtfully and calmly on the little fingernail of his other hand before slowly lowering them both and folding them in to his lap, returning his attention to the planes outside.

“It does sound a bit like that doesn’t it?”

 ~~~

You sat with your back pressed against the bedroom door, turning the small tiger pendant over in your fingers and staring at the pile of fleece blankets strewn haphazardly about the bed and laughed bitterly at your behaviour over the last couple of days. How foolish you must have seemed to him, fawning all over him and hanging on to every word he spoke that you were able to understand, even some of the words you couldn’t. You wondered if he left a parting gift for every girl who fell in to bed with him after a day, also you would gladly wager that most of them had made it to an actual bed.

Examining the back of the pendant, you ran your thumb over the word 'Gucci' embossed in the metal, it was an expensive souvenir at least. As if you had allowed yourself to think that he miraculously held the key to your future happiness, you barely knew anything about him. You admonished yourself for believing that a man like that was not willing and able to pick up any girl he felt like at the drop of a hat. You let your head fall back against the door with a thud as tears began to prickle hotly behind your eyes at the conflict churning within you.

It had seemed so real though, even Ronnie had thought so. He had seemed so genuine and warm and when he looked at you it felt as though there was no one else in the room, and did you just imagine the electricity crackling between you when you touched? There was sincerity in the way he had held you, and regardless of whatever his intentions were, he had made you feel more cherished and desired in those few hours than you ever had before. You quickly found that no matter how much your brain was going in to self-defence mode by trying to tear down the significance of your encounter with Taehyung, you were entirely incapable of discrediting it’s – and by extension his – authenticity.

It occurred to you then that Ronnie had told you that Taehyung had tried to call you from the bar phone, but thought he had hung up without saying anything, and you suddenly remembered the call you were unable to answer while transporting your things down to your car.

You quickly scrambled across the floor to your jacket and held the handset in front if your face, sitting bolt upright now, your fingers trembling with nerves as you saw the tiny icon at the top of the screen that confirmed that you did indeed have a voicemail. It had to have been the first time you were ever happy to see that little symbol present on your phone and you took in a deep breath as you dialled your message inbox. You gripped the device in both hands and pressed it to your ear to listen to the electronic female voice (the one that Ronnie always referred to as “that bloody woman”) unnecessarily reciting your options, causing you to tap '1' on the keypad repeatedly and impatiently until she finally ceased talking and the message began.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and disappointment at the silence of the recording and you moved the handset to look at the display and check it was still playing the message. Satisfied it was working correctly you returned the phone to your ear just in time to hear a deep sigh through the speaker that unmistakably belonged to Taehyung.

So that was his goodbye phone call? You supposed it wasn’t like he was armed with a huge vocabulary that he could just pluck from the air at a moment’s notice but still...

You let out the breath you had been holding since you first dialled the number to retrieve your messages, and flopped back against the door, deflated but unsure of what you had really expected. You dropped your phone in to your lap and picked up the tiger pendant once more, holding it tightly in your grasp, with the napkin held up in front of you with your other hand. It wasn’t anywhere close to what you hoped for from Taehyung, but it was something, you supposed. Something tangible to hold on to were you ever to doubt that the dream-like events of the last few days had actually happened, and were not some figment of your overactive imagination.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, struggling to keep track of the conflicting emotions that continued to baffle and exhaust you. It hadn’t taken long for any small amount of anger you may have felt towards Taehyung to dissipate, he didn’t owe you anything after all, and he really hadn’t done anything wrong. You were now only angry with yourself for allowing yourself to get your hopes up to such an unrealistic level.

As you began to attempt to calm yourself down from the frazzled mess you had become that day, you felt your phone vibrate against the top of your legs and gently placed the note and tiger charm on the floor in order to retrieve the device.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read the name in glowing letters on the screen.

 ~~~ 

“Ya! Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean it!” Jimin eyed Taehyung, shocked at the casual response to his suggestion that his feelings for you may be a little more serious than merely an infatuation.

He shrugged and raised his voice a little to meet Jimin’s level. “Well I don’t know do I? Don’t yell at me, you said it first!” he finished juvenilely.

From across the room Jin removed the headphone from his ear at their raised voices and peered over to where his two dongsaengs sat, his head raising above the back of the sofa like a meerkat. To Taehyung it almost seemed as though the oldest hyung felt he was missing out on an opportunity to bicker and he smiled and felt a rush of warmth for his brothers.

He pouted apologetically to his closest friend, widening his eyes and fluttered his long eyelashes at him, making Jimin laugh aloud and smack him in the arm. “I haven’t seen you do aegyo offstage voluntarily for months.”

He laughed with him and allowed a brief feeling of levity to fill him for a moment before meeting Jimin’s eyes earnestly. “What am I going to do Jimin-ah?”

He took a deep breath and appeared to be considering his reply. “And you’re really sure about this, about y/n?”

Taehyung nodded emphatically. “If I let this go, if I let her go, I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive myself for a long time.”

“Aigoo, so serious Taeyhungie!” Jimin declared, reaching out and taking Taehyung’s cheeks in to his hand and squeezing in time with his words the way an Auntie might, enjoying the way he scrunched up his face petulantly in response. He released his grasp on his face and rested his hand on his thigh. “Okay then. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?” he asked, rubbing his hand across his jaw to soothe where Jimin had gripped him.

Before Jimin could reply, the door to the lounge opened and Namjoon stood in the entrance and shouted for Taehyung, beckoning him over with a frantic wave of his hand. He rose from his chair and looked Jimin questioningly, who shrugged and shook his head, clearly unaware of the leader’s intent.

Pulling the door closed behind him, he opened his mouth to speak before being shushed by Namjoon, who then gestured for Taehyung to follow him a short way down the corridor to another door, through which he was promptly ushered.

Now standing in what appeared to be a glorified broom closet, he was more confused than he had been for a long time. “Namjoon-hyung, what’s going on?”

Waiting for the door to click shut behind him, he pressed a finger to his lips to indicate that they needed to be quiet, and reached in to the back pocket of his jeans and produced Taehyung’s phone with a flourish like an amateur magician, almost dropping it with the action.

Taehyung’s eyes widened as he stared at the object in Namjoon's hand and reached out towards it. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “How did you–?”

“You only have one minute okay? Just to say goodbye.” He took in the younger man's slightly disappointed expression and wished he could offer him more. “I had to beg Seong-min for this much. Do you know how much trouble he could get in to if any of the other managers found out about this?”

Taehyung nodded in understanding and held the phone in his grasp for a moment as though it were something precious. The battery had run down to almost nothing and he would be hard pressed to get much longer than a few minutes of a call before it would die anyway.

Namjoon’s eyes wandered about the room restlessly and he tapped his foot impatiently at his inaction. “Taehyung-ssi...I could also get in to trouble.”

“Right, right,” he nodded in acknowledgement, before his eyes lit up with realisation. “Can I send something to your phone, hyung?”

“If we get back home and you still somehow have her number, it won’t take much to–”

He sighed, exasperated. “It’s not her number,” he tapped rapidly on to the screen. “There.” He announced as Namjoon’s phone pinged in his jacket pocket.

As the leader retrieved his own handset, Taehyung scrolled to your name in his contacts and momentarily wondered how long it would take for him to memorize the sequence of numbers, however he was interrupted as Namjoon unlocked his phone to find the picture of you that Taehyung had taken at the bar. “She’s pretty, V-ssi.”

“I know," and then, after a beat, "I’ll be getting that back from you when I get my new phone.” He was only half-serious, yet the possessiveness that was implied in his tone caused the older of the two to smile affectionately at him, while at the same time making a 'wrap-it-up' gesture as he exited the room to allow Taehyung some privacy.

He pressed his thumb to the small picture of a phone beside your name, his breaths shallow and shaky as he lifted the handset to his ear. He counted off each time the phone rang, and halfway through the fifth, the ringing stopped.

“Taehyung?” Your voice was husky and weak, and it sounded to him as though you had been crying, which was followed by the awful realisation that he was most likely the cause of any tears you may have shed.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“I think so,” you answered, and he could hear a little relief creep in to your voice. “Where are you?”

“At the airport.”

“Oh.”

Neither of you spoke for what felt like minutes, until finally Taehyung broke the silence, wary of your limited time. “Do you have my note? And the tiger?”

“I do, I’m holding it now. Thank you, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to see you before leaving, I’m sorry I didn’t.” It was so hard to express the depth of his regret when he only had a handful of words at his disposal.

“Are you coming back?” you asked, hope lacing your every word.

“I don’t think so, not for a while,” he heard a gentle tapping on the door and knew his time was almost up. “Y/N, you will look for me okay?”

“How do I–?”

The handle was being pushed down from the other side, and he became panicked and struggled to grasp for the correct words. “It’s all on the note. Jebal, please y/n, look for me.”

“Okay.” He knew you were confused, it was clear in your tone, and he regretted not having the time or the ability to explain it all properly to you.

“Thank you for it all. I will miss you.”

[theboywhocriedbooks]

Smoke Gets In You Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory by Caitlin Doughty 

[Goodreads]

Most people want to avoid thinking about death, but Caitlin Doughty—a twenty-something with a degree in medieval history and a flair for the macabre—took a job at a crematory, turning morbid curiosity into her life’s work. Thrown into a profession of gallows humor and vivid characters (both living and very dead), Caitlin learned to navigate the secretive culture of those who care for the deceased.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes tells an unusual coming-of-age story full of bizarre encounters and unforgettable scenes. Caring for dead bodies of every color, shape, and affliction, Caitlin soon becomes an intrepid explorer in the world of the dead. She describes how she swept ashes from the machines (and sometimes onto her clothes) and reveals the strange history of cremation and undertaking, marveling at bizarre and wonderful funeral practices from different cultures.

Her eye-opening, candid, and often hilarious story is like going on a journey with your bravest friend to the cemetery at midnight. She demystifies death, leading us behind the black curtain of her unique profession. And she answers questions you didn’t know you had: Can you catch a disease from a corpse? How many dead bodies can you fit in a Dodge van? What exactly does a flaming skull look like?

Honest and heartfelt, self-deprecating and ironic, Caitlin's engaging style makes this otherwise taboo topic both approachable and engrossing. Now a licensed mortician with an alternative funeral practice, Caitlin argues that our fear of dying warps our culture and society, and she calls for better ways of dealing with death (and our dead)

Thoughts:

This was such a good book. I listened to the audiobook version of this and it’s even more exciting because it was narrated by the author herself! Speaking of the author, she’s an awesome mortician woman who makes youtube videos about death. Her youtube and her books are a way of normalizing death. This book obviously made me think about death in a way that I hadn’t really been able to before. Mostly because I didn’t want to think about these things out of fear and sadness. I loved the casual way she spoke about a lot of death related subjects. I loved when she wasn’t super casual about certain things, such as the many ways other cultures deal with death. Overall I think this is a book that anyone can pick up and get something out of it. You definitely should go do that, even if you’re only slightly interested, because I’m going to now go on about it in spoiler-y detail below:

So, like I said, I listened to this in audiobook format. It was technically my first time listening to an audiobook and my inspiration was because I’ve been so swamped with school work + driving to school that I have very little time currently to sit and read. 

This way I was able to drive and get through a book. I think it even gave it a bit more of a storyteller aspect to it which I loved, especially since Caitlin narrates it herself.

As for the book itself, I decided to read it on a whim after hearing a friend talk about it. I’ve seen the author’s youtube videos before (Ask A Mortician) and they’re so good, which is why I knew I’d enjoy this.

