#months ago) but I do think it’s inevitable that they’d become a little informed and involved in it

[asexualasshat]

I just think that at some point following S3, before S4, Robin brings up the concept of zines. About how she heard of them vaguely, and kinda knows how to get her hands of them, but can’t have them delivered to her house because she’s not ready for the prospect of her parents finding them. So Steve, naturally, offers to have them mailed to his place. It’s not like his parents are home, so it’s a no brainer. And a month or two later, the first zine arrives. He never opens them, saves them for Robin. It delights her. She talks about them with Steve. And months pass. More zines arrive and are mailed back. The events of S4 happens, and Eddie is quite literally dragged out of hell. And everything isn’t fine but it’s okay. And one day Steve is at his place, alone for once, and he’s awfully bored. He’s all up in everyone’s business, yes. But he does not touch private things. And the zines? Those are for Robin. She can share what she likes with him, but they’re for her. Except, he’s terribly horribly bored and for once, he’s alone. And the zine that came in the mail 3 days ago is sitting on his desk. And it can’t hurt to take a little look, right? So he does. And he recognizes some things that Robin had told him about, but other things are new. Perhaps they didn’t resonate with her, so she didn’t feel the need to add them to her already hours long ramblings. But as Steve is reading, something starts to click. And at first it’s just a ‘huh, that’s interesting’ and then it’s a ‘oh shift’ now he’s gone from ‘I’m trying to be a supportive ally to my best friend so I’m gonna educate myself’ directly to “Robin, we need to talk. I read your zine and now I’m kinda gay”

[miracleonice87]

juliaswinterwriting challenge, pt. 2

1. “Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.” with Mathew Barzal

a/n: finally! my second of two submissions for @wondershawns winter writing challenge. 6.6K. also features Mat’s boyfriend Beau lol. 

summary: Mat has been falling for Beau’s cousin Genevieve since the day he met her. the main thing standing in his way? her. 

warnings: swearing. alcohol. a smattering of angst. mentions of sex (not explicit). a healthy dose of fluff.

_____

Mat couldn’t have heard his best friend correctly. Convinced of that, he shook his head and tried to snap himself out of his stupor.

“Wait, Beau… what?”

“Yeah, Genevieve’s moving in with me,” Beau repeated casually, slapping a puck into the back of the net. “Finally convinced her. She just broke up with that idiot and she’s gonna go to NYU.”

The guys were on the ice at the practice facility for the first time since arriving back in New York after a long summer. They were conducting an informal skate to get their feet under them again, but most of the time had been spent simply catching up with one another — shooting pucks, yes, but also shooting the breeze. Mat had enjoyed the laidback nature of the on-ice session thus far, but he felt an undeniable jolt of electricity in his every nerve when Beau said that name — the one that elicited a thousand different feelings all at once.

Genevieve.

The girl who shared her cousin Beau’s big blue eyes and endless charm, but had a sassy wit and tender heart all of her own. The girl who was more like his teammate’s sister than a more distant relative. The girl who Mat had fallen for the very first day he met her, when Beau invited him to his family home in Quebec for a visit, now three summers ago. The girl who he’d been hopelessly, helplessly entranced by ever since.

Suddenly, a rubber disc was flying at Mat’s feet, the product of Marty dishing him a pass from the opposite side of the zone, expecting Mat to tap it into the goal as they’d already done a dozen times that afternoon. Instead, Mat let it whiz past him, only giving the puck so much as a glance when it bounced off the half-wall.

“Barzy!” Marty yelled from the far boards with a surprised chuckle, smacking his blade on the ice repeatedly. “Fuckin’ pay attention, kid!”

“You hockey much?” Beau teased, furrowing his brows at his teammate’s blank expression. Beau thought to himself that it looked as though Mat had just seen a ghost. “What’s’a matter with you?”

Mat turned to see Marty, Beau, Ebs, and Anders all looking at him as if he were a creature from a different planet. He cleared his throat and hunched once more overtop his skates, gliding in a tight circle before he faced them again.

“Nothin’,” he said nonchalantly, with a sniff. He put his stick to the ice and readied himself, trying to push Beau’s revelation to the back of his mind and focus on the task at hand. “Let’s go again.”

“Wait,” Marty said, putting a gloved hand up to halt the skating men around him. “I forgot. Isn’t Barzy, like, in love with that girl?”

Beau slowly turned his head toward Mat, who swallowed hard, trying to will his cheeks not to redden. Anders and Ebs chuckled, hands resting atop the knobs of their sticks.

“Shut up, Marty,” Mat nearly pleaded, anxiously tapping his stick on the ice. “Just... let’s go again. Come on.”

_____

In the three years since they’d first met, the math broke down pretty simply: Genevieve had had a boyfriend for all of those three years, until a month ago; Mat had kissed her exactly once on the forehead after putting her drunk ass to bed during a weekend visit to Beau’s; and they had made exactly zero progress toward becoming what Mat had always wanted them to be. Together.

One more number was soon added to the equation, not long after she moved to the city — the number one. Sponsored by the number of times they’d now had sex.

Genevieve’s twenty-first birthday fell right after she started at NYU as a junior transfer, when the Isles boys had just started camp. After a night at the club celebrating her, in a vodka-induced haze, with Tito’s attention wrapped up in a pretty blonde, Mat and Genevieve snuck away from the group, into an Uber, and off to his apartment in Brooklyn.

Mat realized immediately that he’d never felt a high like the one he did when she was kissing him, and he chased it all night long. He lost himself in her in every way as they melded together between his sheets.

He truly thought that her birthday was going to be the start of something between them. Something real. More than just a childish crush, stolen glances, and timid, blushing stares.

Which is why his heart broke when he awoke the next morning, after their passionate night gave way to dawn and the effects of the alcohol had faded, to hear Genevieve speaking quietly on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I went home with someone... No, you don’t know him. Just a guy from class.”

Mat felt a tightness in his throat and tried to swallow it.

“Shut up, Anth,” Genevieve said with a lighthearted groan.

Shit. Of course it was Beau.

“Brunch? Uh... yeah. Yeah, I can do brunch. I just have to come back to your place and change first... No, no, I’ll just grab an Uber. Yes, I’m sure.”

She was leaving. She was trying to sneak out of his place, while he was presumably still asleep. Despite that, pathetic as he felt for it, he didn’t want her to go. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Okay. Yeah, that’s fine. Okay, see you then. Bye.” Genevieve ran a hand through her dark locks and blew out a long breath.

“Who was that?” Mat muttered in a sleepy voice, making Genevieve jump. Despite trying to ignore it, he couldn’t help but notice the way she pulled his sheets tighter around her naked body at the realization that he was, indeed, awake. His chest clenched at the sight. Genevieve cleared her throat, stalling, before answering.

“That was Anth,” she said, tossing her phone on the bed in front of her. Mat watched the way her bare spine hunched as she sighed and then looked at him over her freckled shoulder. It took everything in Mat not to lean over and pepper her soft skin with warm kisses.

“He wants to go to brunch. The three of us. He’s gonna text you and invite you. He doesn’t know I’m here...” she spoke, wringing her fingers.

“Okay,” Mat said quietly, sitting up on an elbow. “Well, I’ll drive you back to his place—“

“No, no. I’m just gonna order an Uber,” she said hastily, followed by another long sigh. He wrinkled his brow, confused.

“We can’t tell him, Mat,” Genevieve said sadly, tossing him a forlorn glance, her fingers pressing into her temple. “We just... I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a bit right then. In his mind, they would admit the truth about last night to Beau this morning, he would chirp them about it endlessly but be happy that they were happy, and they would all live happily ever after.

Evidently, Genevieve had different plans.

“So I’m gonna go, and then you can meet us at the cafe. Okay?” she asked, turning to face him straight on, seemingly so that he saw as little of her nude form as possible, despite having seen all of it last night.

Mat nodded, swallowing again. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

They both knew he wasn’t talking about the Uber. He was referencing something much more consequential than her ride home.

Genevieve pressed her lips together, looking down at her lap before meeting his eyes again. She nodded slowly.

“I just... I don’t think this is a good idea, Maty. I just got out of a relationship, and I don’t know how Anth would feel about...” She gestured between the two of them. Mat tried not to flinch, though he nearly did just that.

He nodded. Genevieve noted the pain in his eyes and averted her own to avoid being crushed by the knowledge that she had singlehandedly inflicted it upon him. Eventually, he found his voice again.

“Okay. Fine. I understand, I guess. I think you know how I feel about you, especially now, but it’s... it’s whatever you wanna do, G,” Mat said.

Genevieve blinked at him a few times, and for a fleeting moment as she opened her mouth, he thought she might change her mind.

His hopes crashed down in front of him as she shifted uncomfortably under the covers and requested, “Can you maybe just... look away while I get dressed?”

That time, Mat flinched.

_____

Mat couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw who was calling as he made his way home from the rink after practice on a snowy Monday nearly three months later, in early December. He pressed the green button on his dash display, said hello, and her fluttering voice filled his car.

“Mat… hi! Are you busy?”

Even if he were, Mat would’ve lied.

“No, no, not at all. What’s going on, G? How are you?” he asked as he switched lanes, fingers suddenly drumming on the steering wheel as nervous energy coursed through him.

Since the morning after they’d hooked up, the most they had communicated directly was texting half a dozen or so times, with Genevieve congratulating Mat on a good game or Mat asking if she knew where Beau was. Occasionally they’d bump into each other after a game, the ones she could actually make it to given her insane class schedule, or at the bar, and they’d both hug awkwardly and inevitably blush like schoolchildren. Mat missed her like hell, and he gently reminded her of that each time they touched base, but he respected her decision, even if he wasn’t fully convinced it was the right one.

Little did he know, Genevieve wasn’t fully convinced, either, but she willed herself to stand her ground, despite the sway he still held over her, without him even realizing it.

“I’m good. I’m good. Listen, um, I know this probably seems out of the blue, but… would you wanna meet up for coffee?” he heard her ask.

Mat’s brows shot up at her inquiry. He had long ago written off any chance at spending alone time with her and was caught off guard by her invitation.

“Sure,” Mat answered, though somewhat hesitantly. “I’d love to, you know that.”

She must have heard the surprise in his voice because she followed up with, “It’s just, I really miss you… and besides, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

Mat couldn’t keep the smug expression from his face. “Oh yeah? Other than just how much you miss me?” he asked arrogantly. He could practically hear Genevieve roll her eyes as she huffed into the phone.

“Just shut up and come here, you egomaniac,” she giggled. “I’m at my usual spot.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen. See you then. And, G?”

“Uh huh?”

A smile twitched at Mat’s lips as he replied.

“I’m glad you called,” he said, sincerity dripping from his words.

He heard the smile in her voice when she remarked, “I’m glad you answered. See you soon.”

_____

When Mat walked into the coffee shop minutes later, Genevieve was holed up at a corner table, notebooks and loose papers alike strung before her in a mass of organized chaos. She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip and squinted at her laptop screen through her thick, tortoise-shell framed glasses.

Mat had never seen her wearing glasses before. Though he didn’t even think such a feat was possible, he fell a little more in love with her and became a little more tortured by her right then and there.

He approached her slowly so as not to startle her. As he came nearer, she didn’t even look up, deep in concentration as she typed. When she finally glanced away from her screen and toward a notebook across the table from her, Mat playfully crouched into her line of vision, tilting his chin upward as he waited for her to spot him.

Eventually, her eyes met his and immediately glimmered. She flushed slightly, putting her hand to her forehead with a groan.

“Oh, god, Maty, how long have you been standing there?” Genevieve asked, an apology in her tone.

Mat smiled and tried not to dwell on the way his pulse quickened when his nickname fell from her lips. “Long enough to observe that you might need your glasses prescription changed. You’re not supposed to squint at your screen like that, G,” he warned, approaching her and scanning the multitude of documents before her. “What is all this?” he asked, letting his gaze drift back to hers.

“It’s for my event this weekend. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Genevieve responded tentatively. “But first, coffee,” she said, reaching for her wallet tucked inside her bookbag.

Mat reached for her hand, pushing it away and shaking his head.

“No, c’mon,” he insisted. “Let me. What can I get you?”

Genevieve looked at their touching fingers as he slowly pulled his away, then she gave him that killer half-grin of hers and breathed a sigh, giving into him since she knew trying to protest was useless.

“How ‘bout a peppermint tea? I think I’m overcaffeinated at this point anyway so I should probably take it easy on the coffee,” she admitted with a chuckle as she tucked some hair behind her ear. Mat nodded.

“Smart girl. Tea coming right up,” he promised with a squeeze of her shoulder. Genevieve thanked him and watched as he sauntered to the counter to stand in line.

His hair was longer, and she thought it made him look even more handsome, if that was even imaginable. He caught her ogling at him as he turned the corner to wait for his order, and she simply pursed her lips into a tight smirk and tried to refocus on her notes. He tried to refocus on anything but her. They both were clumsy in their attempts.

When he returned, he placed a large paper cup before her and she wrapped her hands around it with an appreciative hum.

“You’re the best,” Genevieve praised. He waved her off as he took a sip of his cappuccino.

“So why have I been summoned here, G?” Mat then asked, teasing in his question.

Genevieve bit at her full bottom lip and Mat tried to force his eyes not to linger there as she snapped her notebook shut and readjusted herself in her chair, clearing her throat.

“Okay, so you know I’m taking this event planning class this semester? It’s part of my major. And our final project is to plan a large-scale event,” she began, and he nodded as he sipped at his coffee, amused by her bubbly mannerisms as she spoke. “Well, so… a friend of mine in class kind of accidentally let slip that I’m Anthony’s cousin, and it turns out that the prof is friends with some Isles execs. She suggested that I plan a gala to benefit the team children’s foundation, and obviously since the professor fed me that idea, I couldn’t really say no. Especially since it’s 50 percent of my final grade, and obviously because it’s for such a great cause.” Mat nodded again, already seeing where this was going, but not exactly minding it.

“So since you guys don’t play this Saturday night, Anth had originally told me that he would go and kinda be the face of the team for me, but he backed out this morning,” Genevieve said, playing absentmindedly with her fingers in her lap. Mat was getting ready to take another swig when she added that last little tidbit, and he narrowed his eyes at her as he lowered his cup.

“What do you mean he backed out? What the hell else does he have to do?” Mat didn’t try to hide his annoyance — Beau had practically begged this poor girl to come and live with him and go to school in New York, and now he was jeopardizing her academic future?

“I don’t know,” Genevieve shrugged. “He said some girl he’s been talking to bought him tickets to the Nets game on Saturday night and he—“

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me...” Mat spat, then noticed the disappointment in her features, and immediately softened. “So, what can I do to help?” he asked, deciding that he would deal with the Beau issue later.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, and drew a deep breath as she summoned the courage to make her request.

“I was wondering if... if you’d go with me?” she eventually mumbled.

Mat was certain he had misheard, just like that day months ago on the ice. He licked his bottom lip quickly and sat back in his chair.

“Say again?” he deadpanned.

“I was wondering if you’d come with me,” Genevieve spoke, clearer and faster this time. “I know I don’t even deserve to ask you a favor like that, and you probably already have plans anyway, and I—“

“G, stop,” Mat interrupted dryly.

“It’s not like you’re my second choice or anything,” Genevieve continued, talking with her hands just like Beau did when he got flustered. “I wanted to ask you — really, I did. Trust me. It’s just… I was afraid Anth would be weird so—“

“G, stop,” Mat laughed, his voice firmer this time as his hand moved to rest on her knee. “I don’t need an explanation. Of course I’ll come with you. I’d be honored.”

Genevieve finally exhaled, throwing her hands over her face in sheer excitement and shaking her head back and forth.

“Ugh, Mathew Barzal, I could kiss you right now!” she exclaimed before she could pay a second thought to her words. She covered her mouth then, eyes bugging behind her glasses. Mat couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction.

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he quipped softly as he raised his coffee to his lips once more, smirking pompously at Genevieve as she breathed a laugh.

As she launched into the details of the event — what he should wear, what she would need from him, when he could pick her up — he found himself spacing. No detail she shared much mattered to him — not really. It didn’t affect his decision. No matter what this would cost him, literally or figuratively, he was all in.

All in on the gala, all in on Genevieve. All in.

She was letting him in, however little, and he planned to take full advantage of the opportunity. 

Mat insisted on giving Genevieve a ride to Beau’s apartment after they’d finished their drinks, convincing her that she needed to take a break from working and get a change of scenery. Surprisingly, she complied. He realized as she sat in his passenger seat just how much he had missed the way he felt in her presence. The world seemed to be in full color only when Genevieve was by his side.

Sadly, the drive was a short one, and soon Genevieve was hurriedly pulling her bookbag into her lap as Mat pulled over to the curb near the building’s entrance. Preparing for her to jump out of the car without giving him a second look, Mat was surprised when he felt her fingertips grasp his jaw. She placed a lingering kiss to his cheek, closer to his mouth than could be called chaste, and smoothed her thumb across the stubble on his chin.

“I really have to go, even though I don’t want to, but thanks a million, Maty,” Genevieve said, beaming at him as she pulled the straps of her bag onto her shoulders. “I can’t wait for this weekend. Bye.”

With that, she was scampering off, throwing him one last smile before disappearing through the doorway.

With a pursed exhale, Mat rested his forehead against the steering wheel and tried to talk himself down from the clusterfuck his brain had just launched into at her actions.

_____

The week dragged on for Mat. When Saturday finally arrived, he took far longer than usual to get ready, even FaceTiming his sister for her recommendations on the best tie and shoe combination to match his navy suit.

When Liana furrowed her eyebrows, curious why he cared so much about what he wore to what seemed to her to be a fairly routine team event, Mat knew what was coming and braced for it as she opened her mouth.

“Is this like a date or something—“

“Goodbye, Liana. Thank you,” Mat said curtly, cutting her off and quickly ending the call. Of course, it rang again immediately, but Mat chose to ignore it and tucked the device in his pocket as he gave himself one last glance in the mirror.

When the phone rang yet again, he huffed, prepared to answer and then immediately hang up on his dear, annoying baby sister, when he noticed it wasn’t Liana this time.

Stepping into his closet to choose an overcoat, he smiled and tapped the green button.

“Don’t tell me you’re cancelling on me now, G,” Mat said, half in jest, half in masked terror. “I just got dressed.”

To his dismay, Genevieve sounded panicked on the other end of the line.

“Uh, no, quite the opposite, actually,” she said nervously. “I’m kind of — okay, well, completely — freaking out over here, and I was wondering if you could maybe come over early and convince me not to call my professor and tell her I’m sick so I don’t have to see what a complete disaster this night turns out to be?”

Mat had pulled on a coat and flicked off the lights in his closet while she was talking, and he shifted the phone to his other ear to respond once she stopped rambling.

“Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “I’m leaving now. Sit tight. I’ll be right there, okay?”

Mat heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “You’re the best, Maty,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

His smile widened — he was always happy to play the role of knight in shining armor, but it meant more to him to be able to play it for Genevieve. His chest puffed with each word of her gratitude.

“You’re welcome, love,” he said before he realized the pet name that fell from his lips. But he couldn’t regret it, refused to even try, so he bid her goodbye for now and headed for the parking garage to ride away on his white stallion — er, Cadillac.

Ten minutes later — after navigating a route that should have taken at least fifteen — he was on her doorstep, the dozen red roses he had bought that morning in hand. Mat tried to act as though he wasn’t surprised to find her still in a set of Beau’s Isles sweats, donning her glasses, with her makeup half-finished and her hair not yet fixed. He glanced at the clock above her head that indicated only about forty minutes until they needed to leave the apartment, but decided to ignore that minor detail.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Mat said charmingly, extending the flowers to her. “These are for you. For good luck.”

Genevieve’s lips turned up momentarily into a grin, then folded into a frown, and she looked as though she may burst into tears at any moment. Forcing his way in the door, Mat set the bouquet on the entry table and gathered her into his chest, resting a hand on the back of her head and rubbing small circles on her back with the other.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “What’s goin’ on, G? Talk to me, baby.” Oh, shit. Another pet name. He really had to stop doing that.

Genevieve seemed unaffected by the term, though, and drew a shaking breath before squeezing his waist tightly and stepping away.

“Everything! This event is gonna crash and burn and it’s all my fault,” she cried, flinging her hands skyward for dramatic effect.

“What do you mean?” Mat inquired. “And while we talk, why don’t we go to your room so you can keep getting ready?” he added, placing a gentle hand to her hip. Thankfully, she nodded, despite heaving a sigh. As he turned them down the hall, she let her swirling thoughts erupt.

“The caterer called an hour ago and said they didn’t put in an order big enough for tonight so they’re gonna have to supplement the food with basically whatever they can find,” Genevieve began as they entered her room, motioning for Mat to take a seat on her meticulously made bed, which felt far more intimate than he was prepared for, not that he was complaining. She sat on the vanity bench nearby and hurriedly applied eyeshadow to her lids, prattling all the while. As she spoke, Mat glanced down at the dress laid out on the foot of the bed on a hanger, and he swore he forgot his own name for a moment as he gaped at it blankly.

