#maybe she thinks shes digging upwards. perhaps she was at a certain point. maybe she is and it simply doesn't make a difference

[arolesbianism]

Oh baby my brain is crashing

[lightsinthedistancee]

Congrats!!! Angst 11 with Frankie? I can totally picture one of the boys asking him that and calling him out when he’s in denial of his feelings for f!reader

Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

“Is she really just a friend?” - Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

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Secrecy

Words: 1.6k

Excerpt: “You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

“You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

“In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.”

Warnings: Very Mild Smut, Language

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.

Present

You’re simply staring.

Out the window of the living room, into unremarkable space. Onto the street where car after car passes by, each one seemingly blending into the last. Upon overcast skies that drain the colors outside of their saturation.

“You gonna say something or not?” says Frankie, breaking the silence. An air of hostility lies between the two of you. He sits on the couch, back hunched, forehead propped against his fist.

The main event of the past few hours lays heavy in the background, fogging both your minds—storm clouds that threaten to bring carnage upon everything.

It’d been a statement by Frankie in the company of the guys—just the mere beginnings of one, one with enough information behind it for you to intervene, to cut him off and shut it down before anything was heard.

The statement…it was one that would’ve told a lot. One that would’ve told of the many times Frankie’s hands had woven into your hair before his lips found yours, one that would’ve revealed numerous long nights together.

Not officially a secret, but never a relationship mentioned nor told.

“Why don’t you want to tell them? Why don’t you want to tell anyone?” His voice is profound in the quiet, loaded with hurt and confusion and a desperate need to know. “What’s the harm in it?”

And still without a single word, without a single glance towards him, you walk from the room.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“F-Frankie….”

His name is a stutter from your lips as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, practically panting into his skin as his hips work against yours.

The wall you’re pressed up against painfully digs into your spine, yet the ache is an afterthought, buried in the shadow of the pure pleasure coursing through your veins.

The sounds of the guys in the kitchen below faintly travels through the floor. It makes a thrill as well as a menacing nervousness spike hot in your mind.

It was a simple weekend get-together among friends that had brought you here, you and Frankie being sent up the stairs of the house to get something, somehow ending up in this situation.

You groan at a particular movement, knotting your hands tighter into his locks, pulling hard enough to make him groan. He’s muttering filth in your ear, your legs gripping his waist tighter and tighter.

“Did you find it?” Benny’s voice echoes up the stairs all of a sudden, piercing the haze you and Frankie had been lost in together. Your mind is in an incoherent state, entirely forgetting what you’d been sent up here to find. “What’s taking so long?”

You stare at Frankie, whose eyes are wide open now, his movements frozen. The corners of your lips beg to turn upwards, and you nearly giggle at the absurdity of it all, and you slowly raise your index finger to your lips, signaling for him to stay quiet.

“Still looking!” you call out. “Should find it soon.”

An affirmative response sounds back, and despite everything going on, Frankie feels all his emotions diminishing to one thing, one sensation that sets every inch of him alight.

The feeling of you clenching around him, your index finger to your lips, a hint of a smirk on those beautiful lips of yours—the secrecy of it all…it’s exciting.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

“Sweetheart….” His voice is a whisper as he approaches you from behind.

You’re in the kitchen now, hands shaking as you pour yourself a glass of water. Exhaustion is seemingly the main product of the tension that had hung between the two of you.

His hand rests gently on the side of your waist, the rest of his body refraining from even grazing yours. An acute worry runs through his head in circles. “I know you’re not leading me on with whatever this whole thing between us is—“

“I’m not,” you whisper, saying your first words in a while.

“—so talk to me. Why don’t you want to tell?”

The ever-pervasive question. Again.

You sigh, turning around to face him. Your hips gently settle on the edge of the counter, your eyes tiredly shutting. “I…I just…I really like you, Frankie.”

He raises an eyebrow, the confusion written across his face nearly comical. “I-I should hope so? I mean, you’re not really explaining anything, cariño.”

You laugh weakly, the sound pathetically dying out near the end, lacking the conviction to even resolutely finish. “What I mean is….” You draw in a deep breath, your eyes finally flicking to his. “…I don’t want what I have with you to fail, and I’m terrified of that happening, and…isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Past

“C’mon, ‘Fish. Is she really just a friend?”

Frankie laughs, shaking his head in a perfect lie of denial. “You’re an idiot. Of course she’s just a friend.”

The small bar the four of them are in—him, Santi, Will, and Benny—possesses a unique calmness and comfort to it, a place they’d been going to for ages.

“Friends who fuck, then?” Santi continues his barrage of questions, the beginnings of an infuriating smirk on his face.

Friends who fuck really fucking well. “No,” Frankie insists, even as the other clumsily-formed thought sounds in his mind.

The other three guys practically shake their heads, returning to their previous conversation. The questioning is nearly a ritual at this point, said repeatedly, as if they’re determined to wrench what they want to be said out of him.

Frankie can vividly recall the things all of them had been saying over and over for months, in one way or another.

She knows you entirely too well.

What is it with the two of you?

You cannot possibly fucking tell me there is nothing going on.

And perhaps they’re right.

Frankie had risked his life with these guys, almost died with them, made last confessions and regrets in the near certain face of death. He’s inexorably bound to them till the day he dies. But despite that, when it comes to Frankie, even in competition with his closest friends, you always seem to be just one step ahead when it comes to knowing him.

You’re the one who always brings up the subject of leaving when places grow too crowded for his liking, striking a subtle discomfort across his face that no one else notices.

You’re the one who always knows how to keep him up when he begins to spiral, begins to drink a little too much, begins to think of certain substances he’d once abused in order to forget.

You’re the one who always knows what to say when he feels his exterior cracking, feels events of the past begin to seep through in anger, grief, or pure instability.

In uncomplicated terms, perhaps you’re simply the only one who always seems to know him.

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Present

Your words shock him.

Isn’t that only possible when something is officially real?

He doesn’t know what you’ve been through to develop this level of paranoia, this level of reservation, but god, does he want to know. He wants you to let him in all the way, wants to be able to kiss you whenever he likes, wants to say three words that’ll  officially cement things as serious.

But, even then…looming over all of that is a more menacing question that demands to be answered, one that makes him want to shrink into nothing.

“You don’t think this is real?” he whispers, his voice cracking at the implication—that what the two of you feel even in secrecy is not enough to make it so.

“What?” Your eyes snap up to his with the urgency of distress. “No, of course I think it’s real.” The statement is a near desperate exclamation as you watch him, looking for any sign that he believes you, that you haven’t destroyed even more of this with a single sentence.

His features relax, back to a quiet concern.

A long, drawn-out stretch of silence passes, filled with relief and more questions to be asked.

“Then why does telling make it more real?” he finally asks.

You falter, searching for an explanation beyond a simple feeling of fear. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe it’s just conceptual, maybe something I’ve just made up in my head and refused to go back on, but…but it just scares me, the thought of this being real and then failing. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but—“

“—I think it makes sense,” he interjects. More tentatively this time, he leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist, rubbing soothing circles over the small of your back. “And why are you terrified this’ll fail? Do you think it will?”

“I…I don’t know,” you respond softly, brow crunched in apprehension. “Things just happen…I suppose.”

He hums in contemplation, fingers pulling your chin up to look at him. “Well, that’s not a very good reason,” he muses, a signature humor to him that you’re all too familiar with. When you laugh quietly, it’s a real laugh, one that delights his ears. “Things just don’t happen, too, y’know.”

You press your face into his shoulder, the slightest act of affection, an unsaid agreement. It feels different now that he’s in it with you, now that he knows and can challenge every absurd thought you’ve entertained.

“We can start just by telling the guys,” he proposes quietly. “If you want to…. It’s just them.”

His hand squeezes yours assuredly, a promise that everything is going to be fine. Your response is soft, a little hesitant-sounding at first, but ultimately decided. “Alright.”

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A/N: I’ll admit I’m not super sure about this one since this is a little different from what I usually write but it was so much fun to write and such a fun challenge to create. And @hnt-escape, so I…umm….obviously changed the “Frankie in denial of feelings” part of the ask, so I hope you didn’t mind that?

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[moxfirefly]

Hi, I love ur blog and the way u write sooo .Can I have a Bloody Kiss, with reader and Raphael, were the reader is a serial killer otta business bc she fell in love with him, tho he never knew that,. And just one day she finds Raph an Mickey fighting against some foot soldiers and at a certain point she notice Mickey is cornerd and she decide to intervein, tho she loses it a bit and end up killing all the soldiers. ( BTW the story ends up well, I mena they accept what she did and have done and Raph actually finds it a turn on? ) ( hope this is not 2 much).

Okay I’m digging this but gonna take a few liberties here and there. Hopefully the few modifications are liked.

TW: Blood, Violence, Fighting, Depictions of death

Rated Explicit (18+)

“If I told her that I loved you

You'd maybe think there's something wrong

I'm not a man of too many faces

The mask I wear is one”

Peace.

That was the main feeling.

Finding peace along the way had not been easy. Often it felt like an impossibly fruitless endeavor. You’d die doing what you did, either get killed by one of your hits or subcomb to ailment along the way.

Being a Murder-for-Hire had its perks as morbid as it sounded. You felt like you were living out that one movie with Natalie Portman. You’d seen it, scoffed at how unrealistic it was, especially the tender parts.

You didn’t know what tender was.

That is until you came across Raphael.

The game changed there, this current lifestyle would simply not suffice. Why did he have to go ahead and show you that there was more to this life? Why did he have to go and show you what lay beneath his rough around the edges persona?

You went M.I.A soon after that. You opted for peace in your soul even if your mind did not inhabit it at times. Life with Raphael had been challenging but there was two things you were certain of, one: you were stupidly enough, two: if anybody were to hurt him in any way there would be so much hell to pay.

So this was retirement, yes?

Well you wished it had remained as so. Unfortunately life has a way of testing one, even the secrets you wish to bury so far beneath that they seem dead just happen to resurrect themselves. It happens one night, without thought, without hesitation.

Raphael and Michelangelo are in trouble. You hear the messages from Donnie’s hub while you’re at the Lair, the fear in Mikey’s voice makes your skin breakout in goosebumps. There was no way Leo and Donnie would make it there on time for backup.

You didn’t hesitate.

You took off.

The docks are scary at night but it doesn’t phase you, your adrenaline is pumping already and the sounds of fighting only make your blood pump faste. You briefly contemplate your choices, what way to go about this that perhaps leaves you hidden.

Then you hear Mikey scream. You can only describe it as autopilot. Your feet moved you, yours hands acted and before you can make sense of whatever it is you saw that triggered this mess, you’re looking at bloodied hands.

In truth, what you had found before you was Mikey out numbered by dozen of Foot soldiers and Raph trying to dispose of two larger mutants. Upon your attack they figured the mission had gone south and bailed much to the chagrin of the Foot. Mikey was barely standing, coughing up blood from the beating he had been trying to withstand for Raphael’s sake. Raph in turn wasn’t look much good either, a bloodshot eye, a limp and so much blood you didn’t know if it belonged to him or the others.

Raph approached slowly, seeing a new hooded figure. Friend or foe? He figured the latter, already making for his sai he only stopped dead in his tracks when you pushed your hood away. The combat knife was covered in blood and chunks of flesh, you were sure the same picture of death was painted on you.

“Y-Y/n?” There was disbelief, questions and even a slight relief to his voice. Mikey’s own shocked gaze landed on you from where he was seated, panting from the fight. Where could you even begin? Would he understand? Would he comprehend your past?

You took a step, caution in your frame as you hoped to approach him and hold him.

Out of his eyesight you saw one of the soldiers stir and slowly rise. He had a perfect shot towards Raphael, he wouldn’t see it coming, much less with his current distraction.

“Raph!” You took off towards him just as the soldier lunged. The clatter of bodies connecting, weapons falling assaulting your ears. You rolled around with the soldier, finding your knife and quickly digging it into the bastards chest. A fatal hit. The killing blow.

But anger shook you, it somehow always found it’s ugly little head when it came to you.

So you stabbed.

And stabbed.

And stabbed.

Until your vision cleared, until the notion of Raphael being gone or Mikey being gone left you. You stood on shakey legs, turning towards Raph who was still frozen on the spot.

It’s for you

“They... I had to, they would’ve killed you both” You looked at your bloodied shoes, crimson staining your jeans and a quiet fear that Raphael would probably not understand this.

You only registered Raph’s large hands on your face because they moved you upwards just as he came down, lips first on yours.

You tasted blood, his for sure because the cut on the inside of his mouth bleed steadily, staining your lips and chin. He kissed you with a fever that only spoke of his own fear that maybe this wouldn’t be happening. If you hadn’t come, if you hadn’t saved him, he wouldn’t be trying to kiss straight into your soul via your mouth.

You felt like your were backwards, coming out into life the wrong way but with Raph, and his impossibly green eyes and scarred lips, there was no reason to linger on it. The past could remain but it didn’t mean it had to breath.

He pulled back, thumb rubbing your chin of spittle and blood. There was no judgement there, concern yes.

That night when everyone was home safe and tended to, you found yourself in his bed hair wet from your shower. “Hey there” Came Raphael’s soft voice from the door, you scanned him. He was freshly showered and bandaged as he entered and sat on the bed. You climbed into his lap, curling yourself around him and the cool of scales around you.

“It’s not me anymore...” Your voice felt small.

“It’s okay baby girl” He held you close.

“I had to... I had to be like that once upon a time, to survive but then I met you and I just wanted to start from zero with you, wanted to make it right this time” You felt your eyes well up with tears but Raphael’s gentle rocking only served to make you sleepy.

For now, sleep prevailed but thankfully against his hard plastron.

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

[sailtoafarawayland]

Always a Pirate

Summary:  What started as a bit of mischievous fun for Emma turns into something more when she pushes her husband - always the gentleman - just a little too far, and finds herself settling the score with a very desperate pirate.

Rated: Explicit 

~ Inspired by one of our lovelies on the discord who requested some sweatpants smut - Enjoy! ~

AO3 - FF

Always a Pirate

“Swan, I can't wear these out of the house. Where are all of my pants?” Killian asked, checking for the pair he'd left folded in the laundry room, his black sweater just meeting the low-slung waistband of his joggers.

“Um, I washed them, but I forgot to start the dryer earlier. They're drying now though,” Emma muttered, tugging on her boots and reaching above her for Killian's jacket.

“Can't we wait until they're dry to go to the store?”

“Nope,” she said, tossing the leather jacket across the entryway and shooting him what she hoped was a charming smile as he snatched it out of the air. “It'll take too long, and we really need to find something for dinner and get it started. You know my parents rarely ever get a night without Neal, and David couldn't stop talking about how much they're looking forward to this. I don't want to ruin it by not having food ready. Besides, what's wrong with wearing your sweatpants?”

“These are for the privacy of our home,” he purred, sidling into her space as he slipped his jacket on, popping his hook through the sleeve. “They don't exactly provide the support and coverage a man like me needs, love.”

“Yeah, that's what those boxer briefs I bought you were for,” Emma deadpanned, ignoring how her eyes wanted to flicker to where he was most definitely not wearing her gift.

“Bloody inconvenience those things,” he muttered, dropping down beside her on the bench and lacing up his boots. “No freedom of movement, and it's only one more layer to take off.”

“Come on,” Emma laughed, very familiar with her pirate's loathing for what he called 'small clothes', “we just need to get the job done. It'll be quick, in and out, no big deal.”  

/

It wasn't until they were parked and heading into the store that Emma realized maybe bringing her husband along in pants like that was a big deal and a bad idea, all rolled into one. The soft drape of the joggers left little to the imagination as he strode in front of her, each step he took framing the firm curve of his ass. She hurried to catch up with him, glancing down to see if – yup, just like he'd said, not enough coverage for a man of his size, especially when he was walking so quickly.

A wicked idea began to form in her mind, the pang of desire between her legs making her think that a little grocery store flirtation would be just what she needed to take her mind off the anxiety of cooking dinner for her mom, a woman who's table settings alone always looked like something out of a magazine.

“Alright, Swan, let's find something to impress your mother, shall we?” Killian called back to her, hooking a cart and swinging it in front of him as he pushed through the main doors, heading straight for the fruits and vegetables, Emma's gaze lingering on the play of his firm cheeks the entire way.

“Yeah,” she sighed, her mind very far from what one did with turnips and which spices went well with salmon, instead focusing on just how she could use those sweatpants to make their shopping a little more interesting.  

She couldn't help herself.

At first it was just small comments, and she couldn't be sure if he was even picking up on her innuendos, as subtle as they were – his face serious as he looked over the display of potatoes. She decided she would have to be a little more blatant if she wanted to get a rise out of him.

“These strawberries look delicious,” she hummed, holding up the package of bright red fruits and eyeing them longingly. She stepped closer to his side, her tongue wetting her lips as he finally met her gaze, sensing she was up to something from her change in tone. “I wonder how they'd taste if you were to dip them in something other than sugar, maybe some cream? Maybe while I'm splayed out in our bed?”

“What are you doing, Swan?” he choked out, shifting on his feet as the potato he was holding dropped back onto the stack and rolled to the floor, coming to rest across the aisle.  

“Just imagining how you might feed it to me after a long night, dragging it along my folds and then – ”

“I'm not sure what your intentions are, love, but I would rethink them,” he growled lowly, maneuvering his hook to push the carton of strawberries back toward the shelf. “These pants are not meant for such thoughts.”

“Maybe that's the point,” she quipped, dropping the fruit and staring longingly at his crotch where she could easily see his hardness growing, the thin material of his sweats stretching upward over its thick outline. “I'd forgotten just how amazing you look in those pants when you're a little hot and bothered.”

“And a public place is where you decided to revisit this – and there's nothing little about me, Swan.”

“Oh, I know, and what can I say, I'm feeling a little adventurous,” she teased, her laugh following him as he ducked quickly around the fruit stand when someone stopped to give a quick hello to the town's sheriff.

He snatched a pineapple from in front of him, balancing it on the edge of the counter in front of his still growing erection, digging his palm into the spiked outer shell and doing his best to think of anything other than the way a strawberry would look, red and glistening, as he dragged it through his release as it dripped from her soft folds, coating the fruit as he rolled it across her lips...

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, willing himself to relax as Emma smiled knowingly over the shoulder of the person she was speaking with.

He'd known these sweatpants had been a terrible mistake.

And so it went through the rest of the store – Emma holding up a large, cured sausage in the deli section, running her finger up and down the wrapping as she measured its worth.  

“It's a little small, don't you think? Probably won't be enough for a cheese plate,” she concluded, leaning past him to put it back before her lips grazed his ear, her words a whisper. “I like my meat a little bigger, but you know that, don't you?”

He'd barely had enough time to seek cover behind the shopping cart before they were accosted once again by another overly friendly local – an elderly woman who waved at Emma and crooned how lovely it was to see a husband helping with the shopping, and pushing the cart as well!

He'd smiled weakly and muttered something about always being a gentleman, though the throbbing hardness between his legs and the way his thoughts were drifting to just how much of a mouthful he wanted to give his wife would indicate otherwise.  

“He's always such a big help,” Emma agreed, thanking the woman for saying hello and urging him on toward the next aisle, clearly thrilled with the game she was playing as she allowed him to find some measure of composure behind the safety of the cart.  

“You know,” she mused, studying a can of something or other, “I really do love those pants, Killian. You should wear them out more often.”

“Don't think I'll be giving you an opportunity like this ever again,” he hissed, his cheeks flushed and hand fisted tightly around the handle of the cart as he stared, jaw clenched, at the rows of canned goods in front of him. “Enjoy it while you can, Swan.”

“Oh, I intend to,” she whispered, ducking and brushing in front of him in the crowded aisle under the ruse of reaching for something on the bottom shelf, her shoulder rubbing brazenly against his crotch, all of his blood pumping once more to his aching cock.