It honestly got a lot more personal than I expected it to go but I loved that. At one point she was even discussing an unrequited love situation that she was in and I vividly remember sitting in my car in a parking lot and being dumbfounded at just how not-great that went. I really love that she went a lot more personal though, which you’d expect since it is a memoir but for some reason I assumed it was going to lack the personal in place of her professional stuff as a mortician. That was my bad, I guess, because I think the point is that her life was actually very much intertwined with her work. 

I loved seeing the different aspects of death that you don’t always think about. It’s really strange actually but death can be a bit boringly normal, as seen in this book. At least the American/Western concept of death. There were and are other ideas/beliefs tied into death that I think are beautiful/very different. One of them being that ritual where the people left the corpse on a mountain to be eaten by vultures, and it is supposed to be symbolic of like flying into the sky? Sounds crazy but also beautiful at the same time. 

I love Caitlin and I really loved getting a more in depth understanding of how she came to be in the position she is in. I loved that the death world almost nearly invited itself into her life with her History focus which led to the Westwind (?) place she worked at. I love it more so that she now has her own funeral home that is able to provide uncommon death rituals for people to do with their loved ones. In terms of memoirs, this one is amazing because of how unique her story is and how wonderful her humor is as well. 

[martinatkins]

How Pronounce Reiki Dumbfounding Useful Tips

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Reiki Level 4

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Reiki Master How To Become

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[fireandseaweed]

Sea What I Did There? || Caspian, Percy and Wally

Caspian, Percy and Wally find somewhere safe for the Greeks to train.

Percy scanned the water as he willed the small dingy that they’d acquired . They’d snuck out of the city hours ago and set up a small campsite to wait for nightfall. He didn’t want anyone to know what they were doing and as they zoomed towards the middle of the lake he kept his voice low. After his tussle with Fergus the Romans were running regular patrols through the lake and under the cover of darkness he hoped they wouldn’t get noticed. “I’m going through the plan one last time,” he said in a voice that’s barely a whisper, “we get out of the boat, Caspian and I will take us to the bottom of the lake, Wally you’re responsible for getting rid of the boat, just sink it, we won’t need it to get home.” He looked at Wally. “I’ve got you, I’ll make sure you’ve got enough air so don’t worry.” He’d learned how to create bubbles of air with Annabeth, but the size of the bubble wasn’t something he was necessarily confident about.

Caspian sat in the boat, hand dragging through the water as they moved along the surface of the lake. He’d much preferred to have been in the lake, swimming alongside them, but they needed the time in the boat to go over the plan one last time. Caspian had heard about the beast that appeared in the lake, in fact, the Naiads had stopped him from investigating, and after reading the paper that day, he had been meaning to ask Percy about it. He wondered if any dangers still lurked beneath the crystal surface. He sure as hell hoped not. He nodded as Percy explained to Wally and added in Greek, “I can always help with that as well.” He knew that Wally would probably trust Percy, but he just wanted to give some reassurance. “And to get things straight, you and I are going to move the water away whilst Wally does his magic?” Caspian knew that it would be no easy feat, but with Percy there, he was sure that the two of them would handle it. It was for a great cause anyway.

Wally eyes scanned the lake, looking around for any potential threats, be it the Romans or supposed sea monster that lurked within the depths. He hadn’t seen the video that the paper discussed, but wasn’t sure what to think of it. He wanted to ask Percy about it, but hadn’t gotten the chance. Right now, he was giving the boat some cover in the form of a heavy fog. Thankfully, creating the fog wasn’t something that much energy. Wally had his hands laid out towards the water, purple light glowing around his palms. He looked to Percy, nodding softly with a smile. “Done and done. Sinking the boat shouldn’t be a problem. And yeah, Caspian, if you can manage it, I’ll take more air.” He looked back out to the lake. “Correct. It’ll take me a bit of time to do everything, but as long as you guys can work your fish magic, I can do the rest.”

Percy gave them both a reassuring smile. “I’m glad that we’re all in understanding,” he replied with a bright smile and a vigorous nod, “we’ve got a lot of work cut out for us, but there is no one else in this city that I would’ve trusted to do this with me.” As they arrived at the point he’d worked out was the middle of the lake, he double checked that they were in the right place before stepping out onto the lake. Walking on water was his favourite place to stand, he felt just like Jesus. Holding the water still around him with his mind, he forced a depression in it and watched as he began to sink into the water. By the time the depression was waist deep, he paused before nodding for Caspian and Wally to get in. “Okay, we’ll do this together Cas,” he said with a smile before forcing their bubble of air deeper into the water.

Caspian watched as Percy stepped out onto the water. He smirked and thought that Percy was sort of a show off when it came to these things. He jumped off the boat and joined Percy, huddling close so that they didn’t have to make a bigger bubble. He helped Percy, forming the water around the original shape. His eyes closed as he imagined the water doing as he willed. When he opened his eyes again, they had reached the bottom of the lake. It was weird for Caspian, he’d been here before, but not dry, not breathing air like they were now. He wanted to reach out and step into the water, it called for him. But he had a duty to help his friend and Uncle and it required all his concentration. “Can we start making the area larger by pushing the water away? How much space do you need Wally?” He looked up at the blonde magician, remembering the shell that never truly worked properly. “If I had my trident this expertise would have been a slice of cake.”

Wally looked over at Percy started to walk on the water. “Percy of Nazareth, everyone. Our lord and salty savior.” He remembered the story where the man had fallen into the water when he didn’t put his faith into Jesus, in that Jesus would save him. Wally had no reservations as he stepped out onto the water. He looked back at the boat. The fog had begun to clear, now that he wasn’t focusing on conjuring it. Wally cupped his hands, eyes beginning to glow. Sparks of green light shot off in his cupped hands. “Obliterate,” he said in Greek, releasing the green lightning at the boat. In seconds the entire wooden raft was turned to dust. All that remained of it were bits of smoke from the blast. After that, down under the lake, Wally looked around. “I gotta say you guys, this is really creepy. Can you guys like . . . make it brighter or anything?” He took a few steps around and then raised an eyebrow at Caspian. “If we’re gonna be training everyone we can, I’m gonna need a lot of room. At least the size of . . . two regular sized classrooms? I’ll get started. Just keep expanding the size of the perimeter.” From the bag Wally had brought along with him, he pulled out a single scroll. Wally let the scroll unravel, floating in mid air. As it lay out, items appeared, laid out along the parchment. A wand, stones, some crystals and his book of spells.

Shrugging gently, Percy couldn’t help but smirk. “What can I say? He was a demigod, I’m a demigod too. We’ve obviously got a lot in common.” It was just like Wally to make him laugh at such a serious time was one of the reasons that they had gotten along so well. Percy had honestly expected Wally to put a hole in the boat. It seemed a tad extra to do it his way, but Percy had to admit that it was effective. As he and Caspian worked to get them to the bottom of the lake, he pulled water past them and dragged their air bubble down with them. With Wally’s comment on the darkness, he pulled out a load of flares and dropped them on the ground. “We’ll get a better source of light setup once we get all the enchantments in place that will stop this place from flooding.” He smiled gently and looked around himself before reaching out with his mind and beginning to push the barriers outwards, the water swelled gently before beginning to flow away. Reaching out with his mind, he continued to force the water out, slowly taking a step away from Wally as he did so. He could’ve done this on his own, but that would be unnecessarily tiring when he could get his nephew’s help.

Caspian had lived under the ocean his whole life, thus, he was able to perfectly fine in this lighting. Sure, it wasn’t as bright as it could be due to nightfall, but he could still see pretty well. He has no idea if this because if his father's powers in him, or if his eyesight had just adapted. So when asked about the lighting, he found it sort of unnecessary, but before he could say anything, Percy had whipped out a flare and lit it up. Caspian squinted as the flood of light hit his eyes that had adapted to the darkness. “Sure. That shouldn’t be a problem.” He replies to Wally before working with Percy to expand the boundaries. He reached out with his mind and willed the water to move away from where they were standing. As the wall of water receded, he took a few steps forward, but the wall of water seemed to push back, letting his feet sink deeper into the sand below them. Of course it would do that, the amount of pressure would increase the more they displaced the water. Despite the water pushing back against him, Caspian still had this and was determined to play his part, pushing the boundaries further and further than their starting point.

Wally sat on the sand, placing the unrolled scroll onto a large rock embedded into the earth. Wally raised his hand and used his powers to let the stones rise up and float. The moved out, following the water as it extended. “May Mercury bless this sanctuary and let us not to be seen,” he said calmly. “Athena, embolden us to use our wit and not be dumbfounded. Vulcan, for as strong as your weapons, make this fort just as such.” His eyes began to glow and violet mist poured from his hands, drifting among the sandy surface. All around him, the ground started to vibrate as he imagined what he wanted to happen. “Poseidon, God of the Seas and Earthshaker, help us now. Watch your son and grandson work their powers. Watch over us in your guided space. Let these waters offer protection, security.” The stones that were following the edge of the water suddenly slammed down into the earth. Wally pressed an open palm to the sand and more energy poured from his body, traveling deep beneath the sand. He began to speak in Greek, his voice having changed. There was an echo behind his voice, making it sound like two people were speaking from him. Where the stones had dug into, cracks in the earth formed, leaving the sand to sink into it. Wally looked to Percy, his body shaking a little. Before he could finish the spell, his mind's imagination helped to finish the rest. For each stone there was, a pillar began to rise from the sand. The pillar wasn’t just a slab of earth. Each had four corners, perfectly square shaped with designs running down itself. The pillars together, in greater viewing made it look like there was an empty rectangular space on the lake-floor. After the pillars, the sand continued to sink, but now it was everywhere around him. In replace of the sand, what was left was a smooth, flattened out marble floor. It was clear by just looking at Wally that he was giving too much energy away. That’s where the crystals came in handy. One by one they rose to float around his body, acting as batteries for him. They glowed on and off, giving him an extra surge of power. He was almost done. The foundation and formation had been created. Now he just needed to seal it and add the protection charms.

Determined to create a space where he could teach his friends and family, his fellow Greeks, how and why they needed to protect himself. Percy wondered if there had ever been a more important cause before. It of course occurred to him that he would always think that his current cause was the most important one he’d ever had, but that was hardly important right now and he was sure that Annabeth would have something to say about it. It was obviously better addressed later. As Wally grew magical pillars, Percy felt them take some of the weight and put his foot on the proverbial pedal. As he too seemed to sink backwards into the sand, he shuddered as he used every ounce of will to force the walls of water backwards. He knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until Wally finished the spell, and to make sure that it was safe before he brought people out there he would need to be extra careful. Speaking Greek, he shouted to the other two, sweat trickling down the side of his face and soaking his back. “Good job, we’re nearly there guys.” Encouragement was important to leadership. At least, he’d always thought so.

Caspian didn’t dare look back at what was happening behind him but he was curious as to why the ground was shaking. It had disturbed his footing and he struggled to maintain his force against the water. It was if Caspian had started making his own bubble, water almost washing over his head and into the cleared spacing. He had been focusing on too much of a small area instead of the bigger wall of water. He shifted his will power to extend out more, and instantly felt the strain. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and soon enough he’d collapse from exhaustion. The one thing that kept him going was the fact that this area was for a good cause, something that Caspian actively wanted to take part in. That and the fact that Percy was counting on him and there was no way he could let his only family down. The stain evident on his face, he called out, “I hope so, I don’t —“ He was interrupted by the need to take a deep breath and push harder, “ I don’t know how much longer I can hold this Percy. I’m third generation Poseidon, so I’m not as strong as you.”