“And I specifically ordered peonies, not poppies. Like how the fuck does a florist mess that up! I just—“

“Wait, sorry to interrupt, but this is what you’re wearing?” Mat choked out, sliding the shiny fabric between his first two fingers and thumb. Genevieve nodded, hurriedly fastening on a pearl cluster earring smack dab in the midst of her blush and bronzer routine.

“Yeah, Anthony insisted on taking me shopping and made me buy the most expensive goddamn dress in the store for some reason,” she grumbled. Mat made a mental note to thank Beau profusely. “I told him I couldn’t accept it but — wait, why? You hate it, don’t you?”

Mat’s eyes bugged at her question before he swallowed hard, shaking his head furiously. “No, no, it’s just... you’re gonna look so unfair,” he chuckled. Genevieve gave him a disbelieving look.

“Hardly,” she disagreed, apparently not noticing how gone he was at the moment. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter what I wear because it’s going to be an absolute shit show.”

She threw a fluffy brush into her makeup caddy with a clatter, and Mat approached where she sat fussing over herself anxiously in the mirror. She couldn’t help but notice the way her breath caught in her throat when his long fingers came to rest on her shoulders, stretching to her collarbone as he gazed at her intensely in their reflection. She felt herself relax under his touch.

“I know you’ve convinced yourself of that,” Mat began, his voice low, slow, sincere. “And that probably nothing I say will change your mind. But even if the food is wrong and the flowers are wrong and it doesn’t look exactly how you pictured it, it’s still gonna be a success. Because you made it happen. And you’re the most organized, most dedicated, hardest-working person I know,” he said as she finished applying her lipstick and sat up straight with a long, calming breath.

“And you’re the sweetest person I know,” she admitted airily. Mat beamed, squeezing her trap muscles. “Thank you,” she added, her hand finding his and bringing it to her lips, their eyes never straying from one another’s in the mirror until she stood up to face him.

He threw her hair over her shoulders and gawked at the perfect placement of her makeup, however much she had rushed its application.

“Makeup,” Mat spoke, drawing a pretend v-shape in thin air. “Check. One thing at a time.”

She snickered a bit, her hands ghosting across his suit coat for a moment, enchanted, before she snapped back to the task at hand.

“Okay, I have to go curl my hair, and then get dressed. And then, I’m ready,” she promised as Mat nodded and slowly returned to his seat on her bed. As she pulled a pair of strappy heels from underneath the bedskirt, he smiled down at her so fondly, and she realized she wouldn’t mind having him sitting right here more often.

Certainly wouldn’t mind.

She tossed Mat a wink as she picked up the dress, too, and hustled into the bathroom, suddenly feeling much more confident than she had without his presence — his reassurance.

Fifteen minutes later, after chattering with Mat through the door while taming her hair, she pulled on the dress and smoothed her hands over the skirt of it, tugged on her heels, and pulled open the door.

Mat stopped abruptly in the middle of a story about razzing her cousin at practice and stood to his feet, neither moving an inch.

Finally, Genevieve sighed and motioned toward her attire.

“So?” she spoke simply. “Acceptable?”

Mat scoffed, literally scoffed, and repeated, “Acceptable?” He rubbed a hand over his mouth and couldn’t help the boyish giggle he let out. “More than acceptable, G. You look... wow. Incredible. So incredible.”

Genevieve could admit to herself that she was pleased with his reaction — in fact, she couldn’t quite seem to detach her eyes from his face as his stare roamed her figure. She leaned against the doorpost and smirked.

“Remember what I said earlier this week? About how I could just kiss you right now?” she asked mischievously. He nodded slowly, eyes still studying the way her dress pulled tight in exactly the right places, then finding their way back to hers. “Kinda feeling that way again right now,” she added.

He exhaled sharply, standing up straighter, as she took a couple of paces toward him.

“Is that so?” he teased. She nodded, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Mat hummed in anticipation as she came ever closer. “You sure about that?” he asked firmly, extending his arms with his palms out toward her, trying his damnedest to keep her at a distance.

She only nodded again, a gleam in her eye, and paused just a couple of feet from him, waiting for his approval.

“Take another step looking like that and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Mat warned, giving her one final out.

A small laugh passed through Genevieve’s nose, and she looked down at their feet as she daringly moved forward.

“I’m okay with that,” she whispered as she looked back to his face. Mat only quirked his brow in response.

“I think it’s time I focus less on pushing you away, and more on just…” Genevieve tenderly wrapped her arms around Mat’s neck. “Just finally letting things happen the way they’re supposed to,” she spoke.

Mat froze for a moment, then broke into an enormous grin. “Yeah?” he asked in awe.

She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded, driving him insane. He pressed her lower back into his body as she assured, “Yeah. This is what I want.”

Mat barely let her speak that last word before capturing her lips in a searing kiss — all the nerves and anxiety about avoiding this melting away in a heartbeat as she moaned softly into his mouth, eliciting a smile from him against her skin.

“You’re beautiful, G,” Mat whispered when he finally came up for air. “You know that?” Genevieve blushed and tried to hide her face in Mat’s chest, but with a roll of his eyes, he caught her chin between his thumb and index finger and angled her face toward his own.

“No, none of that,” he said. “I’ve waited this long to be with you, G. Just let me look at you and tell you how gorgeous you are.”

Mat felt the warmth of her cheeks as he caressed them with the backs of his hands, losing himself in her criminally blue eyes.

“You are something else, Maty,” she said, letting her hands rest on his taut stomach as she leaned into him. “Now we really have to go, or we’re gonna be late.” With one last kiss pressed against his lips, Genevieve spun away from him, grabbed the pearl clutch from her bed, and tossed him a particularly wicked glance over her shoulder, laughing at his dumbfounded expression as she drifted out of the room.

And as he watched her walk away from him, hips swaying beneath the satin of her dress...

Mat knew he had no choice but to follow wherever she led.

_____

Whether she was aware of it or not, the girl knew how to command a room.

As Mat watched Genevieve engage the many high-profile sponsors and potential donors in the ballroom, he found himself thinking that he really didn’t even need to be here. She had this in the bag, and he was just arm candy for the night. And he realized he didn’t mind a bit.

Even so, he couldn’t help but swell with pride when she regularly turned away from conversations throughout the evening, searching the many faces in the crowd until she found his, her shoulders relaxing and her eyes flashing with affection when she finally did.

Finally, Mat sensed that the peace he had long ago found in her, she now felt in him. Nothing could ever make him happier than that.

Despite having different food and flowers than what Genevieve had planned, the event was a smashing success. She learned from her professor near the end of the gala that they had raised a quarter of a million dollars for the Islanders Children’s Foundation in this single night — a figure which made her nearly choke on her champagne and subsequently back Mat into a coat closet to reveal privately. Only he was more excited about the triumph than she, clutching excitedly at her sides as he pulled her to himself for a fiery kiss and gleefully congratulated her, both of them trying to stay as quiet as possible to remain undetected. When they regained their composure, they walked regally arm in arm back into the ballroom to say their thank you’s and goodbyes.

As they waited outside for the valet, Mat held Genevieve from behind, his arms encircling her waist under the grand stone archways of the old building. In her ear, he whispered her praises, pressing a kiss to her temple or jaw between each adjective as they awaited their ride.

“Smart. Beautiful. Capable. Stunning. Perfect. Worthy. Mine.”

That last one prompted her to spin in his arms, unashamed of who might see, and grasp his face for a firm kiss.

“Yours,” she whispered back dreamily.

_____

Soon they were back at her apartment building, rushing down the hall hand in hand, fully prepared to take advantage of Beau’s night on the town. Mat was mouthing hungrily at the back of Genevieve’s neck, from one side to the other, as she squealed and clumsily unlocked the door — a feat which took approximately five times as long as it normally did, considering the distraction hanging off of her, snaking its long arms around her torso as she finally tumbled through the doorway. Mat held onto her hips with a laugh to prevent her from falling on her face onto the tile beneath them, pulling her upward to resume their makeout until…

“Don’t you two look cute.”

Beau’s voice rang from the couch, startling both Mat and Genevieve as she pushed him away to create some distance between them. Mat cleared his throat as he unceremoniously gathered his footing beneath him. They both stood motionless in the entryway for several moments before Genevieve blinked at the basketball game playing on the television.

“Wait. What the hell, Anth… you’re watching the Nets game on TV? What happened to your date?” Genevieve asked as she took a few steps into the living room, tossing her clutch onto the couch so that she could put both hands on her hips and aim as much attitude as possible at her cousin.

“Yeah, I lied about that. The Nets are in Boston tonight, you geniuses,” Anthony informed them casually, taking the last swig from his beer bottle and placing it on the coffee table as he leaned forward.

“What do you mean, you lied? What the fuck, man?” Mat asked, incredulous.

“I did it on purpose!” Anthony bellowed, before the two gaped at him. “You two goons haven’t figured it out on your own by now, so I figured if I ditched, forced you into some alone time, bought G a pretty dress, maybe you’d see yourselves for what you really are. Hopelessly, disgustingly in love with each other. And apparently, it worked.”

Mat ran a hand slowly through his hair, tugging on his locks with a quiet laugh. Genevieve stood still, a hand suspended in mid-air, and whispered, “You planned this?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Of course I planned this,” he confirmed. “You really think I would just bail on you at the last minute for some girl? No! I knew you’d ask Mat, and I knew he would come to your rescue, and I knew you guys would have a great night together. Win, win, win.” Anthony rested his back against the couch once more, propping his feet up on the coffee table and folding his hands behind his head as he waggled his eyebrows. “I’m good, huh?” he remarked.

Mat took four quick strides toward his best friend and made a show of grabbing Anthony’s face and pressing a lip-smacking kiss to his forehead, which Anthony giggled over and wiped away, shaking his head.

“You’re my hero, man,” Mat spoke as he returned to Genevieve’s side and tucked her beneath his arm. Timidly, Genevieve asked Anthony, “You mean you’re not mad?”

Anthony’s big eyes grew even wider. “Mad?! My best friend and practically my sister are finally making each other happy. I’d be crazy to be mad! Or I’d be the Grinch. And I’m not the Grinch!” he assured as he pointed towards them.

Genevieve beamed, walking his way and placing a kiss to his cheek, squeezing his arm.

“Merci beaucoup,” she whispered when she pulled back from his face, only to see that he was smiling from ear to ear. He gave her a solemn nod. 

Genevieve extended a hand toward Mat which he accepted gladly, then she turned back to her cousin.

“Well, on that note, since your plan was such a success, and so was my event, Mat and I are gonna go celebrate,” she informed him with a grin. Anthony chuckled and lifted his beer bottle in their direction.

“Cheers to that,” he said. “I’ll just turn up the volume.”

Mat and Genevieve laughed and said goodnight before making their way down the hall. Mat couldn’t close the door fast enough before spinning her and pinning her against it as she smirked, her form melting into his as he kissed her fiercely. For several minutes they stayed there as one, with their parting lips and their breathing the only sounds in the room. Soon, Mat pulled back, both his hands holding Genevieve’s face as he searched her eyes.

“Promise me this is really what you want, G. Promise me you won’t push me away again,” he implored, his voice sounding needier than it ever had. Genevieve felt the stab at her gut upon remembering once more that she’d really almost fucked this up.

She sifted her fingers through his long, coal black hair of his and looked into his green-flecked eyes, which begged her for reassurance. Mat swallowed thickly as she cupped his strong jaw.

“I promise I won’t, Mathew,” she whispered. “I won’t. I can’t. I need you.”

With that, she squeezed his cheeks between her fingers and smothered his lips with her own. Mat tasted the sweet champagne on her skin and moaned.

“Mine,” he said again, gruffly this time, into her ear as he trailed hot kisses down her jaw.

“Yours,” she repeated breathlessly.

[chierafied]

The Broken and the Lost

This is written for my dearest @drosselmeyerwrites​ who told me a long while ago that she wanted “Chie Angst” and for me to make her cry. Who am I to say no to such a request? So here you go, love, and have a happy (?) birthday! 💙

Content warnings: Character Death(s). Depression. Serious Angst ahead.

4.8 k words. Also on Dokuga and AO3.

Death was something Sesshoumaru had always been familiar with. As a daiyoukai, a predator, he had often dealt it with his own hand, starting at a young age. First hunting animals, then battling lesser youkai, growing firmer in his resolution as he aged to follow in his father's footsteps. Death was part of life, the other side of the coin; always there yet distant.

Sesshoumaru never paid it any mind. He was young. He was a youkai. And though on occasion Sesshoumaru might bring death to others, he remained untouched by it, stood high above its reach. 

Until the day his father died, forever altering Sesshoumaru's life.

Death had snuck up on him and at its heels came something new – loss. It rattled inside him, for days and months and years. It returned to him, in those quiet and dark moments, all anew; its sharp edges sinking in with ease. 

But it wasn't grief that filled him in the aftermath of his father's demise, it was anger. The circumstances of his father's death seared him, knowing he'd died by the hand of a mere mortal as unfathomable as it was humiliating. The great general giving his life to protect a human woman and their halfbreed son.

And so this first loss gave Sesshoumaru a purpose: he vowed to surpass his sire, to gain even greater power. Sesshoumaru would not die by human hands. This path of supreme conquest consumed him and for the next several decades he dedicated himself fully to gathering strength, his primary object being the legacy his father had left behind – his swords.

It was a lonely life, but Sesshoumaru neither noticed it then nor cared. The goal he was striving towards was all that mattered. Besting every opponent in his way. Gathering all the information he could find as to how to obtain his father's fang. Training himself, testing his limits and surpassing them, was the only thing that gave his life meaning. Until he suffered a bitter defeat.

He had found at last what should have been his crowning glory: Tessaiga. But he had been unable to free the sword; instead, his cursed halfbreed brother had gained the might of their father's fang. And to add insult to injury, Inuyasha had bested him in the ensuing battle, leaving him maimed.

Alone, broken, his left arm gone, Sesshoumaru had lain in ruin, cursing his father, when a human girl had appeared. He had not wanted her help. He had certainly not needed her help. But no amount of snarling had scared her away, so she had cared for him in the small ways that she could.

When he later came across her, her young body bloody and broken and already growing cold, he told himself he merely wanted to test out the useless sword his father in his cruel fit of irony had decided to gift him.

But the truth was, even back then, though it was but a faint speck on the surface of his frozen heart, he cared.

That was how Rin came into his life.

And over the days, months and years that followed, filled by her bright smiles, endless trust and unwavering affection, that faint speck got bigger. It grew roots that burrowed deep, and before Sesshoumaru fully understood what was happening, Rin had already taken residence in his heart.

The second loss he experienced was Kagura. He did not have a deep or personal bond with the wind sorceress, but because his once-cold heart had begun to thaw under Rin’s small and gentle fingers, he was touched by the death. And it had not been the feelings Sesshoumaru had suspected Kagura had harboured towards him that he was thinking of, when he stood there, watching her fade away. It was the poignancy of a personal victory. In death was also Kagura’s triumph, for finally, she gained what she had always wished for: her freedom. She did not merely cease to be, she became one with the wind. Her loss was the soft stroke of a feather, a gentle sensation that carried a silent beauty alongside the ache. 

Then, there came a time, much too soon, when once again Sesshoumaru had cradled Rin’s small, lifeless body to his chest, a howl – whether of rage or anguish, he still wasn't sure – rumbling deep in the pit of his stomach. His sword was useless in his hand, the bitter helplessness almost his undoing, until at last his mother showed him a way to cheat death.

That time, the loss only scraped the very surface, but the fear of its claws raked down deep, the cold dread that it left behind lingering in his veins for months to come.

The third loss of Sesshoumaru’s life had been Inuyasha’s miko.

As far as he knew, she had not perished – following their final battle against Naraku she had simply vanished and the halfbreed and his friends had all remained tight-lipped about her fate, had merely reassured Sesshoumaru that the miko was fine and back where she had come from.

Sesshoumaru had not expected the miko’s disappearance to affect him in any way; they had barely been allies and had not spent a significant amount of time in each other’s company. Yet, her spirit, strength and bravery had won his grudging respect. His mind turned often to those final moments he had spent with her, fighting Naraku together. 

The loss of the miko was a curious thing, an echoing hollowness inside him, sudden flashes of realisation of something that was missing until once again he would remember that the miko was gone.

Strangely enough, Sesshoumaru was also affected by Inuyasha’s reaction to the miko’s loss. Year after year, as the well remained stubbornly closed and the miko stayed gone, hope was carved out of Inuyasha, sliver by sliver, leaving behind a brittle, hollow husk. The hanyou became withdrawn, even more morose and apathetic. That shook Sesshoumaru more than anything.

Sesshoumaru’s fourth loss was that of Kohaku. Even after he’d parted ways with the boy, there remained more than a speck of fondness in his heart. He would keep an eye on the boy every now and then, make sure all was going well for him.

And then, as fate would have it, Kohaku ended up marrying Rin. The two were happy, building a life together, and Sesshoumaru was pleased for them both.

Kohaku reached his middle years before he met his final death, much too soon in the opinion of his entire extended family, who deeply mourned his passing. He had died a hero’s death, protecting his son and nephew on a training mission gone wrong. The youkai they’d been facing had been stronger than anticipated, and though Kohaku had managed to slay it in the end, the wounds had been too grave. 

Sesshoumaru himself had carried his body back to the village, following a chance meeting on the road with the distraught boys who’d survived the attack.  He’d seen a light die in Rin’s eyes, had held her against his chest until she’d had no tears left. 

Kohaku’s had been the first funeral Sesshoumaru had actually attended and a persistent ache burrowed deep within, dogging his steps for years to come. So, sometimes, did the smell, that coppery tang of Kogaku’s blood forever burned to his memory, coating it as it had once coated his hand.

Rin’s loss was the worst.

Not only because Rin was the one he had the most affection towards, but because losing her had been like watching sand slip through his fingers. Slow, gradual... inevitable.

Rin’s loss was a single surface wound that never closed and slowly continued to bleed him dry over the many long years.

It started with leaving her in Kaede’s care in Edo. It was the right decision, Sesshoumaru knew. Rin needed to be among her own kind and life on the road was no place to be for a young girl. And though he did visit her often, his steps were always heavy when he left, a dull ache inside seeping all the way to his bones.

Then, Rin had fallen in love with Kohaku. Sesshoumaru rejoiced at her happiness, even as he could feel her slipping further away, a strip of silk falling from his grasp. And following Rin and Kohaku’s union, along came the children, who quickly became the centre of Rin’s universe.

She was walking her own road, building her life, always growing and becoming more.

It was good, it was right, it was all that he had ever wanted for her. 

For a fleeting second, as she was sitting right next to him, her daughter in her lap, eagerly conversing with him, it almost felt like the old times. Sesshoumaru could see that little girl he’d known so well lurking in those ageing warm brown eyes.

In truth, she had already gone where he couldn’t follow.

She was an old woman, when at last that last sliver Sesshoumaru had been so stubbornly clinging to was finally torn from his grasp. It was age that took her, as she lay on her futon, her frail, warm, wrinkled hand in Sesshoumaru’s. She was smiling as she went, surrounded by her family, accompanied by the noise of Jaken’s bitter sobs. 

Sesshoumaru did not cry a single tear – not then. His heart kept beating in his chest, steady and solid as always, even as the sharp little shards it had collapsed into rattled against each other in that familiar rhythm, tearing up new wounds with each beat. 

Eventually, he let go of her hand, stood up and walked away.

Jaken left him soon after that. Grovelling, he begged for Sesshoumaru’s permission to stay in Edo, to look after Rin’s children. Sesshoumaru granted the request. After so many years of faithful service, it was the least he could do. And then, with Jaken gone, Sesshoumaru was once again all alone.

It wasn’t the comfort it once had been.

He never did set his foot in Edo again.  Sometimes, of course, he was tempted to go and visit. Watch Rin’s children grow. But he couldn’t take such a long and slippery loss anymore, could not bear to see his little girl in a smile here or a gesture there.  He kept wandering the land, his soul an echoing emptiness, his long strides aimless and without a purpose. He no longer had a goal to strive towards.

Pain was Sesshoumaru’s only constant companion now. It was the ebb and flow of the sea, unstoppable and in constant flux. Dull one moment, then prickling, in a flash turning into a deep stab that stole his breath.  Pain was the shadow at his heels, always there. 

And then, after a couple of years of wandering or thereabouts – time had no meaning to Sesshoumaru – Inuyasha found him. 

He hadn’t come to fight, as Sesshoumaru had first assumed. Instead, Inuyasha plopped down and talked. Sesshoumaru did not know why he was here. Did not particularly care for his presence. Did not respond to his brother’s monologues. But he listened.

Inuyasha talked about his life in the village. About the passing of the monk and the taijiya. About their children. About Rin’s and Kohaku’s children. About Jaken. He talked about Kikyo. He talked about his miko.

He talked about loneliness and that Sesshoumaru understood only too well. He knew then why Inuyasha had sought him out.

Once Inuyasha had talked his piece, he left. He promised to be back.

And back he came, several months later. This time, he had a bottle of sake in tow. They drank together. Inuyasha talked. Sesshoumaru listened.