He spun away from her physical nearness with a strangled groan that turned into a snarl of frustration as he knocked over a display of kitchen gadgets, dozens of packages clattering against the floor as the cardboard pyramid keeled to one side.  

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, doing his best to catch the thing with his hook and straighten it while still keeping his hips angled away from the other patrons in the aisle.

“You better be careful where you swing that thing,” Emma chimed in, her face a flawless mask of innocence as she motioned toward his hook, blatantly ignoring the prominent tent in his pants as she knelt and began picking up the small avalanche of peelers and can openers, her lip caught between her teeth as she gazed up to meet hard glare of his eyes, dark promise swimming in their depths.

The frozen food aisle provided some small measure of relief, and although Emma had assured him they didn't need anything from there, he took plenty of time standing in front of the open freezer doors making absolutely certain that was the case, much to her amusement. From there he'd kept his distance, pushing the cart and mentally reciting the words on each sign he saw in an attempt to tune out any new attempts at luring him into further embarrassing situations.

It was hard to avoid her brazen smile once they'd entered the check out lane, but one scowl had been enough to make his Swan back down, if only a trifle, her blatant innuendos disappearing as she made polite conversation with the woman checking them out, flashing him only the occasional look that told just how much she'd enjoyed her impromptu game.  

Her smile faltered a bit when he only returned her gaze with a deep, measured look, and perhaps she thought her was angry with her over her moment of fun. It was a misconception he didn't dispel, loading the groceries into the back seat of the bug silently before returning the cart to its place. Her good humor had shifted to something far more uncertain as he studiously avoided looking at her – good, he wanted her off balance – and it wasn't until she felt the hard steel of his hook around her wrist that she realized just exactly what she'd done.

He wasn't angry, not at all, but he was a man driven to the edge, and now she was going to bloody well see to it that some of those naughty things she's intimated came to pass.

“We're not going anywhere just yet, Swan,” he rasped, the tip of his hook grazing along her leather jacket until it slipped through the key ring she held in her hand, pulling them out of her grasp. “You put on quite the brazen display in there. Did you enjoy that, love? Making me swell with my need for you where anyone could have seen? Did you enjoy making me desperate?”

“Well, it was fun,” she admitted, “seeing you so ready for me even though we were surrounded by people, and once my parents head out for the– ”

“What you've forgotten, darling, is that desperate men will go to any lengths to get what they want,” he reminded her,  shoving the keys into his jacket and grabbing her hand, leading her firmly away from the bug.  

“Killian,” she hissed in disbelief, stumbling slightly as he dragged her toward the alley that ran between the grocery store and the next building. “The groceries! What are you doing?”

“The groceries can wait – and I think you know exactly what I'm doing, Swan.”

“We are not having sex in there,” she groaned, the words contradicting the tightening in her core as she thought about him taking her up against the shadowed brick wall, mere feet away from where people were walking to their cars.

“Aye, we are not having sex, but it's about time I put that traitorous little mouth of yours to good use.”

“Oh my god, Killian – ” she shot a nervous glance behind her as they entered the alley, no one in sight as her husband pulled her behind an empty stack of pallets where they would be concealed from anyone walking by. “We can't just – ”

“If you believe for even an instant that I'm heading back home, to sit with your bloody parents for dinner after your little game – no relief in sight as they natter on – then you've forgotten who I was before I met you...”

“A pirate,” she swallowed – she hadn't forgotten, had enjoyed teasing that part of him back to the surface – her breath leaving her as he pressed her firmly against the brick wall, his hand running along the edge of her breast before stopping to cup her cheek, eyes dark and wild.

“Aye, and pirates take what they want.”

“Well,” she teased, the uncertainty in her voice washed away by the tide of desire spreading beneath her skin as his thumb grazed over her lower lip, “it has been a while since the Captain has come to play.”

“Oh, he's never far, Swan,” Killian purred, forcing her mouth open with his finger and sampling her wet heat with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get on your knees for the Captain.”

Emma was pretty sure she'd never been so wet in her life, her leather jacket scraping along the gritty bricks as she sunk to her knees on the cold ground, Killian's stance wide and demanding as she knelt between his legs, her cheek brushing against the soft material of the sweats he hadn't wanted to wear – the ones that did nothing to hide the massive tent he was sporting, her nose grazing along its length as she nuzzled into him, inhaling deeply.

“You're not here to enjoy yourself, love,” he smirked darkly above her, “you're here to get the job done.”

She swallowed heavily, tongue and teeth worrying her lip as she looped her fingers into the waistband of his pants and yanked them down, his heavy shaft bobbing against her as she chased after it with her mouth – his head swollen and dark, glazed with a hint of precum that hit her taste buds like the most delicious reward. If this was what she got from teasing her husband – she would gladly repeat the performance.

He groaned above her, his hand fisted among her locks as he allowed her a brief moment to explore, her tongue flattened against the underside of his cock while she swallowed him down, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat. His member was only half inside the wet grasp of her mouth before she pulled back, curling her tongue around his shaft and licking at his weeping slit – but it wasn't what he wanted.

“No, no, no, Swan,” Killian chided, his grip on her tightening as he twisted her hair, forcing her to look up at him. “I know you can do better than that, love – I've watched myself disappear entirely into that tight throat of yours on many an occasion. Let's make certain to put in our best work, shall we?”

Need pulsed between Emma's legs, nearly forcing her to double over in an attempt to relieve it, but somehow she managed to nod her understanding as his fingers tugged against her scalp, wetting her lips and opening her mouth wide as she dived forward once more, abandoning her teasing in favor of getting him fully inside of her as quickly as possible, her throat finally opening as she calmed her breathing and swallowed around him, feeling his swollen head push deeper as she inhaled through her nose, her breath muffled by the thatch of dark curls at his base.

“Just like that, Swan – I'm going to fill up that naughty little mouth of yours. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bend you over the bloody bread display and fill that needy cunt?” he hissed, thrusting languidly into her throat as her eyes sought him from beneath her lashes, blown with desire, “my hand over your mouth as I took what I needed, your legs shaking around me as I painted your sweet, pink folds with my release?”

His words stoked the fire in her belly, the scrap of lace she was wearing slick and wet with her arousal as she imagined him taking her in just such a way, everyone seeing the dark, demanding man he truly was – the pirate always waiting just beneath the mask of the gentleman. The alley filled with the soft rumble of his grunts as his steel grip controlled her movements, using her mouth just as he'd promised he would, like nothing more than a  wet hole to be filled, a thing for his pleasure, not for hers.

“Do you like this, Emma? Is that why you played your little game in there, because you wanted me to use you like a whore in the back alley? Were you hoping I would fuck you, raise your hips around my own and slide into your dripping cunt?”

She writhed in his grip, his filthy words rolling over her like an actual touch, her core throbbing and clenching around its emptiness as he reamed her mouth, saliva dripping from the corners of her lips as he thrust powerfully into her, her nose butting against his stomach as he panted and moaned.

“Don't think you'll be getting it once we're at home either, love,” he growled, his deep strokes within her throat becoming erratic as his cock swelled, his release coiled and ready as his balls tightened against her chin, warning her. “I want you squirming in your seat all through dinner, your greedy quim swollen and dripping for me – remembering the taste of me right here, pressed against a dirty building, wondering if it's the...if it's the only taste you'll get...”

Emma arched her neck as he pushed deeply one last time, her throat burning as his cock thickened and erupted deeply inside of her, her muscles rippling around him as she swallowed desperately, relieved when he dragged himself half free, the pulsing head of him resting on her tongue as he shot several more ropes of hot come into her mouth, rolling forward and spreading the salty, sweet taste of himself as far as he could, a thin trickle of his release painting the corner of her mouth as she breathed and swallowed around his softening flesh, her tongue curling around his shaft, enjoying the way he softened and twitched inside of her.

His grip finally loosened in her hair, his fingers gently massaging her scalp where the sting of his dominance was just beginning to burn, stroking her gently until she sighed and let his length slip from her mouth, her head falling forward to rest against his thigh.

“There's a good girl,” he purred, hooking the waistband of his sweats and dragging them back up to cover himself as he lifted her back to her feet. “Come on then, we've a lovely dinner to prepare for your parents – and then once they're gone, maybe I'll let you have your dessert.”  

/

“That salmon was delicious, Killian,” Mary Margaret gushed, leaning back in the chair and resting her hand against her chest. “I'm better with non-seafood dishes, so it was lovely to have something different for a change – and after the week we had, it was so nice to have a night off from cooking entirely.”

“I agree – fantastic meal, Hook. Thanks for having us over tonight, it was nice to get an evening for just the four of us,” David added, rising to bring his plate to the sink.  

“I'm pleased you both enjoyed it,” Killian returned politely. “We didn't often get salmon aboard the Jolly, so it's not something I make often – Emma and I had quite the experience at the grocery store trying to find everything we needed, but the outcome was quite worth it, I think.”

“Dad, sit. I got it,” Emma managed to choke out, shooting just the most recent of many dirty looks over her parents' heads at her husband. She gently pushed David back into the chair and took his plate, snatching Killian's as well and dumping them into the sink.

“You're a little hoarse, you sound like you could use some tea, Emma,” Mary Margaret worried, swiveling in her seat to look at her daughter. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just a little bit of a sore throat, that's all,” she smiled, looking anywhere but at her husband's grin as she rinsed her hands and dried them off.

“That came on fast,” David mused. “You sounded fine this morning at the station. I hope you didn't pick it up from us, Neal had a bit of a rough week and we were wondering if he might be a little sick.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, mate – it doesn't seem to be contagious. I've no signs of it myself,” Hook assured them both, smiling warmly and gesturing toward the dessert Emma was carrying over from the counter. “Can we tempt you with some dessert? It's fresh baked from town.”

“Oh, what kind is that?” Snow beamed, admiring the flaky, golden crust as Emma rested the pie on the table and moved to grab plates – anything to avoid looking her parents in the face. “It's always so nice to enjoy something you didn't have to bake yourself.”

“Peach pie,” Killian smiled widely, his eyes flashing to Emma as he ran his tongue across his teeth, “it just so happens to be my favorite, and I think Emma even whipped up some fresh cream to go on top, didn't you, Swan?”

Thankfully, no one other than Killian noticed as she nearly dropped the stack of plates, her body tensing and eyes widening as she silently begged him not to say anything else – her thoughts already far too consumed with how wet and empty she'd felt since their illicit moment in the alley. Taking a deep breath, she reclaimed her composure, tenuous though it was, and returned to the table.

“I did,” she admitted, laying out the plates and frowning when Hook stilled her hand with his own, pushing away the plate she was offering him.

“None for me, love – I find I'm feeling quite full. Perhaps I'll enjoy mine later, you'll just have to make sure you save some of that cream for me.”

END

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[blazichu]

Mystery March Day 13: Relax

I misremembered this one as ‘rest’ which kind of colored the tone/content, but I still dig it.

--

It started with a death curse.

Or, well, maybe it wasn’t a death curse specifically-- Vivi didn’t pretend to be an expert, but she knew how it made her feel, even from a distance, and from that she could extrapolate that it was bad news.

The point remained: there was a curse being levied, and the two people who might have any indication what it did reacted harshly to it. Those reactions, however, were on polar opposite ends of the spectrum. While Mystery bristled and visibly weighed his options, Lewis decided on a more proactive approach. In an unerring, deceptively fast glide, he made his way toward the caster and seized their raised hand by the wrist.

Startled by the unexpected contact and the skeletal phantom suddenly looming over them, they immediately lost their concentration-- and, for good reason, went into a panic. They tried to backpedal. When they only made it a step away, they tried to wrench the arm away.

Lewis’s grip on it tightened, and he rumbled something inaudible from their distance.

The spell in their hand popped-- exactly like a soap bubble, in spite of the fact that it didn’t technically exist yet-- and Lewis flinched in its wake, hair flickering wildly for half a second. Just as quickly as the disruption came on, though, his demeanor and form settled; he raised his free hand to gesture lackadaisically.

“Still dead. Imagine that.” He leaned in, as if to confide in the caster, but the phantasmal force behind his words carried them across the gap between himself and the rest of the group, “Be grateful it was me tonight; if you raise this hand again, toward any of them,” His grip tightened, and they renewed their struggling, teeth grit against the pressure on their wrist, “It’s the first thing you’re going to lose. Do I make myself clear?”

Something must have passed between the two, because Lewis dropped their hand, sending them skittering backwards blindly. He straightened up to his full height-- plus an extra couple of inches, due to his lack of contact with the ground-- and made as if to follow. The caster whirled around and booked it as fast as they could.

For several seconds, he stayed put-- tracking their progress until he deemed them too far away to bother with-- and then turned to rejoin the group, absently flexing the hand that had interrupted the curse. He looked completely unruffled, though, admittedly, it was pretty hard to judge when the only metric was a skull with resting bitch face.

It was off-putting, if Vivi was honest-- not the skull, but drastic behavioral shift. Lewis had always been loathe to use his stature to his advantage; he may have loomed, but it was always an accident, and on the rare occasion he’d seen fit to intimidate someone, it had always disturbed him after the fact. Maybe he was just leaning into the fact that it was hard to be a reassuring presence when one was very obviously dead, but it was hardly an isolated phenomena.

She still loved him dearly, but times like this, she worried for him.

Belatedly, Vivi realized that Arthur had frozen up somewhere in the middle of things. Lewis, as he drew nearer, seemed to notice the same thing, sighed, and gave him an absent pat on the shoulder.

And that was that.

Until later that night, when midway through a discussion on Scottish folklore, Lewis fell asleep at the table.

Thinking nothing of the sudden silence, Vivi stabbed a couple more penne, giving Lewis a few more seconds to consider his stance on kelpies. When there was no answer forthcoming, though, she glanced over, and immediately dropped her fork.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” Arthur asked, bemused.

Bizarrely, even though there was no gentle rise-and-fall of the chest, it was immediately obvious that Lewis was asleep, and nothing more sinister. And if there was something more sinister than dead Vivi wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.

She scooted forward in her seat, leaning over her plate to get a better look without uprooting herself.

“I… didn’t realize that was an option.” She said after a moment passed. Then, with the blunt end of her knife, she nudged Lewis’s jaw. Arthur fussed at her for it, which was fortunate, because Lewis didn’t wake up to do it himself. She set it down and frowned, “Think we should be worried?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Vivi hummed to herself and stood up, moving to shake Lewis’s shoulder; skull still resting on his arms, he didn’t stir in the slightest. Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, she looked at Arthur. “I realize now’s not the time, but how do you s’pose his skull’s staying in place if he’s not actively keeping it there?”

Arthur, who’d gotten to his feet the same time Vivi had, flicked both of his hands up in something that wasn’t quite disbelief, “You’re right, it’s not the time.”

He made a circuit of the table, and the slumbering ghost thereupon, then came to a halt at Vivi’s other side. “He… looks fine? There’s nothing up with his anchor, anyway, so…?”

Vivi nodded, thoughts racing-- and then, both as a test and in search of answers, hollered, “Mystery!”

Nothing from sleeping spooky, but after a moment, Mystery appeared, grumbling all the while.

“You bellowed?” He asked, face twisting in displeasure as he padded onto the wooden floorboards.

With a wide wave, Vivi gestured in Lewis’s general direction, “Do you know anything about that?”

“I believe that’s your boyfriend.” He said, irritation creeping into his tone, “Should I identify Arthur for you, too, while I’m here?”

“We think something’s wrong.” The Arthur in question cut in, before they could get off track, “He’s, uh, asleep? Probably?”

Mystery shot him a look over his glasses, “He’s what.”

He offered a much more subdued wave toward the still form at the table.

Perhaps realizing that, through all the shouting and sassing Lewis hadn’t said a word, Mystery tensed minutely and trotted over. As the others before him, he nudged the ghost. And, as the others before him, he received a complete lack of response.

“That’s… unusual.” He said, somewhat unnecessarily, and propped himself up on his hind legs, front braced against the edge of the chair. It took a bit of craning, but he managed to nose his way against Lewis’s chest and prod at the golden heart sandwiched between its owner and the table.

That, finally, got a rise out of Lewis. He made a soft, inhuman noise akin to whine and flapped the nearest hand, as if to shoo Mystery away. As subdued a response as it was, neither Vivi or Arthur had expected anything, and it was enough to make one start, and the other jump.

Snout scrunched in thought, Mystery hopped down from his perch, “It seems you were correct, he’s asleep.”

In a silent bid for more information, Vivi turned her palms upward.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. My best guess is that it’s a product of the spell he intercepted earlier, but, as that’s the only variable at play here, that seems rather obvious.” His cocked his head, deliberating, “I suppose we could try to agitate his anchor, if you’re that worried, but he doesn’t seem distressed. Personally, I don’t see the harm in letting him sleep it off.”

At that, Vivi gave a short, wry laugh, “Well lookit that, Artie, you managed to stay up longer than a dead guy.”

Arthur stuck his tongue out and made his way back to his place at the table, eyes briefly resting on Lewis’s slouched form. “Should we move him somewhere else? You know how he gets when I fall asleep at my desk.”

“I think it’s less that he objects to the tabletop, and more that you should go to bed before you get to that point.” Vivi said, flopping back into her chair, “Kinda funny that he passed out here though, after all the talks you guys have had. What do you think, is it gonna take magic backlash to beat your all-nighter-recovery record?”

–

It took another two days for Lewis to wake up. There was some debate as to whether or not that technically broke Arthur’s record; Arthur was relatively certain he’d never taken that long to bounce back from a tinkering binge, and Vivi begged to differ. Mystery wisely stayed out of it.

Up to that point, they’d just resigned themselves to having haunted decor on the table while daily life went on around him, so it was a welcome surprise when Lewis showed signs of waking.

Vivi eyed him from over the edge of her laptop’s screen as she collated her research into parasomnia. He briefly buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm, then sat up and pressed the heel of one hand into an eye socket. As his open eye landed on Vivi, he blinked, dropped his hand, then glanced to the empty seat across from her.

She grinned at him and, without thinking, announced, “He lives!”

It was followed by a confused beat of silence and then a sheepish, “Oh shit, sorry.”

Lewis simply stared at her, uncomprehending.

“How’re you feeling? That was a pretty serious nap, but I guess that’s the worst you can do to someone who’s already dead, huh?”

“A nap?” He echoed, voice distorted either from sleep or confusion.

Vivi turned in her seat to gesture to the brightly-lit kitchen window. “I was trying to be nice, but I could try something more festive, like ‘short coma’.”

“Vivi. Since when do ghosts sleep?”

She shrugged, “Since two nights ago? Mystery thought there was a way to wake you up, but if a curse is anything like the flu, you were better off sleeping through it.”

“Oh,” Lewis said, voice unusually soft, “Right, the spellcaster. That shouldn’t have done anything, though…?”

Vivi shot him a sideways look, and gestured widely to the table. “You tell me, boo.”

Lewis did no such thing. Instead, he got up and floated away, body language troubled.

--

Things went back to normal relatively quickly thereafter.

On this particular night, Vivi was still pulling together notes for their next case, and frequently called out random trivia about bog bodies to whoever was available to hear it. Mystery would have been underfoot in the kitchen, had its other occupant not been hovering a good six inches in the air, floating around or through him in an effort to ignore his well-meaning nagging, whilst cleaning up for the day.

And then there was Arthur, who had disappeared after dinner. He had the next day off, which was a double-edged sword-- more often than not, he took it as an excuse to stay up until dawn and then crash.

There was a loud clang from down the hallway, and Lewis automatically turned to consult the nearest clock. Simultaneously, Vivi’s eyes flicked down to the digital display on her laptop. 1 am already. She saved her work and stretched, deciding her fifteen remaining tabs could wait.

While she shut things down for the night, Lewis tucked a new towel into the oven’s handle and started toward the hall, goal clear in mind.

Vivi stared after him and, after some thought, did a little skip-hop closer to catch his arm. “Maybe you should try to get some sleep, too.”