Wally looked over at his friend and newcomer. He wasn’t sweating like them, not exerting the physical type of energy they were, but he probably wouldn’t make it back to his apartment without passing out. Wally hadn’t told Percy this, but this was the biggest thing he’d ever done with magic. He wasn’t entirely sure he would be capable, but knowing that the Greeks had no one else to help them out, Wally forced himself into believing that he was strong enough. As the pillars finished rising, a veil of soft light formed between all of the pillars, looking like curtains being moved by the wind. The pillars would keep the water from rushing back in, while the veil of magic would act as an illusion and distract any outsiders. Wally took his hand off of the ground and lifted his wand. As he traced symbols in the air, the strength of the veil grew stronger; and as it did, Wally lost everything he had left in him. “It’s . . . It’s done,” he said, blinking hard and fast. “You guys can let off.” And with that, Wally fell back, the crystals hanging in mid air around him following too.

Percy had to admit that he was glad that Wally had finished the enchantment when he had, otherwise he would’ve likely had to step in to help Caspian. Pulling a rucksack out of his bag he pulled out a canteen of nectar and threw it to Caspian. “Have a few sips of that and then give it to Wally,” he said pulling out some ambrosia and breaking it into three chunks. Handing them to Wally and Caspian, he bit into his own ambrosia. It tasted wonderful and energy seeped through him, empowering him and soothing some of the sores. “You guys were great,” he replied with a smile, “I couldn’t be more proud of two greeks then I am right now. That was really impressive, we literally moved a lake.”

Caspian became lightheaded and was about to pass out when Wally gave the word they could let go. He stopped using his powers and stumbled forward as the force of water stopped pushing back against him. He watched as the water washed in and sloshed against the new boundaries that Wally set up. He almost dropped the nectar that Percy threw at him and smiled sheepishly. Finally, something he knew from back home. He took a few sips and ate the ambrosia whilst handing it to Wally. While still chewing he walked over to the boundaries, wondering if they just help water out or stopped anything from passing through it. “Thanks Percy.” His voice hoarse and you could definitely see on his face that he had just exerted himself.

Wally had to drag himself to sit up and even that was difficult for him. He took the nectar and thanked Caspian. Tilting his head back, the first few sips tasted like sweet, fresh lemonade. A rush from the nectar passed over him, and the aches in his head started to get smaller. Then after a couple squares of ambrosia, Wally was able to stand without wobbling. “We uh . . . . well, we did it.” Wally looked around. For the first time in a long time, he was amazed by what he was able to do with his powers. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I can’t believe I actually did it.” He looked to Percy and then Caspian. “We did a great job, you guys.”

Wrapping his arm around Caspian, Percy gave him a bright smile. “You did incredibly,” he replied gently, “you’re more than welcome and I am exceptionally proud of what you were able to do.” He took the canteen of nectar from Caspian and swallowed something that tasted exactly like the blue cola that they filled the magic goblets with back at Camp Half Blood. Or was it a beer? It changed every second in his mouth, tasting somehow better every time. Moving over the grate in the center of their bubble of water, Percy hauled the metal off of it and looked down at the water still in it. “Well, Caspian looks fucked so I guess I’ll do this, take a second and if you’re feeling up to it you can help in a second.” He smiled gently and took hold of the water in front of him before sending it rushing outwards and stepping into the tunnel. “Time to find out where this goes.”

As soon as Percy let go, Caspian walked straight through the barrier and into the soothing embrace of the water that surrounded them. He floated for a couple of seconds, eyes closed, before swimming back through the barrier, clothes soaked. He walked over to the tunnel and          followed Percy, joining in with his new revived energy. “I’ve heard the Naiads say that it’s dangerous and that’s all they know. They’re scared to come down here. But on the other hand, they all seem so negative and sad here anyway. It’s probably just rumours.”

After picking up his crystals and putting them back onto the scroll, he rolled it up with his wand and stuffed the scroll back into his bag. Wally threw the bag over his shoulder and started to follow the boys. “Lemme get some more nectar, please.” After they’d passed him some, Wally took another swig and looked around at the water. “Percy, what kinda fish are in here? Anything dangerous, like that uh, sea monster?”

Smirking gently, Percy laughed. “Don’t worry, if I could handle the sea monster the first time around then I’m really not worried about handling it the second time round with the two of you to help.” He slugged back some nectar too before stowing it in his bag and continuing down the dimly lit tunnel, every ten meters or so they’d have to force water further along the tunnel, but the passageway seemed to be winding its way under the lake and as Percy reached a grated entry point he pressed his shoulder against the rusted hinges until the door swung open. Stepping out into a clearing that was soaked with all the water they’d forced out the tunnel. “Now we just need to work out exactly where this is.”

Caspian worked along with Percy. The tunnels weren’t too wide so pushing the water out was an easy task for the two of them. They were lucky that the tunnel didn’t lead to other ones, if they had, perhaps they would have got lost. He sure hoped that these tunnels were like the labyrinth tunnels he had heard about at Atlantis, otherwise they’d never find their way back to the training grounds. As they reached the end, they emerged out into a clearing and looked around. “Don’t ask me, I can barely find my way from the Lake to Kol’s place or the cafe.” He started working on evaporating the water. If a guard walked passed and noticed the soaked ground around them, they might find the practice area.

Wally did as little as he could. That may sound like he wasn’t participating, but he’d just exhausted all his resources. The pride of what he just did however kept a small light of fire in him. He could go on and tell Lina, Elara and his coworkers what - oh, no, he couldn’t. Wally wouldn’t be able to tell any of them that he’d done something so amazing. He frowned at the realization that it would have to be a secret from his Roman blood. His ears picked up a familiar name when they entered the open area. “Kol? Like Kolby, son of Hephaestus? You know him?” Wally looked up and around. “I could try a small charm that would lead us up to the surface? I’m not sure how well it will work if we’re too far away. Here, lemme . . . “ Wally muttered the rest of his sentence and put a hand to the ground. “Spirits of old, be no longer cold. Those of earth and ground, keep us from being found. Lead us to our home, lead us to New Rome.” Wally felt a force pass over him and he had to take a knee for a moment. “Gods.” He had to keep from eating any more of the godly food, less he burst into a bright explosion. Appearing before them on the nearest wall was a soft light. It moved along the wall as a fine pace. Wally looked over. “There. Follow that.”

[haroldslovekitten]

Strangers pt. 3

Word Count: ~7k (more than half of which are smut)...

No real warnings.

Get caught up here: Part One, Part Two

Enjoy! .xx -M

I stumble into the kitchen, 6am always seeming too early no matter how many times I have to wake up at this hour. Harry is already dressed and sitting at the kitchen counter on his laptop, hot cup of tea next to him. Without a word, I walk up behind him, grab his cup and take a sip before wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

“G’morning, handsome,” I mumble against his shoulder.

“Mornin’, beautiful. You sleep well?” he asks, kissing my forehead before continuing to read his emails.

“Mmmm, like a baby. Thanks for letting me stay last night,” I answer, taking another sip of his tea.

“Get your own, you menace,” he laughs, grabbing the cup from my hands and taking a sip. “Made a whole pot for the two of us,” he motions to the cute blue tea pot his mom gave him when he moved into this flat as a little reminder of home.

“Thank you thank you thank you,” I say as I pour myself a cup.

I climb onto the stool next to him and lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes in peace as he types away.

“Why don’t you go back to bed if you’re still so sleepy?” he giggles.

“Can’t I’ve got work today. Need to leave in a half hour,” I whine.

“You best get ready then, lovebug, don’t want to walk into work looking like that, do you?” he jokes, laughing hysterically when I pretend to be offended.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Styles, that my coworker Max thinks I look beautiful no matter how terrible I look when I walk into the office. At least he’s nice to me!” I tease, pretend pouting.

“Oh does he now? Might need to have a word with him, eh? Let him know this particular mess of frizzy hair and drool is all mine,” he retorts, cupping my chin with one of his large hands and placing a gentle kiss against the tip of my nose.

“I do not drool!” I protest.

“Tell that to the stains on my pillowcases,” he says.

“That’s all you, Harry! You’re the one drooling all over the place all the time, mumbling in your sleep and all!”

“Never had those stains till you started staying over, love.”

“Whatever!” I say, actually slightly embarrassed at this point as I take my tea and march into the bathroom to get ready for work.

Harry just laughs and goes back to his computer. I give an exasperated sigh before I wash my face, brush my teeth, and put on a bit of makeup. Just as I am combing through my ‘frizzy’ hair, Harry comes into the bathroom. He settles behind me, hands on my hips, nose nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He sways his hips a bit, bringing mine with his as he peppers kisses on my shoulder.

“What do you want, Harry?” I ask, turning around in his arms and leaning against the counter behind me.

“Just to see your pretty face, and ask if you wanted to meet me at Ben’s today for lunch? I’m going to be around there for meetings today and thought we could grab some coffee and food?”

“Hmmm, that sounds nice. I’ll see if I can have a longer lunch break today.”

“It’s a date,” he chirps, pressing his soft raspberry lips against mine quickly before walking away and heading off to work.

Work is a drag as I have meetings with directors and producers, all of them wanting to tweak my script this way and that. I struggle with my independence and perfectionism, afraid they’ll ruin what I’ve thought so long of as my baby. Lunch can’t come fast enough and I tell my manager that I won’t be available for at least an hour as I make my way to Ben’s. As I try to focus on anything but work, my mind wanders back to that night watching Harry perform and being Amber for one blissful night. I hadn’t even realized two months had passed and we hadn’t tried anything new in that arena yet. When I walk into the café, I see Harry sitting in the back, having staked out our favorite booth, out of the view of most of the customers. As I make my way back towards him, he looks up from his phone, eyes lighting up when he sees me. Before he can say hello or give me a hug, I speak up.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

His face goes from happiness to confusion as he looks at me with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I…uh…I mean…what?” he stammers.

I laugh, reaching a hand out to his to shake.

“I’m Amber.”

Recognition dawns on his features immediately, a smirk toying at the corners of his lips.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Harry,” he says, shaking my hand and lingering a bit longer than necessary.

“I know,” I giggle, taking a seat next to him in the booth.

I begin asking him questions that I figure a fan would, about his album, about the boys, whether he misses One Direction, how it feels performing on his own. He answers them all cordially, asking me his own questions in return like how long I’ve been a fan, what I do, what I think of the new music versus the old stuff, what other music I listen to, etc. We continue on that way, all the while ordering lunch and pretending we don’t know the answers to these questions already. As the lunch date goes on, I move my body closer to Harry’s, brushing our thighs together, placing my hand on his arm when he says something particularly funny. I make sure to move my body the way I know he likes, tilting my head away every once in a while, extending my neck so he can see the multitude of hickies he left that are still healing. I turn towards him when I speak, making sure my cleavage looks perfect whenever I do, and I don’t miss the fact that his eyes continue to wander and he licks his lips more frequently each time I do this. He is cool and suave and I try my best to be the same, asking him about things I know he likes that others might not be aware of, using our relationship to my advantage. I get him talking about art and his favorite rooms in the Tate Modern and his plans for his current collection. I ask about his family, and his eyes light up when he talks about Gemma and her work and how proud he is of her. Though I knew all of these things before, having this conversation reminds me of all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. He is so insanely passionate and interesting and full of depth and I’m overwhelmed with just how fascinating he is as a person. He notices me staring at him in awe and gets a sort of sheepish look on his face, like he’s slightly embarrassed of how enthusiastic he got. I smile at him, leaning in close.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.

“Mmm,” he nods, leaning his forehead in closer to mine.

“You’re even more incredible than everyone thinks you are,” I lean in, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek not wanting to totally shatter the illusion that we’re strangers sharing a meal.

“Thanks, love,” he smiles before pulling away and going back to his food.

As we finish up our meal, the waitress brings a bill, I hand him cash to cover mine and he pays with his card. Now comes the moment of truth…

“Would it uh…would it be okay for me to give you my number? I really liked hanging out with you.”

“Definitely,” he grins, pulling out his pink phone, unlocking it and handing it to me.