The third time, haltingly, Sesshoumaru spoke. Of the pain, of all the death, of being alone. And Inuyasha listened.

The fourth time, Inuyasha brought the fox kit along. Though he was hardly a kit anymore, hovering on the cusp of adulthood. 

The visits continued over the course of many years. They followed no schedule, but Sesshoumaru always found them a pleasant surprise. A brief reprieve from his bleak and solitary existence. 

Most of the time, Inuyasha came alone. Often, he brought the sake. Sometimes, the young fox would accompany him.

Inuyasha’s visits became something Sesshoumaru could count on. Small glimmers of light over the decades of darkness.

And then, one day, the young fox came to find Sesshoumaru. Alone.

He knew what news the fox had come to depart before he ever spoke. The tears glimmering in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks were louder than the words.

Sesshoumaru sank to the ground.

His blood, his pack, his kin.

His brother.

Dead.

Gone, like everyone in his life.

That was the tipping point for him. From then on, Sesshoumaru stopped living. He merely existed, a creature of shadow and death. Carved hollow by the pain and grief and the never-ending loneliness. The last one left.

A century passed.

Then another.

The world around him changed. Youkai diminished, humans prospered.  The lands ebbed from war to peace to yet another war. 

And then came the greatest war of all. 

Sesshoumaru paid it no mind. The petty squabbles of humans were none of his concern. Or so he thought.

Because that war brought the final blow.

One last loss for him to shoulder, one more person for him to mourn. He had never imagined a day when he would wake to a world without her. To him, she had been a constant. She had been invincible.

And it proved true that even the most heinous weapon ever crafted by human scientists couldn’t kill her in one blow. But the poison within that bomb ate at her. Stubborn as she was, she held on a full month, wasting away day by day.

Until at last her heart faltered and stopped. 

Sesshoumaru cradled her cold hand. Waited for the pain to come. Waited for the grief to overwhelm him. Waited for the tears to pour down his face. Waited for the shards of his shattered heart to disintegrate with this last terrible loss. 

But he felt nothing. Only numbness was left to him. Maybe his heart, broken beyond repair, had already been ground to dust.

On the sixth of September 1945, sitting by his dead mother’s bedside, Sesshoumaru gave up. He felt the black oblivion press against his senses and let go, sinking into the darkness.

The victory against Naraku had been sweet and much too brief. In mere seconds, while the tendrils of time wrapped themselves around her waist and yanked her back to the modern-day Tokyo, it turned to ash in her mouth.

Sitting in the bottom of the well, the sand turning muddy from the torrent of her tears, her clenched fingers leaving deep grooves into the ground, a high, raw keening noise tearing her throat and pouring from her lips, Kagome felt her heart shattering to a million pieces. It hadn’t supposed to have ended this way. This was not the happily ever after she had imagined for herself and Inuyasha.

Eventually, her cries had been heard and her mother had come to the well-house and coaxed her out, helped her to the house and into her bed. Kagome had lain in that pink room, sand still caked under her fingernails, cocooned under her blanket and still feeling frozen.

She stayed that way for the next two weeks. Somewhere, in the back of her brain, Kagome knew she should go back to school, continue her life as usual. But nothing was usual anymore and school and everything didn’t really matter, not now that she had been cut off from Inuyasha and the life she had built for herself back in the Feudal era.

So many nights, Kagome would toss and turn from one nightmare to another, where she was chased by grotesque demons intent on devouring her. So many mornings, she would wake up exhausted into a world where demons no longer existed, and somehow that was worse.

The most frequent of all, however, where the nights on which Kagome barely slept at all. She would lie awake staring at her ceiling, each minute feeling like an hour. In the stifling quiet, her brain would be abuzz, reminding her of all the things she had lost, dredging up all those past regrets, conjuring possible future scenarios, each bleaker than the last. 

In those dark hours, she felt like the only person left in the whole world and the loneliness that was her constant companion swelled until it was threatening to crush her. The cold tentacles of hopelessness wrapped around her throat and left her gasping for air that her lungs couldn't seem to draw.

It took coaxing from her brother. Gentle and unwavering support from her mother. The unvoiced concern of her grandfather. And of course resolve and a grudging acceptance from Kagome herself. But it was the love of her family that finally helped her to get out of bed. Leave her room. Take small and cautious steps to regain what remained of her life.

It was a feat easier said than done.

She was back with her family, back in the era she’d been born in, back home. For a while, she tried to draw comfort in that. To pretend that nothing was wrong, that it was enough. But she was irrevocably changed.

She’d never before realised how much her travels in the past had changed her. How everything she’d experienced there had morphed her. How she had grown. And most of all, how for some time now, she’d only ever been a visitor in her own era. Her heart belonged to the past.

All these things, she only realised now, in the After, when she found herself a stranger in her own home, unable to recognise the girl she’d been before. Unable to settle into the life she’d had before. Unable to return to the half of her life that had slowly taken over everything else.

With the closing of the well, she had lost her other home. She had lost her friends. She had lost Inuyasha. But the worst of all was that she had lost herself.

She had been the Shikon Miko. She had gone on a quest of both danger and purpose. She had faced battles and adversaries and reigned victorious with her friends. She had helped find all the shards of the Shikon jewel and had pieced it together. Guarded it. Defeated Naraku. And finally, together with Inuyasha, put an end to Shikon no Tama’s cursed cycle of existence.

Now she was none of that. Just a failing high school student who’d fallen behind her peers. Her adventurous life had dwindled into one filled with textbooks, remedial classes and cram school as she struggled to catch up, fought to save her grades from a disaster so she might yet make something of her high school education. 

She was doing it more for her family than herself, though. She couldn’t think of the future beyond the next couple of days, couldn’t face the world yawning in front of her. The world without Inuyasha, her friends, adventure.

The world where she had lost her way.

The future held no appeal to someone who had made her home in the past; a home that her soul still longed for, her heart still clung to.

In the end, however, going to school turned out to be a good thing. It gave Kagome a reason to get out of bed and out of the house. It provided some structure and purpose to her aimless existence. It helped fill the endlessly yawning days and her studies became an escape from her thoughts and the bittersweet memories of better days. She could lose herself in her textbooks and school papers and let the world where she never quite fit in right anymore fade away.

That wasn’t to say Kagome didn’t make an effort, once she’d shaken off the initial gloom. She attended school. Started getting much better grades. Joined the archery club. Met up regularly with her friends at WacDonalds. Helped out at home and at the shrine. Spent time with her family. Played video games with Souta. Listened to grandpa’s wild stories. Curled up on the sofa next to her mother to watch her favourite dramas with her. 

She really tried. And though there were moments of laughter, hours of joy, days of sunshine and cheer, happiness eluded her.

Deep down within her, there was a yawning chasm of hurt and regret, of longing and nostalgia. Filled with all the could-have-beens. Here and there, something would remind her of Inuyasha and the chasm inside would gape all the larger, mocking her with her loss. Like a phantom limb, there was a constant throbbing ache that she carried, a painful reminder of the life she could have led.

Joining the archery club had been Kagome’s way to reclaim her identity. And some days were wonderful, the familiar soothing motions of firing her bow rooting her in the moment, making her forget the past, forcing her to focus on her breathing and her breathing alone. But other days, the bow in her hand, the arrow between her fingers, only served to remind her of what she used to be and she sighted at the target in despair because this all was just a pale imitation of true adventure, a bunch of high school students playacting.

Kagome wanted to fit in, to go back to the only life she knew before she'd travelled down the well, but it was no use. She’d seen so much more, done more, been more… This life she’d been left with no longer felt like it was enough. But it was all she had so she tried to make the most of it, while the chasm inside her loomed large, its jagged mouth gaping with darkness.

Like everyone else, Kagome sat through the university entrance exams. She attended her high school graduation, mustering a smile for her mother and grandfather, beaming proudly at her. She started her studies at university.

Life went on, as was its way, a forcible stream that ripped apart any effort to dam its course.

But Kagome didn’t move on. She couldn’t. Perhaps, deep down, in the pitch black of her chasm, she didn’t want to. 

In university, she chose to major in history, intent on specialising in the Sengoku period in particular. She threw herself once more into academics, drowning the present out with the past. Seeing it come to life in the pages of her textbooks, in the records that remained, in diaries, letters, poems of old. She pored over any document or legend or scroll she could find, hoping to get just one glimpse into the life she’d once lived, the world she’d once been a part of.   

But this protective bubble she’d built and burrowed in, lined with history books and studies of the past, burst just as she was about to start her third year in university.

Her grandfather got sick.

Her family, that integral pillar of support that had been keeping her upright all these years now teetered precariously. The chasm inside her widened, darkness slipping out once again, floating through her like smoke and dimming out all the light in her life.

It was serious and Kagome’s mother worried, spending half her days at the hospital at grandfather’s bedside. Kagome offered to help, though she herself was barely holding on now, hope slipping through her fingers as the freezing numbness in her soul pressed closer. 

It was a Saturday, a bright and sunny day, mocking Kagome with its cheeriness. She’d come to the hospital with her mother. Her grandfather had been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. She’d sat by his bedside, pasting a pale imitation of a smile on her lips as she chatted with him. But he wasn’t quite there anymore, too wearied to stay awake or alert for long, his mind muddled half the time, whether from the age or the medications or the illness. It made her stomach churn, to see her grandfather like this, an ailing old man who seemed like a stranger. 

When he fell to sleep, Kagome made her excuses, gave her mother a quick hug before leaving the room.

And finally, under the numbness and haze that had been plaguing her since her grandfather had fallen ill an emotion stirred. Sadness unfurled within her, vast like an ocean, a grey sea of misery she’d surely drown in if she let herself to fall in.

Kagome was blindly walking along the sterile corridor, more lost than she'd been in years, when suddenly she felt like a horde of ants was skittering and crawling on her skin. As a faint, sluggish pulse pressed against her temples, her strides steadied, lengthened, gained a purpose. All thoughts of her grandfather fled from her head as her stomach clenched, the ocean of sadness retreating once more as something old and achingly familiar rushed inside her once more, a wild and free torrent.

Distantly, Kagome was aware that her hands were trembling, that her hurried steps were now slipping into a half-run, that her heart was beating a rapid, frenzied rhythm while slowly crawling up her throat.

All she could focus on now was her screaming senses and the frail tendrils of darkness that had alerted them. Following the weak trail lingering in the air.

She paused before the door, rested her hands against it, her breath stuck in her lungs. She was terrified of what would wait on the other side of it. She was giddy with excitement, revelling in the feeling of the dark aura licking against her skin. A sensation she’d thought forever lost to her. 

With her heart teetering at the edge of a precipice, Kagome slid the door open and stepped in.

She stared at the figure lying comatose in the hospital bed for a long while, fingers digging into the skin of her arms as she hugged herself.

She didn’t even recognise him at first, not until she saw the markings.

Once, they had stood vivid and proud against the pale perfection of his skin. Now they were faded and wan, offering little contrast with his sallow face.

The tears Kagome hadn’t been able to shed for so long now streamed down her cheeks as she crossed over to the bed. Even with her vision blurred she drank in the sight of him. 

It was a shock to her system – and not just because she’d never expected to see him again. Sobs burned in her throat, threatening to spill from her lips. 

Like his markings, he was just a shadow of the daiyoukai she’d once known. His wonderful silver-white hair that she’d secretly admired had been hacked off. It had lost its gloss, lying limp against his head. He was thin enough to appear gaunt. His skin had a sickly pallid cast to it. 

And the worst of all were the tubes and wires and other medical paraphernalia attached to him, hooking him to monitors and whatnot. It looked wrong. He looked all wrong, lying there in front of her, so fragile. 

As if any second, he could break.

What had happened to him? What had brought him here? Rendered him into this husk of a youkai?

Her knees weak, Kagome dropped down to sit on the edge of his bed. Her tears still ran unchecked, falling to dot the hospital sheets. It broke her heart all over again, seeing him like this. 

She reached out, unable to help herself. Her fingers brushed against the flimsy hospital gown, splayed over his chest. She rested the palm of her hand on top of his heart because she had to touch him, to reassure herself that despite how he looked, he was alive. 

Kagome closed her eyes on a sigh. The tears were slowly drying on her cheeks. Her arms were alive with goosebumps, reacting to the darkly whirling youki in the room. It was thin and subdued, not at all like the storm of power she remembered. But it was there and that was all that mattered. 

That, and the heartbeat under her palm – steady, if sluggish.

Kagome opened her eyes and looked at him. A gasp tore from her lips.

The eyes – golden, bright and clear – were open, staring at her.

Kagome’s fingers curled, pressing into his chest now as her own heart began to race. Her other hand, shaking, rose as if by its own volition to come to rest on the cool skin of his cheek.

He was still staring at her, the youki in the room was pressing more insistently against her skin and the tears were burning in her eyes again.

The corners of Kagome’s lips curved, her voice rasping out in a broken whisper.

“Hello, Sesshoumaru.”

 End.

[catwithangerissues]

Okay so for your weekly prompt, Fukunaga and I/Me/Myself by Will Wood please! Thank you! :))

I/Me/Myself by Will Wood - Fukunaga Shōhei

✨Hey! Before anyone says it, I’m fully aware that this song is about gender identity! But, I couldn’t do it justice to use it quite that way here, so I instead used the upbeat tune to make a cute ending :) Please give the song a listen, cause holy shit he’s one of my favorite artists now✨

“I’ve been feeling lightheaded since I lost enough weight to fit back in my skin

Flower petals and feathers tether me to the ground (pound for pound)

Take my tea with formaldehyde for my feminine side since the day that I died

While I whittle my bones until I’m brittle, am I pretty now?

For some reason I find myself lost in what you think of me

And too confused to choose who I should be

And now you’ve got me thinking”

“You’ve got to tell them at some point bro!” Yamamoto had been going on and on for what felt like hours, telling Fukunaga about how he needed to finally confess to you, but it always ended up the same way.

The black haired boy was too scared to tell you how he felt, for fear that you didn’t feel the same way. He was pretty insecure about himself, he thought you could do so much better than him and that there was no chance you’d ever feel the same as he did.

He had been quietly talking to the other second years about his problem, he thought that Tora would be helpful because he’d push him out of his comfort zone in the way he needed, and he thought Kenma would be the voice of reason in comparison to the teams ace.

What he didn’t expect, but probably should’ve, was for Tora and Kenma’s inevitable fighting and commotion to draw the attention of two of the third years, minus Kai who had been talking to Lev at the time.

“Come on, Kenma! You know just a-“

“Oi, what’s this about?!” The libero and resident mom of the team was becoming noticeably annoyed with all the noise.

“Fukunaga won’t confess to y/n because he’s scared they don’t feel the same way!” Tora shouted while trying to pry Kenma off of his torso, only for Kuroo to separate the two.

Fukunaga looked down at the floor, and a layer of silence dawned on the entire gym. His pale face flushed, and he began fiddling with his hands out of embarrassment and nervousness.

You see, basically everyone knew of your little crush on Sho, except for him. The entire team had been trying for months to get him to ask you out already, because they had long since come to the conclusion that you were too much of a scaredy cat to make the first move yourself.

“I- I just find it hard to believe that they w-would ever feel the same way..” Fukunaga timidly explained.

“Are you kidding!? Y/n has been going on about you for months dude! Just do it already!” The mohawked ace was quickly silenced by a loud back of the neck smack from the captain. “If you keep telling like that, they’ll hear you.”

After a quick exchange of discipline to the yelling boy, Yaku had made his way over to Fukunaga to comfort him, fearing he’d explode or melt from embarrassment at any second, now that the entire gymnasium had been made aware once again of his situation.

For the next several minutes, Sho had effectively poured his heart out to the much shorter upperclassman. He told him of his fear of you not feeling the same way, as well as informing him of all his insecurities both physical and otherwise. But it’s what slipped out of his own mouth during his rant of confessions that really stuck with Fukunaga.

“I think I’m in love with y/n and I’m terrified.”

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to lie to?

I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Just little old me in a big, big world

Little old me in a big world

I wish I were a girl”

Later that night, he laid in bed, hands behind his head and one leg over the other, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the words that slipped from his lips earlier that day. He didn’t know if he really knew what love was, let alone if he even felt it for anyone but his family.

But the words changed something in his brain, like a switch had gone off, and he couldn’t help but feel as though he was running out of time to tell you how he felt.

You both still had another year before graduation, so it couldn’t be that, at least he thought so. Maybe it was that you were the most gorgeous and kind human he’d ever met and he feared someone snatching his best friend away from him. Or maybe it was the ever present fear of one of his team mates, most likely the tall Russian puppy dog or the shark toothed ace, would slip up and tell you how he felt without him knowing.

He spent the rest of that night talking himself up to telling you, how he’d been head over heels for you for what felt like forever, tomorrow. He had to, he couldn’t let the love of his life slip through his fingers. “Wait, did I just think that?!”

“I’ve been feeling lighthearted since I gained enough weight back to cover my bones

I get dressed up in shadows one leg at a time – we’re so alike

But if the shoe fits, then I won’t try it on

You’ll be walking out early, but the show must go on

No, I know that I’m wrong

But I love how you’re on my side when I cross that line

It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body that they stuck me in

The privilege of being born to be a man

And now you got me thinking”

He met you in the usual spot. Your bright smile at his presence instantly making his cheeks heat up. You two had small talk for a few minutes, it eased his nerves slightly, but the voice in his head was screaming for him to just rip off the bandaid. If you were going to reject him he may as well get it over with, he thought.

“I told them I couldn’t beca-“

“Y/n.” The black haired boy interrupted you. Turning your head to meet his gaze, he looked tense and deep on thought, but at the same time more focused than you’d ever seen him before.

“Yes, Sho?” Your curiosity got the better of you, long forgetting the story you were previously telling the boy.

He was noticeably nervous, hands shaking and you could tell he was straining to keep eye contact with you. You felt concern wash through your entire body at the sight, fearing he may be ill or something worse.

“I- I need to tell you something, t-that’s been on my mind for a while.” His voice trailed quieter towards the end of his sentence, his voice slightly wobbly. Your hands came up to his cheeks, effectively forcing him to look you in the eye, and yes, he blushed profusely at the closeness.

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to lie to?

I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Just little old me in a big, big world

Little old me in a big world

I wish”

His confession had been a surprise to you, but you were overjoyed at the newfound information that the shy quiet boy had actually felt the same as you all along.

You couldn’t stop smiling for hours after it happened, and from the looks of it, neither could Fukunaga. He held your hand firmly but carefully in his as the two of you walked to the gym, routinely getting ready for you to drop him off for practice. Planting a small kiss on his cheek and exchanging your goodbyes, he turned to walk into the large familiar building.

He was greeted by the loud congratulations and praise of his teammates, noticing they’d been watching through the windows of the building, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He spent the next few minutes answering endless questions, and even if he was normally used to the provocative jokes that his teammates made, he couldn’t help but turn bright red when he heard, “remember to use protection” followed by laughter, as they dispersed to being warming up for practice.

“Eating your prosthetic meat/meet your anesthetic criteria, pathetic seeing you become acetic

Say my name like a slur, but I’ve been called worse

I’ve heard it all before, no this isn’t a first

Let me be the void you fill with taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences

I am quantum physics, my witness brings me into existence”

-Flash forward a few years into the future-

The loud, upbeat music played throughout the small space the two of you shared, it seemed as though the notes resonated off of the floor under your feet as you listened. With his right hand on your waist and his left hand clasping your right, the two of you spun around enthusiastically to the music. The tile floors of your shared apartment kitchen were as smooth as a dance floor for the two of you. With loud laughter, poor dueting, and pounding heart rates, you couldn’t find it in you- no matter how deep you thought- to feel anything but love at this moment.

With your partner of a few years now, stable jobs and schooling going well, in your first apartment together, dancing in the empty space- as you hadn’t bought any furniture yet. As the late afternoon, orange sun rays bled through the small kitchen window and onto the tiles, you two twirled and dipped to the beat, feet moving without thinking. You saw his bright smile as you spun, his arms catching you with ease. You wanted to burn this memory into your brain forever and never forget it. If you weren’t already certain of your love for the black haired boy, you definitely were now.

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend

Am I pretty enough to love back?

No, not yet

I wish I could be a girl, and really I’d prefer it if you would use I/Me/Myself

Am I pretty enough?

Am I pretty enough to fucking die?

Little old me in a big world

Well I would give you my whole world

Little old me in a big world

I wish”

-Flash forward again-

You were brought from your thoughts by the noises of your partner getting ready for the day. The two of you had woken up well over an hour ago, but neither of you wanted to leave the others warm embrace.

You laid in bed, watching as your partner got ready. It wasn’t that watching your now fiancé getting ready for the day was very exciting, he liked to keep his routine simple. But as you watched the way he moved around quietly so as to not disturb you, as he gave a glance over to your tired form to check up on you every few minutes, only to smile when he caught you staring again. As he routinely kissed your forehead after gently lifting your hair out of the way with his thumb, and as he told you he loved you and he’d be home soon to treat you to dinner and a movie tonight in a whisper.

You could almost cry at the sense of relief, happiness, and thankfulness that washed over you. In this moment, you were more grateful than ever for his old high school team of energetic boys that talked him into asking you out all those years ago.