“I… don’t need to sleep.” He said, in the tones of one who’d been made to explain something very simple to someone who should know better.

“Not technically, no, but you can.” Vivi tilted her head as she considered whether or not to voice her next thought. “I get that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter before, but you-- after you woke up, you seemed a lot happier, and it made me think. We sleep because our bodies need it, yeah, but it’s important for us mentally, too. Even if you’re dead, you’re still a dead human-- what if you’ve just been cranky because you don’t have a body to tell you you’re tired?”

Lewis was quiet for several long seconds, and then sighed, “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll try.”

A slow smile worked its way across Vivi’s face, and, with some doing, she craned high enough to press a kiss to his cheekbone. With a gentle bump of his temple against hers, Lewis floated off-- and, as he left, Vivi caught a single word muttered into the darkness:

“’Cranky’?”

–

Though she’d told herself she didn’t have any specific expectations, Vivi found herself slightly disappointed when she spent the night alone. At first, she assumed it meant Lewis had decided against resting after all, but when her alarm went off and she made to start fumbling around in the kitchen, she realized what had happened: for whatever reason, he’d decided to sleep on the couch. She told herself not to speculate why; he had to have his reasons, and there was no point in humoring the wriggling doubts when she’d just be able to ask.

She was a little surprised, though, when her futzing with the coffee pot failed to disturb him. Maybe he was just that tired. It wasn’t unthinkable; if her theory held any weight, he’d only slept three nights over the course of a year.

With the coffee brewing and toaster at work, Vivi wandered over and braced an elbow on the back of the couch. As before, it only took a glance to recognize that Lewis was asleep; unlike before, his anchor was in plain view to confirm it, dusted a mellow gold that didn’t pulse so much as draw in and out, keeping the same pace as the low, even breathing of true sleep.

It seemed he’d curled around it out of habit, protecting it even in unconsciousness.

Vivi lingered a bit longer, without any particular reason for doing so; thoughts came and went, and she didn’t try to hold onto any of them. It was soothing leaning there, absently matching her breathing to the lazy thrum of Lewis’s anchor.

Then the toaster went off and she started upright, slapping her cheeks in anticipation for the day ahead.

She never asked why he chose the couch, and he never offered her an answer.

---

Something about that brief respite must have convinced Lewis that he was better off taking the occasional nap, because he didn’t speak a word of protest from there on out. And as he accepted it, the less Vivi worried for him; he’d never been unrecognizable-- not counting, you know-- but he started acting more and more like himself, rather than the new, spooky version where you had to squint to make out his original personality.

That wasn’t the only benefit, either. Arthur might have foregone sleep for his own sake, ignoring any number of pointed reminders while he worked, but this discovery seemed to change things. If it got too late and he realized Lewis was still hovering around, he’d shut things down on his own and shoo the ghost off to bed, using himself as an example.

It was an incredibly sweet gesture, but Vivi had a suspicion that Lewis might have engineered the chain of events in the first place; he may have urged Arthur to sleep in the past, but he only started loitering when he realized he could make himself the impetus to follow through. But at the same time, the longer this went on, the gentler the reminders became, the more it turned into something he considered ‘for Arthur’s benefit’ and less a naughty, if mutually beneficial, game.

The compromise didn’t always mean they slept at a decent hour, or even went to bed properly, but it did mean that they slept every night, at least for a little bit, and that was better than the alternative.

(It also meant that Vivi got up one morning, further into this arrangement, and found them asleep on the couch: Arthur’s good arm dangling off the edge, Lewis half-sunken into the back of said couch, loosely curled around his anchor-- but also, as a consequence of where he was laying, Arthur. If it hadn’t been for the phantasmal tail his lower body melded into, ‘cute’ was all it would have been, but as things stood, that also bumped it into the ‘fascinating’ camp.

She hadn’t forgotten the fact that his skull stayed firmly in place while he slept, so this unconscious modification was an object of intrigue for her.)

“It’s because you weren’t getting your beauty sleep,” Vivi joked, then moved her hands in a rainbow’s arc and put on the ‘I am interacting with a young child’ voice, “And we all know real beauty is on the inside.”

Lewis sighed a laugh, but didn’t argue. In fact, after a moment’s thought, he said, “It’s strange. Obviously I know I’m dead, but I didn’t realize how awful it was to feel like a ghost until I felt like a person again.”

And to that Vivi hummed, unsure what to say, thoughts racing.

Then there was Thursday.

On one particular Thursday, where Arthur couldn’t stay asleep and Vivi had an especially early shift, the commotion throughout the kitchen roused Lewis from wherever he’d settled the previous night. Nothing unusual there, and Vivi would hardly begrudge his help as she blearily went about putting breakfast together.

There were no footsteps as he rounded the corner-- there never were, regardless of whether he walked or floated-- but something was audibly off when he greeted them.

Vivi waved without looking over, intent as she was on the coffee pot.

It would have taken her a few more minutes to notice, if it hadn’t been for Arthur’s uncertain, “Uh, Vivi…?”

She glanced up, and then automatically followed the pointed tilt of Arthur’s head, failing to process the look on his face until several seconds after the fact.

Where he’d emerged from the hallway, Lewis was shooing off a Deadbeat that seemed determined to get in his face. Frankly, it was hard to blame the Deadbeat; as soon as what she was seeing clicked, Vivi bounded across the kitchen and got in his face herself, reaching up as far as she could. Her hand brushed his cheek. Not his cheekbone, his cheek-- and despite herself, she felt tears welling up.

“Vivi?” He asked, and there was no overt reverberation. As dark-- as dead-- as his eyes may have been, his concerned gaze on her was a balm she hadn’t known she needed, and she gave up on holding back the sniffles as she flung her arms around his neck.

She’d known. She’d known he was still there, even in his roughest moments, and now she had him back.

[cecilsstorycorner]

How to Catch a Fish

  The two teenagers stand on the snowy embankment of the river. The boy has an old tattered coat wrapped around him, keeping out the morning chill, turning their breath to clouds. The girl’s coat is brand new, clean and tailor fit to her small form, bought just after moving to this little town. Her gloved hands are stuffed into her pockets, and she watches the river curiously. The sky is bright and clear, the snow stretching out in a sheer white expanse.

“Do you know how to catch a fish with just your hands?”

The girl looks up from observing the winding waters. The boy looks at her expectantly, a brightness in his soft brown eyes. She shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t say it’s the kind of thing I would’ve learned.”

“It’s pretty simple really!” The boy steps down towards the river, skidding slightly on the fresh snow, and drops down to his knees just before the water. The snow falls into his boots, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “You have to be very patient and careful, but it only takes a little practice! Watch-“ He shrugs off his heavy coat, rolling up his sleeve. Before the girl’s observing eyes, he sticks his arm into the rolling water. It must be freezing, and he winces slightly, but the shine in his eyes doesn’t falter. “The trick is waiting to feel a fish brush against your fingers…” He waits, looking upwards at the sky to focus all his attention on his submerged hand. He lights up. “There! There- and now you just… well, pet it!”

“Pet it?”

“Yeah! It settles the fish down. You pet it, and it gets comfortable, slows down, and once it’s settled enough…” He waits, one second, another, then with one quick movement, pulls his arm back from the water, a fish wriggling in his hand, now almost pure white from cold. “Got it!”

The girl laughs. “So you trick it? That seems rather cruel.”

The boy looks down at the fish in his hand. He nods, and throws it back into the water. The two watch it swim away.

“I never keep them,” he says. “You’re right. It seems cruel.”

~

~

They run down the cobblestone street, boots clattering on the wet stones, reflecting the lamp light back up at them. The boy leads, pulling the girl behind him, hand in hers. They’re laughing, and keep checking over their shoulder to look back behind them. In the distance, voices yell, insisting someone catch them, someone follow them. The boy pulls the girl into an alley, putting a finger to his lips and shushing her through his smile. The girl giggles, and they press against the wall, waiting for the people to run right past their hiding spot. The boy claps a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his heavy breathing, left over from their dash. The girl sees, and does the same. The voices grow louder, until in a storm of footsteps, a handful of people run past the alley, struggling to gain any speed in their clunky fishers clothing. After a few moments, they’ve passed, continuing down the road, looking for culprits they will not find.

“We’re gonna get in so much trouble,” the boy whispers.

“But did you see their faces,” the girl whispers back, holding onto his forearms as she grins up at him. “And if they get mad I’ll just say it was my idea, they can’t do anything to me.”

“We are not doing this again.”

“Oh, you always say that.”

~

~

    The boy sits on his bed. The girl kneels in from of him, holding his arm.

    “That man is a monster,” she hisses through her teeth as she wraps the bandage around the boys wrist.

   “No, it’s my fault…” the boy says, wincing slightly as the fabrics tug at the raw skin, finger marks still clear and red. “I got in the way, and stuff got broken, I shouldn’t of-“

   “That doesn't give him the right.” She holds his hand in hers, looking down at the now bandaged wrist. There’s an anger in her, bubbling just beneath the surface. It scares the boy a little. “No one should react to a mistake so small with such force, especially not against your own brother.”

   “It… it happens. It’s fine.”

   “It shouldn’t.” She puts her hands on each side of his face, cradling it as she looks up into his eyes. “They shouldn’t treat you like this. You know that right?”

   He nods. But he doesn’t speak.

   He’s long learned he can’t change it.  

~

~

   They sit on the girl’s bed. The light filters through the small window, catching the dust in beams that stretch past the two into the floor. The boy shows off his newest creation, a small music box. It plays it's simple song, and he’s so proud of it.

   The girl takes his hand, and he looks up, pulled from his excited chatter. She looks into his eyes, more serious than he expected.

   “Do you feel safe with me?” she asks.

   The boy almost laughs at this. “Of course!” How could she even think otherwise? He’d never been so sure of something in his whole life.

   “Good.” She reaches up, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him.

~

~

   They stand behind a cart, in the dead of night. It’s cold, even with the remains of the fire still burning on the other side of town. She passes him a bag, expecting him to place it in the back with the others. He doesn’t. He just stands there, staring at nothing and more afraid then he’s ever been in his life.

  “What are you waiting for?” she says, panic creeping into her voice. “We don’t have time to stall, they’ll try and stop us.”

   “I didn’t… it shouldn’t have caught fire,” he says. His voice is almost inaudible, and he doesn’t move his eyes from their blank stare. “I checked it- I checked it over and over and over and it-“

   She grabs his arm. “Snap out of it! It’s too late now, it burned, and they will kill you if we don’t leave now.”

   He nods. And he nods again. “Right. Right, right, I’m sorry-“ He places the bag in the cart. His hands shake. The fire still burns.

~

~

   The man stands in the living room of the new house. It’s small, and it’s empty. He’s not used to this. He’s used to large families, old wooden buildings, leaky roofs and creaking floorboards. This house is new. And it’s quiet.

   Hands wrap around his waist, and the woman rests her head on his shoulder. 

   “It’s not much, I know,” she murmurs into his ear. “But it’s ours. It’s home.” She turns her head, to better see his face. “Do you like it?”

   He nods. Even if it wasn’t really true yet, it would be some day. Because he was there, with her, and everything would be okay when that was the case. “I do.”

   She unwound her arms from him, sighing. “The furniture it came with is so drab, don’t you think? We’ll have to find somewhere to get something better. Although I’m not sure what options we have in a town like this.” She hefted a box into the kitchen counter, and began to unload various plates and dishes. The man wasn’t sure where they’d come from. “I think I counted maybe six other residential houses? A corner store, too. Not much else though.”

   “Can we afford to buy more?”

   “You can get a job. Perhaps that corner store is hiring.” She glanced at his face, and softened. “Hey, puppy, it’ll be okay.” She crossed back to him, laying a hand on his arm and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re gonna make it work, all right? Together.”

   “Yeah.”

   “I love you.”

   “I love you too.”

~

~

   They sit on the couch. The wood stove has burned down to it's last embers. The man watches the curls of burned wood crumble, the soft glow on their outer lines fading away. The woman takes a sip of her tea as she turns the page in her book. Then, she closes it with a heavy sigh. The man turns to her, unsure what’s wrong.

   “I hate it when you do this,” she says. The man doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t even know what she means. But he knows he’s done something wrong. That always feels certain.

   “...I’m sorry,” he says.

   “No- no you keep getting like this. All distant and weird. Sometimes it feels like you’re not even really here.”

   “I… I’m sorry,” he says again. What else is there to say?

   “You must know how hard this is for me, right?” She places her book down on the table. “Dealing with all your… things. I get it, things were rough for you before. But we’re not there anymore. You have no reason to be acting like this.”

    “I-“

   “Don’t apologize if you’re not even going to try to change.”

   “...I’ll try.”

   “Good.” She gets to her feet. “I’m going to bed. Clean the dishes before you join me.” 

   She leaves. The man sits alone. He knows he’s done something wrong.

~

~

   The man is alone in their room. The door is locked, and he presses his back against it, hands gripping his hair as he struggles to breath. He’s back now, he’s not wherever he’d been when the woman had closed the door. That was good, at least. That meant when she returned he’d be allowed to leave.

    He can still smell smoke. It’s not real. He knows that. But it fills his lungs and coats his mouth with the awful ashy taste of three years past. He can’t feel the hands on him anymore, though. That’s an improvement.

   The woman would return, eventually. And he would apologize. After all, he really should have better control of himself by now.

~

~

   The man is backed against the kitchen counter, gripping the ledge with white knuckles. The woman takes a step towards him, and there’s nowhere further for him to go.

   “If you ever embrass me in public like that again-“ she’s saying, voice bladed and hand pointing inches from his face. “-I will not let you leave this house for a month, do you understand me?”

   The man nods frantically. He can’t speak, the tears would come if he tried, and that would only make things so much worse.

   “You cannot just started saying whatever you damn well please!” she says. “Rambling on about weird shit and making us look insane!”

   “I- I’m sorry-“

   Her hand shoots out and grabs his wrist, and he can’t hold back a gasp of terror. She yanks him close to her, their noses almost touching. Her fingernails dig into his skin.

   “You always follow my lead, understand?” Her voice is low and poisonous, her eyes pericing into him. “I am in charge. I am who you belong to. And you can’t ever forget that again.”

   He never does.

~

~

   They lie in their bed. Her arms are wrapped around him and he stares up at the ceiling. The lines of the wood twist and morph as his eyes unfocus. She nestles deeper into his side with a contented sigh. Her head tilts up and she presses her face into the crook of his neck.

   “You know I love you, right puppy?” she murmurs.

   The man says nothing.

   Of course she does.

   What else could this be but love.

~

~

   “We should head back, it’s getting late,” the boy says, wiping his hands dry on his coat.

   “Wait, I wanna try too first.” The girl goes to the spot he had just been, and sticks her arm in the water, waiting. After a minute, she pulls it back, fish gripped in her hand. She grins. “Got it!”

   “Good job!” the boy says. “Now toss the poor thing back, it looks terrified.”

   The girl looks at the fish for a moment. Then she shakes her head.

   “No,” she says. “I think it might make a good dinner.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Weed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Weed Rating: PG-13 Length: 4600 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or triggers difficult child hoods. Also recreational marijuana use and fluff!  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 2nd 1998.  Summary: Reader goes to therapy and Javier tries something new.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​ @snivellusim​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy​ @cable-kenobi​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi​ @random066​ @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​ @domino-oh-damn​ @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx​ @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

“I was quite surprised to hear from you again.” Nancy remarked as she shuffled papers in her notebook, peering up at you from the rim of her eyeglasses. “When last we met, you seemed to be well on your way.” She took her glasses off and sat them on her desk, “Have we had a setback?”

You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared across the room at her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a setback.” 

“What would you call it?”

“I was doing really well. After everything with the articles, Javier and I went on vacation together and things felt…” You sighed. “I felt like I had finally hit my stride. You know?”

“Perhaps you should elaborate.”

You and Javier had already decided that Nancy was a safe space to discuss your elopement. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone about your sessions. Not to mention the fact that you had discussed your aversion to the whole concept at length in previous sessions.

But it still felt wrong to tell her. 

“Well,” You drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Javier and I got married.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, picking a piece of fuzz off your leg. “It was perfect. I finally realized I had reached this point in my life where I wanted that. I wanted this thing that was just ours.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I mean, you know that Javier and I are private people. Having our lives splashed across newspapers was daunting. Which… that’s actually why I’m here.”

“Your marriage?”

“No. My mother.”

Nancy’s brows rose upwards and for the first time she seemed shocked by something you had to say. “Your mother?”

You rubbed your lips together and nodded a little. “She showed up this weekend. Halloween.” You laughed quietly, staring at a spot on the floor. “Seeing her again… it brought up. A lot.”

“Would you like to discuss what it brought up?”

“That’s why I’m here,” You retorted, before you sank back against the sofa, raking your fingers through your hair. “For a few fleeting seconds I let myself actually believe that maybe she had changed. That maybe rehab had cured her. Finally. But… then I was thirteen again. I felt so small and… scared.”

“Scared?”

“I’ve worked very hard to make sure my girls have a safe, loving, harmonious life. I even came here. I recognized I had a problem after Sofía and I… handled it. That’s what I do. I handle things.” You swallowed thickly, feeling a knot form in the pit of your stomach. “This isn’t new. We’ve talked about her before.”

Nancy flipped through the pages of her notebook, “Yes. I recall our lengthy conversation about her addiction. You made a lot of progress, grappling with those difficult emotions that grew from a difficult situation. How did this encounter make you feel?”

“I don’t think I’ve slept since Friday night.” You shrugged a shoulder, “Javier’s been great. He’s… always been understanding.”

“But you’ve never fully discussed the details with him, have you?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head. 

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s a lot. We used to talk about it… before we were together. It’s come up before.”

“You once referred to her as a shadow on your life. Does it feel like that shadow returned?”

“Yes.” You rubbed your hands together, leaning forward on the edge of the sofa. “That’s exactly how it feels. She’s gone — I hope she’s gone — but I still feel…”

“Small?”

“She pulled all the same tricks. She tried to make Javi think I was crazy. She pulled the tears and the blaming and… I genuinely don’t think she realizes how traumatized I was as a child.”

“What stands out?”

You laughed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “God, I don’t even know. There was so much.” 

“I would like to try something, if you’re open.” Nancy suggested, “Would you be comfortable laying down?”

“Sure.” You kicked off your shoes and stretched out lengthwise on the sofa. “Is this the whole… introspective breathing exercise?”

“Yes.”

You dragged your hands over your face, trying to will yourself to relax. “Alright. I’m ready.” 

“Focus on your breath. In and out. As you feel the air rushing into your lungs, I want you to think back to your childhood.” Nancy advised you. “Pinpoint a moment. Just one.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing just as she had told you to. You pictured your lungs filling with air and deflating as you exhaled. How many times had you used breathing exercises to manage anxiety?

You let your mind wander back — at first you thought of Javier. Those were easy memories to reflect on. Safe memories. The way he’d held you this morning, the way he tried to chase away all of the bad memories that had returned with your mother. But you weren’t sitting on Nancy’s sofa to think about Javi.

“What do you see?”

“The house I grew up in,” You answered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you settled into that memory. “We lived in one of those one-level post-War houses. It was identical to the one next to us, except… we had a blue front door. She painted it when she was high, it was… It was poorly painted.”

“Who painted it?”

“My mother.”

“How does that blue door make you feel?”

“I used to dread it. Every time my dad would bring me back after a weekend with him…” You sighed heavily. “It wasn’t a welcome sight.”

“And what was beyond that door?”

“The place I lived. It was never home. It was just the place I lived.” You weren’t sure if you’d ever really had a home before Javier and the girls. They felt like what home had always looked like in books and movies. 

“If I was coming back from dad’s house, I knew I was going to be met with hostility. She treated me like a traitor every time I came back to the house. If she had gotten high while I was gone, she was usually passed out on the sofa — that was the best time to come back.”