I enter my phone number, putting it under ‘Amber’ and luckily the phone doesn’t freak out at having two contacts with the same number. I hand it back to him with a smile and he places it back in his pocket.

“I’ll have someone contact you about meeting up again. As you can probably imagine, it’s a little complicated hanging out with new people when you’re me,” he chuckles, nervously running a hand through his hair.

“No, I get it, totally!” I reply, almost relieved that he took my number, despite knowing that he would. “I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“Definitely,” he smiles, knowing full well I’ll see him at home tonight.

                                                             ...

The rest of the day goes by much faster and I’m in a much better mood putting up with my colleagues and their crap. I honestly can’t wait to get to Harry’s, despite not knowing exactly how things will work out with Harry. Will he want me to be ‘Amber’ when I get home? Will we pretend today didn’t even happen? I’m just completely unsure about where to go next with this whole situation. As I’m packing up my work and getting ready to leave for the day, I get a text from an unknown number.

Hello, Amber. Harry Styles would like to meet with you tonight to discuss a contract he would like to draw up between the two of you. A car will be at your house at 7:30 sharp. Please be ready.

I am a mix of excitement and confusion as I wonder how the fuck Harry pulled that off. Either way, I rush home to shower and get ready before the car arrives. After my shower, I throw on a new dress Harry hasn’t seen my wear yet, and do a simple makeup look. I rush to the door at 7:30 exactly and lo and behold, a black, tinted window car awaits me outside. I rush to it, hoping Harry is inside the car, and am slightly disappointed when the chauffeur opens the back door and it appears the car is empty. The car ride is silent as he twists and turns throughout the city and I become properly nervous not knowing where we’re going or what it will be like when we get there. Eventually, he pulls into the back driveway of a fancy hotel I’ve never seen before.  The chauffer parks and walks me into the hotel, taking me into the elevator, pressing the button for the 11th floor, and walks out, leaving me to ride up all alone. I bite at my nails as I wait for the elevator to finally reach the destined floor, pacing back and forth. When the elevator finally dings and the doors finally open, there is yet another strange man waiting for me. He says nothing to me as he walks down the hall, rightfully assuming I’m following. We reach the last door and he pulls out a key, and opens the door for me, not making eye contact as I walk inside. The door closes behind me and there is a man sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, papers splayed out in front of him. The silence and secrecy are finally getting to be a bit overwhelming and I finally muster up the courage to ask what’s going on.

“Hi, um, what exactly is going on?”

“Mr. Styles said you were interested in meeting with him more frequently. I am here to discuss the nature of your relationship and provide you with a confidentiality agreement to sign. Afterwards, you are free to meet Mr. Styles and spend as much time with him as you would like.”

“Fair enough,” I nod, shocked at the intensity of all this. It’s obviously just an act, I didn’t need to do anything nearly this intense when I began dating him, but I go along with the plan, knowing the level of seriousness and secrecy will add a new element of thrill to our relationship.

The lawyer takes me through the contract discussing what is and is not allowed in my ‘relationship’ with Harry. It is to be a purely sexual relationship, kept completely hidden from everyone I know, including parents, friends, and any other family members. The contract states that protection must be worn at all times, and that Mr. Styles will always wait for verbal consent before trying anything with me. The contract then begins to get slightly sillier, ensuring that Harry will always be the little spoon, if we should choose to cuddle, and that he prefers that I say his name quietly when I inevitably end up moaning it. I fight the blush that begins to rise on my cheeks, signing everywhere the man tells me to with my fake name, ignoring the fact that I know Harry intentionally wrote this contract to make me embarrassed.

“That’s it, Miss,” the lawyer says, packing up the contract. “Mr. Styles is waiting in the bedroom.”

He walks out of the hotel room quickly, leaving me alone with just the door between Harry and I.

Immediately, I let out a loud laugh, breaking character at the ridiculousness of it all. Harry must have heard me because seconds later, the bedroom door opens and there stands my silly boyfriend, bright pink briefs, a can of whipped cream in one hand, and a lopsided grin gracing his face.

“Well hello, Amber,” he says in a voice much deeper than his own.

“Harry,” I giggle, wagging my eyebrows up and down.

“You look absolutely ravishing,” he says, a more genuine expression on his face.

“I could say the same about you,” I reply, walking towards him and taking the whipped cream from his hand. I spray a mound of it into my mouth, struggling not to laugh and do a spit take all over Harry when I see the shock on his face.

“This is going to be fun,” he whispers.

“To be fair, I think this is a little out of character, even in role-play. You really stripped down into your pink underwear the second time you met all of your fans?” I laugh.

“Well, not exactly…but I’ve got to keep up the wild rock-star fantasy, do I not?” he asks, sauntering toward me, placing a finger beneath my chin to bring my lips mere inches from his own. “Now tell me, Amber, what kind of things are you into? I’ve got a few ideas of my own.”

“I…uh….well, I don’t know. I guess I like most things?” I say, questioning myself as Harry’s proximity suddenly makes me nervous.

“Good girl,” he says, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me closer to him. The heat radiating from his fingers spreads out along my body, making me blush and gulp for air as he stares at me intently. Just the look on his face is enough to start to arouse me. I drop the whipped cream and place my hands tentatively on his shoulders, feeling his smooth skin against the palms of my hands. His eyes flutter at my touch and I lean in impossibly closer. This is my favorite moment, I think. When the tension is high, leaning into each other, but not quite touching. Our breaths are mingling, each of us extremely aware of the shakiness of the other’s breathing. The anticipation buzzes throughout my whole body and though I am intimately aware of how it feels to brush my lips against Harry’s, it is new and exciting every single time.

“Yeh want me to be slow and gentle, love?” he asks, maneuvering his way back into character. “Or are you more of a quick and rough kind of girl?” he nudges his nose against mine, his breath fanning out over my agape lips.

“Slow. Slow and gentle,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering closed.

“Lovely,” he murmurs before dipping in and pressing his closed lips against mine.

The kiss is slow and chaste, a stark contrast to our last role play adventure after his concert. His fingers ghost up my sides, until he places them gently on my cheeks, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. His short hair flops forward, brushing against both of our foreheads and I lean into him, the taste of him absolutely intoxicating. I run my fingers through his hair, the soft tufts bending to my every whim as I give it a small tug, pulling his head back and away from me so that I can graze my lips along his throat, tongue darting out to run over his adam’s apple as he gulps with need. His skin is hot and slick, his sweat leaving a salty taste in my mouth as I leave open mouthed kisses along his jaw, nipping slightly at the corner before bringing his earlobe into my mouth. He grunts in response, his ears and neck being extremely sensitive. His hands return to my hips, gently maneuvering me to lean me against the nearest wall. He brushes his fingers over the straps of my sundress, moving them to the side to place kisses along the skin they covered. I lean my head back against the wall, breath coming in pants though we’ve only just gotten started. The need emanating from over cell in my body overwhelms me as I whimper and whine from his most gentle touches.

“You’re a needy one, aren’t ya?” he smirks against the crook of my neck, his deep gravelly voice sending shivers down my spine.

“Please,” is all I manage to say in response.

“What do you need?” he asks, his lips working over the spot on my neck, sure to leave a mark.

“I don’t know…more, I need more.”

In answer, he slides his hands down my body, gathering the material of my dress in his large palms before lifting it upwards, pooling the material around my waist as he grips my left thigh, pulling it up to rest on his hip. He pushes against me, our underwear the only thing separating our most intimate spots. I keen into his lips as he kisses me sharply. His teeth drag along my bottom lip, his fingers digging into the skin of my thigh. He pushes me into the wall, eliminating any space between us. I suddenly realize, being pressed against his nearly naked body, that I am wearing far too many clothes. I whine as I tug on my dress, hoping he’ll get the hint. He does, and pulls away for a fraction of a second to slide the dress up and over my body. Seeing as the dress was tight and spaghetti strapped, I didn’t wear a bra and am now left in only my underwear, pinned against the wall, with Harry looking at me so ravenously that I feel the effects of his stare pool between my legs immediately.

When I feel his hands on my bare skin, his fingers splaying across my ribcage, the bridge between his thumb and forefinger lining up perfectly with the bottom swell of my left breast, his finger tips digging between my ribs in a way that would normally make me giggle but now just makes me flush, it’s not that my heartbeat begins to pound rapidly in my ears. Instead, it continues with its slow thump thump thump, but it’s like I can feel each ounce of blood rushing through my body. That’s how sensitive I’ve become; how completely aware of my body I feel when Harry touches me. I’m so acutely in tune that I can feel the blood move through my veins, I can feel the way it creates a slow but steady throbbing between my legs that pushes me further, makes me scratch at Harry’s back, mewl against his skin, and rut my hips towards his unabashedly.

“Slow and gentle, yeah?” he whispers against my lips as he skates his fingertips down my side, causing me to shiver.

I nod my head and lick my lips, my tongue coming out just far enough to graze along his plump bottom lip as I do so. He growls, deep in his throat, and pushes his lips against mine harshly, the fingers that were dancing along my skin now plucking at the elastic of my panties, shimmying them down slowly. I wiggle out of them completely, glancing down as I step out of them and can’t help but notice the way Harry is straining against his briefs. He looks so hard and full beneath the fabric, the leaking of his tip leaving a dark pink spot of wetness against the garment. I reach my hands around his body to cup his ass and pull him into me, his clothed cock pressing against my naked tummy. He mewls and reaches down to hitch my leg back over his hip so he can press more directly to my soaking wet center. He adjusts to fit his cock lengthwise between my lips, my wetness no doubt transferring to his underwear. He fits perfectly against me, thick and heavy, and I moan loudly as he grinds forward, the ridge of the head of his cock rubbing up and down over my clit. I struggle to slide a hand between us, dipping my fingers into the waistband of his briefs as I dance my fingers over his thick, throbbing cock. I can’t help but to feel satisfied with the lusty groan that leaves Harry’s now red lips, his pupils blown out as he stares at me while I work him over with my hand. The angle is less than ideal though, and I yank on the fabric impatiently. It’s his turn to shimmy out of his underwear, his cock bouncing up to slap against his stomach with a satisfying sound and a little groan from his lips. My mouth waters as I watch his thick, somewhat veiny cock bounce, sliding against my stomach and leaving a trail of precum in its wake. I place my hands on Harry’s chest, feeling the muscles jump beneath my fingers, and tracing over the swallows there, always mesmerized by the way they look so at home on his pale skin.

“You like to have your little cunt eaten, Amber?” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sending cool shivers across my skin.

“Stupid question,” I reply breathily. “Who doesn’t?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles as he sends his lips blazing over my chest, across my nipple, down my stomach, until he’s settled on his knees just above my center.

He places his hands on my hips, pushing me into the wall, then taps against my calf, signaling me to place my foot on his shoulder for stability and to open up for him. I do as he encourages, the cool air running over my wet center and causing me to whimper before he’s even touched me. He settles his lips against the plushy skin of my inner thigh, licking and sucking what will sure to be a hickey as he eyes my center wantonly.

“So wet for me, sweetheart,” he marvels, dragging one finger up my slit, collecting my juices on his fingertip and making me whine.

He glances up at me mischeviously as he dips that finger between his strawberry red lips, his eyes fluttering closed at the taste and a hideously sensual moan brewing in his throat.

“Sweeter than candy,” he smiles up at me, dimple making itself evident in his cheek, knowing smirk gracing his face.

I groan at the sight, leaning my head back against the wall and taking a deep breath to maintain my composure. He splays one hand out over my lifted thigh before ghosting his lips over my pussy. He breathes out intentionally, sending hot air over my most sensitive areas. He licks and sucks all around me, nuzzling his face into the crease between my thigh and center, nipping gently and leaving yet another hickey that I’ll be sure to obsess over for the next few days. He teases and prods, using his free hand to gently separate my lips, looking, but not touching where I need him most.