✨Tag list: @almalckd @toworuu ✨

🌱This was fucking cute don’t @ me. Thank you for requesting! I love this song 😭 not super happy with the way this was written but oh well :)

[makeste]

I really want to know your opinion on this : do you think OFA's secret should be shared with more than just Bakugou? And if so, who? I really love your weekly reactions (you're hilarious) and your metas (you're so articulate!!!!) (´｡• ω •｡`)

first of all, thank you so much! ( ॢ•͈ᴗ•͈ॢ)

as for your question, it’s a bit complicated. my answer is both yes and no. I’ll start with the “no” part, I guess.

so here’s the thing: I absolutely, 100% fully support All Might’s decision to keep OFA secret. I really can’t stress this enough -- this is not something they were keeping hidden for funsies. “the Power Of All Might is something that can be shared and passed on from person to person, and he gave it to a fifteen-year-old boy” is not just something to be spread around lightly; if it got out to the wrong person, it could literally destroy Izuku’s life.

to the villains, he becomes a target, as we’ve already seen. we’re talking about the power of All Might for fuck’s sake. of course he’s a target. it’s the one power that can stand up to even All for One himself. villains would be coming after him pretty much every day of the week. if they don’t know about the “OFA can only be given up willingly” part, they simply try to take the quirk by force. but if they do know about it, that makes it even worse, because that’s when they start getting into methods of coercing him. hostages; torture; you name it. give us OFA or we’ll kill these innocent people. give us OFA or we’ll hurt your family and friends. his mom would have to go into hiding. he would never be safe again.

to the general public, and to agencies like the HPSC, Izuku becomes the subject of heated political controversy, and a potential government pawn. how could All Might do something so irresponsible as entrusting the greatest power in the world into the hands of a quirkless fifteen-year-old?? now the world is left without its Symbol of Peace, and with no one who’s ready to step in and fill those shoes. why didn’t he give OFA to someone with more power, more experience? this is unacceptable. Izuku should give it up to someone else. Hawks, or Best Jeanist, or Endeavor. people are very easily whipped into a frenzy; all it would take is a few viral opinion pieces, and the nation would probably be demanding the government to step in and force Izuku to relinquish it. some citizens might even take it upon themselves to try and capture him if they got desperate enough. even the other pros would probably be pressuring him. as for the HPSC, I wouldn’t put it past them to try and take control/custody of Izuku themselves and claim that it’s a matter of national security or whatnot. they’d have the best of intentions of course. just trying to keep the world safe. but they’re trending much more Hydra than S.H.I.E.L.D. these days, so who knows how badly that could end.

to Izuku’s schoolmates and friends, he becomes one of two things; either the object of mistrust or envy, or else someone to be protected at all costs. for most of them it would be the latter, since they really are good kids. but there’d be some people -- not in his class perhaps, but it’s a big school -- who’d no doubt be echoing the same thoughts as the public at large. he doesn’t deserve it, he’s not strong enough, etc., you get the idea. and if and when the villain attacks and threats -- “give us OFA or else” -- inevitably began to crop up as mentioned, all of the blame would fall down on him. “just give it to someone else who can handle it. why are you so selfish. this isn’t just about you; you’re putting everyone else in danger.”

and for the ones who don’t turn on him, who stay by his side and defend him, there’s still the fact that doing so puts them in danger as well. these kids are heroes. and if you entrust a hero with something that must be protected at all costs, they will protect it. at all costs. which is yet another burden to add to Izuku’s shoulders as now it’s not only his own safety he has to fear for, but that of his friends and loved ones. and if anything happened to them because of him, that’s not something he would ever get over.

so yeah. it’s insanely dangerous. and none of the above is even taking into account that there is a traitor at U.A., and they still don’t know who it is. so given all of that, it’s no wonder All Might insisted that Deku keep it a secret. and then of course Deku went and told Kacchan anyway, which even Kacchan was mad about once he realized the gravity of what he’d been told. but at least Kacchan is someone Deku’s known literally as long as he can remember, and there’s virtually no chance of him being a secret traitor. the same cannot be said for almost anyone else. we all know that they can be trusted, yes. but All Might doesn’t know that. even Aizawa, who is the one other person I’d argue should still have been told, was still a prime suspect in the traitor investigation due to him being one of the few people who could have communicated the information about the class schedule and the training camp’s whereabouts. we know he is not the traitor. we know he would literally die for any one of these kids. but the other characters do not know that for sure, and even Aizawa himself would probably agree that the rational thing under those circumstances would be to trust absolutely no one, with no exceptions. it’s the safest thing to do for Izuku’s sake in a situation where there is relatively little to be gained from telling other people, and potentially everything to lose by doing so. again, we already know there is at least one person in or linked to class 1-A who is not what they seem, who has managed to earn the trust of everyone, and who is connected to the League. that is just not a situation you can afford to fuck around with. “well we really like all these kids a lot and we’ve gotten to know them and we’re pretty sure they’re all on the up and up” is just not good enough when we are literally talking about a matter of life and death for a sixteen-year-old child.

so that’s the “no” part of my answer. I don’t think the secret should be shared. or at least, that would have been my answer before Shigaraki Tomura woke up from his three-month nap and was all “GOD I REALLY WANT ONE FOR ALL”, and Endeavor was all “ONE FOR ALL WHAT IS THAT”, and Izuku was all “HEY MISTER ENDEAVOR SIR, JUST SO YOU KNOW, SHIGARAKI IS AFTER ME”, and Aizawa was all “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I too heard ‘One for All’ on the comm, and have also deduced that for some reason Shigaraki Tomura is targeting my student, because most of the time I’m the one who’s actually holding on to the two brain cells that all of the pro heroes collectively share.”

so now that all of that has gone down, I think the situation has changed enough where, moving forward, at the very least Endeavor and Aizawa will have to be let in on the secret. because if not, they’re probably going to start doing their own investigations into it and could wind up accidentally spilling the beans to EVERYONE. so at the very least they will (and should) know. and this also applies to anyone else who stumbles across this battle before it wraps up, and thus also starts putting the pieces together. I think this will be Shouto and Ochako and Iida, potentially, which I’ll be glad to see happen if that is the case. because even though I firmly believe not telling them earlier was the right call, that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to know about it. they’re his friends, and they’ve earned his trust and care about his wellbeing. I think and hope that they’ll understand why they weren’t told earlier, and I hope they don’t blame Izuku for it at all, because it absolutely is not his fault. he made a promise to All Might, and All Might, as I’ve stated, had very good reasons for keeping this on the DL.

and by the way, it also would not surprise me at all if in spite of all the precautions they’ve taken, the secret actually DOES get revealed to the world at large eventually. at which point I’m almost positive every single thing I mentioned above will come to pass, and Izuku will be in for one hell of a rough ride. the upside though is that at least he’ll have a bigger support network to help him get through it. and also he is a much stronger, smarter, and more capable person than he was even just a year ago, and he’s better equipped to handle it now than he might have been before. it’s much harder to argue “this child should not have been given OFA” when said child is now capable of using 45% power instead of just 5% and/or 100%-but-his-entire-body-gets-destroyed-in-the-process. also harder to argue when said child has since UNLOCKED THE POWER OF SIXQUIRKS which not even All Might managed to do, so suck on that!! of course, that in turn opens the door to suspicion about him being connected to AFO, which is a whole new set of problems. OFA really is just a humongous pain in the ass in a lot of ways lmao.

anyway, so I hope that answers your question! no I don’t think they should have told anyone earlier, but I do think they should come clean to a few people now, since they’ve basically been all but found out anyway. and I will be happy to have those people included in the OFA Scooby Squad moving forward. they’re going to have to get a bigger clubhouse though I guess.

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: How the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami Influenced Anime Over the Past Decade

Image via Netflix

  In a single moment, everything changed; after one great shake of the earth, the world was never the same again. Today marks the 10th anniversary of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, also known as 3.11 in Japan. At a magnitude of 9.0, it was the biggest earthquake to ever hit the island. The earthquake, and the subsequent tsunami that followed, also killed an estimated 15,899, injured 6,157, and was the most expensive natural disaster in history. The meltdown of the Fukushima Daini Nuclear Power Plant followed — rendering parts of Japan uninhabitable to this day — with many still unable to go back to their home even ten years on.

  The shaking was felt all the way in Tokyo and beyond, leaving physical scars on the world’s biggest metropolitan area. This was nothing compared to the devastation seen in the prefectures of Miyagi, Fukushima, and Iwate. For those who lived through the event, whether that be in Tohoku or Tokyo, the feelings of that day have left psychological scars that have influenced their daily lives. 

  Image via Netflix

  Aftershocks from the seismic event can still be felt even today: a magnitude 7.3 earthquake hit the region a little under a month ago, raising fears that another big quake could shake Japan at any time in the near future. 

  For creators living in Japan, these overwhelming emotions have manifested in their works. Creators such as Hayao Miyazaki, Masaaki Yuasa, Hideaki Anno, and Makoto Shinkai have internalized the events that transpired in their backyard and used 3.11 to help spread awareness, unravel some of the hanging threads, or even try and bring hope and happiness to fans. 

  Hayao Miyazaki looking at the debris leftover from 3.11 in an NHK documentary 

Image via NHK

  Hayao Miyazaki isn’t one to mince words and always just gets on with the job. A few weeks after 3.11, the Studio Ghibli director introduced his son’s latest work at the time, From Up on Poppy Hill. While Miyazaki tried to keep the press focused on the film, inevitably the topic of the tragedy from two weeks ago arose. Responding to why he felt it was okay to hold a press conference after the earthquake, Miyazaki spoke about his local bakery, explaining that “the old man at the bakery where I always buy dumplings and sweets has continued to make bread. That's why I think we should keep making movies.”

  At the time, Miyazaki dismissed the thought that 3.11 would affect how he made his next work. But in a 2013 interview with Jiji upon the release of his then “final work” The Wind Rises, the director said the film “has not been affected by the earthquake or the nuclear accident. [The idea] was there from the beginning. I think that the times have caught up with us and overtaken us.” The Wind Rises contains a very realistic – almost chilling – interpretation of the 1923 Great Kanto earthquake.

  The earthquake scene from The Wind Rises

  For Japan Sinks 2020, Masaaki Yuasa used some of his own experiences to highlight how characters would be feeling in the moment. In multiple scenes, the main characters are left worrying about what is going on without a clear line of communication – in fact, sometimes getting misinformation from sources not fully aware of the situation. 

  Yuasa himself explained in an interview in AnimeAnime that he felt like he didn’t know what was the “correct information” when he felt the quake in Tokyo in 2011. As he looked for information online, he heard rumors that Tokyo was in imminent danger. He was scared. Reflecting, Yuasa knew in his “heart” that he wasn’t as scared as those in the Tohoku region, but was “horrified” by what he saw on the news. Yuasa used a lot of those emotions he felt at the time to aid in telling the Japan Sinks 2020 story.

  Image via Netflix

  But it wasn’t just anime creators who were affected by 3.11. The 8th part of the JoJo's Bizarre Adventure manga series, JoJolion, debuted only a few months after the quake in 2011. Set in a town called Morioh (similar to the town in Diamond is Unbreakable), the location is based on manga creator Hirohiko Araki’s hometown of Sendai. The manga was being conceptualized when the earthquake occurred and Araki felt that he “couldn't avoid” touching on the subject in the series, he said in an Asashi Shimbun interview in 2014.

  Araki’s family home, which had been around for 14 generations, was also swept away in the tsunami. He added that was shocked at the loss of his childhood home and felt that he should draw manga to bring entertainment to readers and fans.

  Araki wasn’t the only manga creator to touch on the events of 3.11 in their long-running series. Tetsu Kariya’s long-running series Oshinbo touched on some controversial aspects of the aftermath of the tragedy, with one of the characters in the series suffering from a nosebleed after being in the town of Futaba – a town that is still not open to the public.

  This caused an outcry with government officials on the national and prefectural level, with Prime Minister Shinzo Abe saying that “the government will make the best effort to take action against baseless rumors” in reference to the manga. These protests saw the collected volume version of the arc change some of the wording slightly as to “clarify the intention of what was said," and that "some of the characters' lines have been altered.” The series has been on hiatus after the arc ended two chapters later in May 2014.

  Image via Netflix

  The Japanese government was also at the forefront of Hideaki Anno’s 2016 film Shin Godzilla, with many reviewers noting the similarities between the government in the film and what had occurred in the aftermath of 3.11. As Godzilla walks the neighborhoods of Kanagawa, waters rise, boats come ashore, and people are fleeing en-masse, meanwhile, the government is claiming that everything will be okay.

  This sharp social satire of the events may be skin deep as the film goes on, but exposes the fact that Japan has a recent event that is very real and emotive to reference. Shin Godzilla Producer Akihiro Yamauchi explained in a 2016 Nippon.com interview that 3.11 “changed Japan more than anything else in the past 12 years.” He went on to say that the film had the option of “escaping into fantasy...but Anno-san and I talked it over and we both agreed that an approach like that would be meaningless.” 

  Image via Netflix

  Makoto Shinkai’s 2016 movie Your Name, was directly influenced by the 2011 earthquake and the change in the psyche of the Japanese people. Taki, the male protagonist, at one moment in the movie says “You will never know when Tokyo could become like this,” vocalizing the fear that festers away in many people living in Japan. 

  Genki Kawamura, a producer on both Your Name and Weathering with You, explained at a discussion at the Aoyama Shachu think tank in 2019 that “Your Name is aware of the Great East Japan earthquake.” Shinkai later explained in a 2017 interview with Huffington Post Japan that the disaster aspect of Your Name is only the underlying layer of the film, and the film had to end the way it did for it to feel complete to both him and the audience.

  In a 2018 Makoto Shinkai Exhibition in Sendai, the first prototype sketch drawn of Your Name by Shinkai was shown to the public. It depicted the area of Yuriage in Natori City, Miyagi prefecture, which was completely wiped out in the tsunami. The population of the area only had 30 minutes to evacuate before waters overtook the town. There weren’t many survivors.

  Image via Asahi Shimbun

  Shinkai visited the area of Yuriage in July 2011 and drew the sketch shortly after, which later became the springboard for what then became Your Name. He said solemnly in a TBS program “This could have been my town.” 

  Shinkai explained in the Huffington Post interview that 3.11 changed the way people in Japan thought about the world. "Before they’d think that “somehow...Japanese society will continue as it is," he said. "But since 2011, I think that idea has collapsed. The town does not remain a town forever.” 

  Because of this, Shinkai decided to focus on the little things that made up life: A late train, cutting up food, texting. Shinkai thought it was “necessary to draw meaning from the monotony of daily life.” Nowadays these beautifully crafted moments from Shinkai’s works are shared online as some sort of social media anime ASMR. 

  In the end, Shinkai’s main driving factor for the film was to make the audience “happy.” And it struck a chord with a wide audience, as the film would later go on to become the third highest-grossing anime film of all time worldwide.

  Image via Netflix

  As we look back at how one event changed the world view of many, it’s good to know that despite the hardships faced in the unexpected, the desire to create and bring smiles to audiences perseveres. Many creators have used 3.11 as a chance to reflect, and it's only to be seen how the long tail of 3.11 continues to impact creators and their works.   

  The Tohoku region is still feeling the effects of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, with families torn apart and homes unable to be returned to. Japan NPO Center has a website set up with ways to donate to local charities and not-for-profit organizations within the Tohoku region that has been set up to serve affected communities.

    Daryl Harding is a Japan Correspondent for Crunchyroll News. He also runs a YouTube channel about Japan stuff called TheDoctorDazza, tweets at @DoctorDazza, and posts photos of his travels on Instagram. 

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features.

By: Daryl Harding

[capaldifiction]

Massive Success - Lewis Capaldi x Reader

Paring: Lewis Capaldi x Reader

Word Count: 2,863

Description:  Lewis and Y/N have been friends since they were teens, and she’s been hiding how she’s felt nearly as long. Several years, two record labels, and a worldwide tour later she’s struggling getting used to the new lifestyle they both live, and keeping her feelings for him under control. And god does she hate those live interviews. Lewis x Celebrity Reader

Warnings: Some swearing and mild slight spiciness at the end.

Italics are dreams or inner thoughts.

Y/N stares back into her reflection in the mirror in her dressing room before closing her eyes and slowly counting down in her mind. She still wasn’t used to this whole live television interview thing. Concerts sure, she’d been performing since she was a teenager, with a guitar or mic stand in her hands, the rest faded away. It might have also helped that as the crowds got bigger, her ability to see individual faces had grown harder.

But these live interviews with the endless row of seemingly too bright set lights, the live audience she could see each and every expression of, sitting in a chair with several cameras trained on her to remind her that if she slipped up the entire world would know in seconds were not comforting thoughts.

Performing a quick song with a wave to the camera and audience was the easy part, when she had her guitar stripped from her and ended up in the seat was when it always got dicey. She’d only done a few since her career had taken off, but she’d somehow managed to avoid the major disaster her mind was telling her would happen.

“Nervous?” a voice asks from directly behind her, causing her to almost fall back into the man behind her as her eyes fly open. Lewis presses his hands to her back to hold her up, a mischievous smile on his face as she looked at him through the mirror.

“Couldn’t help yourself could you?” she scowls and bites her lip. “Of course I am. You know I’m not good at this shit.”

A sympathetic smile replaces the previous one as he pats her back, “It’s fine, I get nervous too. But you’ve got this. Plus this time we’ve got each other right?”

She slowly exhales and relaxes her shoulders as she turns to look at him with her own smile, “That’s true, when I inevitably freeze or say something stupid, you can pull them right back in with that charm hm?”

“Exactly,” he grins, “That’s what friends are for.”

“That they are,” she agrees with a laugh and looks back to the mirror to check her hair, trying to ignore the butterflies still in her stomach from his touch.

“I’ll be back in five to grab ya,” he calls out as he walks away.

She’d met Lewis when they were around 16, both gigging where they could and chasing their musical dreams. They’d become fast friends, and in the years that followed she found herself developing more than just a little crush on him. Pushing those feelings aside, she was happy to be by his side as a friend and confidant through career and relationship troubles.

When his career started to take off, she’d been ecstatic for him. She’d been going to nearly every gig of his for years and knew his talent, but to see everyone else starting to see it had been amazing. It had gotten hard when he really started traveling, being gone months on end. She kept to her own gigging and a part time job, but not having him around was harder to get used to than she would admit.

She’d almost let those other feelings go. Just enjoying the time she did have with him between his traveling, and their occasional FaceTime calls and daily texts. She’d grown comfortable with it at least.

Then began the wild two years when she’d been picked up by an agent, released her first few songs and EP, signed with a record label,  and Lewis had asked her to be the opening act for his big headlining tour.

Going back to spending nearly every day together, doing what they love while also traveling the world had been more than amazing. Unfortunately with more time together, came the resurgence of those feelings, hitting her suddenly like a tidal wave.

Every morning, afternoon, and evening were spent together, even in their down time they tended to hang out in the same room until it was time for bed. During that time she wrote and released mid-tour what had become her hit song.

All she’d been hoping for was to unleash some of the pent up feelings and energy, but somehow that had turned into a song she heard on the radio, various radio and tv interviews, a wave of popularity, and many questions from Lewis.

It had started out with just teasing questions, but the more he pushed her on who the song was about, or to at least talk it out with him, the more on edge she got. She felt guilty hiding the truth, and felt even more guilty that her best friend felt she couldn’t trust him enough to tell him. But she couldn’t.

After a few hour tour bus ride of him gently prodding her for information, she’d snapped at him that it was none of his business, and since then they’d abandoned the topic. The days following were tense, but they’d worked their way back to normal after some time. In that time is when they’d written their newest song together that they finally agreed was the one they’d record together.

Fast forward to eight months later, there she stood in her dressing room at The Late Late Show waiting for her performance and interview with Lewis to promote the song.

“You ready?” Lewis calls, ducking his head back into her dressing room.

“It’s been five minutes already?” she asks with a tense chuckle.

“Come on, we’ll be fine Y/N,” he encourages, giving her a side hug as she reaches the door. “Business as usual.”

-

“God I hate those lights.” Y/N forces a smile as she half listens to the question James Corden has asked Lewis. Their performance had gone great, and nothing particularly bad had happened in the interview thus far, but she was finding it hard to concentrate.

Lewis’ voice sounds almost muffled as her gaze goes from the lights to the many cameras and many people in the audience. “When will I ever get used to this?”

“So Y/N,” James says, pulling her back into the moment. “Your hit song ‘All You Never Say’ came out nearly a year ago today, did you expect it to have the success it did?”

“Never, honestly this is still surreal.” She nods her head toward Lewis, “We’ve talked about it and the whole thing still seems crazy, we were still just gigging in bars together a few years ago, now here we are.”

“Now I think we have a question on everyone’s minds, did the person the song is about realize it’s about them and have you both fallen madly in love?” Corden teases with a mischievous grin.

Y/N forces an uncomfortable laugh and adjusts in her seat, “No, I don’t think he knows it’s about him quite yet.”