“Tell me about your room.”

“There was a mural on one of the walls. A butterfly.” You shook your head slowly as you pictured the poorly drawn butterfly. “I used to pretend I was the butterfly, that I could just fly out the window and never look back.”

“Did you feel trapped?”

“Always.” You shifted on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. “I never felt safe.”

“Why?”

“There were always people in our house. Strangers — a lot of strange men.” 

“Were you ever harmed?”

“No. I’m certain I’m lucky in that regard. I slept with a chair in front of my door. My dad told me to do that. Even though he wasn’t there, he tried to protect me.”

“Do you think these experiences have played a part in how you approach your life?”

You laughed bitterly, “Every day. Not even consciously. These things are so hard wired into who I am.”

“How so?”

“Before Javier and I were together, I was terrified that my daughter would be brought up into a life like my own. Torn between two people who couldn’t get along. I knew Javier was a good man, but I still feared that. It makes life very confusing for a child.” 

“Let’s touch on those fears. It’s very common in adults who have suffered from upbringings like your own — they fear repeating the cycle. Is that something you find yourself faced with?”

“All the time. Everything that happened with Sofía’s birth brought up a lot of those emotions. I was afraid it would be the trigger. I had never felt that way before. I felt like a stranger in my own body.” You focused on your breathing again, trying to push aside the panic you felt. “Seeing her again this weekend, definitely brought those emotions back to the surface. Javier tried to reassure me. He was great — so great.”

“What emotions?”

“She got under my skin.” You admitted. “I have worked so hard to provide everything for my family. We have a home, we love each other, the girls are safe and loved.”

“How did your interaction with your mother go?”

“She showed up Saturday night. We had plans for Josie — a school Halloween party. I let Javier handle it because I just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth. I guess she said some shitty things to him, I’m not surprised. She skirted around it with me on Sunday.”

“Why did you speak to her on Sunday?”

“Javier had to reason with her. To get her to leave, you know?” You swallowed thickly. “So she came back on Sunday and we talked. She made excuses, she blamed me, she lashed out. I was thirteen again.”

“Why thirteen?”

You opened your eyes, turning to look at Nancy. “What?”

“You mentioned thirteen twice. What happened when you were twelve?”

“Oh,” You rubbed at the spot between your brows. “My mother and her boyfriend — I think it was Greg… there were a few at the time — but, they had this party…” You closed your eyes again. “Drugs everywhere. My mother was drunk, on top of whatever she’d snorted… she hadn’t even bothered to make dinner for me. So I was in the kitchen, it was in the back of the house, and I was trying to make something to eat. There was this woman who was there and I guess she had wandered away from the rest of the party—” 

“Take your time.”

You covered your face, “She was nice. Obviously very high, but she liked my shirt. It had a butterfly on it.” You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “She sat down at the kitchen table and she… nodded out and then she made this sound.” You sat up slowly then, pushing your fingers through your hair. “It was like a death rattle.”

“Did she die?”

You nodded, “Right in front of me. I tried to call 911, but…” You looked at a point somewhere beyond Nancy. “My mother threatened me. She said if I told anyone what happened, she’d make sure I never saw my father again. I couldn’t sleep for weeks.”

“You have gone through a considerable amount of trauma at a very young age,” Nancy surmised, closing her notebook as she leaned against her desk. “Yet you have overcome it. You have a healthy relationship with your partner, you put tremendous consideration into your relationship with your daughters. But I do think there is more work to be done. You are not an island. You are no longer isolated.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded slowly as you weighed her words. “I know I’m not. And I do talk about these things with Javier. I always have.” 

“It is okay to let go of the past. You don’t have to carry that baggage with you.” Nancy smiled at you kindly, “This is a minor setback, that you cannot let affect the progress you’ve made.”

You chewed on your thumbnail nervously, “I know. And I am aware that I’m a work in progress. We all are.”

Nancy nodded, “Exactly. Focus on today, on the here and now. Don’t let yourself get trapped in this moment. Your mother has no control over your future.”

“I tell everyone that it’s okay to cut toxic people out of their lives, but when it came to my own mother I hesitated.” 

“We all want to believe the best in someone. But some people aren’t wired to be their best. There’s no shame in disconnecting. Focus on your own family.”

You smiled back at her, “Thank you. I do think I’m going to start having sessions again. I want to get through this—“ You gestured to your chest. “I have a lot of pain that I’m still carrying. I would like to work through it with you.”

“I’m here for you. And, of course, Javier if he decides he’d like to join us.”

“I’m sure he will,” You laughed softly. “He was willing to come today if I needed support.”

“Our regular appointment time is still open. Feel free to call and get yourself back on my books.”

“Thank you.”

 ——

 Talking about your past hadn’t necessarily managed to cure your mild malaise, but it has helped to an extent. You felt lighter. You didn’t feel afraid that you’d see Rebecca standing outside of your house when you got home. 

Maybe a few more weeks of talking with Nancy — before you packed up the car to head to Laredo for Thanksgiving — would do you good. 

You peeled off your coat as you walked through the front door, hanging it on the hook. “Should I be afraid? It’s awfully quiet.” You called out, glancing around the empty family room. 

“In the kitchen!” Javier called out and you followed his voice. “You got home sooner than I expected.”

Your brows rose upwards as you looked at the bags of chips sitting on the counter. “Are we having a party I was unaware of?”

“No,” Javier grinned at you, shaking his head. “Connie’s keeping the girls another night. She’s off today.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head to the side. “Bags of chips, no kids…” 

He sat a familiar box down on the counter between the two of you, “I’m finally ready to bite the bullet, baby.”

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth and laugh, “Javier!” You moved around the counter, wrapping your arms around him as you continued to laugh. “You really don’t have to try weed, just because I’m having a shitty couple of days.”

“But I want to,” Javier ran his hand down your back. “You said before that it helps with stress and… I think we’re both pretty stressed right now.”

“I agree with that, but you really don’t have to try something you don’t want to. I know how you feel about it.”

“I had a really long conversation with Nadia about it at the party Saturday night. She laid it all out pretty clearly,” He rocked his jaw as you pulled back to look at him. “I can see the merits of smoking occasionally.”

You smiled up at him adoringly, “And here I thought I couldn’t love you anymore than I already do.” You rose up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Better watch out,” You teased, cupping his jaw. “I might have to marry you.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I’ve never seen her so surprised.” You told him as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. “It was a good session. I think I’m going to start going again.”

“Good.”

You ran your hands over his shoulders as you leaned against him, “I can’t believe you’re willing to smoke. Finally. God, I hope you love it.” 

“I like the prospect of being pain free for an evening.” Javier leaned down and rested his forehead against yours. “How are you doing?”

“I’m here.” You curled a hand around the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. “A lot of bad memories got dredged up.”

“I know you didn’t sleep last night.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, giving your hip a squeeze. “You gonna fall asleep on me if we smoke?”

You snorted, “Probably.” You watched him as he moved back to the grab the box off the counter. “Don’t you have class tomorrow?”

“I’ve assigned it a research day. They’ll be working on the proposals.” He answered smoothly. “They need the time to work anyways.”

“I’m touched that you did all of this, Javi.” 

He shrugged, “I wanted to do something that would cheer you up, baby. You were pretty out of it last night.”

“Last night was rough,” You admitted as you took the box from him, “Grab the chips.” 

Javier followed you into the bedroom, sitting the chips down on the foot of the bed as he watched you open the windows to let some fresh air in. 

“What should I expect?”

You paused, hands on your hips as you turned back towards him. “It’s different for everyone, but for the most part… You’ll feel like you’re drunk, without feeling drunk. Warm and fuzzy.” You shrugged. “I just know it makes me feel really calm.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he nodded, “This can never get out. They won’t let either of us teach.”

“Marriage, pegging, and weed. Our three dirty secrets.” You wiggled your brows at him as you moved to join him at the foot of the bed. 

You sat the box on your legs, opening it and pulling out the neatly rolled joint from the last time you’d taken a hit. “It’s a lot like smoking. Same in and out.” You explained, sitting the box aside and holding the lighter out to him. “The key is that you have to let go and enjoy it.”

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded, “I think after the year we’ve had, I can let go and have fun.”

“And that’s growth.” You laughed, before tucking the joint between your lips. He flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the end of the joint and lighting it for you. 

You pinched it between your fingers, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you needed. You could already feel the first tingles as it settled. 

“Ready?” You questioned, holding the joint out between you. “You don’t have to, Javi. I don’t mind smoking if you just want to lay here with me.”

He shook his head, taking the joint from you. “I’m willing to try it, baby. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

Javier brought it to his lips, tagging a drag off of it before passing it back to you. “What am I supposed to feel?”

You snatched it from him and took another breath, “Just let it happen. Don’t overthink it.” You held the joint up, smirking as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around it. 

He had really nice lips. 

Javier rubbed his lips together thoughtfully, “I feel a little tingle.” He admitted, taking it back from you after you took another hit. 

“Just sink into it,” You advised him as you took the little ashtray out of the box, leaving it on the bed as you rose to your feet. 

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” You gave him a look as you sat the box down on your nightstand, before returning to him to take another drag off it. “I’m just making more room.”

Javier laughed as he exhaled. “More room for what?”

You shrugged, “I was thinking a pillow fight.”

“Oh really?” He laughed again, watching you as you picked up the bag of sour cream and onion chips and sat them on the nightstand too. “Why a pillow fight?”

“Because it sounds fun.” You plopped back down beside him, taking the joint from him and take another hit off it, “Javier Peña is smoking weed.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’ve been corrupted.”

“Corruption looks good on you,” You told him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. “I miss the hair.

Javier grinned around the joint tucked between his lips, “I didn’t let it go until you got your wish.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, ruffling your fingers through his hair. “You look good when you’re getting fucked.”

“So I’ve been told,” He said as he exhaled a puff of smoke between you, before passing it back to you. “I haven’t got a bad word to say about it.”

“Good.” You scrunched up your nose and laughed. “You’re so good to me.”

Javier beamed, “Have you met you?”

“I don’t know if I have.” You tucked your leg beneath you as you angled yourself towards him. “Tell me more.”

“Well,” He offered you the joint again. “I do feel tingly!” Javier snorted, “Is this what it feels like?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel?” You questioned, toying with the third button of his shirt. “I feel warm.”

“I feel warm too!” He clasped his hands together, looking towards the open windows. “I feel good.”

“That’s all I want,” You admitted to him, sitting the smoldering joint in the ashtray. “You know what?”

“What?”

“You’re hot.”

He laughed loudly, sinking back against the bed, his legs still draped over the edge. “Yeah?”

You nodded emphatically. “I remember… my first day.” You swept your hands through the air dramatically. “I walked into the office and saw you and just thought — hot!”

“Oh, was that your first thought?” 

You laid back in the bed, settling into the crook of his arm, “Mhm.” You sighed happily. “And then I quickly realized what a dick you were.” You pressed close to him, nuzzling at his neck. “That’s how I knew I was screwed.”

Javier laughed, rubbing his hand down your arm, “We were both screwed.” He hummed, his lips still drawn into a smile as he stared up at the ceiling. “Do you remember New Years?”

“Like eleven months ago?”

He shook his head, “Before Josie was born.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to focus on the specific moment he was referencing, “I broke my wine glass.”

“Yeah!” He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. “Steve’s a funny guy.”

You shoved him playfully, “Are you going to rhapsodize about Steve now?”

“No! No.” Javier made a sound that very nearly sounded like a giggle. “He swears he didn’t know that we were orbiting each other.”

“Orbiting each other.” You mocked, sitting up to grab the joint, taking another hit as you laid back on the bed. 

“He swears he didn’t really know just how bad we had it for each other—“

“Bullshit!” You called out dramatically and you both started laughing. 

“He knew. Of course he knew. That jackass.” He took the joint from you and took two puffs off it. “But that night — son of a bitch — he told me I was holding you back. That as long as I acted like I had feelings for you, you weren’t going to ever look for someone.”

You frowned, “He wasn’t wrong.”

“Made me feel like an asshole, baby.” He rubbed his hand over his chest, like he’d been injured. “It's why, I…”

“Was that’s why you wanted to drive me home?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, “He made it sound like I needed to set you free and…”

You dropped the joint back into the ashtray and cut him off before he could finish. You planted your hand over his mouth and scrambled to straddle him. “No. We’re not doing sad.” You warned him. “Wanna know a secret?”

He licked the palm of your hand. 

“Javier.”

He nodded. 

“I wanted to go home with you.” You confessed, leaning forward so your nose brushed against his. “I got myself off thinking of you.” You slowly pulled your hand away, “I was so certain 1992 was going to be a shit year. They were thinking about leaving and everything was falling apart but, I thought — I didn’t fuck it up with Javier, I’ve still got him.”

His hands went to your hips, “And you do. I could never up and leave you, baby.”

You leaned in and kissed him, “If we weren’t married, I’d marry you all over again.”

“Yeah?” Javier grabbed at your hips and you shivered, you loved how much more every little touch felt like. “I can’t wait to tell pops.”

You grinned as you laughed, “He’s gonna be so fucking excited.” You nipped at his bottom lip. “I hope we run into Lorraine at the toy store again.”

“Jesus Christ.” Javier groaned, “Why bring up her? I’m feeling good baby.”

You bumped your nose against his, “Because I’m vindictive.” You grinned down at him. “And I love proving people wrong.” You traced your finger down his nose. “But I know the Javier that no one can see.”

“You do.” He parted his lips as you ran your finger over his lips. “We both know the real us.”

“I really like us.” You mused, “I think we’ve done really well for ourselves.”

Javier nodded his head, “I do too.” He played with the hem of your sweater, “Didn’t you say you were warm, baby?”

“Trying to get me undressed?” You questioned, giggling as you let him peel the sweater off your body.

“Maybe.”

“Turnabout, babe.” You quipped as you wrestled with the buttons of his shirt until it fell open. 

“You know… my knees aren’t hurting.” He pointed out, running his hand over your bare arms as he looked up at you. “But I can’t tell if I want to fuck your or just hold you.” Javier laughed and you couldn’t help but join in on the pure joy that was in his laughter. 

“It’s funny isn’t it?” You questioned, playing with the hair that fell against his forehead. “Am I horny? Or do I just want to be held?”

“What do you want?” Javier questioned, running his hands over your skin anywhere he could reach. Which you definitely enjoyed. 

“As tempted as I am to take advantage of your very exuberant self,” You leaned down to kiss him, playing your tongue over his bottom lip. “I just want to be held. Right now, at least.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Javier promised you, leaning up to meet your lips again. 

Somehow he managed to maneuver both of you up the bed with you still on his lap, while you clutched at the ashtray so you could stick on the nightstand. 

You rolled onto the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you sank into the warmth of the high buzzing through you. Your eyes felt heavy, but you ignored it — you really did need to sleep tonight. But it wasn’t tonight yet. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s different.” He held his hands up in front of his face. “I feel like there’s this… space in between me and me.”

“Weird, right?”

“And my pops does this?”

You nodded, “Your body gets used to it after awhile. You’re still high just not quite as… tingly.”

“It’s nice though.”

You rolled onto your side and draped your arm over his chest. “I want you to feel good.”

“I do.” He brushed his fingers over your hair. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” You grinned, meeting his gaze before you both descended into laughter. “You’re so dorky.”

“Who me?”

“Yes. You’ve got this dorky face thing going on.” You gestured to his face. “You’ve taken five years off. At least.”

“Mmm, that could work in our favor.”

You swatted his chest and snorted, “Please. No. I can’t believe she even insinuated that! What a bitch.”

“You were incredible yesterday.” He told you warmly, stroking his fingers through your hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You sank into his side. “I’m just… if I rest my eyes for five minutes will you still hold me?”

“I’ll hold you until the end of time, baby.”

“That sounds like a long time.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s forever.” He kissed your temple. “Relax, baby. Just sleep. And then we can… I’m a little tired too. Hungry and tired.”

“That’s nice.” You mumbled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, before two sleepless nights got the better of you. 

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary: It is public knowledge that Zoe Van Helsing is the last of her blood line. Not to mention that, in a sense, Count Dracula is too. However, after an unexpected night of passion, both their lives dramatically change when Zoe becomes pregnant. Two unconventional parents, one extraordinary pregnancy. What could go wrong?

Rating: M

Pairings: Zoe Van Helsing/Dracula implied Agatha/Dracula

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: So sorry for the delay. I had a lot of unexpected things going on in my life. This chapter goes out to @mitsukatsu. Happy belated one year friendiversary! I’m so glad we have our friendship! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                                 Chapter Nine

Zoe found it rather unusual that the hospital decided to discharge her in the wee hours in the morning. Perhaps they needed an extra bed or just saw it fit to let the scientist go before the “morning rush”. Whatever the case, she wasn’t one to complain. Lying on her back, propped up on some cushions from the sofa, she stared upwards towards the ceiling, hands resting on the visible slope of her stomach. Tired. Nauseated. She just wanted to fall asleep and yet, her mind still reeling from the overload of new information prevented her from doing so. 

“I can’t guarantee that it won’t taste dreadful seeing as it came from a can, but you need something to settle your stomach.” 

The scientist didn’t turn her head to acknowledge Dracula as he strode into her living room. For some reason she had yet to put a finger on, Zoe had agreed to let him come in. Just for a few minutes. A few minutes that had turned into over an hour. Now the vampire had basically made himself at home in her own kitchen. As he went to place the bowl down on the coffee table, her eyes immediately flew over to the stack of documents the hospital had allowed her to keep. The lab results that could easily hold the keys she needed to begin unlocking the twins’ genetic codes. 

“Careful!” She snapped, lunging forward to gather the papers as if they were some sort of precious artifact. “Do you realize how important these are?! The last thing I need is for them to be damaged.” Zoe eyed him incredulously, holding the documents close to her chest. “What even is that?”

“A proper acknowledgement of thanks would have sufficed.” The vampire exhaled, setting the dish down after a long moment. “And it’s some vegetable soup I found canned in your cupboard. Highly doubt it holds the nutrients your body needs, but in such a short span of time, it’s the best I could’ve come up with.” Dracula eyed the papers she clutched tightly. “Might I inquire what it is that you are doing? Or rather, plan to?” 

Zoe seemed to ponder the idea of humoring him with an answer. “Research.” She responded curtly. “Which is why I cannot risk having anything spilling onto them. And besides,” the scientist frowned. “I am not hungry.” 

Dracula’s lips pressed into a thin line as he eyed the scientist with visible annoyance. Taking in a deep, unnecessary breath, he forced a smile onto his face and pulled up a chair beside her. Zoe eyed him suspiciously as he folded his hands onto his lap. 

“Two boys.” He mused, nodding at the idea. “It is a very welcoming thought knowing that the Dracula name will be continued.” 

“The two chromosomes that determine the sex of our two babies should be the least of your concerns right now.” Zoe commented with a frown. “What should really be on your mind is what lies in their genetic makeup. Their overall DNA construction.” When she caught Dracula smiling, her frown deepened. “What?”

“You said our babies.” He replied with a smirk. “It’s nice to see you’re getting used to the idea of the two of us.”

“There is no two of us.” She replied point blank. “And if you continue to press my buttons, I can assure you there will only be one of us.” His continued look of amusement only made her blood boil hotter. “Why won’t you just leave? Your mere presence in my house right now is giving me a headache and I’ve already had one hell of a night.” Zoe gave a nod towards the door. “If you hurry, you can be back at your flat before you burn into a crisp.” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Dracula chuckled. “Sometimes I have difficulty telling your regular attitude towards me from your hormones.” He watched as Zoe reached for the television clicker that sat on the table with the intention to beam it at him. “Alright, alright…” He gave in, holding his hands up. “I suppose I’ll leave you to your own devices, but only because you are in need of rest.” The vampire offered her a smile, though he did not receive one in return. “Get some rest, Dr. Van Helsing. I’ll be seeing you at the Harker Foundation soon enough.” 