“Harry, please,” I beg, as the fire in my belly becomes unbearable and I absolutely need contact.

“Someone doesn’t like to be teased. I’m learning new things about you everyday, love,” he huffs out a small laugh from his nose and the air against me makes me buck towards him, needing contact.

He fucking knows how much I hate teasing, how much I hate when he’s got me absolutely dripping for him and won’t give me what I want. He knows that his mouth on me is quite possibly my favorite thing in this entire world, and he knows just how much power he can hold over me when he’s got me in such a compromising position. Thinking quickly, I decide I need to use my knowledge of him to get the upper hand – to get what I want. As much as writhing beneath Harry as he licks me into orgasm after orgasm is my preferred way to spend as much time as possible, I know, deep down inside, this tease before me craves his lips on me just as much as - if not more - than I do. Thinking back to all the times he’s pulled me aside at a party just to whisper a “wanna taste you” into my ear to which I have to reply with a reluctant “later”, mulling over all the times we’d be cuddled haphazardly in bed, his head resting on my hip and he’d slowly get an unexpected swell in his boxers while we’re watching Great British Bakeoff or something equally unarousing just because “you smell so nice. Wanna devour you. Can I please eat you, love?” I realize that all I need to do is refuse to give him what he wants, and I’ll surely get my needs met.

With a huff, I take my leg off of his shoulder, setting my foot against the floor, my thick thighs coming together to block any access he has to my quivering center.

“Don’t want it that much, just fuck me,” I whisper, grasping his hair and trying to tug him back up to his feet.

He untangles my fingers from his hair, looking up at me with an astonished expression. He places wet kisses against the front of my thighs, getting as close to my center as he can while a whine leaves his mouth., the only other sign I get to let me know he’s disappointed.

“Don’t know what you’re missing, love. Don’t you wanna know what it feels like to have Harry Styles’ mouth on your tight little pussy?”

“Wanna feel your cock more,” I lie because as enticing as his cock sounds, his mouth, now positively watering with need, is the most sinful thing I’ve ever seen and I need it. “You’re probably not that good at it anyway. Everyone always thinks they’re better at it than they actually are,” I continue, insulting his skill and knowing that will absolutely drive him mad.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Amber,” he growls angrily.

“Pretty sure I do,” I laugh, “Now go on and fuck me, I’m sure you’re decent at that,” I tease.

“Decent?” he gasps, “Oh sweet girl, you don’t have any idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into.”

Before I can process what’s happening, he’s wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him and lifting me. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist, and nuzzle into his neck, sucking and biting gently so as not to leave too many marks. He walks into the bedroom, kicking the can of whipped cream into the room as he goes, and sets me down on the bed not so gently. He grips my knees, not a single hesitation as he pushes them far apart, leaving me open and exposed to him.

“Gonna show you just how wrong you are,” he smirks before diving into my center, placing his mouth over the entirety of it and dipping his tongue into me, lapping quickly at my folds.

I can’t control the moans that tumble from my lips and grip his hair tightly to hold him in place. As he moves upwards towards my clit, sucking it between his lips and running his tongue over the bud, he places two fingers at my entrance knowing that I need more than just one already. He slowly dips in, pulling yet another debauched moan from my lips. I feel like my entire body has been sent into a fit of tingles, every nerve more sensitive and alive than it was before, which is saying something. He furthers his assault on my clit, repeating the same circular motion he knows I love, steadily increasing pressure. Just as I’m nearing an orgasm, rutting myself into his mouth greedily, he pulls away, focusing his tongue around my entrance once again, his fingers plunging deep inside me and curving upwards to massage my g-spot. He does not pump, but keeps his hand still, his fingers doing their work inside of me. He sucks a hickey into my other thigh, my head lolling back and forth with need but also unbearable pleasure. I just need more more more and seemingly can’t get it.

“Harry please,” I whimper, biting down on my hand to contain myself.

“Please what?” he asks, nuzzling into my thigh.

“Please let me come. Please don’t tease me anymore. Please, I want to explode. Please please please,” I beg him, nearly crying as his fingers continue to work on me, bringing me unbearably close, but not pushing me over the edge.

He knows perfectly well that I need clitoral stimulation to come, he knows with every fiber of his being just how close to the edge I am, and how he can keep me there indefinitely, in a constant fit of pleasure on the brink of euphoria, as long as he damn well pleases. All he needs to do is give my clit a few quick licks and I’ll be tumbling into the most pleasurable oblivion, but he’s still angry, and I still need to be punished.

“I thought men weren’t very good at this, love? I thought I was a cocky asshole with no skill to back up his claims?” he teases, placing a kiss to my clit, which is just enough pressure to make me shake and scream in frustration, but not enough to make me come completely undone.

“I lied. I lied, I lied, I lied,” I chant, a mantra full of hope that he will forgive me. “You’re perfect, the best I’ve ever had, the most skilled and incredible lov- OH!” he buries himself into me one last time, his fingers working faster now as he licks my with more vigor than I’ve ever experienced.

Almost instantly I am writhing beneath him, a silent scream tearing through my bones. It feels as if my head is going to explode as the breath is torn from my body, and I shake uncontrollably as Harry continues working on me, dragging my orgasm out to at least a minute. He moans and hums against me, loving the taste of my climax on his tongue, and I am brought to tears by the amount of sensations running through my body at this moment.

“Harry, Harry, Harry, HARRY!” I scream when finally his onslaught of licks have become too much and the stimulation has begun to actually hurt.

He pulls away knowingly, peppering kisses over my entire lower half as he licks his lips and savors the taste of me. He reaches down, grabbing the can of whipped cream, and spurting a whole bunch of it over my stomach, up to my chest, and places two little mounds on my nipples. The cream is cold, but his mouth is hot and the contrasting sensation eases me down from the intense orgasm while still making me want more. He glances up at me as he sucks bit after bit of the whipped cream into his mouth, a smirk playing on his white covered lips, his dimple poking out, and the most smug expression in his eyes. His mouth sucks and laps at my skin, driving me crazy, the warm wetness of it making me arch up into him, trying to get closer closer closer. Once he’s cleaned my entire body of the sticky liquid, he smacks his lips in a satisfied way.

“S’not even as sweet as you,” he says offhandedly. “Should have known better, love. Should have known not to challenge me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, absolutely exhausted. “I had no idea what you were capable of,” I lie.

“Mmmm, well, love, you still don’t,” he smirks before grabbing my hips and flipping me over easily.

I am by no means a small girl, and though Harry is lean, he is deceptively strong as he flings me around with ease. I land with a thud on my stomach, my face buried into the hotel pillows. He bites into my ass before soothing the stinging skin with his tongue. He shifts, pressing my legs together beneath him and straddling me. He leaves a sharp smack against my ass, making me cry out.

“Slow and gentle, I know, just couldn’t resist,” he laughs as he grabs one of the pillows I’m not using. “Up you go, beautiful,” he taps my hips and I lift them slightly so he can slide the pillow beneath me, angling my hips towards him just right.

My entire body is slack with pleasure and exhaustion, but every nerve comes alive when I feel him run the tip of his leaking cock down my ass, dipping beneath my thighs, but missing my center by millimeters.

“Open up for me love,” he coos, leaning down to press kisses along my spine.

I move my arms back languidly, gripping my own ass and spreading my cheeks apart, making me easier to access.

“What a fucking view,” he growls before placing his tip at my entrance and ever so slowly sliding in.

Despite having just been filled with his fingers and given the most unbelievable orgasm, I am still somewhat tight, the thickness of him stretching me beautifully. I let out a low groan as he continues to slide in until he’s buried to the hilt. Once inside, he flops down on top of me, his lips attaching themselves to my neck after he brushes my hair out of the way. Slow, languid kisses join his slow, languid thrusts. I feel him fill every inch of me, repeatedly, deeper and more snugly than I can even handle. He has one hand bracing himself next to my head, the other digging his fingers into my hips as he holds me in place and continues to deliver his satisfying thrusts. Feeling his weight on top of me, his breath and hair tickling the side of my face, while he pushes himself deep inside me, hitting my most sensitive spots almost instantaneously, I quiver beneath him, moans leaving my body in a constant stream. He leans down, running a stripe up my shoulder with his tongue and I mewl into the pillow. I can hear the smirk on his face as he moans, hitting me particularly deep.

“Feel so good, kitten,” he whispers. “Like you were fucking made for me.”

I just clench around him in response, and feel him shake behind me, the sensation almost too much for him. In this position, I can push back against him, encouraging him to go deeper and I almost come just from hearing the noises he makes when I do. Offhandedly I realize that while Harry and I are meant to pretend to be strangers, he is still no doubt the best fuck I’ve ever had. My brain is filled with memories of Harry fucking me into mattresses just the way he’s doing now, every inch of my body obeying his every wish and it’s a bit overwhelming. It’s overwhelming to realize that you are, at that exact moment, having some of the best sex you will ever have in your entire life as you’re being ploughed into by the man of your dreams. The realization only makes me moan louder into the pillow and Harry whimpers in my ear, clearly close to orgasm.

“Gettin’ close,” he murmurs, thrusting sloppily. “Don’ wanna burst yet, baby.”

I squirm beneath him, enough to signal he should pull out and switch positions. With a huff, he does, and the whine that leaves my lips is pathetic. He squeezes my hips gently, encouraging me to flip onto my back.

“Tha’s it, love,” he coos as I turn over.

Now on my back, I can take him in. His hair is a mess, his face red and sweaty, his entire body has a sheen of sweat over it, making his tattoos glisten. He looks absolutely mouthwatering. The thought of going down on him pops into my head, but the feeling of him inside me is too much to resist. He slides his warm hands down my sides, hooking them behind my knees and lifting my legs into the air, resting my heels on his shoulders.

“You look so pretty all fucked out, Amber,” he mentions, leaving a wet kiss on my ankle before aligning himself with my center.  

When he thrusts inside in one fluid movement, it feels as if all the air is being stripped from my lungs. I’ve never felt so full, so satisfied as when Harry is buried deep inside me, gazing at me lovingly. The roll of his hips is slow and intentional, him feeling every inch of me just as I focus on every inch of him. Through hooded eyes, I watch his brows furrow, his lip get sucked up into his mouth, held in by his two front teeth. He scrunches his nose slightly, almost as if he’s in pain, and a low growl emits from his throat as he hits me particularly deep and I squeeze down on him. He reaches forward helplessly, almost as if he’s looking for something to ground him, keep him sane as he experiences such immense pleasure. Without thinking, his thumb hooks its way into my mouth, and I nibble and bite at him as moans make their way from both of us. For just a moment, he opens his eyes, the most intense gaze flowing over me as he takes in the site before him. He watches himself move in and out of me, and his gaze lingers before he takes in the way I’m spread for him, stomach heaving with heavy breaths, breasts jiggling with every thrust, mouth laving over his thumb as I maintain a lazy eye contact with him and in that moment, we are not of this world. We have together transcended simple physical pleasure and have reached something more spiritual. The breath leaves his body in a huff of shock and before either of us realize, we are both tumbling over into a blissful pit of pleasure, screams tearing from our throats, bodies melded into one as we orgasm. With a sigh, I open my legs so they are placed on either side of Harry’s body and he can lean down into me, resting his head on my chest as we both work to catch our breaths and he softens inside of me.

“Wow,” I sigh.

“Yeah,” Harry replies with a small chuckle.

And despite all the theatrics and drama that goes into making this silly little role-play work, at the end of the day, or really at the end of the incredible sex, Harry and I are just us, falling in love with each other all over again and again and again.