“Does that mean you’ve fallen madly in love but he doesn’t know about the song or no to them both?” James chuckles.

“Yes Y/N,” Lewis says turning toward her with a teasing grin, holding an imaginary microphone up to her, “How does HE feel about YOU?”

“Well I don’t know that answer seeing as he’s you,” Y/N snaps back immediately, her cheeks red at his question.

And within seconds she’s realized what she’s said. James’ mouth hangs open, Lewis’ eyes wide with shock, and nearly every face in the audience mirroring a similar look to that of the two of them.

Y/N loudly clears her throat, “So uh, yeah how about ‘Lost,’ let’s talk about that.”

“Of course,” James says recovering quickly. “You two wrote the song together?”

“Y-yeah, we did,” Lewis mumbles, stealing a glance at Y/N beside him as he tries to focus on the question. “We’ve written together for years. One of the songs on her EP we actually wrote together. And we’ve definitely sang together before, we just never found the right song to actually record together until this one.”

The rest of the interview continues on as normally as it could after her outburst, but Y/N finds herself sinking further and further into her seat as it goes on. She lets Lewis answer most of the questions, but feels ashamed to look at him.

When finally the producer ends the segment, she’s up and out of her chair and sprinting to the back as she hears Lewis shout her name. Making a beeline for her dressing room, she makes it to the door hastily unlocking it and slips in. However, as she shuts it behind her it bounces back in her hands as she looks down to see a black and white Van stopping it from closing.

“Did you mean that? What you said?” Lewis demands as he peaks through the opening at Y/N. His face is bright red, and he’s obviously just as out of breath as she from her mad dash.

“I- I mean, I wasn’t going to…” she stumbles, having a hard time looking at him. “Yes,” she finally admits as she focus on his shoe stuck in the doorway.

“Please let me in,” he says softly as he leans into the door.

Backing away from the door and retreating to one of the chairs in the room, she just continues to stare at the floor. The sounds of him entering and closing the door behind him, then sitting on the stool beside her are the only sounds in the room.

“Almost gave me a heart attack, bolting away like that,” he finally comments. “When did you have fucking time to become an Olympic sprinter?”

A small chuckle leaves her as she glances up at his red face, and watches him run his fingers through his hair, “Running from my problems gave me enough practice.”

“Fair,” he responds with a smirk and rubs his palms on his jeans, as his own gaze drifts away from her.

“I understand if you’re mad,” she says after a few moments. “And I can understand if you want some time away from me after this, but you’re really important to me. I don’t want to lose our friendship, that’s why I’ve never said anything. I want to still be friends if you can… forget this or move past it.”

Lewis’ brow raises at her words and fidgeting in his seat, “I- that’s not what I want.”

His words sting, but it’s not like she didn’t expect them. Training her gaze back on the floor she sighs, “I understand. And I’m sorry. I know we have to finish up the hype for this song, but I’ll distance myself after that.”

“What the fuck, no!” He yells immediately, “That’s not what I meant at all, I, well I feel the same way.”

“You’re kidding me,” she states, her mouth agape as she searches his eyes for the joke. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he says simply as he kicks at the floor. “When we were teenagers you never seemed interested in me in that way, then I was gone all the time for my career so we were never together. Then we were suddenly touring together, writing together, and I… I’d gotten close to bringing it up. Then you released ‘All You Never Say’.”

“Why did that stop you?”

He rolls his eyes at her question, “You released a song about how you’re madly in love with someone that you can’t tell them that you love them because it wouldn’t work out, they wouldn’t feel the same. All the while things between us staying exactly the same, and when I tried to press you for details on this guy, you completely shut down on me. Was I supposed to just say ‘well I understand that you love someone else, but have I got news for you’?”

“When you put it that way,” she nods with a sigh. “Never thought there was even a chance you felt the same way. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by adding feelings you didn’t reciprocate. I wrote it when we started touring together, because all the feelings I’d had for you came back full force, and I had to write something to let it out. I didn’t think there was a chance it’d take off like that or that you’d see it that way.”

After a few moments of silence between the two, Lewis finally chuckles.

“What?”

“Here I’ve been sitting all salty that you’re singing about some guy that won’t love you back, hating whoever he is for making you feel that way and making it impossible for me to ever say anything. And this whole time, it’s fuckin been me,” he says with a grin, shaking his head. “Fuckin unreal.”

“Ironic,” she agrees with her own laugh, feeling lighter than she’s felt in years. Getting up from her chair, she walks over to stand in front of him.

He looks at her quizzically as she hesitantly gets closer, moving until she’s standing between his legs, nearly flush to the stool he’s sitting on, “There’s… nothing stopping us now right?”

“Good point,” he nearly whispers back, his breath tickling her face at the close proximity. “Are you going to do something about it?”

“Do you want me to?” she teases, leaning in ever closer, his face immediately tilting toward hers.

“Do it,” he urges, his hands going to her hips.

Her hands rest on the stool on either side of him as she presses her lips softly his, almost immediately pulling back with a grin.

He grunts in frustration as he pulls her as close as he can.

Leaning in she presses her lips to his once again feather light as his eyes drift shut. Instead of deepening the kiss, she opts to gently bite his bottom lip, holding it between her teeth and his eyes slowly drift back open.

This time a groan leaves him as she releases his lip, “You’re gonna kill me like this Y/N, I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I have too,” she whispers leaning in toward his ear, blowing on it gently as he shudders against her. “Don’t want to rush it though do we?”

“We do,” he mumbles as she chuckles in his ear.

Running her hands up his thighs, she leans back to look at his face once again, his eyes hooded as he watches her every move.

“Maybe that’s enough for now?” she teases, pretending to pull away.

Within seconds his lips are pressed to hers, a surprised gasp leaving her as she leans into him. His lips hungry and urgent against hers.

Her hands reach up to clutch the fabric of his shirt as she gives him control and his hands roam up her back.

His lips leave hers as she looks at him almost in a daze, a lazy smile on his face before he turns his attention to placing kisses up her exposed neck.

“Lewis,” she groans, leaning her head back for him.

Just as his hand goes to slip under her shirt, the door to the dressing room swings open, causing the two to attempt to jump apart. However, failing in that as they both crash to the floor falling off the stool in a tangled mess.

“Oh!” James exclaims backing up from the door before laughing. “I was just coming to check that everything was alright with the two of you, but it appears it’s more than ok.”

Y/N can feel her face flushing red as her and Lewis untangle themselves, “Y-yeah we’re good.”

“Are you sure neither of you need medical attention? That was quite the collapse to the floor,” he teases.

“Nope, we’re fine,” Lewis insists, climbing to his feet and offering a hand to pull Y/N up as well. “And nothing happened right?” he asks hopefully.

“You mean I can’t be the one to announce the new celebrity couple that became a couple on my show?” James continues to tease as Lewis’ face reaches a similar shade of red as Y/N.

“I- well,” he stumbles trying to figure out how to answer before settling just adjusting his shirt.

“I’m just teasing you two,” he finally says. “I’m glad this ended far better than what I was expecting to find back here. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be.” He slips out of the room quickly, pulling the door shut behind him.

As the door shuts, both Lewis and Y/N exhale in relief, immediately glancing toward one another at the sound, and a fit of laughter taking over both of them.

“It only took us about eight years, two record label deals, a worldwide tour, several songs written together, and a fuck up on live television for us to admit we’ve liked each other since we were 16. I’d call that a massive success,” Lewis grins as he pulls her in close to him again.

“Oh is that all?” she says shaking her head, “Couldn’t have gone smoother.”

“So… food?” he suggests, draping his arm across her shoulders. “There’s no use hiding it when you told the world already.”

“Good point,” she muses leaning into his side. “Pizza?”

“You read my mind.”

-----------

Song mentioned as being theirs are ‘All You Never Say’ by Birdy, and ‘lost’ by Loote. Chose those since the vibe of the lyrics fit the type of song I was looking for with this :)

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Masterlist

Request List

[starryevermore]

paradise island: a review

A note before we begin: everything above the cut will be spoiler free and will just be my general feelings about the story as a whole, the writing, and if I’d recommend it. Everything below the cut will include spoilers to explain my feelings about the story.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Visiting the North Shore had been a bizarre and unsettling experience, to say the least, but when they got home after vacation was over, he was going to suggest to Colby that they make a video about it.

Hell, no. Even better. Write a book. Videos melted away after a while, but a book? Books and stories solidified on the conscious mind forever. (91-92)

Overall, I enjoyed this book. I generally enjoy stories like this, but there were a few moments throughout the novel where things just fell a bit flat. 

While I was reading, I made a few notes, the first being that there was a weird juxtaposition between talking about more adult topics (drinking, women, sex, etc.) but in an odd, almost kid-friendly way. Some of the word choices were interesting, such as constant use of “fancy-pants”, “hottie”, “goofball”, “oddball”, and “doofus”, as well as the one moment where Colby said he hated “dicky” people and the moment where Sam said Colby was about to have an “emo-ruption”. (Though I did laugh a lot longer than I should have at “emo-ruption”.) It felt like they were still trying to make the story appropriate for their younger fans by using more kid-friendly language, while also appealing to their older fans by being like “look!! we drink!! and ooh look, we talked about smoking weed 👀🤪”. I wish they would’ve committed to one or the other, because it added an odd sense of disjointedness to the story that could’ve been easily resolved.

The other big thing I made note of was that there was a lot of “tell, not show” throughout. There’s a heavy focus on dialogue to progress the story rather than seeing into the boys’ inner thoughts and using other means to find out information. (I’m not one to talk, though, since I also focus more on dialogue than description.) It sometimes made it difficult to fully get into the story. I struggled with developing a picture of what the Belle Estate looked like, or what the other characters (beside SNC, Nate, and Alex) looked like. In terms of the boys, it seemed very reliant on us knowing who Sam and Colby are and what they’re all about (which is fair, since probably 99.9% of people who bought the book are fans of them but, if they want success outside of their audience, it could’ve been more descriptive in that regard). 

As for the big twist at the end, it was a bit lackluster. I’ll go more in detail on this in the “spoiler section”, but it kind of diminished everything that had happened throughout the story and left me wondering “what was the point?”. 

I was excited when I’d heard that the story was told through both Sam and Colby’s POVs, but, I’ll be honest, I saw little difference between Sam’s chapters than Colby’s chapters. The most difference was the almost stereotypical portrayal of Sam being the logical one while Colby being the emotional one. Aside from that, they were almost indistinguishable from me and I often had to flip back to the start of a chapter to remind myself of who’s head I was in.

Since that was all critical, here’s some things I did like:

I feel like, while the inner monologues were a bit lacking, Gaby did make up for it by making the dialogue between the boys really realistic to them. In this regard, she really nailed the portrayal of them. 

The depiction of the paranormal things was really great. I feel like those parts were the ones I could get most into the story. The way Gaby wrote them was so interesting and pulled me in. I wish there was more of these moments throughout the story, because I think they really showcased who Gaby is as a writer.

The convo where Colby called Sam “Velma” and then Nate asked if Colby was “Fred”? I really enjoyed that because (a) Scooby is my favorite thing in the whole world and (b) I chose Sam and Colby be Velma and Fred in my moodboards a month ago so just a lil fun moment for me.

Just how meta the book was. Like, the quote I included at the top? I laughed for way too long when I read that. 

There was a nice sense of nostalgia throughout, specifically when they brought up their YouTube channel, their Vine days, them being arrested, wining a Teen Choice Award, and Corey and the Shadowman. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and reminded me of how proud I am for how far they’ve come.

*slight spoiler here* Speaking of being arrested, there was a moment where SNC were contemplating escaping to the beach and they had a conversation if it was worth being arrested again. I really loved that, especially with how much fans joke about them inevitably being arrested again.

This is more for the person who designed the cover, but holy shit?? I loved it so much?? 

I don’t know if I would have picked this book up if it didn’t have Sam and Colby’s name attached to it. I will say, though, I finished the book in one sitting, which is pretty rare for me nowadays, so it was engaging. I think, overall, it was a great story with a great concept but it could’ve been fleshed out more. In some ways, it almost felt like this was a draft rather than a completed novel. 

That being said, for SNC’s first book and Gaby’s first time working with the boys, it exceeded my expectations. If they were to continue writing books together, I imagine it will get better and better as they get more used to each other and potentially open up more so that their characters become a more accurate depiction of them.

Overall, the book’s not something you really need to race out to get. I think, if you have a gift card or there’s some sort of deal or you need to spend a little more to get free shipping, it wouldn’t hurt to pick up Paradise Island. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t a great, top-tier novel in my opinion. That being said, if you do pick it up, I think you will enjoy the book.

Spoiler Avenue

The characterization of all four of the boys is a bit 2D. Sam’s logical and wants to keep the peace, Colby’s emotional and more of a wildcard, Nate’s focused on his schoolwork and flexing his vocabulary, and Alex? Well, I couldn’t get a good read on Alex until he sells out SNC at the end of the novel and even then, he didn’t feel so much like his own character, more like someone just present to further the plot.

Speaking of characters, the introduction of Trey was...meh. I wish we could’ve gotten more insight on why Colby was so adamant about not liking Trey and why Nate was so gung ho to ditch their plans to go to the North side of the island for this guy they barely knew. Finding out that Colby didn’t like Trey because he said college was the only way to success was such an odd thing? Like, undoubtedly there’s been many people who would’ve said that, so does Colby also dislike everyone who’s said that or is there a more specific reason he didn’t like Trey? Just...👏🏻 more 👏🏻 inner 👏🏻 thoughts 👏🏻 please 👏🏻 and 👏🏻 thank 👏🏻 you 👏🏻 

@golbrocklovely​ brought this up in her review but Colby’s fixation on the  mermaid statue of a 16-year-old was really odd. It probably wouldn’t have been as odd if Amy was aged up a bit to 18, but as a 16-year-old with the descriptions that were given? Yeah...not the vibe.

I also wasn’t a fan of how so many things plot-wise was just...told to the boys. They could’ve found some newspaper clippings or something, anything to make them put in a little bit of detective work. But for so much information to just be handed to them? It got old, and almost lazy. 

The big twist being that all of the paranormal stuff they’d encountered being a hallucination? God, that was so fucking annoying (though I did go back afterwards from the moment that they first arrived at the Belle Estate—starting as early as page 36—and it felt incredibly obvious knowing now that it was all drugs, so props to Gaby for dropping that many hints early on). To spend so much time making all of this scary shit happen just to turn around and say “HAHA JK THE BOYS WERE JUST TRIPPING BALLS” was such a cop out. It would’ve been more terrifying for it all to be real, make the boys question their beliefs and the reality of there being something out there that they didn’t quite understand. Though, there is something terrifying about not knowing you’ve been drugged and having hallucinated that vividly, but I feel like it didn’t quite fit in with the story. 

Alex betraying the boys? So interesting! This was one of the few things that made sense in terms of them being drugged. But then when he was betrayed when Pauahi (who’s name was misspelled a few different times in the book) escaped? Ugh, amazing. We love instant karma like that. 

Going back to the “tell not show” thing, I wish the sacrifice at the end would’ve been more detailed. For all of the paranormal stuff to be written off as a drug-induced hallucination, I would’ve loved if Gaby had leaned more into the horror of being used in a human sacrifice. There was more of a focus on Colby bargaining for his life, which is fair, but I would’ve loved to see more of the pure terror there.

That being said, the way Trey finally snapped out of it? *chef’s kiss* Loved that shit so much. And I loved the fact that Trey stayed behind in the end. It added a nice eeriness to the story that had been lacking since they debunked the paranormal shit as being hallucinations. 

Again, going back to my overall, thoughts, I enjoyed the book in general. Some things could’ve been fleshed out a bit more to reach its full potential. I wish they leaned more into the paranormal aspect and had more descriptions to balance out all of the dialogue, but other than that, I did enjoy the book and don’t regret buying it. 

[frizz22]

I know this isn’t a lot to go off of so I totally understand if you don’t want to write it, but I’m just really interested to see what you would do with it if you did because I love your writing: In truly what no one saw coming, Zelda is crowned Queen of Hell.

Notes:Zelda found out about Sabrina’s bid for queen before the quest started. Also, no pagans or loss of power. Hope you enjoy, thanks for the prompt! Read on ao3

She’d warned Sabrina about chasing power. About when it stopped being healthy.

Zelda only wished she could follow her own advice. Because she knew, she knew taking this path wouldn’t be healthy for her.

But if it was between Sabrina chained to Hell, forced into a position she never wanted for all eternity or Zelda taking the mantle for her… well, then it wasn’t a question of what had to be done.

Especially when experience had proven she couldn’t trust Lilith. 

If the witch had even a modicum of competence, she’d have put down rebellions quickly and brutally and they’d never have been in this position in the first place.

Even if rebellion had been inevitable, Lilith could have easily avoided Sabrina offering to take the throne by kicking the girl out of Hell the moment she realized Sabrina was there to free Nicholas.

But no, she had to play games and now here they were, fighting to hold off the apocalypse.

Again.

Because if Caliban somehow won, he already proclaimed he’d make the mortal realm another circle of Hell; finish what Lucifer started.

Considering all of this, Zelda could hardly place the fate of the world at her niece’s shoulders… especially after she’d nearly doomed them all the last time she found herself unwittingly carrying the weight.

It wasn’t just that Zelda had trouble trusting a teenager with such a responsibility, she didn’t want Sabrina to experience such hardship again. Her girl had been through enough recently, and Zelda refused to let her endure more.  

As for how she intended to go about usurping everyone….

Well, the rules of the quest explicitly stated whoever recovered the three unholy regalia first would be the uncontested ruler of Hell, celestial blood be damned. They did not mention anything about how every contester to the throne needed the 666 signatures to participate; only that the signatures were needed for the quest to begin.

So, without anyone knowing she’d found a loophole, Zelda set about searching for the regalia herself.

Well, not entirely by herself.

Ambrose took only a little persuading. In the end, though, he didn’t want Sabrina as Queen any more than Zelda. So, while he was extremely reluctant to lose Zelda to Hell should she succeed, her nephew knew what was at stake and promised to come to her first. 

~~~

Zelda shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Shouldn’t be in awe of how smart, clever and resourceful her nephew was. He’d only needed a day to find Herod’s crown.

A day.

Grinning and kissing him excitedly on the head, Zelda took his tracking tool and teleported away; not wasting a moment.

The crown was relatively easy to collect, for something meant to be lost to the ages it hadn’t been particularly difficult to retrieve. Even resealing Herod in his tree didn’t present much of a challenge.

As Zelda turned to leave, a sense of unease swept through her. This was a moment of no return; did she really want….

No.

She couldn’t doubt, not for one second. Not when Sabrina’s life and wellbeing were on the line. Burying anything that would make it appear as though becoming Queen weren’t her sole desire, Zelda held her head high, adopted a smirk and spun the crown in her hands as she teleported to Hell to claim her victory and reveal herself as a contender for the throne. 

~~~

To say the demons were wroth was an understatement, and Lilith’s bafflement quickly morphed to rage, though she reined it in better than Hell’s other residents.

She merely lifted a brow in a mock question. “What? The quest was announced, no rule states other competitors cannot join in once it starts. I didn’t need the signatures to participate, check your scrolls if you don’t believe me.” As expected, the demons did just that. And, once again, as expected, they turned to her snarling. Smirking at them, Zelda swept across the room to where the regalia were to be stored. “It’s not my fault your rules have loopholes.” Zelda informed them, placing the crown on its shelf before propping a hand on her hip when she turned to face them again.

“There could be a three-way tie!” One demon growled, though he looked confused as to what would happen should that happen. “Or any being from any realm could decide to join now and Hell would fall further into discord.”

Zelda scoffed. “First off, I won’t be defeated by a half-trained sixteen-year-old child or a piece of animated dirt.” As expected, her statement created a burble of conversation and outcries. “Secondly, if by some unholy miracle I do not acquire the second regalia, the tie will be between myself and the winner of round two. The loser will no longer be in the running for the throne. Lastly,” she ticked off the third item on her fingers, “make a revision to the quest now, proclaiming no one who is not already participating in the quest, so no creature or being except Sabrina, Caliban and I, can contend.”

Murmurs of consent rumbled through the room and Zelda rolled her eyes only to catch Lilith doing the same. She almost shared an exasperated smile with the woman before she remembered she was part of the reason Zelda was doing this to begin with. Besides, it was unlikely Lilith felt any kinship with her at all, considering what she was doing, what she’d ultimately take from Lilith.

Refocusing her attention on the room, Zelda raised her voice, cutting across the din. “Seems I’m Queen material already, however did you function done here with such guidance? Why bother with the rest of the quest when I’m clearly the most qualified of the competitors?”

Before anyone could denounce her boldness, though, Sabrina and Caliban appeared, both breathless and confused.

“Auntie?” Sabrina murmured, confusion furrowing her brow.

Anger flickered on Caliban’s face before he schooled himself. “So, you cheated.” He turned to Sabrina, crossing his arms.  

Her laugh stopped any argument that may have started between the youths. “Cheated? I think not. I’m a challenger to the throne as well. And the first round is mine.” Zelda indicated to the crown and sauntered back to the middle of the room, commanding everyone’s attention. “I suggest you reassess your decision, Caliban, taking on a novice witch is one thing, taking on a High Priestess is another.”