“I’ll wait for that with bated breath.” Zoe muttered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Her eyes followed the Count as he made his way towards the exit, narrowing when he turned his head as if to say something. 

“Rest well, Zoe.” Though his voice lacked any insincerity. “I mean it.” 

Zoe said nothing as he turned away, opening the door before slipping out into the night. She listened for his footsteps, half expecting him to waltz right back into her home. When she was certain that he was gone, the scientist sighed and allowed her shoulders to relax. It had been quite the long night to say the least and the need to clear her mind enough for her to focus was at the top of her priorities. 

“If I go as far to boldly assume you and Count Dracula are becoming closer, would that be a correct assumption?” 

Zoe’s facial features tightly scrunched in aggravation as Agatha’s voice met her ears. Maybe if she ignored her. Maybe if she didn’t look in her direction. Perhaps the ghost of her great, great aunt would disappear. But despite the wait, the silence, she could still feel the specter’s presence. 

“You are entering into dangerous territory, Zoe. You truly have no idea what he is capable of. While he acts as if he cares, the vampire is very skilled in the art of manipulation. If you fall into his trap, digging yourself out is nearly impossible.” 

“I am far from having any relations with Count Dracula.” The scientist grumbled, opening her eyes but keeping them averted from where Agatha stood. “And I can handle myself quite well, thank you. I’d much appreciate it if you’d just go away.” 

“Whether you realize it or not, my intentions are for your very own good. Your sanity isn’t in the strongest of places and it wouldn’t be right if I were to pass on without keeping an eye on you.” She paused for a moment before adding. “And Count Dracula.” 

“You being in my life right now is what is making me insane.” Zoe countered with a long sigh. “Having to deal with a vampire AND a ghost is just another layer to the tipping tower of my anxiety. Not to mention I’m dealing with pregnancy on top of that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Now please, I beg of you, leave me be. I need time to think things over.” 

“I’m concerned you’re growing fickle with your loyalty to the Van Helsing name.” When Zoe didn’t respond to this, Agatha merely sighed. “Tread carefully, Zoe. Do not let what grows within you change who you really are.” 

The scientist chewed on the inside of her cheek in a strong attempt to not respond. It would be wise on her part to not fuel the flames with her rather...pesky and persistent ancestor. After a very few, long moments, Zoe turned her head in the direction of where Agatha should’ve been. Just like Dracula had, the woman finally had the decency to leave. Exhaling, she rearranged her stack of papers and set them off to the side. 

“You are causing me quite a lot of drama.” She mumbled, placing a hand on her stomach. It still felt kind of silly addressing them. It wasn’t as if they were even born. Yet sometimes it was oddly comforting. “But I am going to look on the brighter side of things and assume it will be all worth it in the end...I hope.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe caught sight of the bowl of soup Dracula had made for her. Pursing her lips, she gingerly lifted it from the table and studied it carefully. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t dare do anything to it that would harm her--or his offspring for that matter. And it did smell rather pleasant. Stomach rumbling, Zoe picked up the spoon. As she took in a mouthful, surprised at how good it tasted, she made a mental note to not let the vampire know she actually enjoyed it. He didn’t need the extra ego boost. 

“We’re going to be okay.” She mumbled, looking down at her stomach. “The three of us…” Zoe took in another spoonful and glanced towards the paperwork. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

                                                    XXX

Due to her doctor’s recommendation to take it easy as well as the unfortunate matter of cutting into her sick days, Zoe finally returned back to work at the Foundation. Though facing Bloxham was not the most pleasant of things to look forward to, the scientist had grown rather restless at home. There was only so much she could do research wise without a lab and no one to trust to know her secret. 

Zoe frowned softly as ran her hand down the very visible bump of her stomach. Just in the past several days, she had begun to really show. Something she felt a little self-conscious about. Carrying twins made it look like she was much farther along than sixteen weeks. It still felt surreal that she was nearly five months along. How time had seemingly flown, slipping like sand between her fingers.  

“Zoe, it’s wonderful to have you back!” 

The warmth and welcoming sound of Jack’s voice greeted the scientist’s ears as her former mentee strode up and pulled her into a gentle hug. Out of all things, it was rather pleasant to see him again. He was, after all, one of the very few she could call her a true friend. Upon stepping back, the young doctor’s eyes scanned the woman over. 

“You look great.” He commented, offering her a genuine smile. “It’s been rather dull without you here. Not much excitement.” He paused. “And Count Dracula hasn’t exactly made his presence known since your absence.” Jack shook his head at the thought as if trying to clear something from his mind. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Dr. Bloxham didn’t force you to come back, did she? You’re sure you feel alright to come back?” 

“It’s lovely to see you too, Jack.” Zoe smiled softly. “And yes, I feel perfectly capable to return to the Foundation. I just needed time to recuperate. Doctor’s orders, not exactly what I had intended. But to maintain a healthy pregnancy is more important than my addiction to work.” She chuckled at that. “Good to know I haven’t missed much. There were moments where I had my concerns about how things were functioning.” 

“Well, if you need anything, anything at all, just--”

But Jack was abruptly cut off by the clean, swooshing sound of two sliding doors opening. Both he and Zoe turned their head to see Bloxham entering the room with her ever present unreadable expression. Her eyes briefly flickered over at Jack before focusing on the other woman. 

“Dr. Van Helsing.” She nodded, her tone flat. “I’m glad you’ve seen yourself fit enough to return to work. Your lack of participation has been noted but...excused.” Bloxham’s attention turned to the file folder of papers Zoe had tucked underneath one of her arms. “And those would be?” 

“Prevalent to my work with Count Dracula.” Zoe said, trying to remain unsuspicious as she readjusted them in her grasp. “Nothing of great importance. Just something I had on hand while I was at home.” If her boss only knew what the contents within were. “I’m assuming that the Count will be paying us a visit later on tonight as per scheduled?” 

Within the last several days, Zoe had received over a handful of texts from the vampire--of which she replied very few to. Just enough to keep him out of her hair. Since the hospital fiasco, this would be the first time in weeks they’d be face to face. A twinge of nervousness panged in the bottom of her stomach as Bloxham threw her a quizzical look before relaxing. 

“See to it that tonight’s session meets our highest expectations. Due to your...holiday, we’ve lost valuable time with Dracula. It is unknown how long his willingness to come in will last.” Bloxham’s lips pursed together as she grabbed her magnetized badge. “I look forward to your findings, Dr. Van Helsing. Do not let me down.” 

Zoe hadn’t realized she’d been literally biting her tongue onto the faint, metallic taste of blood met her taste buds. She ground her teeth as Bloxham walked casually away well aware that Jack’s eyes were on her. Exhaling, she turned to the young doctor. 

“Well, that was friendlier than she usually is.” He attempted to joke, giving her a reassuring smile. “At least she didn’t chew you out. Why just last week, Henderson in forensics dropped a bunch of the new vials the Foundation had ordered and from the earful she gave him, I was convinced he was on his way out the door jobless with a box of broken glass.”

Not that she intended to let anyone near her experiments, Zoe made a mental note to avoid Henderson’s clumsiness at all cost. The last thing she needed was for all of her important work to go to waste. Vials were one thing, but what they would hold was a completely different matter. 

“I’m going to go get situated.” She said, feigning a small smile. “I think it’s best I dive back into the thick of things. After all, I might as well busy myself before my version of Interview with a Vampire tonight.”

“Nice touch, Zoe.” Jack laughed. “Never took you for a movie type.” 

“I suppose I’m full of surprises then.” She responded, unbeknownst to Jack how true that statement really was. “I’ll be seeing you then?” 

“Bloxham has us all working overtime.” The young man answered. “So the chances of us crossing paths today are inevitable.”  

“Good then.” Zoe nodded, clutching her documents. “I look forward to it.” 

                                                     XXX

Though it wasn’t much, the small office like space designated to her personal belongings proved to be usable enough. Zoe exhaled as she sat down, pushing aside the clutter that had begun to build on her desk. Setting the folder onto a cleared spot, she opened it carefully. Still crisp as the night she had received them, Zoe peered down at the test results from the night at the hospital. 

The hardest part of being homebound for two weeks was not having the access needed to further her research. Yet, Zoe was smart and resourceful enough to scour the internet for something, anything that would prove of use to her. And as luck would have it, she had found a possible piece to her ever growing puzzle. 

“Cell-free fetal DNA…” She muttered, looking from the sticky note where she had scrawled the information down and then back to her computer screen. “Possible specimen matter. Requires blood to be drawn from the mother which, when tested, allows one to extract fetal DNA presented from the placenta that has been dispersed through the woman’s bloodstream.” The keys on her laptop clicked rapidly as Zoe’s eyes remained fixated on the screen. “Subject One: Dr. Zoe Van Helsing.” 

Zoe leaned back in her chair and studied the text on the screen. Experimentation. It was something she had considered but never when it came to her being the subject. Absentmindedly, she placed a hand on the apex on her stomach. Going about this was going to be hard. Not to mention very difficult seeing as it was a top secret project. Especially since subject two’s involvement was undetermined at this point. For all of this to work, she would need his full, committed participation. 

With a long sigh, she returned her fingers to the keyboard. “Subject Two: Count Dracula.” 

Obtaining a blood sample from him would be the easiest part. Her reasoning for doing so she could fabricate. Zoe had all of the equipment at her disposal, it was just a matter of finding the time to use it for her own devices. A knock came at her door, causing the scientist to snap back to reality. Quickly stashing away the documents into her desk and closing her screen, she straightened up in her seat. 

“Come in.” 

The door creaked open to reveal one of Bloxham’s head guards. Zoe tried to ignore the pounding in her chest as he cleared his throat. Surely he had no idea of her plans. No one did. So why exactly did it feel like every artery in her body was about to burst?

“Dr. Bloxham wanted me to tell you that Count Dracula has arrived.” The man said, his tone emotionless. “I’ll be the one to escort you to the room.” 

“Right then.” Zoe sighed, standing up slowly. “If you don’t mind me requesting privacy after you doing so, I believe it will be best if he and I were alone. He seems to be more willing to offer up information when it is just the two of us.” If any of this were to work, she’d need that in order to speak to him. “You may wait outside of the door if need be.”

The guard narrowed his eyes but gave a nod of confirmation. Slipping a voice recorder into her pocket, Zoe trailed behind the guard feeling slightly winded. The pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her whether she liked to admit it or not. As the guard slid the access card through the slot in the keypad, the thick metal doors glided open to reveal the familiar room with a table situated in the center. 

“Ah, Zoe, so wonderful to see you again.”

Dracula sat at the opposite end of the table, his dark eyes fixed on the scientist as she stepped into the room. Motioning for the guard to exit, Zoe strode forward and took her usual spot across from him. She could feel his eyes taking in every inch of her body, focusing mostly on her stomach before they finally met hers. 

“It’s been awhile.” He commented, leaning against the table. “I was beginning to grow concerned after I learned about your medical conundrum. I’m glad to see you’re okay.” 

“Yes.” Zoe replied, straightening up. “I’ve been taking it easy.”

“Always good to follow a doctor’s order. Or rather, in today’s age.” He gave a small smile that Zoe struggled to tell was genuine or one of judgement. “So, what do you have planned today? Shall I give you more history about my existence, or have you something else in mind?” 

“I require another sample of your blood.” She said, watching him carefully. “It’s for an important matter.” 

“Color me intrigued.” The vampire said, resting his elbows on the table. “What exactly are you looking for this time? You aren’t going to lose them again, are you?”

“This is for an important matter.” Zoe said, a hand resting on her stomach in an attempt to give him a silent cue. “Your willingness to provide me another sample would be greatly appreciated and would prove vital in the cause…” She racked her brain, trying to think of a reason in case they were being monitored. “...A cause in learning more about your physiology.” 

Dracula was silent for a moment. “Take what you must. I suppose it is for a good cause after all.” His eyes returned to her stomach. “I’m hoping you’ll keep me updated if you find anything of interest. You know I am a man of science.” 

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Zoe nodded, relieved by his compliance. “Allow me to grab some vials.” Hopefully Henderson hadn’t destroyed the lot. “I will return momentarily.” 

Dracula didn’t reply as Zoe made her way across the room and to a metal tray that had been set off to the side. There was no needle this time, it would prove useless as it had during their first attempt. The vampire already had his wrist exposed by the time Zoe returned to his side. Her stomach crawled as he drew his sharp nail across the pale skin creating an open wound. Holding the vial carefully, she collected the dark blood as it dripped down. 

“Is that enough?” He asked, sounding surprisingly genuine. 

“For now.” Zoe replied, quickly placing the top on and giving it a few turns. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” The vampire smirked softly, his skin already knitting back together. “I am at your service after all.” 

Their eyes met, neither of them speaking. Something within Zoe began to stir that, at first, she thought was merely heartburn. But the longer they looked at each other, she came to the realization it was butterflies in her stomach. Feeling the heat rush to her cheeks, she bit down on her lip and immediately turned away. No, this was not happening. It was only hormones. Bloody hormones. She certainly wasn’t having the tiniest amount of feelings for him. 

“I should go and take this to the lab before it expires.” She said quickly. “You can see yourself out, I presume?” 

“Usually I am escorted so it isn’t a problem.” Dracula chuckled. “Same time as always?” He paused, causing Zoe to feel that much more uncomfortably hot. “You know how to reach me in case you require some personal assistance sooner.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” She replied, clearing her throat. “I should really be going. Good night, Count Dracula.” 

Before the vampire had a chance to reply, Zoe had already made her way to the double doors and exited the room. She said nothing as she brushed past the guard. Her mind was reeling so much so she hadn’t even realized she’d made it to the lab. Finally stopping to catch her breath, Zoe noticed that the area was vacant. With a sigh of relief, she made her way over to one of the counters. 

FRAGILE. DO NOT TOUCH. She hoped this would keep Henderson and any others from messing with the contents. Looking over her shoulder, she quickly began to rummage through one of the drawers. Producing a long needle, she swallowed hard, slightly ill at the thought of what she was about to do. Despite the cancer and the various blood tests, her hate for needles had never lessened. 

“I’m only doing this for you.” She mumbled, glancing down at her stomach before preparing the needle and syringe. “This better work.” 

Tying a band around her upper arm, she felt around for a good vein. Taking a deep breath, she plunged the needle through her flesh and watched as a vial began to fill with her own blood. It was slightly lighter than Dracula’s, something she made a mental note of. Once she was convinced she had enough to work with, she removed the needle and topped the vial. 

FRAGILE! DO NOT TOUGH. She scrawled upon the sticker, hoping that it would prevent others again from messing with it. Eyeing both vials, one belonging to her and the other to the vampire, she pursed her lips, turning her head to glance over at the slides and a nearby microscope. 

Pulling out a voice recorder, Zoe cleared her throat before pressing record. 

“Monday, April 25th. Experiment One. Testing cellular immortality.” 

[syncogon]

[QZGS meta] what’s in an OP? dawning glory (pt 1)

or, why TKA S2′s OP is actually really good

{The King’s Avatar season 2 premieres in less than 24 hours!}

(part 2) (part 3)

Ever since I got into The King’s Avatar, I’ve always wondered what a “classic-anime-style” TKA opening would look like. OPs are something I pay a lot of attention to, both for the sheer enjoyment and hype as well as the deeper story and symbolism they may allude to. And although I enjoy the S1 and OVA OPs for what they are, I always wanted an OP that really followed the tried-and-true formulas, an OP that gave a proper look at what the series was really about, an OP that had a lot to dig into and analyze. 

S2 brought us this kind of OP, finally, and I’m very excited to see it. Heavily inspired by the “What’s in an OP?” youtube series by Mother’s Basement, I really wanted to try and break down this OP. Because things got very long, this is only part 1; the other 2 parts are linked above and below.

Some of the points I bring up may be reading too deeply, but whether some of these details were intentional or not, their meanings and effects are still worth analyzing. Also as a warning, there will probably be novel spoilers. 

For reference, watch and read the lyric translation here.

With all that said, let’s jump right in.

We open with some very nice shots of the morning light streaming in, shining on the gamers’ tools of the trade. Right away, the new animation studio promises us a visual treat - the lighting and colors are excellent. Although the props are unmoving and there are no living beings in these shots, the changing angle of the light adds motion to the scene, giving the impression of a sped-up sunrise. This accompanies the music well, which starts out muffled and distant, and gradually comes into clarity. From the very beginning, the OP grabs our attention and holds it, building our anticipation for what’s to come.

Now we cut to outside, atop a roof, and we get a proper look at the sunrise - only for a brief moment, though, as Ye Xiu’s hand quickly comes up to block the blinding light. “Anime protagonist staring at sunrise” is a pretty common trope, but I think it’s used to nice effect here - we’re introduced immediately to the “dawn” motif that underlies this entire OP (it’s even in the title). It’s a suitable motif for this arc of the story, because this is where Ye Xiu finally has the concrete goal of building up his own team - this is truly the dawn of Team Happy.

I like how it’s Ye Xiu’s hand that’s the first thing we see of him, or of anyone. As a pro, his hands are the most important part of himself; his hands are also one of the first things that Chen Guo notices about him when she first meets him. 

Furthermore, this view provides a nice natural transition to the next shot, in which we finally get to see him properly.

Look at how pretty the sky looks! Look at how pretty his smile looks! 

After the first few seconds of pure buildup in the music, the beat kicks in at the exact same time as his hair begins to blow in the wind. I think it’s very important for the visuals and the music to sync together in an OP, simply because of the raw impact this has on the viewer - they reinforce each other’s effects. Both components of an OP need to work well together in order to create something greater than the sum of the parts. It’s just very exciting, when you can sit back and think “oh yeah, it’s all coming together.” 

Ye Xiu stares thoughtfully at the sunrise for a few moments, before breaking into a soft, relaxed smile (right on the second four-count after the beat starts). It’s not one of his mocking smiles, or his shamelessly confident smiles - here he’s just genuinely happy and hopeful at what the future has in store. 

We see him lower his arm, and then the camera pans upward to a shot of the new series logo for Season 2. This pan-up to title card is also a fairly standard technique, but hey, it’s effective and efficient at getting us ready. 

Speaking of the new logo: it’s basically the same as the old, but I was shocked to see just how prominent the English title “The King’s Avatar” is now. Honestly, it’s really exciting to see - feels like it adds some legitimacy to our small English fandom, and it’s also so cool, knowing how the title “The King’s Avatar” became the official English name almost by accident - we could have easily ended up with something much less interesting. However I do think they could have positioned the text a little better, because I and others keep reading “The King’s Iavatar” haha

As the dawn shifts more into morning, we refocus on Happy Internet Cafe, the origin of it all. Notice the new green leaves on the tree: our story began on a snowy winter, but we’re now firmly in spring, a time of new beginnings. 

The music excitement level settles down a little as we enter the first verse, and here we get a montage of many of the to-be Team Happy members. Although each shot is fairly short, each manages to tell a story, conveying a good amount of information about the character in question. One of TKA’s strengths is its large cast of well-developed characters, and I’m really glad to see that they’re not completely flattened out in this opening montage.

Here we see Chen Guo, presumably opening up the cafe for the day. However, by the time she comes down here to do this, it seems that Tang Rou has already been awake and training for a while.

Like Ye Xiu, the first thing we see of Tang Rou is her hand, a parallel that perhaps emphasizes how deep Ye Xiu’s influence on her is and how she wishes to learn from and surpass him. The nimbleness of her fingers on the keyboard definitely evokes the image of a pianist - a subtle clue for the future.

Look at her straightened back and serious eyes - her posture and expression say it all. Awake, alert, steady, calm, as she continues to strive for improvement. 

The lyric for this part is roughly, “the bugle call to split open the dawn is sounding right here and now.” As mentioned, it’s here at Happy Internet Cafe that it all begins.