[iswearonmarcuskane]

Kickin’ & Screamin’ // Chapter 6

Title: Kickin’ & Screamin’ Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Kabby Tag/Warnings: Modern AU Setting, Kicking and Screaming AU, Kid!Delinquents Chapter(s): 6/22 Read earlier chapters on: AO3

Chapter Summary: Time to meet the bad guys and for shit show 2.0

Chapter 6: You are not defeated when you lose, you are defeated when you quit

Well, today is the day.

Either the Delinquents were going to pull off a miracle or they were going to live up to everyone’s expectations; especially, those of the Wallace boys.

Abby had just pulled into the complex’s parking lot when she first saw him. The infamous Cage Wallace.

He was standing by his car, hands in his dress pants’ pockets. He wore a matching suit jacket, the middle button being the only one done. His hair was swooshed back into his signature quiff. His eyes were trained on her car.

That’s one thing that bugged her about him. He dressed up to every game. He was always in a suit, a different color for each. He never repeated a color in a single season. It gave off the message she’s sure he wanted to send- that he was better than everyone else.

She’s also remembers how upset he was when Abby “accidentally” splashed mud all over his white suit when her car got “stuck” in mud after their game. She had asked him for help and when he gladly accepted to push her car, she floored the gas pedal. The end result was him looking like a marshmallow dipped in chocolate. He was wearing that same suit now.

She climbed out of her car as Clarke also got out. Abby looked up to see Cage walking to her car as she opened the back end. She told Clarke, “I’ll meet you over there.”

Clarke nodded and ran off to be with Raven who was waiting on the sidewalk. Abby smiled as she watched her daughter reach her and begin to walk to their bench. Her smiled immediately dropped when she turned around and Cage was standing there, leaning against her car.

It was her lucky day, wasn’t it?

He was wearing his big smile, the smile she hated. She hated it more than Marcus’, which she thought was impossible. If you could clone Marcus twenty times into one person, the product would be Cage Wallace.

The smile meant he knew he was winning something. It didn’t matter what it was, hell, he might not even know sometimes, but he was winning and he knew it. So, he wanted to make sure you and everyone else knew.

The problem was Abby knew why he was smiling.

“Good morning, Coach,” he told her, fingers drumming on her car.

Her eyes were watching his fingers and she slowly dragged them to his face. “Cage.”

“Ouch,” he feigned hurt, placing his free hand over his heart, “No greeting? Why so cold? It’s a great day for soccer, don’t you think?”

She wanted to say, “It’s a nice day to run you over with my car,” but she doubted that would be appropriate to say around little kids. So instead she settled for, “Every day is a great day for soccer.”

She pulled her equipment bag from her back end. No way in hell was she letting those poor kids wear those “pennies” again. If Marcus gave her any grief about using hers instead, she may have to hit him with her car too.

“I’m not going to argue that,” he responded. She thought maybe that would be the end of the discussion and he would waltz off to his bench, but she forgot, today was her lucky day. Cage stayed put as she checked the bag quickly.

“Can I help you?” She asked, annoyed as she looked up abruptly. She knew he was watching her and he knew it would rile her up.

He smiled again, that fucking smile. He shook his head slightly. “Nope,” he said, “You’re doing fine.”

She really wish she could hit him with her car right now. Just buckle up and slam her foot on the gas pedal and send him flying all the way to Jupiter. That would wipe the smile off his face.

So, instead, she settled for leaning closer to him, whispering, “If you don’t leave me alone, I am going to fucking ki-”

“Abby.”

Him calling her name caught them both off guard. The two looked behind her to where Marcus stood, arms crossed. He raised an eyebrow at her, saying, “When you two are done, I’d really like to start warm up for the game.”

Abby was very grateful for Marcus in that moment. Sure, she’d never tell him that, but she was. She would rather spend ten hours locked in a room with Marcus then one minute in public with Cage. Both sounded terrible, but she’d settle for the lesser evil.

“We were done a long time ago,” Abby gladly announced and zipped the bag up. She gave Cage a tight lipped smile and also snuck him a middle finger before she shut the back end of her car.

Abby walked over to Marcus and past him, signaling him to follow. Marcus watched Cage for a few seconds longer before finally turning and following her. From behind them, Cage called out, “Hope you’re ready for a long season. I know losing every game can be tiring.”

Abby immediately stopped in her tracks. Marcus stumbled a bit so he wouldn’t run into her. “Abby?” He asked, confused, and if she was mistaken, a little worry in his voice.

Cage laughed a little, adding on later, “Actually, I wouldn’t know.” Her hand on the equipment bag tightened slightly. Her teeth clenched ever so slightly. The rage began to boil in her.

She knew her team was bad. She accepted it a long time ago. She knew they lost every game, no one had to remind her. But they were still her team and she would be damned if anyone talked less about them.

She quickly spun on her heel to glare at him. And would you believe it? He was wearing that same damn smile. The fire in her raged more as she took a small step towards him.

A hand landed on her elbow, slowly and tightly gripping her arm. She looked to hand and followed the arm up to make eye contact with Marcus. He shook his head, telling her, “He wants a reaction out of you.”

“He just insulted my team,” she snapped back, “Our team. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

“Of course it does,” he whispered back, eyes flickering to where Cage stood. He looked back to her, lowering his voice more, “But he’s just saying it to spite you. Don’t fall for his tricks.”

Abby opened her mouth to argue but then closed it again. She repeated the same gesture as she watched Marcus. She finally looked to Cage, his smile never fading.

She smiled sweetly at him, telling him, “After the game, make sure to check both ways before crossing the parking lot.”

His smile never faltered. If anyone could rival the wall Marcus built up to her insults, it would be Cage. He tilted his head to the side, asking, “Are you threatening me?”

“I would never,” she replied. “I’m just giving you friendly advice.”

He laughed as he finally stood up off her car. He began walking towards the fields and towards his bench. He shouted over to Abby, “Better be careful with your words, Coach. Wouldn’t want you to get a red card the first game of the season, would we?”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Cage looked over his shoulder to her, winking. “Wouldn’t be the first time though, would it?” Abby thought if he kept talking, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten a bloody nose due to her either. “Red looks good on you, though.”

And how Abby thought how good his body would look laying on the pavement in the parking lot. Abby heard Marcus snort from next to her and she looked up him. He muttered, “He obviously doesn’t remember that dress you wore up to the wrap up party last year.”

Abby’s mouth fell open. She ripped her arm from his grasp. They looked to each other, Abby glaring and Marcus giving her another raised eyebrow. “Are you serious?” She asked him.

“What?” He asked.

She hit his chest. “That comment you just made!”

He moved back from her hit and repeated himself, “What? The dress was horrible, Abby. Even you know that.”

“Cece’s grandmother picked it out for me!”

“And bless you for not breaking the old lady’s heart,” he told her, shaking his head.

He looked at the bag in her hand, asking, “Are these the pennies?” Abby just nodded in response, still a little taken back from the last conversation. “Perfect,” he replied, taking it from her, “I’ll get the kids into possession.”

And with that, he walked off.

Abby didn’t know what left her more dumbfounded: that Abby was starting to realize how ugly the dress really was or the fact that Marcus remembered the dress she wore almost a year ago.

“Ready for the season, Coach Griffin?”

The voice broke her out of her dumbfounded state and she turned to see Dante Wallace walking up. She gave him the same tight lipped smile she had given his son. “What better way to start it off versing you guys?” She asked.

He laughed as he walked by. He looked over his shoulder to her. “I couldn’t agree more,” he replied and kept walking.

The line sent her into another rage. She resisted the urge to flip him off behind his back. There were kids around. Abby didn’t need that red card yet.

She wanted nothing more than for Marcus to experience her last place shame but right now, she was praying for some miracle to happen that would let the Delinquents crush Mount Weather.

It was her lucky day, wasn’t it?

+

It wasn’t her lucky day.

At least not for good karma, that is.

It’s barely ten minutes into the game and it’s already a shit show. It was like their first practice chaos but on steroids. And if there was anyone to blame, it was Marcus.

Because who chooses a 3-2-2 (three defenders, two midfielders, and two forwards)? It gave them no depth in the width of the field. That in turn made it crowded up front because the two forwards had no outlets on the sides.

He told her it would be fine, to trust him. She didn’t believe either but she kept her mouth shut because he wasn’t going to give up. And would you look at that, she was right. It was terrible.

The back three consisted of Miller and Raven on the outside with Murphy in the middle of the two. It was a solid backline if they could stop repeating fatal mistakes. Raven kept diving in, getting burned by each forward that challenged her. In turn, Miller would get angry and stop tracking his mark back, leaving them wide open on the far side. Murphy would get upset at both of them and take it out on the poor forward, either resulting in a foul or being easily beaten with a simple touch around him.

Wells was doing well up until his sixth shot of the game (yes sixth already). It looked like he had lost confidence in himself. You could see it draining away after every shot. While Marcus and Abby tried to cheer him up, Murphy was beating him down. The father of the two boys, Jaha, did nothing to try and stop it. He wasn’t even paying attention when the events occurred. He only saw Wells give up three goals and Murphy get burned.

The two who started in the middle were Harper and Monty. Abby understood why they started, they were the two best midfielders on the team. The problem was they had never played with each other before. With how nice Harper was to Monty and how shy he was, they weren’t getting progress anywhere. She wouldn’t criticize his mistakes, she would let them fly over her head. In result, Monty kept making the same mistakes over and over.

“God, the kid made the same mistake for the fifth time. You think he’d learn that what he’s doing isn’t working,” Abby had heard Roan say from the sideline. Wait for it…

“And what has your little princess done? Nothing important as far as I remember,” Cece shot back, seated a few chairs down from him. There it was.

“I know one thing she isn’t doing,” he immediately snapped back, “turning the ball over every time she touches it.” And so it begins.

Abby zoned them out, seeing Sinclair trying to calm Cece down and David Miller do the same for Roan. She expected that to happen at least five more times before the half was over. She was just hoping the chair throwing would be saved for after the game. And, yes, Cece has thrown a chair at Roan before.

Next was Clarke and Bellamy up top. They weren’t working together at all. It was like they were working on two different levels: head and heart.

Clarke kept trying to direct him to make a run for a pass but he would make another which he thought was the right choice. Clarke would think out a move, pass, or run before executing it. She wanted to survey the field and pick the best possible solution to benefit them all.

Bellamy went with his heart’s decision, what his first gut extinct was. If he believed he could take on the three defenders to get one goal, he would do it. He believed they needed to react to the game quickly, that in their position, there was no time for stopping and thinking. One extra touch on the ball and the whole game already changed.

This miscommunication caused them to miss a lot of opportunities to get the ball up field and maybe score.

Jasper was subbed in for Monty and the two coaches heard Roan say, “Bout damn time they took him out.”

“What did you say?” Cece shouted at him.

He looked to her, unfazed and replied, “You heard me,” and went back to watching the game.

Jasper was a disaster on two legs. The kid didn’t know how to hold his position. He ended up all the way by Wells at one point, then somehow ended up by Clarke. Him being out of position resulted in open space for Mount Weather to attack 2v1 on Harper.

Octavia was then subbed in for Harper. She seemed nervous and like she really didn’t want to be out there. When Miller passed her the ball, she froze. A kid from Mount Weather easily stole it from her. That earned a yell from Miller who didn’t try to stop the kid who flew by him that had stolen it from him. Poor Wells didn’t stand a chance at that point.

And that’s how the game turned into a shit show with only ten minutes into the game. It was 0-4 to Mount Weather already. Abby saw Cage smiling over to her from across the field as the fourth goal went in. It took every ounce of her to behave and not flip him off. Or hit him with her car.

“I think this a record on how fast a game can go to shit for us,” Jaha commented. Abby and Marcus looked back to him for the comment as he looked from his phone to them. “Congratulations,” he added.