The supposed Prince of Hell gaped at her, as well as his demon cronies.

Arching a brow, Zelda inclined her head at them, taking one last appraising look of the throne room where she’d be trapped should she succeed, before striding forward and taking Sabrina’s arm. “We’ll see you when the next quest begins.”  

An uproar sounded from countless voices as they teleported away.

When they reappeared at the house, Zelda sniffed and then sighed. “Brimstone.” She muttered, plucking at her clothes. “I suppose it’s a smell I should get accustomed to, seeing as how I’ll be living in Hell soon enough.” Shaking her head, Zelda made for the porch, fully intending to wash the smell from her, when Sabrina caught her arm.

“Aunt Zelda, what are you doing?” She beseeched, eyes wide and confused.

A small smile tugged the corner of Zelda’s mouth and she tucked a strand of Sabrina’s hair back. “Protecting you.” She murmured softly.

Mouth working uselessly for a moment, Sabrina shook her head vehemently. “You can’t. This is something I need to do. Edward and Lucifer both made sure of that. And if my fathers,” her lips twisted in distaste at the word, “put me on this path then I have—"

“They are not your parents.” Zelda interrupted harshly. “A parent’s job is to protect you, look out for you, guide you. Neither Edward nor Lucifer did any of those things for you.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself. “Regardless, this isn’t what you want, you said so yourself just a month ago. Fought against it tirelessly. It was the whole reason we confronted, and somehow, defeated Satan, put Lilith on the throne. Seeing as how she’s incapable of holding it, I will. I won’t have you on that throne, won’t have your life stolen from you. Ruling as Queen of Hell is something I never wanted for you.”

Sabrina pulled away from her. “But it’s something you wanted for yourself.” She bit out caustically.

Stunned, Zelda blinked at her niece. “What?”

Huffing in disbelief, Sabrina’s jaw worked side to side. “You must have felt pretty good on your high horse, telling me not to chase power when this was your plan all along. First you tried to get power through Blackwood, only that backfired. Then it was seizing a High Priestess-ship before the coven even recovered from being poisoned. Apparently, even that wasn’t enough, now you have to be Queen of Hell as well.”

Fury bubbled up inside Zelda and it erupted before she could stop it. “I married,” she swallowed, the topic still painful, “I married Faustus for a number of reasons. For some glory and power, yes. But also, to get Hilda’s excommunication lifted; witches without covens are easy pickings. And to protect you.” At Sabrina’s skeptical expression, Zelda gripped her niece’s shoulders forcing her to look her in the eye. “You truly have no idea how much danger you put yourself and our family in on a regular basis. You left us powerless and open to attacks during your trial, Hell knows how we came out of that completely unscathed. You openly challenged the Feast of Feasts, which could have resulted in charges of blasphemy and hangings. You conducted an exorcism, which if I hadn’t been Constance’s midwife would have proven disastrous. You performed a resurrection on a mortal boy at the expense of a witch; we’re lucky Faustus didn’t take that to the high council for deliberation and punishment.”

Her chest heaved, and Sabrina simply stared at her, speechless.

“I told you, warned you, your actions were putting us in a grave, and still you refused to listen. So yes, I had several reasons for marrying, one of which was power, but it was so, so much more than that. And, it did end poorly, your reminder that it did is unnecessary. As for being High Priestess, who else would have taken charge? I won’t lie, I wanted it, not like this, but I wanted it. And there was no one else; all other coven members old enough or powerful enough died, fled or in your Aunt Hilda’s case didn’t want it.”

Tears sprang into Sabrina’s eyes. “Auntie Zee, I, I never—"

Not entirely moved by Sabrina’s tears, Zelda pressed on. “Never truly learned everything has a price. Well, perhaps now you will. Though I expect I’ll be paying it, having to play Queen and unable to see my family again.” Zelda released Sabrina and pressed a finger into the corner of her eye to stem a tear of her own as she turned to go inside once more.

Eyes widening, Sabrina clutched at her once more. “What?! No! We, we would be able to see you. The Dark Lord left Hell to bug me all the time, you could do the same. And, and we could always come see you. And then there’s witching boards and mirrors for everyday stuff.”

Softening, Zelda shook her head. “Not at first. I’d need to cut all ties. Regardless of my victory in the quest, I’d need to establish dominance over the residents of Hell. And they’d see any connection I had to this realm as weakness. It’d likely be years, maybe even decades before it’d be safe to see or talk to any of you.” She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. “None of that matters right now, first, I have to win. We cannot let Caliban ascend.”

She turned and all but fled back into the house before Sabrina could stop her again. Unfortunately, Hilda barged into the bathroom where Zelda was bathing, trying to rid herself of the brimstone odor, not much later.

Though Zelda started horribly at her sister’s entry, sloshing water over the lip of the tub, she thankfully managed a dry tone. “Honestly, Hilda, one would think you were brought up with no manners.” She reached for her loofah, scrubbing her arms a little harshly. “What couldn’t possibly wait until—"

Suddenly the sponge was snatched from her hand and Zelda turned automatically to glare at Hilda only to be met with eyes brimming with tears of anger and fear.

“How could you?” Hilda demanded softly, though her voice was firm.  

Sighing, Zelda stood, stepping out of the tub and waving a hand to dry herself before pulling her robe on; clearly Sabrina wasted no time in telling the rest of the family—though Ambrose already knew. “Hildie…” she hedged, tying her robe and moving out into the bedroom to brush her hair.

Hilda came to a stop behind her, planting her hands in her hips as they made eye contact in the mirror. “Don’t. Don’t you ‘Hildie’ me. This, this is—"

She set her brush down and spun on her stool to face her sister. “It’s the only way, dear sister.” Zelda cut in gently, and from how Hilda’s features contorted with displeasure, her sister knew it was the truth.  

Almost tripping back onto the bed, Hilda sat abruptly. “You could have told me.” She whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks freely now.

Guilt swept through Zelda and she moved to sit next to Hilda on the bed. Threading her fingers with Hilda’s where they rested in her lap, Zelda rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I could have.” She admitted softly. “I should have.” She added, thinking of how far they’d come in the past year and yet here she was still clinging tightly to secrets under the guise of protecting her family. “It was for—"

Squeezing her hand tightly, Hilda shook her head. “I know why you’re doing this; I understand it. I hate it.” A watery chuckle escaped her, and Hilda used her free hand to wipe some tears away. “I hate it, but I support you. I just wish you’d have trusted me…. you trusted Ambrose.” She murmured in a small voice.

Heart twisting, Zelda shifted so she could look Hilda in the eye. “It wasn’t about trust, Hildie, you know that. I trust you more than anyone, you’re my sister. But this was such a covert plan, no one could know until it was too late to stop. And I needed Ambrose’s help, he is the best researcher I’ve ever come across and if I’m to win, I need to use all my resources.”

Hilda sniffled but nodded. “Well, now you’ve got another resource in your corner.” She attempted a smile and then lurched forward to hug Zelda hard.

Chin quivering, Zelda clung to her sister, knowing she wouldn’t have very many opportunities like this in the future. 

~~~

Only a few days later and they were summoned to Hell for the second part of the quest. They were to retrieve Pontius Pilate’s bowl.

Lovely, Zelda thought as she and Sabrina teleported away; purposely avoiding Lilith who looked ready to spit fire. But it was a race, after all, and though it was no mystery where the bowl was located, getting to it was another mystery she needed to solve… and fast.  

When they got back home, Zelda made for Ambrose’s room, Sabrina on her heels.

She stopped suddenly, and Sabrina ran into her with a small yelp. Turning, Zelda arched a brow. “What are you doing?”

Smiling sheepishly, Sabrina shrugged. “Working together?” Her voice went up a few octaves at the end.

“No.” Zelda replied flatly, heading up the stairs again, the odd time egg thing Faustus had been so desperate to acquire should do the trick.

Undeterred, Sabrina bounded up the steps behind her and pushed into Ambrose’s room as well. “Auntie! I know, I know you don’t want me to win… honestly, I don’t want to either. But we can’t let Caliban win. Two is better than one, as long as one of us wins this round we keep him from the throne.”

As much as she disliked the idea of bringing Sabrina into a time vortex with her, Zelda saw the logic in her niece’s argument; apparently there was a first time for everything. “Alright,” she acquiesced, already moving across the room to examine the tank Ambrose was storing the egg in. “But,” she straightened and pinned Sabrina with a glare, “you have to do what I say. Understood?”

Rolling her eyes, Sabrina nodded. “Understood.” She joined Zelda next to the tank. “Now, how to we use this?”   

~~~

Entering the vortex wasn’t nearly as large of a problem as Zelda anticipated, though the skulls lining their path gave her pause about allowing Sabrina to continue further.  

Too late to turn back now, however, so they pushed forward at a brisk pace. Sabrina wanted to run ahead, keep what appeared to be their lead on Caliban, but Zelda held her back. There was no telling what lived here, no telling how the time loop warped its inhabitants, made them dangerous.

When the sentinels appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, Zelda cursed but held back the defensive spells leaping to her fingers. They hadn’t so much as glimpsed the bowl yet, blasting off spells could bring an entire army down on them and they’d never get out; if they lived.

As they were pushed along by their captors, Zelda couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated by their presence. Had Sabrina come on her own… Hell knew what her niece would have heedlessly run into headfirst; at least this way—her thoughts ended abruptly.  

Cages.

Zelda shivered as the door swung shut behind her and Sabrina with a resounding noise of finality.

Squeezing her eyes closed, Zelda focused on her breathing. It was a physical cage, nothing like the mental one Faustus so cruelly trapped her in on their honeymoon. She was fine, she had her wits about her, was in control… well, relatively.

Sabrina’s voice recaptured her attention. Opening her eyes, Zelda was surprised to see Caliban in an adjoining cell. Her niece somehow needling how he got there out of him.

The stone.

Of course, Zelda peered into the distance, marking its location in her mind. Their time water had been confiscated, and while Zelda was sure she could get it back with some brute force, it never hurt to have a plan B.

Before the conversation—which had devolved into the trading of petty insults—could continue, Pontius strolled over, going on about punishments and making examples for other criminals. The good news, he sneered, was that only one of them would have to pay the price; one hundred lashes.

Quickly putting herself in front of Sabrina, Zelda tipped her chin up in defiance. “I’ll take the lashes.” To her astonishment, Caliban volunteered at the same time.

They looked at one another, clearly not having expected competition to receive a whipping.

Eyeing her with awe, Caliban spoke to Pontius. “Though the lady is noble in her offer, I shall take the lashes.” When Zelda narrowed her eyes in suspicion, Caliban smiled at her crookedly. “I’m made of clay, High Priestess, I will not bleed and scar as you will.” Bowing his head slightly, Caliban allowed himself to be led away.

Sabrina blinked. “Whaaat just happened?”

Lifting a brow, Zelda sat down. “I think I earned the claymation’s respect.” She remarked, pinching the bridge of her nose and exhaling in relief. While she once saw flogging as a means to pleasure, ever since she’d crossed the line of using it as self-punishment all those months ago, she hadn’t been able to look at a whip without feeling queasy.

She’d surely have taken the lashes if Caliban hadn’t, Zelda would have ripped their captors to shreds had they tried to hurt her girl… but she was suddenly immensely thankful for the boy’s existence; even if it’d been the cause of this entire quest to begin with.

“We need to come up with a plan while he’s gone.” Zelda murmured, changing the topic and pushing thoughts of whippings out of her mind.

Just then, another prisoner spoke up. Morosely talking about how there was no escape, how everyone died but him.

Sharing a look with her niece, Zelda smiled and leaned forward to learn more.

~~~ 

After quite a bit of hushed arguing, a few threats and a reminder that Sabrina had promised to do as Zelda said, her niece agreed to wear a glamor, steal the bowl and run.

While Zelda could end the quest if she was the one to return the bowl, she refused to leave Sabrina behind, especially after tricking their captors. She’d extricate herself somehow and follow as soon as she could.

As Sabrina ran for the stone, frequently looking back, eyes switching between the sentinel chasing her and Zelda, she couldn’t help but smile a little. Though Zelda had no clue how she’d escape, what mattered was Sabrina’s safety and Caliban being ousted from the competition.

Caliban gaped at Sabrina’s retreating form and then at Zelda. “You had to have known. She couldn’t have planned this with him,” he jerked his chin towards the remaining prisoner who was still laughing maniacally, “without your knowledge.”

Arching a brow, Zelda shrugged. “Sabrina was the one to come up with the idea, she made the deal with the man. I didn’t interfere.”

“And in the process doomed yourself.” Caliban murmured, brow furrowing. “First you offer to be whipped 100 times for her, now this…. I don’t understand, you could have won.”

The caustic comment died on her tongue and Zelda shifted to look at the boy next to her. “It’s because you’re made of clay,” she explained more gently than she expected. “You weren’t raised up, never had family, someone to look after, to look after you, to love. Someone scraped you together from the ground because they were bored and wanted to see if they could. How could you understand a mother’s love?”  

Her comment made Caliban cock his head and turn away, deep in thought.

With him sufficiently distracted and the sentinel not yet back to the stage, Zelda focused her energies on the manacles encircling her wrists. They were meant to suppress her abilities, but she’d already beaten the system once, helped Sabrina escape with the bowl; why couldn’t she be the exception again?

Drawing on her power, pulling from deeper and deeper recesses within herself, Zelda closed her eyes, and funneled the magic coursing hotly through her to the shackles. The metal shattered.

Stunned it’d worked so quickly, it took Zelda a moment to recover and shoot a blast of power at the sentinel who’d picked up speed at her escape and was closing in fast.

She turned to Pontius and lifted him up into the air by the throat with a spell. “My water,” she stated, holding out her free hand. She could make a run for the stone, just as Sabrina had, but Zelda preferred not to leave magical time water behind if she could help it.

Pontius snarled at her and called for more guards. Beings rose up from the hills, blades glinting in the sunlight as they descended.

“Hard way it is, then.” Zelda muttered, breaking Pontius’ neck before flicking her wrist and freeing Caliban. The boy made a small noise of surprise in response. “I trust you can handle yourself. I won’t babysit you.”

Grinning, Caliban nodded and started firing off spells at the oncoming horde. 

~~~

Interestingly enough, they both survived and traveled back to the mortal realm through the stone; Zelda still hadn’t wanted to use the water unless necessary—it was a finite resource. Which meant they were now limping and huffing along after fighting off Pontius’ sentinels and making their way to a teleportation point to head home.

They’d been walking for almost twenty minutes when Caliban broke the silence. “Why did you save me?” And before she could brush away the incident with a flippant comment about a Queen needing to know how to delegate, he continued. “You could have handled them yourself, you’re powerful enough. Not just anyone could have broken those chains… I couldn’t have.” He confessed quietly and half to himself.

She rubbed the back of her neck tiredly. “I could have handled them myself,” she acknowledged as they trekked the final hill to the jumping point. “If I had I wouldn’t have the energy to make the trip home for days, though.” When Caliban huffed in disbelief and looked as though he’d argue, Zelda allowed a little of the truth to come out. “And, well, you did so valiantly take those lashes for us. It seemed fair to repay the favor.”

Shaking his head, Caliban took several quick steps forward and stood in front of her. To Zelda’s continued surprise, he dropped to one knee. “I know I am no longer a contender for the throne, High Priestess Spellman, you’ve proven a much worthier opponent than I imagined. If you’d have me, I’d like to pledge my allegiance to you and serve in whatever way I can.”

Eyebrows flying up, Zelda assessed the young man in front of her, trying to determine if he was lying in anyway. “I may have you take that pledge under the effects of truth cake, but your popularity with the demons, should it still hold after your defeat, could be useful.” Smiling, Caliban stood and fell back into step with her. As they slowly reached the peak, Zelda turned to Caliban once more. “Why back me? Surely, your whole agenda about celestial blood should have you supporting my niece.”

Chuckling softly, Caliban groaned and rubbed his side where he’d received a particularly brutal hit. “Because you’re the logical choice. Sabrina may be the Dark Lord’s offspring, but she knows little of ruling, of the sacrifices one needs to make to rule. You, High Priestess, I can tell you know what it takes to lead.” He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, and they stopped to face one another. “You’ve shown me you have a keen mind for strategy, the raw strength to lead, the conniving to do what needs to be done, but also, also compassion.” He murmured as though confused by how he valued the trait. “You offer to take on the pain of others, sacrifice yourself when others could, spare your enemies…. Of the three of us, you are the best chance Hell has; not someone scraped together out of dirt and not someone who has no right to lead but by the blood in her veins.” He dropped his hand and took the last few steps to the teleportation site.

Impressed, if a bit taken aback, that she’d won Caliban over, Zelda painstakingly climbed the final steps and joined him to teleport back to Greendale. 

~~~

There was chaos in the throne room when they made it to Hell. The demons in a tizzy over Sabrina being the only one left.

Smirking, Zelda limped forward, hair disheveled, dress torn and dirty. She spoke up as though she hadn’t known this would be the outcome since they were captured in the time loop. “Seems we are in a tie, niece.”

Gasps sounded from many of the residents of Hell, Lilith ran her tongue over her teeth irritatedly, and Sabrina made an abortive movement as though she’d gone to hug Zelda and then thought better of it. “Auntie, so glad to see you survived. The final quest wouldn’t be the same without any competition.”

Before Zelda could reply, Caliban came up behind her, looking equally as disheveled. The demons growled at him, clearly dismayed by his performance. “As you can see, I’ve been disqualified. Outmaneuvered by High Priestess Spellman. I will now support her claim moving forward.” He bowed his head at her and moved into the crowd of demons, ghouls and other beasts filling the throne room.

With a flick of her wrist, Lilith dismissed everyone until the final regalia was as to be recovered, only to catch Zelda’s arm as she made to leave with Sabrina.

The irritation filling the woman’s eyes at Zelda’s survival had been replaced. “Zelda,” she breathed, eyes bright. “This is perfect. All you need to do is throw the final quest and Sabrina will be Queen and me her regent. Just as it should be.”

Eyeing the witch, Zelda slid her arm from Lilith’s grip. “I think not. If anything happened to you, she’d be forced to take up the Queenship. I’m not going to let Sabrina be associated with this place, even if there are degrees of separation. No,” she held up a finger to forestall interruptions from both Lilith and Sabrina. “Sabrina, you will throw the final challenge. I will become Queen, just as I planned, freeing you from this horrid duty forever.”

Expression darkening, Lilith scoffed. “I’m touched by your concern for me and I assure you I’m made of hardier stuff than Lucifer. The hordes of Hell would have a trouble killing me.” She noted dryly, smoothing her dress unnecessarily. “You should have seen how I handled them after you recovered the crown, it took me hours to dissuade them not to riot and kill you and your niece. Why do you think I did not come and confront you about your actions? Because I was cleaning up after you, like I’ve so often cleaned up after Sabrina.”

Arching a brow, Zelda snorted. “If you’re so competent at handling your royal subjects, why did you allow this farce of a competition to happen? You should have killed Caliban where he stood, slaughtered the demons who dared to bring him before you and been done with it. It’s despicable work, but I thought you up to the task when we made you Queen.”

Something dangerous glinted in Lilith’s eye and her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “I was attempting to be different from my predecessor. Had I wanted to take his path, I’d have killed Sabrina after we trapped Lucifer. Regardless, if you find the idea of Queen so deplorable, why chase it?” Her eyes were much sharper than before, as if testing Zelda and her constitution.  

“Because I must. To protect my child.” Zelda bit out, shifting so she could use her minimal height advantage to look down on the woman. But fighting with Lilith wasn’t what she wanted, not really; especially when she now saw the witch’s logic in her approach to the throne. Exhaling slowly, Zelda took a step back. “Once I’m Queen I will need help.” She cocked her head, “you can’t be my regent, for obvious reasons, but the position for my Left Hand could use someone of your ability, experience and fortitude.”

Brows drawing, Lilith lifted her chin in defiance. “I’ve held the position of Left Hand for centuries, Zelda, with unfulfilled promises of more power. I’ll not put myself in the same position I fought so hard to get out of. If we do this, if I don’t decide just to kill you and save myself the trouble… I rule by your side.” She counter offered, face hard and expressing she’d take no other deal.

Zelda gave the demoness an assessing look. “Well, if murder is on the table…��

A sharp tug on her arm made her gasp in pain and Sabrina grimaced in apology. “Sorry, but Auntie Zee,” she stepped closer so she could whisper in her ear, “you actually need her. She knows everything about how things are run down here…”

She cocked her head at Sabrina and huffed for added effect. “Oh, darling, I know you’ve gotten to know her quite a bit and she still has your teacher’s face, but the death wouldn’t be too horribly gruesome.” When her niece gaped at her, Zelda winked discreetly and ignored Lilith’s offended noise. “But I suppose there’s been enough pain, death and manipulation. Fine,” she exhaled with slight exaggeration, “Lilith, you would rule with me in all but name. We can’t have the demons animating any more playdough people to contest my claim because they believe you’ve too prominent a role. Though the regalia should keep them at bay for several centuries at least. Also, you cannot kill me or have me killed in some coup.” The last part might have been unnecessary, but Zelda was taking no chances; not anymore.

Stretching out her hand, Lilith pursed her lips. “You’re competent and knowledgeable at least, will actually do the job. I suppose it’s better than ruling with the brat who ruined my life and then refused to shoulder the responsibility she seized.” Her eyes slid to Sabrina, eyebrow ticking up in disapproval.

Though she could hardly blame Lilith for her response to Sabrina’s actions—Zelda felt the same exasperation most of the time—she couldn’t allow anyone to disparage her girl. Taking Lilith’s hand, Zelda used it to draw the woman in, so their faces were only inches apart. “You may now be my confidant and advisor in the Heaven forsaken place, but don’t think you can speak ill of the royal family.”

A wicked smile spread on Lilith’s face as she took Zelda in. “Oh, oh I think we’ll make a fine team, Zelda. I truly,” she moved a bit closer and the proximity she’d used to intimidate now seemed intimate and Zelda swallowed. “I truly look forward to working with you.” Suddenly Lilith backed away and clapped her hands. “Until then. And Zelda,” she called after them as Sabrina subtly slipped an arm around her waist to assist her. “Do have Hilda see to those wounds, can’t have my Queen at anything but 100%.”

The way Lilith said what would soon be her title shouldn’t send shivers through her, Zelda should still be furious at the woman for, well, everything. But as she limped out of Hell and teleported back to the house to let Hilda fuss over her injuries, Zelda couldn’t help the excitement and touch of something else that flared up inside her at the chance to work more closely with the Mother of Demons. 