From one internet cafe to another, it’s Wei Chen and his bros! Notice how he’s at the center of their little group, in both position and attention - we immediately get the sense that he’s their leader. Slouched against the couch (which seems to be built more for comfortable lounging than proper gaming), hands behind his head, glancing between his friends, an easy smile, it all gives off a relaxed, casual air of confidence. 

Still, in contrast to the seemingly light-hearted mood of this scene here, the accompanying lyric is somewhat melancholy: “were those daydreams or the past?” 

When Wei Chen’s character design came out, a lot of people were surprised at how young he seemed to look, and he has barely any stubble. But with this close-up of his face (which is specifically timed to “or the past”), the lines under his eyes are clear to see. Combined with the lyric, there’s suddenly something sad beneath his smile here. He’s not young anymore. 

Notice the one screen that’s turned on behind him - clearly an image of Glory. Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to leave this world entirely.

Where the hell is Steamed Bun? Why does he have a bat? We just don’t know. We don’t even have any lyrics to give us a hint. He’s a real-life Brawler, totally incomprehensible. Even the camera shakes a bit erratically as it tries to follow his movement. Honestly, isn’t this just the best way to sum up his character?

Our favorite math nerd Luo Ji, in a library of course. The shot begins with everything blocked off by the books, and it’s only when he pulls out one of the books (the black-to-light is timed with the lyric “I open my eyes”) that we’re able to see him. He’s still framed by the books in this shot, because he’s first and foremost still a student. For now and for a long time to come, his studiousness and mathematical ability will be what defines him and his contributions to Team Happy. 

Still, he looks thoughtfully at the book in his left hand. Maybe his contributions can go farther. Pay attention to his character Concealed Light when we see him later.

I can’t say if there’s a significance to the woman passing by, but it serves its purpose as a transition to the next scene.

Qiao Yifan! From the logo in the back, as well as his uniform and color scheme, you can see he’s still at Tiny Herb here. He looks determined and focused on his screen at first. When he blinks, though, his gaze subtly shifts to the side and down. Something is distracting him; he’s not quite as certain as he might appear at a glance. 

The lyric here is “[I can’t tell] what side of the road I’m running on,” an apt reflection of his current, conflicted and somewhat precarious situation. He’s on a championship team right now, a place that so many would envy. But he feels much more at home with the ragtag crew from Happy. But what prospects do they have? But it’s not like he has much of a place in Tiny Herb right now either…

From Qiao Yifan looking to the side, we cut to An Wenyi looking to the side - our eyes are able to very naturally follow the transition. Although blurry at first, we soon see that he’s looking at a figurine of Immovable Rock - the number one Cleric in Glory, An Wenyi’s idol. He looks at it thoughtfully for a moment, brows furrowed, before turning away and closing his eyes. As though in resignation, knowing he’ll never be able to reach that level.

The lyric is, “do I understand” - a very short line, with the note held out.

An Wenyi is the logical one; he’s the one who understands. He understands his current position, he understands that he has no hope as a pro with his current skill, he understands that the chance Happy is offering him is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity for someone like him. It’s a decision he considers carefully, he’s unafraid to ask bold questions about the practicality of what Chen Guo and Ye Xiu are trying to do, but in the end he knows this isn’t something that he can pass up.

I like An Wenyi’s character arc a lot. There’s a lot of worry and self-doubt in his expression as he looks at that figurine; there’s a lot of sadness as he turns away. Even through Season 10, this aspect of him doesn’t just magically disappear - he has to deal with this reality of being Happy’s weak point. His logical mind is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

From An Wenyi’s closed eyes, we cut to Su Mucheng’s downcast eyes - another natural eye-focused transition. She looks up as the wind picks up around her, blowing her hair and scattering leaves. 

Notice that she’s not wearing her Excellent Era uniform here. Her dress reminds me of her outfit from the prequel movie, actually - color scheme, sleeves, bow, length, cut, etc. 

It’s a style calling back to younger, simpler times. The light pink color adds to that effect as well. 

As the camera pulls out, we’re able to see just how alone she is, isolated from the cars passing beneath her, not a single other person nearby. And at this point in the story, she really is rather alone; she doesn’t really have any allies on the team, and her only escape is to play in the game with the Happy crew. 

The wind is scattering many leaves, and she blurs into the background as the camera focuses on one drifting red maple leaf in particular. 

Blatant symbolism is blatant (it’s not even fall right now, it should be early spring…). Still, it’s a convenient shorthand to reference many things. One Autumn Leaf, Ye Xiu’s account and identity for a decade, now snatched away. The symbol of Excellent Era and those earliest hopes and dreams, now lost to the wind. It could even reference Su Muqiu himself, the boy with “autumn” in his name, now lying in eternal rest. 

The lyric is, “interwoven in the dawn, those memories and rests.” The past is now past, far out of reach; all we can do is look up and reminisce on what once was. 

Over the course of these shots, you can see the passage of the morning. The earlier characters are illuminated by a golden glow, but by the time we reach Su Mucheng, she’s standing in full daylight. Here we end section 1 (verse 1), and move onto the next part of the song.

Thanks for reading so far!

(part 2) (part 3) 

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Milky Twilight

Words: 1648 Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader Summary: Reader is a Padawan known for acting impulsively. Lucky for her, a certain Jedi Master always seems to be around to keep her from getting hurt. Until the one time that he isn't. When Obi Wan rushes to her side will he finally confess his true feelings?

“[Y/N], you should really be careful up there!” The strong disapproving voice of Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi echoed upwards. You were on a practice mission with Obi Wan and his padawan Anakin. The two of them were creating a mock battle strategy when you decided to scale a nearby cliffside for a better vantage point.

“What’s wrong Master Kenobi?” You shouted back at him. “Don’t like someone else having the high ground?”

“No, I don’t like reporting back to the council when the Padawans in my care are injured.” He disagreed with you.

“Ha! How often does that happen?” You asked, continuing to climb.

“More than he’d like to admit!” Anakin answered for him.

“Well then you should be used to it by now, Master.” You told him.

“I’m serious, [Y/N], come down from there at once! You don’t have proper climbing gear and if you get much higher than that I’m not sure Anakin or I could catch you safely.” Obi Wan was warning you, but you were almost at the top the cliff face. Turning back now seemed pointless.

You took one last defiant look down at he and Anakin before reaching for your next handhold. In the end Master Kenobi was right, it was dangerous for you to be climbing an unfamiliar cliff face with no protective gear. You realized this as you grasped upwards only for the handhold to crumble at your touch. You reached around quickly for something else to grasp but in the seconds it took, you lost your balance. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as your felt your body tumbling off the cliff. The sensation of free falling was almost immediate. You wanted to scream out but knew that wouldn’t help you in any way.

As quickly as the free fall had begun there was a change in the air around you. No, not the air, the force. You had stopped falling or at least stopped falling as fast. You opened your eyes to see Master Obi Wan posed intently at the bottom of the cliff. He had caught you and was slowly lowering you down with the force. You landed on the ground with as soft a thud as one would typically experience falling into bed at the end of a long day.

“I did try to warn you, [Y/N].” Obi Wan remarked as he stood over you.

“[Y/N] are you alright?” Anakin asked charging towards you both.

“I maintain my point that Master Obi Wan just wanted to have the high ground.” You commented, not getting up off the ground. “but that was a great catch, Master.”

“Yes, well, someone had to protect you from your own actions.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Were you hurt at all?”

“Other than my ego you mean?” You decided to finally sit up and brush the dirt off your robes. “I think I’ll be alright thanks to your quick thinking.” Satisfied that you were okay, Anakin walked off to continue what he’d been working on.

“Well, from now on stay close to Anakin and I. I would hate for something to happen to you.” Obi Wan declared as he helped you to your feet. He cast a casual glace over his shoulder at Anakin before whispering to you. “You’re my favorite student after all, [Y/N].” He gave you a reassuring pat on your shoulder before joining Anakin once again.

“[Y/N], What are you doing out here?” You swung around to see the disapproving look of Master Obi Wan Kenobi towering over you. He always seemed to be wearing that expression around you lately. “It’s freezing! Where is your cloak?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a little chilly.” You shivered. Truthfully you’d noticed it was cold well before that, but someone on the Council had thought it was a good idea to take a few classes of Younglings on a field trip to an ice planet so that they could practice warming themselves with the force. You’d been mostly utilizing this same strategy until Obi Wan had come over and broke your concentration.

“And your cloak?” He repeated.

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story.” You confessed, digging the toe of your boots into the snow.

“The sooner you explain yourself, the sooner we can get on the warm ship.” He nodded his head to the ship where all the younglings were already loaded inside and wrapped in blankets.

“One of the younglings from the Bear Clan forgot their cloak and it was too cold for them to be practicing this exorcise without one. It’s been many years since I passed this class so I was confident I could warm myself with the force while the younglings conducted their lesson. It mostly worked. Then You asked me to stay out here to make sure the younglings were all loaded inside the ship safely. Now I’ve done that…but I’ve been getting colder and colder for the last half hour.”

“Well of course you have! You’re not meant to be out here doing that for hours at a time. You’re not experienced enough yet.” Obi Wan shrugged his own wool cloak off and wrapped you up in it. He ushered you inside the ship and closed the cargo hatch. “Why would you not just tell me that you leant your robe to one of the younglings? I would have asked someone else to check them in or simply done it myself.”

“I didn’t want the Youngling to get in trouble for forgetting.” You explained. “Also, I would do anything if you were the one asking me to.” The second comment had come almost accidentally. You’d mumbled it and hadn’t expected the Master to hear.

“Get a blanket from Master Yoda, [Y/N].” Obi Wan ordered, his expression unreadable. “We’ll talk about this more when we’re back at the temple.”

“Okay.” You nodded and quietly walked further into the ship where Master Yoda was ensuring all the younglings had survived their fieldtrip.

“Oh, [Y/N], what have you done now?” Even through the foggy haze of the medication you’d been given you could tell he was upset, no, disappointed. You closed your eyes either from tiredness or embarrassment and willed him to go away.

“It seems Master Yoda’s Padawan has broken her leg. And her nose. And possibly her arm.” You heard the voice of Master Windu explain. “She will be fine, but it’s going to take some time.”

“Acted impulsively my student has.” Master Yoda sighed. “Should have looked before she jumped.”

“That’s [Y/N] alright.” Obi Wan sighed too.  

“Perhaps we should come back when she is awake.” Master Windu suggested.

“Yes, rest and reflection, [Y/N] must do.” You heard the hobble of Master Yoda’s small feet and cane followed by the sound of Masters Windu and Kenobi’s boots as they all left your room. You opened your eyes and sighed yourself.

“They’re so pissed at me.” You commented. The Jedi Masters weren’t exactly wrong. You had acted impulsively but if you hadn’t jumped from that rooftop you may not have been able to save that little girl from the Acklay that had been chasing her.

“Was it worth it?” Your eyes shot up at the door, you hadn’t heard Obi Wan circle back and re-approach your room. “Come now, [Y/N], I’ve seen you sleeping enough during my lectures to know when you’re faking.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just not ready to hear from Master Windu and Master Yoda about how badly I screwed up. But I guess I get to hear it from you now so that’s fun.” You huffed wishing it wouldn’t be too painful to cross your arms and pout like a youngling.

“I’m not here to discipline you, [Y/N].” Obi Wan crossed from the doorway to your bed.

“Right, you’re here for the high ground, I forgot.” You laughed at your own very stale joke.

“No, I came to make sure you were going to be alright.” Your felt his fingers brush against the top of your hand. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to you.” Obi Wan combed a hand through his hair. He looked as if he had something else he wanted to say. “I didn’t think I’d ever admit this to you or anyone but…” His sentence trailed off. Obi Wan stared at you, his eyes locked directly on yours. When he spoke next it seemed as if he was changing the subject. “When I’d heard that you’d been hurt, that you’d done something so impulsive…Why are you always so reckless when it comes to your personally safety?” He demanded, looking away from you.

“Normally I’d make a joke about not getting enough attention as a kid, ya know, the temple’s not exactly known for it’s coddling.” You reminded him. “But, honestly? Adrenalin is a hell of a drug. You should try it some time. Haven’t you ever wanted to do something impulsively?” With what little strength you could muster you reached your hand out weakly and grasped hold of his. “Tell me, Obi Wan. What would it take, to get you to act on your instincts just once?”

Perhaps it was the small crack in your voice at the end of your question. Maybe it was the frail squeeze that you’d given his hand, or it might have been the pleading look in your eyes. It may well have been a combined effect of all three mixed with his own swelling emotions. For the first time in his life, Obi Wan Kenobi wasn’t thinking with his head. His heart was telling him to kiss you, so that’s exactly what he did. Cradling you delicately in his arms, he brought your lips to his. It was a brief kiss, but in that short time the two of you conveyed every emotion to each other that you’d never been able to say aloud.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 9)

She sees him standing at the edge of the garden. She thinks that he has probably been there for quite some time. She can’t say just when he’d gotten there having been so absurdly invested in this one stubborn turnip. She has gotten this far without getting so much as a smudge on her face and she would like to keep it that way, for once. She huffs and, without taking her eyes off of Hajime, gives it one more sturdy pull. It gives way with more force than she had anticipated and she is thrown back. She lands in the dirt with a soft thud and a wince.

She hears Hajime stifle a snorting laugh before leaping over the fence and holding out his hand. She ignores it, stands herself up, and brushes off her pants.

“You alright?”

“Perfect.” She mutters. “Where’s Atsu.” The boy would have been howling with laughter.

“With Caihong and her father.”

“Wong-Fin is supposed to be here. Helping me.” She frowns.

“He said that you told him last night that you didn’t need his help and that you are more than capable of harvesting this whole damn garden yourself.”

Azula slightly purses her lips. “Yes, I said was capable, not that I wanted to.”

Hajime quirks a brow. “Well, ‘I don’t need your help’, sure is a funny way of saying that you don’t want to work alone.” He leans back against the fence.

She presses her lips together and wraps her fingers around the leaves of another turnip. It is a hot day. Her stomach gives a little flutter; since when has she ever thought the Earth Kingdom to be hot place. The turnip leaves nearly slip from her fingers. She gives it a pluck and it comes up roots and all. Roots. She is losing hers.

She chucks the vegetable into the wheelbarrow without turning around.

“Nice throw.” Hajime comments.

She absently reaches for the next turnip. She wonders doesn’t know why she is so upset, isn’t that what she has been wanting? To slowly shed her roots until there is nothing left of them? But now that the first signs of them browning and curling have shown up, she isn’t so certain.

“You alright?” Hajime asks.

She shakes her head. “Fine. I’m just…”

“Overworking yourself?” He asks.

“Perhaps a little.”

“Here, let me.”

“Ojihara will…”

“Just be happy to know that the job is getting done. Actually, he doesn’t have to pay me so he’ll probably love this.”

“Yes, if you do it right.”

“How hard can plucking a turnip be?”

What an innocent man he is. “Take a basket.” She gestures to them. “And once we finish with the turnips we have to get the radishes and the carrots and…” she sighs. “My hands are going to be so rough by the time I’m done.”

He takes one of her grimy hands and runs a finger over her palm. “They’re still pretty soft.”

“Yes. I said that they won’t be when I’m through with this garden.”

He tilts his head. She can sense him observing her as she fusses with the next few turnips. After a fifth comes free she tosses a glance over her shoulder. “What?”

He shrugs. “Just trying to figure out where you come from. I don’t know many people who have ever had the luxury of worrying about having soft hands.”

Said hands tense around the turnip. She curses herself inwardly for another careless slip up.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me. It’s probably bad enough having Atsu constantly digging for answers.”

“He’s fine.”

“That’s not what you said when we first met.”

“I didn’t say that he wasn’t fine. I said that he is unruly and undisciplined and I stand by that.” She shrugs. “But he also believes me when I tell him that I was born in the woods and fought four sabertooth moose-lions at once.”

“In his defense, I feel like you very well could have taken on at least two.”  He pauses. “I guess that explains why he’s been begging me to ask you to take him moose-lion hunting.”

“I already told him no.”

“He’s very persistent.”

“Undisciplined.” She corrects.

Hajime rolls his eyes and she wonders if she is pressing her luck. She wishes that she could shake this habit of antagonizing people who mean her no harm at all. People who, she looks at a fully harvested turnip garden, only help her. “I’m not good at this.”

“Not good at this? You’ve only been here for about an hour and we have the turnips completely harvested.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not good at being…” sociable, friendly, warm, lovable. “A nice person.”

“What are you talking about?”

He has been here this whole time and she can’t even swallow her pride enough to truly thank him for his help. “You’re tired of me telling you how to raise your son.”

He slightly purses his lips and tilts his head as if to indicate ‘so-so’, “eh, a little bit, yes.”

She makes her way towards the radishes and he follows along.

“You know what’s good about being a dad?” He asks when she doesn’t reply. “It teaches you patience.”

“Are you...comparing me to a child?”

He laughs, “I guess, sort of. Yeah. Children also don’t really regard how others feel, they just say what they think.” He shifts his weight. “For all of your secrets, you’re very forthright.”

She doesn’t think that this is a compliment. “I’m not a child. I know how to curb my tongue.”

“But you don’t know which things to curb.”

He isn’t exactly wrong.

“I guess it’s more like, I don’t know...sometimes you just say things that are…” he looks upwards. “Offhanded.”

“Yes.” She agrees. “As I said, I am not good at this. And that is why I like being alone.” She yanks a radish free. “That’s why I should be alone. I don’t like it.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.” He says. “You should talk to more people until it starts coming easier.” He smiles.

“You’re the first person who’s willing to put up with it.”

“The first, maybe. But not the only person. He might not seem it, but old man Oji will. He’ll fuss and argue. He might tell you not to come back on his doorstep ever again but when you knock the next time, he’ll let you in.”

Her fingers curl around the pendant hanging from her neck.

“What’s that?”

“Ojihara gave it to me. An apology present.” She stoops back down and the necklace falls forward, glinting in the light as it swings about.

Hajime smiles. “See my point?”

She rises from her crouch and releases the radish. “I might.” She gives a soft pant and wipes her forehead. She thinks that she has only added dirt to the mix.

He stares at her for some time.  She fidgets with the necklace before turning back to her work.

“You’re pretty.”

Her face colors some.

“And your son didn’t come from nowhere.”

“You might not be nice but I know that you’re not a bad person.” He remarks. “I wouldn’t be flirting with other women if his mother was still around.”

Her face colors further. It would seem as though she hasn’t been reading things to deeply, over analyzing them to the point her head hurt. And by Agni, she wishes that she were.

“Oh, man.” He rubs the back of his head. “I came on a bit strong, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head. No stronger than she would have came on, anyhow. But that doesn’t mean she is comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean that she is entirely off put either.

“I know that you’ve only been around for a few weeks and that we spent the first one bickering…”

He thinks that she is pretty. With sweat slicked at her brow and mud caked on her face and clinging in clumps to her disheveled hair. He thinks that she is pretty. That she is worth being patient for.

“Thank you.” She mutters before she loses the compulsion to say it.

“For making you hate this village for the first week?”

She rolls her eyes. For making her feel like she has a chance. For making her feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. For not writing her off after a whole week of snubbing, judging, and resenting.  For patience. “For helping me with the turnips.”

He laughs, “that’s what you want to thank me for?”

She opens her mouth but only nods. She thinks that he knows that it is more than that. Somehow he knows.

“I know that you’re busy with the harvest. But, once it’s over, I’d like spend more time with you. Atsu does too. We can attend the harvest festival.”

She swallows. He is getting much too close and in such a short span of time. She still has to get to Chin. She shouldn’t let herself get tethered down and attached to someone like him. Someone with a genuinely kind soul. The sort that hers isn’t compatible with for any other reason than corrupting it. She has acquired more than enough coin to last her through the year, she ought to leave in the morning. “I’ve never been to a harvest festival…”

She hasn’t said yes but his face lights up and she can’t bring herself to steal it away after sowing it, however unwittingly. “I suppose this one would be a good place to start.”