Just one punch, just one. That’s all she needed to get her frustration out. All the frustration from the stupid idea of merging their teams, Marcus himself, the Wallace boys, the parents, and the kids. Just one punch would absolve it all…

“You okay?” Jackson suddenly appeared by Abby’s side, worry written across his face.

Abby looked out to the field where Raven had once again dived for the ball. Marcus screamed, pulling at his hair, “How many times do I have tell you, Raven! Don’t dive! Be patient!”

The only comforting thing in this whole situation was seeing how riled up Marcus got. He was feeling the frustration she sure he felt normally but ramped up. Welcome to her world, she thought.

She looked back to Jackson, telling him, “We’ll see.”

It didn’t ease the man’s worries.

By the time Jackson had walked away back to his chair, Mount Weather had scored again. Marcus hid his hands in his face, shaking his head as he walked away to the bench. Abby looked over to where Cage stood, him smiling big.

Abby flipped him off as she turned to face Marcus. She heard Cage laughing behind her and she curled her hands into fists. She stormed over to Marcus, snatching his marker board from him. He looked up in surprise.

She looked at the lineup he had written on the board. She looked to where Monty and Harper were sitting on the bench. She looked to the field where Bellamy once again tried to take on too many players and lost the ball.

The Mount Weather player stormed up the field and into the space Jasper was supposed to be in. Instead he was all the way besides Clarke again. Octavia was stuck all alone in the middle and she looked like she had no idea what to do. The two Mount Weather players easily did a give-and-go around her.

Murphy stepped up to apply pressure to the kid but he quickly passed it Emerson. He stepped over the ball, making it seem like he was going to drag the ball to his left, but he quickly averted his foot and tapped it to the outside, his right side. Raven fell for it easily, lunging in. Emerson sprinted around her.

Miller was on the back post, not doing much to help Wells in the box. Murphy was trying his best to muscle the other Mount Weather player away from the goal. Emerson sent in a cross across the box.

Murphy lost the battle and the Mount Weather player was able to jump up and head the ball. Miller’s mark was standing in front of Wells, obstructing his view. He dove for the ball but it was too late, the ball went in the net. Mount Weather scored again.

“Damn it!” Abby screamed as she threw Marcus’ marker board at the ground.

“Hey!” Marcus shouted as it collided with the ground. It snapped in half, the marker flying towards the field.

Abby wished she had cared she broke it. It resembled how she felt inside after every game. Just because she accepted that fact they lose every game didn’t mean she was okay with it.

Sure, she may want to see Marcus suffer like she has that’s because she wants him to know this feeling. Every time he bragged about that one win, the one win she never got, it hurt. All she wanted was to win one, just one game. Mainly and most importantly, for the kids.

She only ever wants them to have fun and be happy. She knows winning isn’t everything and that they have fun and are happy regardless, but she knows they would love to win a game. Just to see their dream come true would bring them more happiness. If they ever only won one game and lost the rest for their rest of the soccer careers, Abby would be fine with that. She knows they would be too.

So no, to answer Jackson’s question, she was not okay. There was a sliver of hope (that she would never admit to anyone) that maybe, maybe, she could now win that game for the kids with Marcus’ help. He knew the feeling of winning and experienced it, she didn’t. She didn’t know how to give that to a team. She just would hope they’d get a lucky break.

At the thought, she looked over to Marcus who was picking up the two halves of his board. She had her arms crossed now and he looked up to meet her eyes. If she believed he might actually be a human being with compassion, she would’ve registered the emotion in his eyes as concern.

It freaked her out, so she joked to him, “Maybe if you didn’t spend all your money on hair care products, maybe you could buy a quality marker board.”

It was silent, he didn’t respond. It made her uncomfortable. He was supposed to respond and make a snarky comment on how she’s more concerned with his hair than the game. So, why didn’t he?

Don’t kid yourself, it didn’t escape her attention that his hair was slicked back again and somehow he shaved. She had thrown his razor out in his trash at the team party. She’d deal with that later.

He resembled Marcus, but he wasn’t acting like Marcus.

He still hadn’t responded. She was starting to panic. Why wasn’t he being Marcus?

How ironic right? Every day she prayed to God that He would shut Marcus up and make him stop being Marcus. Now, He’s granted that prayer and she doesn’t want it all. Why?

Finally, saving her from entering cardiac arrest, he responded, “I’ll think about next time I’m in the hair care aisle.”

It wasn’t as Marcus as she thought it would be, but it was something. She hesitated a bit, nodding and responded, “Good.” It was awkward, goddamn it, why did she have to be awkward? She’s had outbursts before, why did this one matter all the sudden?

They held each other’s gaze for a few more seconds before they saw the familiar figure in a yellow uniform walk up to them. They looked to see the referee, Alie, shaking her head. She had her booklet out. Abby knew what that meant.

Alie pulled a yellow card out, showing her it. Abby nodded and stepped off the line a bit. Alie told her, “It’s the first game and I heard about this situation,” she pointed between the two, “so I’ll leave you with a warning. Don’t let it happen again, Abby.”

“It won’t,” She told her, smiling as best as she could.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep,” Marcus suddenly said beside her.

The two looked to him and he was wearing his smirk, his eyes trained on Abby. She felt the fire suddenly begin to ignite back, pushing back the scared and upset emotions she had suddenly felt. She crossed her arms, tilting her head, and said, “You’d be surprised.”

Alie added in as she wrote in her booklet, “That would make two of us.” She then walked off and blew the whistle for the half to continue.

Abby and Marcus kept looking at each other, forgetting the game, the score, the kids, the parents, and the unexplainable hate between them. The noise silenced out and everything blurred together except each other.

His hair was slicked back like she noticed earlier. Not a single strand was out of place. His jaw freshly shaven, not a cut or stubble in sight. His eyes were taunting, the warm brown color swimming with their usual mischief. And there it was: the infamous smirk. The smirk that drove Abby up a wall, made her want to rip her hair out, hit him with a car, or anything. Whatever it was, it got a reaction out of her. Every. Time.

But it felt right. It felt normal. And she was okay with that.

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/jim-beaver-supernatural-talk-jensen-ackles-jared-padalecki/

Jim Beaver 'Supernatural' talk on Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki

When one of our Movie TV Tech Geeks family members has something new out, we love to help promote it, especially when it's something that every Supernatural fan will want to get their hands on. Lynn Zubernis, who writes some pretty in-depth and intense Supernatural recap reviews, has her latest book hitting on May 9 Family Don’t End With Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Has Changed Lives (You can order it here), has interviewed nearly everyone from the show, and we're happy to run her 'best ofs' leading up to her book launch. If you want to attend her Los Angeles book launch check it out here. Her latest book features With contributions by Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Jim Beaver, Rob Benedict, Briana Buckmaster, Osric Chau, Matt Cohen, Ruth Connell, Gil McKinney, Rachel Miner and Kim Rhodes, and a Dozen Passionate Fans! Check out her classic interview with Misha Collins. Check out when we interviewed Lynn on her own Supernatural experiences. Check out exclusive excerpts from Lynn’s upcoming book! Next up, Jim Beaver (Bobby Singer), who wrote an incredibly powerful chapter for Family Don’t End With Blood. Here’s one of our favorite interview chats we’ve had with Jim over the years… As promised, more from our trip to the Chicago Supernatural convention – in this case, some quality time with one of our favorite guys, Jim Beaver. Jim is one of the first actors we interviewed two years ago at the start of our Supernatural road trip, and damn, he really skewed our expectations. Not only did he invite us to come over and chat in his living room, but four hours later, we were still there! That conversation took place before Jim’s very first fan convention, so we spent some of the time trying to prepare him. (Yes, fans will line up for your autograph – little did he know!). Jim asked us as many questions about the fandom as we asked him, and we weren’t surprised that he ‘got it’ in so many ways. We also managed to get in a dare before we left, but honestly, we never expected Jim to be so creative in his tee shirt design. O—o We missed sitting down with Jim at the last convention, because he was still signing autographs at 2 am and we were falling over with exhaustion. (So much for his disbelief that fans would line up for his autograph! ) Not surprisingly, his photo ops and autographs ran late in Chicago as well. Jim’s determination to give each and every fan some quality time was once again working against our chances of reconnecting with him. When 1:00 a.m. rolled around, and the other celebs had finished their turns at ‘speed dating with the stars,’ at the dessert party, we were ready to bail. (The desire for sleep does sometimes prevail!) Disappointed, we headed back to our room and walked smack into Jim who was being shepherded downstairs to make his belated appearance. So much for sleep. Jim never sleeps, as anyone who’s friended him on Facebook has probably figured out, and apparently he never eats either. After making the rounds with the die-hard fans who waited for him at the dessert party, he was handed a chicken Caesar salad by one of the Creation staff. He had every intention of eating it after he said goodnight to Richard Speight Jr and Aldis Hodge in the bar. Somehow that turned into a few rounds of pool and by 2:30 that chicken Caesar was looking less than savory. When we all finally collapsed in the corner table of the deserted lobby bar, poor Jim was starving and lacking food options. But fandom is a curious and wonderful thing. Suddenly there were fans. With meat. In fact, they appeared with an entire deli platter and asked if we wanted it. (Whoever you are out there, thank you!) Interviews with Jim tend to run the gamut from serious contemplation of the nature of fame and celebrity and fannishness to the kind of joking around that invariably makes Lynn do that embarrassing snort-when-you-laugh thing. This one took place at 3 am, so there was a lot more of the joking and less of the seriousness. Jim has mentioned before that while Bobby has evolved into a father figure for Sam and Dean, he has a different relationship with Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. Much more a peer relationship than a fatherly one – in fact, Jim asks the boys for professional advice more often than the other way around. Lynn commented around her ham sandwich that Jim obviously wasn’t old enough to be their father in real life anyway, which earned her an eye roll and an incredulous smirk. In one of our earlier chats with Jim, he talked about Bobby’s relationship with ‘the boys,’ and his delight in playing such a character. Jim: “It’s often alot funnier to be the guy standing there looking at somebody going, ‘you moron,' than to be the guy doing the funny stuff. Somebody did a YouTube tribute to Bobby, and I was looking at it last night. I watched the clips fade, and I knew exactly what it was — it was a look I gave Jared when I was working on a gun. I was saying, ‘and it’s gonna take me as long as it takes me.’ And he asked if it was ready and I just gave this look. That kind of stuff is delicious. And a lot more fun than being the guy saying ‘Hey Bobby, is it ready?’ I can’t imagine anything more delightful than playing this guy.” Much to our amusement, Jim also brought up the power of subtext, a topic with which most Supernatural fans are quite familiar. When Jim took his turn at playing The Trickster in Season 3, he relied on the subtle nonverbal nuances that the Supernatural actors are so damn good at to give the viewer cues that Bobby is not who he appears to be. Jim: “I’ve always thought the best actors know something you don’t know. Like they’ve got a secret, and it may never get revealed. The best people I’ve seen act, I’m seeing all this stuff and there’s something underneath too, and it makes me want to watch and figure it out. Just to convey that there’s something going on other than just the words. I love to find bits of subtext that didn’t occur to me before. Subtext is great. My favorite movie in the world is John Ford’s The Searchers. The driving force is John Wayne’s love for his brother’s wife and vice versa. It’s the thing that drives virtually everything that happens to the main characters. And there is not one bit of dialogue actually relating that. You see the looks between the characters, you see his reaction when she dies, you see, but nobody says a word about it.” There followed a long conversation about Freudian interpretations of Sam and Dean and long looks and nonverbal cues, which eventually got around to a discussion of Jensen and Jared’s acting ability. Jim: “It wouldn’t work if these guys weren’t good actors. I think you could do an episode of Supernatural without a single word of dialogue with this bunch. Not for the gimmick value, but because the crew on this show is capable of doing an awful lot of expression non-verbally, and making people really think deeply about what is being conveyed with no words. I did an episode of Melrose Place, and I wouldn’t want to do an episode with no dialog with them. But on this show, we feed off each other pretty well. The fact that we all like each other is helpful, but it’s also the fact that Jared, Jensen and I must be very similar actors. We all three are the kind that can be joking around, and then they say action, and we are in it. None of us are the kind of guy that has to sit in a corner for an hour to get ready. Nothing wrong with that, but we’re just very attuned to the same kind of work. We just kind of relate to each other in ways that work well, and fit well. That the boys are good buddies and enjoy each other’s company, that too is not all that common. Sometimes magic hits. I don’t know if there is any coincidence that there are three guys whose names all start with J and are all from Texas. I feel like I’ve got a couple good friends in Jared and Jensen. And to a certain extent, you can’t fake that chemistry. I feel pretty lucky to be a part of it.” Jim did get serious at our late night (early morning?) dinner chat in Chicago when he talked about the challenge of his character being confined to a wheelchair, though, saying how tough it was to have to stay down all the time, to not be able to move around like you’re used to. (In our experience, Jim rarely stays still for long – where does the guy get all that energy??) Jim’s capacity for empathy is clearly one of the abilities that make him a kickass actor, and he went on to say that as difficult as it is playing Bobby in a wheelchair, he was always acutely aware that he could get up when they called ‘cut.’ He went on to say that Jared and Jensen delighted in ribbing him during some scenes where Bobby’s bare legs are showing as he’s sitting in the wheelchair in a hospital scene, taunting him about how pale and white his legs were. “So I explained to them,” he continued, voice growing serious, “that when I was in the POW camp, one of the things they did to us was they used bleach on our legs….and it was horrible….they’ll always be white like this because of that.” Lynn stared at him dumbfounded, mouth open in horror, trying frantically to remember whether Jim had ever spoken about being a POW before, wondering how Jim had survived, what kinds of scars – when Jim suddenly burst into laughter, slapped her on the knee and yelled “Gotcha!” Apparently, he got Jensen and Jared too. This time we’re glad we stayed up until 4 am. Totally worth it! We will continue through the launch of Lynn’s book with some of her best Supernatural interviews. Check out Misha’s chapter – along with many other cast and fan chapters – in Family Don’t End With Blood. You can pre-order it here.