~~~

When they arrived for the third quest, Lilith gave Zelda a small smile and inclined her head subtly in greeting. She was still slightly baffled by the Lilith’s sudden change in demeanor towards her, begrudging acceptance was one thing, but this almost flirtatious manner was odd. Perhaps it was because Zelda had earned her respect, or perhaps Lilith was making the best of the situation and was messing with her in the only way the demoness could. Regardless, it was a matter to think on later.

They were in the end game now, with Caliban out of the way and Sabrina only pretending to chase the thirty pieces of silver, this final quest was more a formality than anything. That didn’t mean they could be sloppy, though.

It started off easy enough. Sabrina took off, as planned, acting as though she were rushing to Ambrose for help to find the coins, while Zelda slipped into the library a few halls down from the throne room. Pulling a scroll from the shelf, she pretended to peruse it until Lilith appeared.

The witch sidled up next to her, one arm resting on the back of Zelda’s chair while the palm of the other braced against the table. When Lilith leaned in closer, Zelda caught a whiff of her perfume, something deliciously sweet compared to the harsh brimstone smell filling the air. Lilith’s voice recaptured her attention. “This isn’t the scroll you want.” She observed, her breath ghosting against Zelda’s cheek as she pointed to a segment at the top of the parchment.

“No cheating, Lilith!” A demon snapped from behind them. “The two remaining contestants must complete this without help from any beings in Hell.” His eyes glistened dangerously, clearly hoping for a reason to move against Zelda. It appeared now that the demons’ chosen one was gone, they’d put their support behind Sabrina; preferring a younger, inexperienced witch, one they could more easily manipulate, as their ruler.

Lilith held up her hands and backed away. “Of course, Beelzebub, of course.”

Carefully palming the bit of paper Lilith slipped under the scroll while pretending to point to it, Zelda flicked a wrist and sent the parchment flying back to its shelf; ignoring how it wobbled because of her distraction at Lilith’s proximity. What was that witch doing to her?

Regaining herself, Zelda pushed out of her seat. “Is my niece being babysat?” When Beelzebub floundered, Zelda scoffed. “Then be gone. I will complete this quest and then there won’t be time for standing and dawdling.”

The demon jumped and scurried away at her tone and Lilith smirked in approval. “A perfect tone and demeanor for a Queen.” She observed with a wink before leaving the room.

Lips quirking up despite herself, Zelda read the paper containing the clue Lilith procured as to the location of the silver and teleported away. 

~~~

Bag of silver in hand, and two small puncture wounds on her neck, Zelda strutted back into the throne room. “Kneel before your Queen.”

To her immense surprise, her half-serious order was obeyed without hesitation; cries of “Hail Queen Zelda,” filling the air.

Huffing, Zelda crossed the room and placed the bag in the final shelf. The moment the bag touched the shelf, power Zelda only dreamed of surged through her.

An involuntary gasp escaped her.

She’d always been powerful; stronger than most. But this… this was something else. Stifling the wide smile on her face, Zelda turned to face her subjects, head held high as she made her way to the throne.

Lilith stepped aside graciously, though there was a glint in her eye that told Zelda the witch still thought the throne should be hers. She’d have to make sure they had a proper talk when this was over, ensure Lilith didn’t do anything drastic to seize power; while death was off the table, Zelda refused to be a puppet again.

Settling on the throne, Zelda arched a brow. “Aren’t there things you should be doing? You’ve left Hell unattended for far too long while this quest occurred. Go. Report back to me at the end of the day tomorrow.” Everyone in front of her burst into movement, pushing past each other in their haste to do as she bid.

When a soft hand landed on her shoulder, Zelda shifted to find Lilith standing next to her. “Shall I get my Queen acquainted with the most pressing matters?”

Lips curling up a little, Zelda inclined her head and stood; the room in front of them now empty. “I assume I have a study?” Lilith nodded in affirmation. “Good, let’s move our conversation there. First things first, proclaim to the witching realm that the Dark Lord is no more. All hail Queen Zelda Spellman. Next, we determine our strategies to reform Hell.”

Blinking, Lilith’s step faltered. “We?” She repeated, as though she hadn’t really expected Zelda to uphold her end of the bargain once she was on the throne.

Zelda inclined her head. “Of course, we’re a team now. Don’t think you’ll get to laze about simply because I won and not my unqualified niece or Gumby. Come, we’ve much to do, realms to change.”

A genuine smile, perhaps the first Zelda had seen, spread on Lilith’s lips. “Indeed, we do,” she breathed, leading the way once more. 

~~~

 Four Years Later

Lilith touched her shoulder, waking her from where she’d fallen asleep in her study. “You’re family’s here.” She murmured, smoothing a strand of Zelda’s hair back.

Eyes widening, Zelda shot out of her chair. “Already? I thought they weren’t coming until tonight?”

Smiling sympathetically, Lilith helped Zelda smooth her dress. “It is night, darling, you were asleep longer than you thought.”

“Why did you let me sleep so long!” She demanded, hurrying over to a mirror and checking her makeup and silently cursing the lack of windows to the mortal realm which would have helped her judge the time.

Lilith came up behind her and rested her chin on Zelda’s shoulder. “Because you haven’t slept in a week and even the Queen of Hell needs rest. Besides,” she gently gripped Zelda’s hips and spun her around. “I knew you’d only fret about their arrival. It’s the first time you’ve seen since taking the throne. Four years, while a long time, is still much sooner than you thought you’d see them, all things considered.”

She exhaled shakily. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous, it’s not as if we haven’t spoken. But what if,” she spun her rings anxiously. “What if I find out they’re so much better off without me and are so much happier with me gone?”

It was a fear that had been gnawing at Zelda for ages now, one she’d only just gotten the nerve to voice.

Tsking, Lilith placed a gentle finger under her chin and tilted it up until their eyes met. “That is complete nonsense. If they are better off it’s only because you’ve made their lives easier with your actions here as Queen. And I cannot imagine how they could possibly be happier without you.”

Her quick dismissal helped Zelda breathe a little easier and she nodded; even if a nasty voice still muttered in the back of her head, at least it was quieter now. “Thank you,” she murmured, leaning in for a short kiss. “I suppose I’m also nervous about announcing our engagement.”

Lilith beamed. “They’ll be happy you’re happy.” She reassured, moving her hand to cup Zelda’s cheek. “You are happy, aren’t you?” The question came out sounding smaller and more vulnerable than Zelda thought Lilith intended, but the reassurance soothed her churning mind, nonetheless.

It hadn’t been much of a surprise when, after two months of working closely together as Queen and advisor, they tumbled into bed together.

What had been surprising was how well they worked, how much they ultimately shared with each other, how what they thought were good relationships soured and left them confused, hurt, angry.

What had been surprising was how they’d helped one another to heal… to love. To the point Zelda proposed Lilith become her co-Queen in truth.

Hilda and Ambrose were at least partially aware of the situation, though Sabrina seemed blissfully ignorant no matter the hints Zelda tried to drop once she’d thought her dominance was established enough in Hell that communicating via witching boards and mirrors with her family wouldn’t be seen as a weakness.

Framing Lilith’s face, Zelda smiled at her warmly. “More than I imagined possible while being away from the rest of my family.” She stroked her thumbs along Lilith’s cheeks and kissed her softly once more. “Come, my Queen, let us say hello to everyone.”

She laced their fingers together and led the way out of the study. And if her family tackled her in their enthusiasm to see her, if no one was surprised by her engagement, if they were happy but not happier without her… well, Zelda never would have dreamed that usurping the throne would lead to practically everything she wanted.

[blouisparadise]

It’s finally time for us to add a second part to our sub bottom Louis rec list! If you’re interested in checking out part one, you can find it here. Happy reading!

1) Give and Take | Explicit | 1837 words

Sometimes Louis just needs.

2) There's No Place I'd Rather Be | Explicit | 2281 words

Harry comes home an hour early and he's in rut. 

3) Blue Eyes, Black Jeans, Lighters, Candy | Explicit | 3629 words

Harry is in Madrid and Louis had a hard week.

4) You Drive Me Wild (You Know You Do) | Explicit | 6632 words

Louis flirts with the Australian interviewers and Harry gets possessive.

5) Call Me Shallow But I’m Only Getting Deeper | Explicit | 7367 words

The one where Louis is a brat so Harry spanks him with a riding crop.

6) Shackles (I Just Want to Praise You) | Explicit | 7562 words

Louis is an extra for a low-budget gladiator movie. His day takes a turn when his shackles turn out to be more than just a film prop, and the production assistant turns out to be helpful in more ways than one.

7) Focal Point | Mature | 8935 words

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone, so don’t bother looking.

Last night was lovely, Harry, I’m sure you agree. Sorry to run, but that’s just how life works sometimes, I’m sure you understand.

Don’t forget about me. xx

P.S. Thanks for the money

8) Let The Beating Waves Come Drag Me Down | Explicit | 9447 words

“Just try it, the worst thing that could ever happen it’s that you won’t like it” Niall had told him. And there he was, on the way to one of these pubs created for perverts, willing to break up the routine to try something new, something that terrified as much as excited him.

One night to get swept up in passion, one night to let the devil get in.

"Tonight, I’m going to make you scream of ecstasy Louis,” he said with a raspy voice full of control, making him tremble with anticipation.

9) Night Out | Mature | 9741 words | Sequel

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

10) I’m What You Need, What You Need | Explicit | 9829 words

Overworked, under-rested, and a little sex happy, Louis accidentally sends his boss a rather explicit photo of himself. Being a personal assistant was never supposed to be this high risk.

11) Symptoms Of The Culture | Explicit | 14672 words

Harry's fraternity has become obsessed with the newest online game, and they'd like to think they're getting pretty good at it. Only, they keep getting killed by The Rogue, an online player who has no connection to the Frat, but seems to have a vendetta against them.

12) The Seed Inside You, Baby, Do You Feel It Growing | Explicit | 14796 words

Louis really wants Harry to get him pregnant.

13) Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies | Explicit | 14860 words

“Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy Harry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.

14) Dreams Can’t Take The Place Of Loving You | Explicit | 15496 words

in which Liam is the go-to ring guy, Niall's relentless, Zayn is family, and Harry and Louis are disgusting.

15) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23561 words

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

16) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24416 words

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

17) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 24868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

18) Can’t Fool Me | Explicit | 30162 words

AU where Louis hates fraternities and would never be into a frat boy. And one of these things is definitely not a lie.

19) If Ignorance Be Bliss | Mature | 30429 words

Uni AU: Harry is too experienced, and Louis just wants to get to experience him.

20) Cupid’s Chokehold | Explicit | 35526 words

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn't work out as planned.

21) And Touch Me Like You | Explicit | 35971 words

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

22) Falling Into Place | Explicit | 40757 words

Louis and Harry spend nine years apart but inevitably find their way back to each other.

23) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

24) It’s A Long Way Down | Explicit | 52658 words

It’s June 2013, and the legalization of gay marriage is the most discussed political issue in the country. As a member of parliament Louis Tomlinson has decided to do everything under his power to keep marriage between a man and a woman. Little does he know a boy with green eyes and pink lips from his past is on a mission to change his mind.

25) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

26) Nobody Does It Like You | Not Rated | 58520 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis isn't looking for a home, but he finds one in Harry.

27) This Feeling | Explicit | 58875 words

A Larry Duet AU.

28) Into The Midnight Sun | Explicit | 63253 words

It's 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn't easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

29) Why Can’t It Be Like That | Explicit | 63567 words

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

30) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

31) Cold Little Heart | Teen & Up | 194780 words

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child.

A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham. Louis really could use the help.

32) Only You Can Be My Alpha | Mature | 196073 words

The one where Louis is banished from his tribe, and lands himself in Harry's instead. The alluring Pack Alpha makes Louis question his nature and he doesn't know how he feels about that. But you can't fight destiny.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[spiltscribbles]

211 please! Any ship!

Notes: Thank you bubby! This actually helped me get out a slump lol, i really really hope you enjoy this fluffy mess and I would love to hear your thoughts!

A Reblog saves a life!  |  Send Me A Prompt

.-

Annabeth is a fully fledged adult now, honest.

She subscribes to the New Yorker, listens to podcasts in the morning while getting ready for her crummy, right out of college internship in one of the most prestigious architecture firms in the city. She votes even in the primaries  and remembers to reload her metro card before it’s out and has even got a God forsaken schedule that she relies on like a lifeline.

All this to say, Annabeth had really once thunk that becoming an adult meant your life turns stale and your days become monotonous. But that was before she began boarding with three literal definitions of spitfires in a Bushwick apartment way too small for four girls, and way to run down for the countless prank wars waged between them and the boys across the way. 

Annabeth tries telling Piper this one Thursday afternoon while she’s loading her Nerf gun with the water balloons that Rachel’s preparing with such precision that it kinda terrifies Annabeth shitless, if she’s being frank.

“’s too late to surrender now Chase!” Piper bellows, cocking and then setting down the toy gun in a neat row  for the next to be prepared. “It’s about honor now.”

“Honor?” Annabeth repeats in a voice that’s flat enough to cut.

“They’ve won the last two rounds Annabeth,” Rachel tells her, point blank as she ties the next water balloon to be passed off, alabaster skin freckled with paint like always when she comes back from one of her classes. “They’re getting too big headed over this.”

“Yesterday Leo offered to buy me a latte! The little fuck.”

Annabeth’s fair brows knit  together, totally confused to Piper’s sudden flash of anger, but reckons that it would be impossible to understand the perceived slight even if she asked Piper to explain.

“You guys are off your rockers,” Annabeth informs them instead, flickers her gaze over to Hazel for some support from someone who is actually sane. She in turn only shrugs, endeared looking as she returns to her sketches. 

“Et tu Brute?”

“it’s fun,” Hazel says in her southern drawl, which Annabeth once thought was sweet because it reminded her of venturing outdoors in the Virginia foothills when she was a tot. Though now Annabeth has decided  that the accent is actually a ploy  to make her sound welcoming for her pray  before she killed them off. Knows it for a fact that she’s done it with that friend who visits enough that he’s practically living with the guys too, which obviously means he was roped into all this ridiculousness.

“You’re either with us or against us baby doll,” Piper winks Annabeth’s way, starts a new round of ammunition with Rachel. “This one’s for Mama Fisher in the stars!”

“Insane! Fucking insane! Annabeth repeats emphatically before storming out there apartment to grab the mail, suddenly feels accosted with unwelcome nerves when she steps into the elevator only to be met face to face with one of the aforementioned boys across the hall, the objectively good looking, but impossibly kind one.  All ebony locks and crooked grins and eyes the color of sea glass.

Oh fuck.

“Annabeth,” he crows, positively gleeful sounding, which only makes it so her cheeks begin to redden, and her chest contracts.

“Percy, hey how’s it been.”

“Fine,” he says with a one armed shrug, begins scratching the back of his head sheepishly. And God fucking damn it, he doesn’t also get to be cute! That’s not fair! “You headed to work?”

“oh, ah yeah, I mean just for some overtime. We got commissioned for this new thing in Germany of all places, and they kinda need all hands on deck.”

He whistles, low and impressed. 

“Why do I get the sense that they’d crumble without you?” He asks with a quirked brow.

“Because flattery is a great way to make friends,” Annabeth smirks, strolls out towards the back row of mail slots  to get the inevitable pack of bills and adverts that’s waiting for them.

“Oy, I take offense to that Annabeth,” he sniffs, leans against the wall besides her, one leg crossed over the other, effortless in the whole CW pretty boy with a mysterious past shtick he’s got working for him. An even more hilarious thought on account to Annabeth knowing how his ma sends him a basket of homemade, blue cookies every Sunday afternoon, and that he spends most of his free time protesting for action against  climate change with his best friend from literal childhood, a scruffy, adorable dork named Grover.

“Is that right?” She snorts as she shuffles through the letters, tosses away the offer for a free garden gnome from some Lady named Aunty Em, crams a  coupon for a free panty from Victoria’s Secret into her bra, and texts the group chat for Rachel to pick up a letter from her dad and Hazel one from her older brother. 

“Course,” Percy sulks, big eyes glittering a thousand shades of green that it kinda takes Annabeth’s breath away. “I thought we’ve been friends, at least for a while now.”

“You know what they say about assuming Perseus,” Annabeth snorts, hip checking him as she makes the track down to the nearest subway stop, at least a five minute walk. She totally is not utterly elated over the fact that he’s still walking besides her, dimpling down like there were no where else he’d rather be.

“You know I didn’t even think you could allude to curse words,” Percy guffaws, impossibly bright and impossibly real. “I thought you were too prim and proper for that sorta behavior.”

“Shut up seaweed brains,” Annabeth laughs, can’t help the smile that breaks her face in half whenever he’s around.

“No deadass Chase!” he defends, emphatic. “I even bet Jason that you were related to like Grace Kelly or some shit, that it’s like illegal in your familial bylines to present yourself as anything other than perfect in public.”

“You are such a pain in the ass.”

“Oh my God! You did it again! It’s like it’s  Christmas!”

Faux aggrieved, Annabeth rolls back her head in exasperation, eyes alone definitely not enough to emote the proper level of feeling.

“Hey don’t blame me,” Percy raises his hands in concession. “You’re the one who refuses to have fun, like you were a forty year old lawyer.”

Annabeth hikes up her brows, affronted. 

“i have fun!”

“Right,” Percy snorts. “I’m sorry babe but Friday night board games don’t count.”

“Those are fun Percy!” Annabeth argues.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the face!” Percy insists, stopping outside the stairwell. 

“And what? Pelleting one another with water balloons like we were Freshman’s in college again, that’s fun to you I suppose?” Annabeth charges, glare firmly set and weight slung to her left hip.

“Why yes Grandma, it is,” Percy tells her, words hugged in a playful cadence that really could entice anyone to commit a felony with him. The bastard.

“You are a prick,” Annabeth informs him waspishly.

“And you don’t always gotta be so stressed. I mean I respect the hustle Chase, but you’re allowed to just chill once in a while, let down your hair and all.” 

“You couldn’t handle that,” she sniffs, pulls out her card to swipe. “If I actually tried me and the girls would ruin you fools.”

“Is that right?”

“Wipe the floor with you,” Annabeth assures.

“Well then, looking forwards to the challenge Chase,” Percy beams, softly tugs on her high pony before walking back to the apartments. It feels like a legion of butterflies are swarming down deep in Annabeth’s stomach over the small contact alone.

“Damn you Percy Jackson.”

.-

“Remind me again why you’re helping? Hazel asks for the third time that Saturday morning as the four sum are crowded around the makeshift map Annabeth had sketched out for them to follow, fully determined now.

“Shh,” Piper swats at her arm, as if physically trying to shoo the question away. “Annabeth we don’t care as long as you explain the plan just one more time.”

“Slower,” Rachel tacks on, gnawing on her thumb nail nervously. 

“Right, well just listen closer ladies, this is a one and done deal, okay?” She’s met by a chorus of nods before she repeats her game strategy, one where each girl takes one of the four main hotspots around the building, skulking in the shadows until the predicted guy ends up there, surprised and defenseless when met by the water balloons of doom.

“I’ve already casually told both Jason and Leo that my parents were throwing us a brunch up state, so they don’t even know that we’re here.”

“God Annabeth if I didn’t think it would ruin our friendship I’d kiss you right now,” Piper sighs dreamily.

“Focus that pretty little head McLean,” Annabeth instructs, elbowing her side caustically. “You’re position is by the gym, Jason always goes there Saturday afternoons cause he thinks it makes it alright for him to get plastered that night.”