“You’ll love it.” He promises. His hand wraps around her and he squeezes. “It’ll be a chance for you to socialize some more.”

“If you say so.”

She’s never really been hugged before. Not in a long while. Not like this. If only Ojihara hadn’t clamored down the porch steps, demanding that she start giving the radishes that much attention.

“I’ll see you at the festival.”

She nods. And now it is a promise.

That day she learns what it means to be gracious.

.oOo.

At first she thinks that it is just her. But it isn’t, Capital City is larger. There are walkways that weren't there before and stores that she has never shopped at. Granted she has never done much shopping for herself before fleeing, but she doesn’t recognize these ones.

“It’s different, Sokka.”

“You like it?”

“Not at all.” The world has moved on without her. Somehow she always imagined that the world would come to a standstill for her. Afterall, how could a nation function without its princess. She supposes she isn’t nearly as important as she had imagined.

She had been important to someone. Several someones. She was for a short blissful burst. She is once again important to no one.

“Are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know you just…” He trails off. “Your eyes.”

“What about them?”

“They always look so sad. You used to be…”

Powerful, bold, lucky. She used to have a promising future. At the very least she had an illusion of potential. She isn’t so sure that her luck was ever genuine. How could it have been when so much was missing. How could it be when those things are missing again.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to talk about it?”

She nods quite vigorously, as though she can shake the blood soaked memories from her head. “Let’s just…” she gestures to a food cart. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

She sets a few coins on the wooden countertop. “Two servings of rice balls, extra spice.”

“Okay, take some spice off of one of those!” Sokka calls to the cook.

Azula rolls her eyes. “You really can’t handle a little spice?”

“I can’t handle extra spice.”

Azula shrugs. “Most people can’t.” Hajime could.

The cook comes back with their rice balls. She takes a bit and closes her eyes, they water some as the spices tickle her nose. How she has missed that burning tingle in the back of her throat. She will have to build her tolerance up again.

“They’re too spicy for you too!” Sokka jabs.

“Are not.” She grumbles. She damn near shoves the rest of the rice balls into her mouth just to prove a point. She might have were she still in the Earth Kingdom. In the Fire Nation she has more dignity than that. “They’re spiced perfectly to my liking.”

“Then why is your face red?”

“Because you are aggravating and it’s making me angry.”

He cringes and her stomach plummets. There is a new burning tickle in her throat. She misses when people can tell when she is only jesting. “You’re still afraid of me.”

“N-no.” His stutter doesn’t help his lie. “Maybe a little.” He confesses. “It’s just hard for me to…”

“Tell when I’m actually unhappy.”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his head.

“I’ll make it easy for you. I am unhappy more often than not.” She is almost never happy.

“Well if you ever want to get it off of your chest…”

She almost does. The story and its memories runs circles in her mind. The words are always there waiting at the very edge of her tongue. But the fact remains that he is still one of several people that she has tormented in the past. And yet his eyes offer nothing but earnest warmth. She has learned to forgive and be forgiven. She doesn’t understand why she is afraid to put this lesson to use. And then she does understand; she has learned another more profound lesson and it has led her to a darkness like no other.

“Thanks for the offer.”

“But you’re declining?”

“I am.”

“Alright.”

“You’re not going to push it?”

“I’m just glad that you’re giving me a chance at all, even if I ask too many questions.” He laughs. “To be honest, I don’t know what made you decide to do that.”

She doesn’t tell him that it’s because he didn’t leave her. Agni knows what she would have done if he left her alone that night. She shrugs, “I need someone to talk to and you’re willing.”

She hears a chuckle from behind. “You’re willing.” He repeats. She thinks that she recognizes him. She has seen him at several war meetings in the past. He is older now, his hair greyer. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

“For what?”

“Just humor me, princess.”

She crinkles her nose. “I’m your princess, not an entertainer.”

The general chuckles again. “Yer. Yer princess.” He repeats again. “It’s always a shame when culture slips away. And from such an embodiment of our nation. What happened to you, princess?”

“Nothing that I can’t make happen to you, if I so please.”

“Nothin’...” The man’s mouth is caught between a sneer and a grin. “Nothin’...” he tsks. “I did hear it going around that you have spent much time in the Earth Kingdom. Welcome home princess, you should probably work on -re-assimilating.”

“I can have you cast to the lowest rings of the Earth Kingdom. I can name several slums suitable for you.”

“Have you lived in them, princess? Groveled in them?”

She gives a haunty sniff. “My lodgings were comfortable.” Very comfortable. Perhaps warmer and cozier than anything she has ever found here. “And, by all means, I have taken well to living in luxury again.” She sweeps a generous curtain of expertly groomed hair over her shoulders. A waft of citrus ebbs from her tresses. She wishes that she truly has readjusted as well as she boasts. “The palace does fit me, wouldn’t you say?” She crosses one leg over the other and fixes him with a smirk that doesn’t breach any further than the surface. And that might just be exactly why he takes a step back with a stumbled, “of course, princess.”

She waves him off with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“You uh...haven’t lost your touch.”

Part of her wishes that she has.

.oOo.

“I suppose that, that’s agreeable.” Sokka hears her conclude.

Mostly, the conversation seems to be going well for her, minus a rather stiff manner of speaking.

“You’re talking to your friends, Azula.” Zuko laughs. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

Azula rubs her hands over her face. When she brings them down again it reveals a face riddled with confusion. It is almost endearing. Sokka can’t remember her ever being so expressive. “But they aren’t. We just agreed that we aren’t friends yet.”

This time it is TyLee who laughs. “Maybe we should show her some mercy, Mai?”

“You can.” Mai grumbles. “Friendship is earned and it’s going to take more than a few bewildered expressions. A lot more.”

Azula shifts in her chair.

“Mai.” TyLee says as the woman stands.

“It’s fine, TyLee.” She shifts again. “I understand. I think.”

“Well it’s progress, right?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah...yes, sure, progress.”

And then it strikes him. It strikes him that it isn’t just a stiffness in her voice… He waits for Zuko and TyLee to stand up and leave; TyLee to fetch some pajamas and Zuko to spend some quiet time with Mai. Azula rises from her chair. “Did you enjoy the performance, you can’t get entertainment like that from the Ember Island Players.”

“Not really, Azula.” He is well aware that it is only a rather dry joke but it falls short, swept away by the distress that birthed it. “It’s hard to watch someone force something.”

“It wasn’t forced.” Azula frowns. “I meant all of those things.”

He gives a sad laugh. “I know. That’s not what I’m talking about. I was expecting that to be all kinds of awkward. I didn’t expect you to care so much about that general.”

She furrows her brows.

“You don’t have to force it, I’m sure that after you’ve been here and around it for a while you’ll have your old accent back.” He pauses. “But until then, I kind of like your new one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a blend of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation nobility speak before.” It’s unique. It’s her. A more authentic her. He’d wager that Zuko no longer hears his father in her voice. “If you ask me, it’s like keeping a little piece of...of everything. Of where you’ve been and who you’ve talked to.” Of change. He thinks that maybe, just listening to her speak has reassured him. That, that might be, at least in part, why he has been so quick to open up to her.

A muscle in her jaw works. “A piece of everything, huh?”

He nods.

“Maybe yer right. I’ll think about it, Sokka.”

He doesn’t think that she will. Even if she doesn’t know it, he thinks that she has already decided.

[cynicalclassicist]

Education, Education, Education

Set between The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords

Written by FELIX O’KELLY

The Year that Never Was

The Valiant

The Master sat in the Valiant, looking out across the world he ruled supreme. He smiled. Construction on the ships were on schedule. His remodelling of the Lincoln Memorial had gone well, despite some resistance his forces had entered the Capitol and established his rule. Construction at Rushmore was going perfectly, after he’d had a few public executions. There had been a few rebellions in Scotland, helped by friends of the previous Prime Minister, but a short sharp shock had put those down. Despite that trouble with the Loch Ness Monster. The Norwegian resistance was giving him some trouble, spray-painting Quislings onto the local security offices and disappearing into the woods. But the woods were being chopped down to fuel his industry and soon there would be nowhere left to hide.

And meanwhile, as Earth groaned under his rule, he ripped it up, its plains, its valleys, opening its hills with spacious wounds, digging out masses of minerals to fuel his fleet. The Earth Reptile bases occasionally found as the Earth was torn apart were an utter joy. The Master could sometimes get so tired of only oppressing humans, killing a few Earth Reptiles could add real spice to otherwise dull weeks. Sometimes they even made good slaves! And some new weapons for his fleet as well…

The Master glanced at a map of his world. The Doctor did like those lovely crinkly edges of Norway. Maybe it was time for a bit of remodelling.

There was a cough behind him, and he turned. “And what can I do for you!”

Captain Ironside, who the Master had given the role to partially because he liked the name, saluted. “Master. We’ve brought him.”

“Splendid!” smiled the Master. He glided gleefully down the rail as a figure was dragged in, beaten and bloody.

“Nicholas Clough, I presume!” said the Master.

He recognised the man of course. Nicholas Clough had been one of the rising stars of politics only recently, being promoted to Education Secretary by Harriet Jones. Yet when the fall of Harriet Jones happened, he had left the Cabinet with her. In the election in which Harold Saxon had finally risen to Prime Minister, Clough had announced he was stepping down as MP for Hazelhurst East, a position he had held since the 9th of April 1992. It was the first time Saxon had seen him since then.

The man looked up, through a black eye. “Saxon.”

“Oh, that was the name I used, but you know I am the Master!” sneered the Time Lord. He whipped out his laser screwdriver at which the guards stepped back. But the Master laughed. “Not yet! Haven’t had a good chin-wag since I had that Shaw brought here. Though she was a tad disappointing… not even killing her was exciting.” He turned and grinned horribly at the Doctor, who sat there in his wheelchair. “But the look on your face made it all worthwhile! Just like when I told you about Miss Grant and the grandchildren she… had.”

The Doctor’s face burned with hatred at this.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” asked Nicholas.

The man he had known as Harold Saxon pirouetted round like a ballerina. “Well, you have been spreading some very hurtful things about me” he replied. “And I heard that you met a certain… Martha.” He savoured the word a moment, then spat it out, trying to stay composed.

Nicholas smiled. “Yes. We talked a bit about the Doctor. I’d been wondering who that fellow was ever since Harriet Jones made that broadcast on Christmas.”

“Well, here he is!” The Master pulled the Doctor out of the wheelchair. “Here you are, Mr Clough! Here is the wonderful Doctor!” He flung him back in, the Doctor remaining silent, with the aura of one used to this humiliation.

Nicholas looked worried but composed himself. “Well, there are plenty who resist you still.”

“Yes… Harriet is proving a bit elusive herself” said the Master, his face turning ugly again. “But of course, you were close to her!”

“I left when she did,” replied Nicholas.

“Loyalty… an unusual trait in a politician” replied Saxon. “I should know! Plenty were happy to flock to my banner!” He laughed. “Remember that loathsome Oscar Sudders? Harriet’s Health Secretary? Jumped at the chance to become my Defence Secretary! And that idiot from Richfield South. And of course, the old fool Dumfries! The look on their faces when I made the reshuffle…”

“I’m certainly glad I didn’t take the chance to be your Education Secretary!” said Nicholas.

“So much for wanting to educate!” laughed the Master. “I know how much you politicians talk about education, education, education!”

“Well, I was leaving politics anyway,” said Nicholas. “And I am happy to keep educating people.”

“Oh, what would you need to educate them about!” asked the Master. He pointed upwards. “I have my network, broadcasting the right ideas into their minds! I even have a few loudspeakers set up if I want to give a message!”

He pushed some buttons as if playing a piano, pulled a lever and yelled down the receiver. “PEOPLES OF EARTH! THIS IS YOUR MASTER! JUST TESTING!” He smiled at Nicholas. “It’s 1:15 in that part of the world, it should make the people jump!” He gave a laugh. “Not that it’s too dissimilar to many politicians in the days before my rule, this sort of propaganda! The sheer amount of awful Parties I had to go to to get Ru…” He paused and looked sullen at this memory, then brightened.

“But enough of that! I recall a piece you wrote about me, just before the election! It was called Why I will not be voting Saxon!”

“I think there are a lot of people who regret voting for you now” replied Nicholas.

“Well they should have thought of that beforehand. Not that they ever read your magnum opus. It got pulled due to a word from his Lordship the Paper’s owner, but he was kind enough to send me a copy!”

Like a conjurer the Master produced a paper. He smirked at the Doctor. “I’ve been teaching myself magic! I recall you liked those when you were that little man with the umbrella! Travelling with that… what was it… Dorothy?”

“Ace” said the Doctor. “Her name was Ace.”

“Oh yes! Ace! I remember telling you about her last stand with the Nitro-9… excellent chemical, I’m bottling a bit of it myself for a rainy day! Where was I… ah, the article!”

The Master began reading.

“Let’s see… Clough calls me the most dangerous man in Britain.”

“I was too kind, you’re the most dangerous man in the world” replied Nicholas.

“Oh, still too kind, the Universe!” The Master continued. “Brings up… oh yes, that little car accident which meant I just happened to be elected an MP! Poor old Charles Lichen!” He chuckled horribly. “Talks about dubious businessmen… Well, Salamander is doing some good work for me. And Van Statten’s collection has all sorts of lovely weapons for mass-production!” He commenced skimming the article. “Badmouths me, surprisingly nice about the Shadow Attorney General, badmouths Brian Green… Brings up Lazarus…” The Master was practically blushing as he read of his sinister deeds and scheming. “You’re too kind! I almost wish I could give you a job!”

“Well there will always be people like me, ready to educate against people like you!” said Nicholas. “And that’s what Martha is doing! Giving people hope!”

“Your pathetic people haven’t got a hope!” spat the Master.

“Doesn’t matter how many times you say that, it doesn’t make it true!” replied Nicholas, standing defiantly. “I kept telling people what Martha told me and I’m happy to have done so!”

A smile formed on the Doctor’s face, the first proper one in weeks. The Master glanced around, and his eyes narrowed. He turned back to Nicholas.

“Perhaps.” He took out his laser screwdriver and fired it, blasting Clough to the ground.

“Leave it wherever you found it,” he laughed to Ironside. “I’ll tell the people it’s an education!”

“You didn’t need to do that” said the Doctor angrily.

“No. But it’s fun!”

The Master turned to his transmitters. “Peoples of the Earth, please attend carefully.” He winked at the Doctor. “I always love saying that.” He continued. “I had a meeting with Nicholas Clough. A most educating experience. Just thought I’d let Miss Jones know that! And that I look forward to meeting her!”

But far away Martha continued telling her stories, telling the people of someone who fought against evil. Of giant crabs, of Daleks, of atmosphere-cleaning whales intended to destroy humanity, time-travelling assassins and more. And eventually the stories she told grew in the minds of the people and ended the tyranny of the Master.

And on that day, time snapped back a year. The Toclafane decimation vanished and few remembered the rule of the Master. Instead they watched as the Prime Minister was shot and died.

But they moved on and life went on. The papers about Saxon were covered up by the Lord High Chancellor Brian Green, including Clough’s Why I will not be Voting Saxon, citing security concerns.

Though with plenty more troubles and tricksters like the Master the world was not yet safe…

28th February 2021

England

Nicholas Clough glanced at his article, Why I will not be voting Saxon, written all those years ago. After some lobbying, he had finally been able to get it released for the memoirs he was writing, probably helped by the fact Brian Green was no longer in Parliament. Not many people seemed interested now in history. He sometimes wondered if the country would ever learn, especially as they kept making the same mistakes, falling for the same tricks. Not just in this country even!

But he had to keep trying. And maybe, one day, people would learn. Maybe they would see through the lies that the powerful told. Where there was life, there was hope. Even in the darkest of times.

[fatefulfaerie]

Priority (Part 1/2)

Wind Waker Link and milk for @chocolit-mxlk. 

He silently begrudged his height as he crossed his arms over the wood of the counter, his shoulders popping up. He knew this was normally a place for adults but he had to get taller sometime.

Right?

“Hey Link,” Gillian said. “What can I get for you today?”

“Four deku nut cakes,” Link ordered.

“Those pirates have you running errands again?” She said with a smile, adoring the boy.

“Yeah,” Link replied with a shrug.

“Anything else?” She prompted.

“Do you have the Lon Lon Milk in yet?” Link asked.

“Sorry, Link,” Gilllian said. “The island we get it from still hasn’t sent any shipments. I’d go ask myself but my pop is still sick. I can’t leave him alone and if I leave the cafe, I lose business. All we can do is practice patience and wait for them to sort themselves out. Everyone got hit by what has been happening on these oceans recently. It’s only a matter of time before they recover.”

Link nodded as Gillian placed a stack of four individually boxed deku nut cakes. Link looked forward to having something sweet on the ship, but doubted Tetra would let him have all he wanted.

“That comes to forty rupees,” Gillian prompted, Link pulling a purple gem from his pocket, to which Gillian furrowed her brow. She thought upon the oddity of a youth like him having so much money on him, but didn’t remark at it.

“Do you need change?” She asked.

“No, I…” Link started. “Can you tell me where that island is? I want to check for you.”

“You’re tipping me ten rupees for information?” She questioned. “Shouldn’t I be paying you for helping me get to the bottom of it all?”

Link shrugged.

“I...I don’t know,” Link said. “Is that normal? I just want to help.”

Gillian smiled. What a strange boy.

“It’s not far,” she said. “Straight north of Crescent Island. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thanks,” Link said with a nod and smile before taking the stack of cakes into his hands.

He started towards the door.

“Link,” Gillian prompted, Link looking behind him.

She tossed the purple rupee, Link catching it with nothing but surprise as he held the cakes with one arm.

“Humility is rare,” she said. “And so is selflessness. Do me a second favor and don’t grow out of them.”

Link nodded in acknowledgement before departing.

“You want to do what now?”

“It’s an island to the north,” Link explained. “It’s where the cows are, where their milk supply comes from.”

“Yeah, you’re on your own,” Tetra said, her head hung over the map. Their ship was docked at Windfall, yet it still was rocked by the waves of the ocean. “You have a lot to learn about pirates if you think milk is of any priority. This isn’t a cargo ship. Actually, it took quite a while to convince the boys that you weren’t cargo yourself. If you want to go off on your own, go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” Link tried to explain, but she was already walking away.

“I would come back!” He called after her.

But she had already closed the door to the innards of the ship, Link huffing a sigh of impatience before following in.

He looked from his right to left before seeing the burly pirate Nudge.

“Can’t allow you to go further, scrub,” Nudge said. “Miss Tetra’s cabin is private to her and her only.”

Tetra stood with a smirk and crossed arms just behind him.

“She’s right there!” Link said with a gesture pointing at her. “Can you just step aside?”

He didn’t budge. Link shook his head, forgetting about convincing this pirate out of his duty.

“Will you at least wait for me?” He asked Tetra, meeting her eyes past Nudge.

“Wait for you?” She retorted with a slight laugh.

“To get back from the island.”

“I suppose my boys can spend a few extra days here in Windfall,” Tetra said. “If they feel like it.”

“We’re staying longer?!” Niko asked from below the stairs, among the many pirates who were loading supplies. “That sounds great!”

Tetra’s eyes burned with frustration at his stupidity, her eyelids twitching.

“If we feel like staying,” she continued nonetheless. “Then maybe we’ll see you again. But you’re not in charge of anything. If we get a tip on a good loot, we’re gone. Not exactly part of our code to wait for people, especially people like you. We would get on without you fine.”

Link peered at her stoicism. He knew her better than her current demeanor. This ship hadn’t pirated anyone for as long as he’d been in the picture. Perhaps her main concern at one point, it wasn’t anymore.

“Right,” he said slowly.