Movie TV Tech Geeks News

[carry-on-kissing-snowbaz]

Love and Manuscripts (10)

Sorry for how late this is! Got caught up this weekend. Previous chapters are listed here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Simon

Simon sat down on his couch and sighed. It was only eight o’clock but by the middle of the workweek Simon was always exhausted. Wearily he pulled out his edits and leafed through them to make sure they were all there. He would need to have all his work prepared in order to present at the meeting tomorrow. It wasn’t a real meeting of course (though he’d sat in on one before). Penelope wanted to do a demo meeting in which Simon and Baz would haggle with her for print amounts and sale promotions. The manuscript was actually just a novella one of the office assistants had handed over to help Penelope train the newbies. He frowned as he realized he had a few of Baz’s notes mixed into his own. It wasn’t a big deal; they’d already discussed their strategy for tomorrow. But a part of him nagged that he should return it to Baz, that it was somehow vital for his night-before preparation. He knew why he felt this way; he just wanted an excuse to go see Baz. It was ridiculous of him and he knew he should give up on his crush. But still...the idea intrigued him. Quickly he ran to his car before he could change his mind about the whole thing. He used his cloudy memory from the day after the office party to find Baz’s house. When he arrived he did a double take. In his drunkenness and subsequent hangover Simon had forgotten just how big Baz’s place was. He wondered if he lived by himself in there. Simon contemplated texting Baz but thought better of it. Baz would probably just tell him to leave and give him the notes in the morning, stupid prat that he was. Simon grimaced as he used the heavy brass knocker. There was the sound of footsteps and then a woman dressed in a formal looking uniform answered the door. “Can I help you?” Simon worked to hide his surprise. “Um, I’m here to see Baz.” “Ah yes, come in. What is your name?” He walked into the house and couldn’t help but feel he had just stepped into a spider’s den. “Simon Snow.” She nodded, “Please wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.” Simon turned to look at the ornate paintings on the wall as he tried to ignore a muffled conversation coming from down the hall. He watched as the woman came back with a man. The man was tall with sleek white hair and a harsh face. He stepped forward and offered Simon his hand, which Simon accepted nervously. “Welcome to my home Simon Snow. My name is Malcolm Grimm. Please come join me in the library.” Simon frowned but did as he was asked. When they entered the library he did a double take. The room was huge and filled wall to wall with ancient looking books. He had a feeling he wouldn’t find his favorite modern sci-fi novel in this setting. Baz sat with his back to them, playing the violin. The song was a very sad one; it reminded Simon of being lonely. But Baz played impressively, so impressively that Simon couldn’t speak for fear of interrupting him. Eventually the song ended and Baz sagged forward, revealing the effort that had gone into the song. “Bravo Basilton,” Malcolm cheered. Baz jumped and turned to look at them both. Based off of Baz’s dumbfounded expression Simon realized that he had not been informed of Simon’s arrival. Quickly Baz’s face went blank and he smiled politely. “Father, I see you’ve met my co-worker, Mr. Snow.” Father? Simon wondered. He glanced once again at Malcolm and took in the stiff posture and overall coldness of the man; yes he could see the resemblance between them in the attitude. “I have. Not a very talkative fellow.” “Not, not a loquacious one indeed,” Baz replied crisply. “Um,” Simon broke in, “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I just wanted to bring by your notes for the meeting tomorrow. They got mixed up with mine for some reason.” Baz glanced at him, his eyes hiding anger in their depth. “Thank you for the consideration.” This was a mistake Simon realized. “Father, why wasn’t I fetched sooner?” His father strode forward and clapped his shoulder harshly. “You were busy playing. I felt it best to let you finish.” Malcolm and Baz exchanged a strange glance and then Malcolm nodded. “Well I’ll leave you boys to it. Let me know if you need anything Simon.” “Thank you,” Simon mumbled. After Malcolm left, Simon stood silently, waiting to face whatever Baz would hurl at him. Baz simply stared at him. After a minute Simon cleared his throat. “Ah, here you go then. I guess I should leave.” He placed the notes on the grand piano in the corner of the room. “What are you doing here?” Baz asked quietly. Simon paused on his way out of the room and swallowed nervously. “Dropping off your notes, like I said.” “Like you said,” Baz repeated. Simon glanced away. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a visit from your father.” “You didn’t. He lives here.” Simon’s gaze swung back to meet Baz’s. “Really?” Baz shrugged, “Sure. Him and his wife. And my siblings. This is my family estate.” Simon let this new information sink in. He had never imagined someone as clever and cold as Baz living at home with his folks. It seemed to go against his nature. “Oh. Okay then,” Simon felt awkward. “Please call the next time you decide to stop by,” Baz said sharply, “I don’t need to further anger my father.” “Anger?” Simon had thought Malcolm seemed cheery; well, as cheery as someone as cold as him could be. “He doesn’t much appreciate attractive young men coming by in the odd hours of the night.” “Why not?” Simon asked. “Because he doesn’t much appreciate my being gay,” Baz replied, point blank. Simon felt blood rush to his face. He hadn’t realized his visit might be so transparent, even to someone like Baz’s father. “I-I wasn’t…I don’t think he knows that I…” Simon trailed off uselessly. “That you like me?” Simon swallowed loudly. When he didn’t respond Baz strode forward and kissed him abruptly. Simon made a small noise of surprise but didn’t fight Baz. He had come here to be closer to Baz after all, and now he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. Baz was kissing Simon desperately, clacking Simon’s teeth in an effort to push his tongue deeper into his mouth. Eventually Simon had to break away to gasp for breath. “Baz…I thought…what about last time?” “Shut up,” Baz growled and bit Simon’s neck harshly. Simon let his breath out in a hiss. “You came here for me, well now you have me.” With that Simon stopped asking questions and started focusing on Baz’s mouth.

[theaterguy105-blog]

Sleep No More Review/Thoughts

Hello tumblr! I realized that I've never posted a review of Sleep No More on here before so better late than never! This will not be a recap where I talk about a specific experience or certain performers. This will be a review of the show itself. My likes and dislikes. With that said, let's begin! When I left the McKittrick Hotel after my first performance of Sleep No More I was confused, dumbfounded, amazed, mind blown, excited, inspired, and transformed. As corny and sappy as it sounds, the show truly has changed my life. So much so that it made me re think my life and what I career path I wanted to pursue. The show made me want to create immersive theater and make people feel what I felt after my first time seeing the show. Any piece of art that has that kind of effect on you in my book is a masterpiece. Sleep No More is a masterpiece. We all know that the structure of the show is a marvel and the fact that it all works as well as it does is astonishing. The fact all these events are happening simultaneously and are sometimes connected and sometimes not is amazing. The lighting and sound is also incredible giving spaces without performers in them the same weight of drama and atmosphere. The lighting and sound tell a story in the same way the performers themselves do. But we all know these aspects of the show are amazing. What I'd really like to discuss is something I feel sometimes gets overlooked when talking about the show: the story, characters, and world building. It's very easy to just tell people "oh it's just Macbeth" but I think it's so much more than that. Sleep No More is a lived in WORLD. The town of Gallow Green feels as if it's been there for a long time and each of the characters feels like they have lived before the events of the show. Maxine Doyle writes "Macbeth's downfall is the centerpiece of Sleep No More, but the other characters all have their own driving narratives that develop around this, and they are equally important". I love this because yes while Macbeth is the major story being told, there are other stories being told as well and you could view them as an entirely original story. Agnes' story is one of my favorites and I dub it "The Missing Sister Story" as it runs parallel to Macbeth. Agnes and Macbeth also never interact which I also think is awesome. It opens the door for even more stories to take place in this world that all feature the same style, atmosphere, and music but deal with different characters, themes, and plots. Maybe each story is connected by one character, the goddess of witchcraft herself. Having Hecate as the antagonist in each of these stories is incredible and brings the show together as one huge epic story without having every single character interact at some point. While I do love almost every story in the show there is one that I don't care for which brings me to my dislikes of the show. I should really say dislike as it's the only thing that really bugs me and that is the entire 5th floor and the two characters on that floor. The King James Sanitarium is boring. Every time I've gone to that floor there is almost nothing happening and it's not very interesting to look at (with the exception of the beautiful forest area). The characters of Shaw and The Matron are also not interesting to me. The Matron spends almost the entire loop in her hut while Shaw just kind of goes crazy by herself. I understand that both characters are connected to the Paisley Witch material which I do find interesting but they are so dull and I just feel as if the 5th floor is a waste of space. They could put another whole story on that floor. Like a story as big and interesting as "The Missing Sister Story" happening on the 4th floor. I know these two characters have fans and people who are really invested in their stories, but for me it's not needed. Also, Lady Macbeth going up there at the end of her loop is pointless too. We get it, she's crazy. She doesn't have to actually go to a mental hospital to get that across. It almost feels like the King James is just there to service that last scene with Lady Macbeth. Again I'm not trying to offend anyone who likes that floor, this is just my opinion. But honestly that's my only dislike. Sleep No More is a beautiful, haunting, and visceral work of art. Everything from the beautifully detailed sets, to the stunning costume design (Hecate's dress being one of my favorite costumes ever created), to the strong character driven performances. Sleep No More is a dark film noir style world that I'm constantly thinking about and am always drawn back to. I'd love to hear what you guys think about my thoughts on the show. I love meeting new people who also have a passion for the show and like going in depth talking about it. Shoot me a message if you like! Thank you for reading my review and have a great day! Maybe I'll see you at Manderley some time ;)