They were both there when the King of Hyrule instructed them to find new land together. He knew her better than the front she put up. Perhaps cold on the outside, he had seen her vulnerability clear as day when she assumed her identity as Princess Zelda.

Link copied Tetra’s smirk.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going then,” Link said, walking off. “See ya later, Princess.”

Her face fumed red with anger at that one word. Tetra pushed herself past Nudge only to see the door to the outside latching closed.

She pursed her lips.

“Remind me again why he joined our crew?” Nudge asked.

“He’s good with a sword,” Tetra reasoned. “Better than any of you. Besides, he bested Niko. Anyone that can put that sniveling sailor in his place is welcome on this ship.”

“But he’s so small,” argued the pirate.

“He’s as tall as I am,” Tetra said, looking behind her to Nudge. “Is there a problem with that?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “O-of course not, Miss. No problem at all.”

“Thought so,” Tetra said, facing the door again.

Her eyes scanned the door and thought about chasing after Link with what she wanted to say. A good luck or a goodbye that came from a place within her that was hard to dig for. Only when she wore that dress or when she saw him come face to face with death was her sincerity easy to access.

Here, she was the pirate Tetra, the orphan, the successor to her mother. Her crew saw her a certain way but Link saw that side of her that her mother’s death had hidden. In fact, it was him and his adventures that pulled it out of her, proved it existed. Maybe someday she would learn to show it again.

“Don’t die, Link,” she said quietly, apparently to no one. “You’re good at not dying. Keep it up.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small red boat creaked as the sail folded down, the wind that had caught upon the sail now whizzing past the boat instead, the speed of the boat slowing considerably.

His brown boots sank into the sand as soon as they could, Link hopping down from the soulless form of the King of Red Lions.

The island was larger than Windfall as he peered with wide eyes. The ground was flat and, after a stretch of sand, had green grass that spread for at least a mile. If this island were on his map, it likely would have taken up most of its designated square.

Link saw the cows in the distance as he walked towards the first house, as well as other animals like pigs and sheep and cuccos. He knocked on the door with the courage he could always depend on.

“Come in,” he heard a voice holler.

The man Link opened the door to was surprised, his eyebrows moving upwards with a twinge.

“Well, hello young man,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Cafe Bar on Windfall Island.”

“Yes, I expected someone would come eventually,” he said with a couple nods. “Although I expected it to be that Gillian. My son actually fancies her quite a bit.”

Link’s expression was unchanged, only blinking in his unamusement.

The man cleared his throat.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I suppose you’ll understand when you’re older. If you’re here about the milk shipments, there’s nothing I can do. You see, there were rumors of a Ghost Ship around these parts. I didn’t believe it and sent shipments anyway, but none of them ever came back. I lost two ships, two men, and about four dozen boxes of goods. I’m not risking it again.”

“But the Ghost Ship is gone,” Link said with a creased brow. “I got rid of it myself.”

“You?” The man said with a slight chuckle. “You expect me to believe some nine-year-old got rid of a ship that haunts the seas?”

“I’m twelve,” Link corrected.

“Still.”

“Send me to Windfall with a shipment of milk,” Link insisted with a step forward. “If I make it there and back in one piece with the rupees I receive from Gillian, then you will start sending shipments again. If I die, you can keep the rupees I leave here, as well as anything you’d like from the pirates of these seas.”

“How do you know them?” The man asked.

Link held his hand in offering without answering the question.

“Deal?” Link prompted with a tip of his head.

The man hesitated.

“How much money are we talking about?”

Keeping his hand right where it was, Link pulled out his entire wallet and threw it to the man, who caught it with a visible surprise.

He looked inside and his eyes immediately widened before scrunching it closed.

“For Farore’s sake, how does a twelve year old kid get so much money?” He whispered.

“Deal?” Link repeated.

The man let out a chuckle. All this just for some milk? This kid must have known he was getting the short end of the stick.

But, if he’s going to profit off of some kid and his death wish, then he may as well profit from it. The deal literally ended in either business with Windfall that would set him and his family for life or an amount of rupees that would set him and his family for life.

“Deal,” he said, shaking Link’s hand.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (Part III)

N/A: So, here we go. Show don´t tell is one of those things I want to perfect and I hope I can do ok here.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

Going to a new job is always brings new sensations. Hopes. Maybe even dreams. And Kitty Pryde would like to say she´s ready to begin this new journey with a big smile. "Oh God, what the hell I get myself into?!" she says as her mirror shows her reflection with a nervous smile and swallows hard as once again Kitty is in the waiting room- the waiting room has no signal of the big wedding and in exchange, there´re magazines covering the new sensation. A Hollywoodian celebrity is dating a mutant- inhales and exhales.

Is all Kitty can do. The receptionist appears to be a succubus- is not something to point out, but, the receptionist looks way too much Like Gloriana If, and is a big if here, wasn´t be the eyes. Her eyes are too unnatural to belong to Gloriana- and well it gives ideas as if this is a look a succubus would dig or if is about her "dates"

"Good morning, Miss Pryde, right on time...good, he loves people that are punctual," she says with an upward smile. She types something really quick in her laptop. Once the laptop gives a small sound more or less like "Blink" the receptionist gives her total attention to Kitty. "Mr. Krampus is in room 23. He´s moving out thanks to his work...he´ll need space" and she gives her a key. And nods as if this end the conversation.

"What? how I get to room 23?" Kitty asked confused. And the receptionist has a resting bitch face- or, maybe, the receptionist thinks poor on Kitty´s intelligence and Kitty will have none of that- she punches the table site separating Kitty and the so-called succubus hard. The succubus couldn´t care less.

Kitty holds the key and channels all her unfamous "mean cat spirit" to deal with this situation. "Listen, How in the hell I´ll go to a room 23 if ..." the words die off as Kitty is teleport right away. The succubus shakes her head and continues to do her work.

"Pff, mortals"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Room 23 is an oval room. The prominent colors are coffee-colored and a soft tone of blue. And a curious sight caught Kitty´s eyes- not the many strange objects that must remain nameless for now- it was the window...It is dark and snowing, yet, Kitty is 100% certain of the weather. "But...it was sunny this day...what happened?" and she looks at the window to see snow, and what appears to be a village. "Did I time travel or teleport?"

"The latter, Katzchen!" a voice whispered in her ear and is more than enough to cause Kitty to jump in her feet and gest away from the space she was, even if was a little-and turning to see her boss would be a good thing if this was a normal situation. Now, all Kitty wants to is one thing- "AHHHH I´ll not torture children" she exclaims.

Inwardly, Kitty will slap herself for being so brash. She had a big speech about this and even rehearsal that with Doug, and yet, she goes to the most cliche. For shame!

The woman pulls the Davi star out of her shirt and looks at her so-called boss. "Did you heard me? I´ll not torture children!" and if Kurt was seething and ready to mayhem, well, he´s looking perfectly calm as he takes a small candy, unwrapped, and eat it.

"Oh, I was wondering when you would found out" his smile is too charming for one who works as a tortured and Kitty´s hair goosebumps. "Ok, let´s make things clear. You´re not here to torture kids nor people. I´m. I need you to help my agenda and sometimes deliver things to the others" his golden eyes look at the key on Kitty´s hand- a small key that looks ordinary and plain- "and only that"

"Oh, but you´ll torture people? Great...want me to bring coffee to you too?" Kitty took a small knife and points at Krampus. The deity/fairy is too amused. Too amused and Kitty won´t speculate about why the man seems to happy to see a knife pointed at him.

"I´d not torture the innocents, Kitty, I torture those who have wicked souls. The children I took...is not little ones who watch porn or forget to do chores...no, I´m talking about kids who killed their younger brother, pets just because" and with a snap of his fingers the room changes and images of a young boy drowning a baby is showed much to her displeasure.

"I´m not a monster, Kitty, mere a force to punish the wick. Nothing more or less." Krampus concludes. His golden eyes seem ancient now. And an animalistic smile plays off. "I can show more of my victims...A man who shot his entire family for money. A woman who tried to murder her lover and his wife..." and Kitty raises her hand.

"STOP"

"That´s my work, Kitty...I see this every day and I´m very good in what I do"

"Could have told me" she faces him. Gritting her teeth as the room finally returns to normal. "I didn´t like to know what you do ...by a friend"

"Galaticus indicate you....this is new to me, and you´re right. I should have been more honest" his tone is full of mirth. "Do you still want to work with me?"

Yes?

No?

"Will I not have to torture anyone?"

"Yes, like I said...I only need you to organize my agenda and deliver things...only this"

Kitty exhales and slowly lower the knife. "If I stabbed you...would you felt any pain?"

"Oh, I would feel something but not what you´re imaging"

"Uhm...I think is what I´m imaging" she says holding the key closer now. _____________________________________________________________________________________________

By perchance Doug has an old movie about Krampus- well, old is an ambiguous term to use. The movie has not even 5 years old but as is the first Krampus movie...and the first to get not so favorable reviews...is easy to believe the movie is ancient-and Jubilee, Kitty, Bobby and Doug are invited to watch the movie.

"So...you´re working with Krampus?" Bobby asked bemused. "And Galaticus indicated you?"

"Yes...I have a magical contract if you want to see" Kitty responds a bit grumpy. "By the way, how are Scott and Jean?"

"Oh...yes, how are the couple?" Jubilee pipes as Doug is putting the movie on the DVD player.

"Scott and Jean are rightly pissed. They even refuse to use Prof X´s honeymoon vacation...instead, Doom...yes, I know...even they´re shocked, Doom over a nice honeymoon vacation to them and well, they´re traveling to Paris, Italy and Spain. I know, odd"

Doug then sits on the couch. "Odd love confessions aside...the movie will begin, let´s watch Kitty´s future working with Krampus"

And they silently watch the movie, especially the final part, where Krampus put all members of the family in a snowglobe.

"Well...Kitty, please don´t put us in a snowglobe"

"Speak to yourself...I can be in a snowglobe"

"Bobby, shut up"

And Kitty wonders if perhaps Galaticus hates her.

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Krampus is cleaning his tools when his friend, Santa, arrives at his office offering some snacks. "So, still wanting to keep Kitty as your secretary?" and Krampus stops what he was doing to gaze seriously at the old man´s piercing eyes.

"She really had no idea what I was...that was really new to me...and as I mentioned before...yes, I´ll keep her until the contract breaks"

"You think you two may get along?"

"I think she´ll have questions. I think she won´t bide her will to mine and that" Krampus licks his dry lips and shows all his teeth in a big grin. "and I like that very much....way better than the last one"

Now Santa scowls him. "You mean that poor and delusional witch from the wind ways who wanted to sleep with you and turn you in her personal dog? No shit, Sherlock"

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Amanda Szardos screams in fury when she got the word that Krampus got a new assistant. "A plain woman like her? Replace me?" and Amanda has to plot, has to be the smartest because she still needs Krampus to do her bidding and sex is not a viable coin for trade anymore.

"Then... the best thing to do is sabotage her work and Krampus will return to me"

[wild-aloof-rebel]

waited so long to say this to you

Five times they say "I do" (and one they don't).

- part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 -

“And now the forecast is saying there’s a thirty percent chance of rain! I know that’s not a guarantee, but it was only twenty percent when I looked yesterday, so it��s getting— What— Why are you stopping? What are we doing?”

Patrick pulls the car onto the grassy shoulder and puts it in park, ignoring the protests of his clearly over-stressed fiancé. He reaches behind the seat to dig through the insulated bag he’d managed to sneak into the car while David was ranting about all the ways Alexis has been adding to his to-do list since she got back last week, emerging with two pints of ice cream and two spoons. He hands the cookies and cream to David whose face does a thing where his eyes go big and wide with surprise while his mouth goes small and soft. It’s a study in contradictions, just like David himself, and it’s one of Patrick’s favorite looks; he cherishes every time he can manage to make it appear.

“What’s this?” David asks.

“You’re stressed about the wedding.” David scowls, as if Patrick is pointing out some dark secret. As if the pitch and cadence and length of his ranting over the last hour hadn’t given him away. “So we’re taking a break from the to-do list. Just for a few minutes,” he adds as panic begins to well up in David’s eyes. “We can have some ice cream, relax, and then we’ll go back home and tackle whatever else needs to be done tonight. So dig in before it gets too melty.”

For a moment, it looks like David might protest, but then he sags back against his seat, pulling the lid from the container. “I don’t like it when it’s melty.”

“I know.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, Patrick enjoying his maple walnut, feeding David a spoonful every time he takes a break from inhaling his own. Patrick loves how much David loves ice cream, loves the way his eyes close on the first bite, the way he lets it sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallows, relishing it like he’d forgotten just how good it is. Loves the way the rest of the pint disappears in exactly the opposite way, consumed with manic, childlike glee and gone before Patrick can finish a quarter of his own. Loves the way David will complain later, curled up in their bed with a bellyache, and Patrick will rub soothing circles into his skin and kiss him till it’s better.

“Why here?” David asks when he drops the spoon into his empty pint, looking out the window at Town Hall directly across the street.

It’s where they’re getting married next week. Precisely one week from today, they’ll be inside, somewhere in the middle of their ceremony, perhaps reciting their vows or sliding rings onto each other’s fingers. Patrick thinks he’ll probably be crying, whatever they’re doing. The happy tears will probably start the moment he sees David and won’t stop until sometime around their 50th anniversary. Maybe not even then.

He leans across the seat to kiss his fiancé, sticky and sweet, his cold tongue warmed by the heat of David’s, relishing the fizzy laughter he can taste there.

“Tell me about the rain,” he says when they part.

“It’s only a thirty percent chance.” The words are much less frantic this time, like David could be talking about the weather for tomorrow or some other day that isn’t their wedding day. “It’s probably nothing,” he says confidently, turning in his seat to lean back against the door, and Patrick watches the way his eyes slide over to look at Town Hall again, a soft, wistful smile settling across his lips.

“Probably,” Patrick agrees. “But what’s the backup plan if we need it?”

This is what they do. It’s what they’ve done with the store and what they’ve done in their relationship, and now it’s what they’re doing with their wedding. David handles the dreams. Patrick handles reality. It works for them. It works really fucking well.

“Jocelyn is bringing the umbrellas the Jazzagals used for that Singin’ in the Rain medley. They’re fugly and yellow, but people only need them to get to the cafe, where we can move the reception inside if needed, so it’s going to be fine.” David says the last part like he’s practiced it, and in truth, he has. They’ve gone through their plans, their backup plans, the schedule for the day, the catering menu, their song selections, all of it enough that they both have the whole of the day memorized. Patrick feels like there’s nothing they haven’t prepared for, which is just the way he likes it. Sometimes David just needs to be reminded of that.

“And what if the power goes out?”

“The ceremony will be fine because it’s early enough and there are plenty of windows,” David recites. “There’s an extra case of Jennifer’s candles in the stock room at the store if we need them for the reception. Stevie is letting us borrow that ancient”—he swallows thickly, the next word sticking in his throat for a moment before he manages to free it—“boombox from the motel, which we can use as speakers for your phone. The batteries for it and a portable charger for your phone are already in the emergency bag.”

“You develop a sudden rash?”

“Cold compress and tea tree oil. If that doesn’t work, Alexis’s makeup. If that doesn’t work, Mom’s stage makeup. Absolute last resort: Photoshop.”

“We spill something on our tuxes?”

“My backup sweater and pants are already in my bag. You’ll wear the cashmere sweater I got you for your birthday and those grey slacks that make your ass look so good.”

Patrick gives him a knowing smirk. “You always think my ass looks good.”

“What? It’s a good ass!” He laughs, bright and loud, absolutely beautiful in his happiness, before his mouth twists into something sweeter and shier. “I’m gonna marry that ass.”

The smirk on Patrick’s face grows into a grin nearly too big to be contained. “And here I‌ thought you loved me for my sparkling personality.”

“Oh, I love that, too, but your ass is the real draw here.”

He chuckles and drops a happy kiss to David’s knuckles, brushing his thumb across the four rings he’d put there just a few months ago, the four rings that mean at this time next week David will be his husband. “Is this helping?”

David nods. “Yeah, just… can we keep going?”

They have a long, frighteningly extensive list of backup plans for every worst case scenario they could think of, from the mundane to the unlikely and absurd. Patrick is pretty certain they won’t need to use their backup plan for what happens if a member of the wedding party becomes possessed by a demonic entity, but if it makes David feel better to have a plan just in case, Patrick is more than happy to give him one (isolate the possessed person in the bathroom if possible, remove everyone else from the area if not, send another member of the wedding party to the church to get a priest).

He drops his melting container of ice cream into the cup holder and takes David’s hands to run through the rest of the list. “The caterer doesn’t show?”

“We order delivery from Panucci’s.”

“The cake collapses?”

“There are mini cupcakes in the freezer at the store.”

“The heel on one of your mother’s shoes breaks?”

“Dad’s bringing an extra pair in the car.”

“The officiant doesn’t show?”

“Roland—god forbid—conducts the ceremony from the copy of the script saved on Stevie’s phone.”

“An osprey gets loose in Town Hall?”

“We— What the fuck is an osprey?”

Patrick bites back a laugh, swallowing hard to try to keep it from spilling out of his mouth. He doesn’t do a very good job of it. “A big bird. Like a hawk.”

David glares at him, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward in spite of him. “You were in charge of the backup plans, and I don’t think you made one for that. Now if an ostrich—”

“Osprey.”

“—interrupts our vows, it’s going to be all your fault, Patrick Brewer.”

Patrick grins and grins and grins some more, so incredibly in love with this man and the dramatic pout now aimed his way. “Well we wouldn’t want that,” he says, leaning teasingly across the center console, and David drags him the rest of the way in, pulling Patrick over to crash against his mouth, hard and brash as thunder. The heat of it rolls through him, echoing against tendon and bone, leaving them vibrating against one another, David stretching his fingers along the line of Patrick’s jaw, Patrick twisting his hands into David’s hair, dragging him closer, wanting more of him, wanting every good and gorgeous thing he can give him. 

Unfortunately, they’re in the front seat of his car in the middle of the afternoon, parked practically in the center of town. It’s not exactly an ideal place for David to give him anything at all, so Patrick lets all of his buzzing desire settle back down into a gentle hum and reluctantly pulls away.

David watches him go, starry-eyed and slow, like he’s still stuck somewhere in the moment with Patrick’s lips on his, finally coming back to himself with a long blink. “How do you do it?” he asks, a little wrinkle forming on his brow.

“Do what?”

“This.” The rings on his hand flash wildly as he gestures at the ice cream and Town Hall and everything else within view. “How do you always manage to know exactly what I need?”

Patrick shakes his head. “You think I‌ don’t know how to love you?” He reaches across to twine the fingers of their left hands together, one of David’s rings pressing against the place where his own will soon sit, squeezing against the feeling as he tries to find what he wants to say. “Best, I’ve spent the better part of three years thinking about and trying to do little else. I mean, I’m not perfect. And I’m— I’m still gonna get it wrong sometimes.” He looks up into the deep, steady warmth of those familiar brown eyes. “But this—loving you—it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m so glad I’m gonna get to spend the rest of my life doing it.”

Strong hands are dragging him in again before he even finishes his sentence, cradling his face so that David can kiss him long and deep and slow. 

If it’s also a little wet, Patrick pretends not to notice.

“I love you,” David whispers against his lips, and then his cheeks, and then his nose. “Do you know that?” He kisses Patrick’s eyelids and his chin and his forehead. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“I do,” Patrick says, feeling the warmth of David’s smile in the kisses fluttering all over his skin. “I do.” And he reels his fiancé back in so that he can savor the truth of it on his lips.

Far too soon though, David is leaning away again, just a trace of his panic returning as he asks, “Do you really think there might be an osprey?”

Patrick shakes his head but says, “I’ll make a backup plan just in case.” 

Seemingly satisfied, David tilts in to kiss him once more, laughing and joyous and light, and Patrick thinks that next week can’t possibly come soon enough.