“You’re fucking a nerd,” Rachel tells Piper and both Annabeth and Hazel can’t help but nod along.

“No judgment zone!” Piper demands petulantly.

“Whatever,” Annabeth waves her off.  “Hazel you’ll be in the front, waiting for Frank to  come visit, and Rachel you’ll be waiting in the garden area where Leo comes to build one of his freaky gadgets.”

“Totally, you can count on me babe.”

“And what about you Annabeth?” Hazel asks.

“I’ve got Jackson,” Annabeth tells her, tone mock grave as she cocks her own toy weapon determinedly.

“So sexy,” Piper marvels.

.-

Their building rents out a corner on the bottom level to a small bistro with friendly smiles and tasty enough brew that it keeps them coming back. It’s where Annabeth and Percy had first met when he had moved in with the others nearly six months ago. It’s also the first place Annabeth heard his laughter, and where Percy listened when she went on a tirade about her crazy parents and their crazy expectations and how sometimes she just needed space away from all of it. It’s where Percy told her that his mother is the most important person in his world and how he thought he never cared what his father thought of him until he had to make a decision on what he’d major in, and of course he followed in Poseidon’s footsteps. It’s where they stayed up late trading stories about their complicated childhoods and dreams for their futures and the place that Annabeth knew for sure that if she let herself, she really could fall for Percy. For the candor in his brilliant  eyes. For the pretty smile he sports for the sake of his loved ones over himself, and for  the conviction in his beliefs.

Annabeth tries not thinking of any of that when she crouches down deeper in the dark nook behind one of the decorative plants as Percy gets up from his table, tossing out his latte and shouldering his work bag.

It’s now or never.

The moment Percy steps through the threshold Annabeth pounces up and aims. What she doesn’t expect is for him to keel over to block her, and instead of hitting his insanely chiseled pecks, the water balloon hits straight in his face. Close enough and hard enough that the water suddenly darkens to red, mixing with the blood pouring out his nose.

“Holy shit!” Percy cries, pinching his nostrils shut.

“Oh my God!” Annabeth yells, frantically grabs for a pile of napkins from the counter besides her— toppling over a mess of straws and sugar packets in her wake— and then dashes over to press them into his grasp. “I’m so so sorry! I didn’t in my wildest dreams imagine that would happen! I swear!”

Annabeth expects at least for Percy to bemoan the injury, but instead she’s answered by a frankly terrifying boom of cackles.

“Percy? Have you cracked? Did I knock your brains out permanently?”

“When you said you’d ruin us, I didn’t think you’d literally cause physical harm Chase,” Percy retorts, still fighting down bubbles of laughter.

“You’re manic,” she pouts, long suffering.

“And you’re terrifying.”

“Bet it works for you though,” she preens, can’t help but be boastful over the way a blush touches  the tops of his cheeks.

“Talk about adding harm to humiliation,” Percy grouces. 

“Poor baby,” Annabeth mock croons, thinks that today actually might turn out pretty amazing.

.-

She brings him upstairs to properly clean off the blood from his face and to come up with the conditions with at least a temporary truce, definitely not so she can finally trade a totally thrilling snog with him in privacy.

“You drive a hard bargain Chase,” Percy tells her, settling into the sofa as Annabeth unfolds her game of monopoly for them, having proclaimed that it’s a perfect time for her to prove how much fun board games can be.

“Oh hush,” she cuffs him on the back of the head playfully. “You’re just mad I won.”

“More like you committed battery,” Percy contends, pouting moodily, is only consoled when Annabeth leans forwards to kiss him again.

“You looked pretty bleeding— Oh God! Did I just say that out loud?”

Percy dissolves into a peals of laughter once more, and Annabeth tries her damndest to melt into a puddle right on spot.

“I can’t believe I’m so into such a maniac,” Percy tells her, eyes and smile glittering.

“SO rude,” Annabeth sniffs, arms crossed against her chest. 

“But accurate Chase.”

Annabeth doesn’t bother to argue anymore because Percy’s already slanted their lips against one another again, and he’s doing this insane thing with his tongue that it makes her toes curl.

Yeah, today turned out amazing indeed. 

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Dead Man Walking (DonnyxFem! Reader)

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines

Let me know if you want to be tagged in these/have any requests :)

(Sorry it’s a bit long :/ )

Donny couldn't see anything in the room. The musty damp air of the abandoned inn wafted around, and was heavy after the rain, and the long day.

"Fuck you, Donny." You muttered, as he heard you storm up to your bunk.

He laid back on his bunk. He was pissed...

He didn't care enough to answer back...actually...he cared too much.

You, on the other hand, had enough.

You knew it had been your fault. You didn't need constant reminders and glares from everyone.

You and Omar were on a mission alone, together, which Donny didn't like to begin with. He tried to convince Aldo that letting 'the Russkie,' and 'one of the kids' alone was a bad idea.

It wasn't because you were trained as a Soviet spy. It wasn't because Omar was one of his closest friends, and one of the youngest....

In fact, he thought highly of both your skills as basterds.

That was just it...he thought too highly of you. He wanted it to stop. 

He needed an excuse to stop loving you.

And when Omar got hurt on your watch, Donny took it as an opportunity to hide his heart away.

The basterds didn't take it too lightly either. Not even you were on your own side. You didn't try to defend yourself.

Only Omar did.

 He constantly made jokes out of it. He tried to make you feel beter, because even though in the basterds eyes you seemed remorseless, Omar looked long enough to see the truth.

He was there when it happened. "They weren't there when it happened, it's ok."

"It shouldn't have happened." You had walked away from him after he'd been bandaged up, and made your way to your bunk.  That was when you had enough of Donny's muttering, and told him to fuck off. You'd just had enough of the war.

In the span of three years, you had lost your family, your country, and one of your greatest gifts. You used to be a sharpshooter...

Donny muttered, "Fucken rookie."

You were no rookie to war, or to the double life. You were still a rookie to the basterd life. Although the basterds had only just gotten a hold of sergeant Hugo Stiglitz months before your arrival, and had all been  'rookies' themselves, some of then were not sure as to why the OSS sent you to them. You, despite your ability to speak a variety of languages, and a frighteningly profound  knowledge about the enemy...you were a bit rusty when it came to shooting.

In fact, you were a terrible shot.

And the shot you missed that morning meant a nazi made his, and it almost cost Omar his life.   You looked down at  your knuckles. The skin was raw, practically shredded off. Your firsts were the only reason either of you made it out at all. Not that it mattered to them, given how badly Omar was hurt... In fact, you didn’t even let it matter to you. Your friend was hurting, and you really were convinced it was your fault. You snuck out, hoping to get some air without  one of them being an absolute basterd to you... Donny didn't notice you leave your bunk.

Donny stayed up thinking about the incident half the night. On one hand, the basterds couldn't afford to lose anyone, and one mistake like that made him livid. How could you miss that fucking shot? ...On the other hand, he just never seemed to be able to get you off his mind to begin with.

"And another thing! I'm still your fucken sergeant, don't fucking talk to me like th...." He looked over to your bunk, and squinted. He was unable to make out the usual mass under the sheets.

"Y/n?"

You didn't respond.

Donny realized you were not in your bed, and got up to look for you. It wasn't normal...

He knew you were a light sleeper.

Spies usually were...

And although your espionage days were technically behind you, and you had the OSS' seal of approval, the basterds couldn't seem to bring themselves to trust you.

They didn't know you.

Apart from Hugo, you may have been just the biggest mystery among them.

All they knew for certain was your name, your rank, and that you were a Soviet spy that had been enlisted by the OSS and sent to fight with the basterds.

Why exactly, was never revealed to them.

If what they knew was really your name or one given to you for the sake of international security, they didn't know.

So really, all they knew for certain about you was that you were a former spy, a terrible shot, and a private.

Whenever they'd approach Hugo, he'd glare at them, and sit in silence.

When they appraoched you, and asked you about Russia, you at least smiled softly.

But you could never bring yourself to explain what happened to you...

Aldo knew just a bit more than the others. It was information given to him by his own general when you were first sent to the basterds.

Aldo himself didn't know the full story, but just enough to understand you.

He understood that as a trained spy, you were not an open book, and probably never would be...but he also understood you were not a person of many words because of what happened to you... What exactly happened was not revealed to him either.

The basterds had all gathered around Omar, talking about what happened earlier that day.

Donny walked toward them, hoping you'd be there. "Anyone see-"

"Sh."

He was almost stunned that Hugo had directed any sound toward him.

"What?"

"Aldo's telling us what he knows."

Donny asked, "About the russkie?"

Aldo overhead, and looked around, realizing the basterds were all gathered, "Russkies are on our side now, Donny-boy."

Hirschberg mutterd, "Barely..."

Omar rolled his eyes. "I told you. It's not a big deal. Y/n's trying her best!"

Smitty shook his head, "You almost died. It's a huge deal!"

Aldo grunted as he sat down. "You wanna hear the story I got, or not?"

Wicki hushed everyone and Aldo sighed and nodded, "Ok. Kid used to be a spy. You all know that. She speaks couple different languages. Some better than others."

Some of the basterds chuckled. Donny found himself giggling  a bit, remembering how nice he thought your accent was.

"She was just a kid. Good at making and breaking codes, Soviets used her. Dropped her behind enemy lines three years ago, bout eighteen eyars old, used her since she can speak German bout as good as them two boys."

Wicki and Hugo nodded. They'd been stunned when she interjected on one of their brief conversations once, without a trace of an accent.

"Somewhere along the lines, communication got muddled, someone was a traitor, she got double crossed, and caught by the SS. They took that little girl as a POW, got her marked up."

Donny narrowed his eyes as his heart fell... He thought he saw something on your arm the day you joined them. You had made brief eye contact with him as you quickly pulled a jacket over yourself.

He then realized he'd never seen you without long sleeves on... You never wanted any of them to ask questions, and you never wanted a nazi to know what their brothers in arms had managed to do to you, or to recognize you.

Hugo looked up...he was once in a prison. He knew the extent of the nazi's cruelty...

It wasn't a wonder that you rarely spoke after that. 

Aldo went on, "There was an operation run by the French. They were able to help some of 'em poor fuckers escape, she was with em. Soviets let the OSS take her since the nazis knew too much. Sent her to us."

Simon shook his head, still not understanding, "Why us..."

Aldo shrugged, "Story is  she was a good shot, and a good ass kicker. Good at hand to hand combat."

Omar nodded as he rested his hand against his bandaged chest, "She fought that kraut to the ground. It was crazy...like...like watching the craziest bar fight you ever saw!"

Aldo chuckled a little, "Decent shot at point blank, though. Don’t know why she can’t make a regular shot. Them krauts did something to her."

Wicki nodded, deep in though, "So whatever changed her had to have happened at the camp..."

Smitty asked, "Yeah, but what happened? If she used to be such a good sharp-shooter, what the fuck happened? You can't lose your mojo that bad for so long..."

All the basterds had practical heart attacks when they heard your voice behind them. "What happened was I was shot point blank. Right here."

They turned around, and saw you tapping your right temple. Their eyes inevitably trailed up your arms. Your sleeves were rolled up. It was a humid night, and you never wore anything but long sleeves. A series of bold, black numbers permanently etched into your skin  stunned them.

You raised your hand up, and pulled hair away from your face. For once, you would be giving them a full explanation, something a spy flike you was not accustomed to.

"I'm blind in my right eye. Deaf in my right ear, too."

"What?" Omar was shocked. They all were, looking to you for a better explanation.

"I'm half deaf and half blind. I lost my depth perception. I was a sharpshooter over a year ago. The only shots I can make now are point blank. I can't hear the things I used to, but I can read lips in five languages, which comes in handy more often than you'd think. I've also become  skilled at throwing grenades, and hand to hand combat. No, I didn't let Omar get hurt, no I didn't miss the shot on purpose."

Omar smirked a little, "What doesn't kill you makes you a basterd."

You smiled a little, though you still wished he hadn't gotten hurt at all.

The basterds understood after that, but they started to call you a jinx for a while, as a joke, of course.

Until...the basterds sort of jinxed themselves. Months passed.

You and Omar once again found yourselves at the hands of the nazis...This time, Donny was tagging along.  

They couldn't say you didn't warn them.

The three of you had been walking.

You recognized a man walking by.

He was the same one that tortured you day in and day out when you were a prisoner. 

You froze for a moment. You didn’t need more than that to make sure it was him. You could never forget his face. You reached for your gun.

Donny nudged you, "C'mon kid, we're gonna be late."

"That one."

"What?" He looked at you in confusion, waiting for an answer.

You half turned, and Donny glanced up, and watched the man walk down the street. "What about him?"

The man was in civilian's clothes, so to Donny, he looked as just that. A civilian.  He frowned and pulled you aside, "What's goin' on?"

You looked up, and Donny looked into your icy, angry eyes as you glared at the man, and  muttered "Dead man walking." Donny knew what that meant. All the basterds did. When you knew someone was undercover and an enemy, you would mutter it. It happened to have been the very first thing you learned in English...

Omar looked over, and stopped.

He trusted you.

It was then that Donny understood why he could practically see the rage through your eyes, when you usually kept your temper in dangerous situations. He clenched his jaw, eyeing your covered forearm, then glancing at the nazi.

But it was too late by then... The nazi had recognized you, too. He never could forget your face either. You were ‘the one that got away’.  You were surrounded, and had no escape.

It turned into a Mexican stand-off.

Most of the guns were aimed at you: All the nazis wanted to get rid of the basterds, of course, but this one in particular had a vendetta against you.

His whole team knew your story.

The spy that should have been dead turned basterd, and was a menace at close range.

After your escape from the camp, there were orders that you were to be killed on sight.

Still, the men in that post had unfinished business with you. "Drop the weapons, or we kill the girl."

Six guns on you, one on Donny, and one on Omar.

Omar looked to his sergeant, Donny looked at you, eyes begging for mercy as he dropped his gun. "I'm sorry, Y/n.”

He knew you'd never forgive him for sparing you.

"Donny...no..."

He looked at you, and for the frst time you saw sincerity in his eyes. Usually he was cynical and indifferent toward you... But his eyes were soft as he murmured,  "I'm sorry..."

The three of you were tied up, and forced onto a jeep, and thrown out somewhere in the forest.

The nazis moved away from you, and plotted it all out.

The night came, and you had all been silent for hours.... Until Donny muttered, "What're the fucken krauts talking about anyway?"

You sat and looked up at the stars, knowing what was to come, "How they're going to torture and kill us..." You had known for hours. And you had known exactly what they were going to do. And you knew exactly what it felt like. It wasn't anything you'd ever want Donny or Omar to feel...and you didn't want them to spend their last few hours in silent anxiety and hopelessness, so you didn't tell them everything you knew.

Donny looked at you, then the ground at your feet, at the earth that you should have been buried under long before.

He couldn't let you go through it again.

He couldn't let you die.

He knew what you lost, he knew you were young, and he couldn't let you lose it all.

He couldn't lose you.

You, on the other hand, were not willing to be a jinx. You were not willing to let the basterds lose Omar and Donny in one night...

You were a spy. Or, had been.

That's how you had learned to see yourself, a has-been.

You thought the world, the basterds, and the OSS could stand to lose you, but not them...

And as a fomer spy, you quite literally had a trick up your sleeve.

You used a small razor to cut through Omar's ropes, and then got halfway through Donny's before you heard the nazi's laughter get closer...

"Omar, go!"

"What?!"

You looked him in the eyes, "I'll run toward them. They want me, not you."

"We're basterds, we're bounty hunters dream ri-"

"They want me, Omar. He couldn't get me a year ago. He wants to kill me first." "But-" You didn't dare look in their eyes. "They're gonna take their time with me. Go."

Donny shook his head, "We stay together, y/n. This isn't a fucking debate. What are you fucking crazy?!"

Omar stared right back at you until you looked at him, "I'm not running without you."

"You're not running, you're giving Donny a chance." You started walking towards the clearing,

"But-"

You looked back at him. You pointed to his chest, over the scarring from an evitable bullet. "I owe you."

"Y/n. Y/n, come back! You don’t owe me shit!"

You gulped, shook your head, and looked Omar in the eyes,  "Don't let this go to waste." You hesitated for a moment. And one moment only.

You looked at Donny one last time as he tried to break the ropes with his brute strength, trying to give you a fighting chance. "Y/n...y/n don't do this! Don't go! Don't  fucking do it! That's an order!" You looked at Omar, ignoring Donny, and nodded once, encouraging him.

Omar started running, understanding that if the nazis came any closer, all three of you would die. He ran away as fast as he could to get help.

"Y/N, IT'S A FUCKING ORDER, I SWEAR!"

You looked to him, your soft eyes begged, "I'm sorry, sarge." You left him speechless as you left him alone. You turned and ran, to distract the nazis, give Omar a headstart, and Donny a fighting chance.

You heard Donny's voice behind you as the nazi's came into view.

"Y/N!"

They grabbed onto you, just as you planned, and never bothered to go check up on the basterds. It was you they wanted to kill. It was you they got.

They mocked you, "Dead man walking, Private L/N?"

They threw you down onto your knees, "Where are the others?"

"What others?" You looked up at your murderers.

You were struck with the gun. "The basterds. We have the Bear Jew, and Ulmer. Where are the others?"

"Fuck you."

"Where is your lieutenant, Aldo the Apache!? Hugo Stiglitz?! Where is The Little Man?"

"Who?" you were genuinely confused that time.

He barked at you, like a rabid dog...Some things never changed. "SMITHSON UTIVICH, THE LITTLE MAN, WHERE IS HE?!"

You smirked a little, unable to believe that that was his nickname. You composed yourself in a split second, "I don't know him."

"Do you want me to bring out the Bear Jew and Private Ulmer? Maybe seeing their blood and brains smeared on these fucking trees will jog your memory! I'm sure you're acquainted with them, after all."

You narrowed your eyes, "Who says 'acquainted' anymore?"

He lost his temper,  and growled, "I'll take that as a yes."

You laughed in the nazi's face, eyeing the gun's barrel aimed directly at your face.

He laughed right back at you.

It was just like last time.

You were insolent, and defiant. You had been a thorn in his side for nearly two years. First because you never gave in to the interrogations, then because you refused to die. It seemed you had been the 'dead man walking' all along.

This time, he would make sure you wouldn't come back to haunt him.

He struck you again with the back of his gun until you struggled to stay on your knees.

Still, you looked him in the eyes.

He would never win, you knew that.

He could take your life, and a thousand more, but he would never win the war.

That was what made you smile, as blood trickled down your nose, and down your face from a gash on your forehead.

You looked him in the eyes, and it scared him.

He was horrified.

Only an unholy demon could face someone like him the way you did.

"That all you got?" You looked up, smirking as you caught your breath.

He spat, "Fuck you."

"Creative, I like it."

He growled as he took his knife, and tentatively slashed you across your abdomen "WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS?!"

"The girls? Moscow, probably. The boys are on the eastern front. I'll send them your regards!"

"Geh zum Teufel! I will send you to hell!"

"Fun. Imeyte v etom." You smirked. It was something you'd say to him every time the interrogation turned into torture. You would never tell them what they wanted to know, and you knew the nazi's cruelty knew no end. Therefore, you didn't know your end. Those had been your chosen last words. Russian, your language... and cynical, your specialty. Imeyte v etom: Have at it.

He shrieked in frustration, and pulled out his gun. "I WILL KILL YOU IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO."

You glanced down for a momrnt as you chuckled, and saw that blood was pooling throufh your shirt. "Do better this time." He glared at you, nostril flaring like a bull's, his eyes soulless and cruel like only a nazi's could be.

Blood was also dripping into your good eye.

This was no way to die...far from home, alone, and in the face of the enemy.

But, you smirked, knowing you never lost your dignity.

You pressed your forehead against the barel with a foreceful push, you spat some blood at him,  "Finish the job, Herman. Imeyte v etom."

He clenched his jaw, and cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, "I will, this time, dead man."

You smirked a little, looking up at him.

It was only fair for the last words he ever heard to be in his native language, you thought.

"Leiche."

'Corpse.'

His face contorted, puzzled over what your final words were supposed to mean. He knew that wasn't what you said every time you expected to die. He expected you to give one final denial, or one final dare. A protest. He expected you to say it in Russian, just as you always did. He expected you to  silent defiance, just as you did the last time he 'killed' you.

Instead, you called him a corpse.

He didn't understand...

It delayed his kill, just for an instant.

And in that instant, you smirked a little, taunting him in his final moments, as he was filled with confusion.

That instant, that infinitesimal instant, changed your fate.

Just as he pulled the trigger, a baseball bat swung as his skull full force, the gun fell, and the bullet barely missed you.

Still, you had been dealt quite a few blows, and the deep gash across your abdomen wasn't much help. You had your life and your dignity, a strong temperance, but you were hurt... It was in the blink of an eye. The basterds emerged from the trees and bushes. In the blink of an eye, each nazi was either dead or screaming for mercy. A few basterds were already in the process of taking scalps...they had a debt to pay, after all. You looked up, your one good eye beginning to swell over in dull pain, blood still trickling down your forehead and nose, your wound stinging and burning. You stood up, and held your head up high. Once again, you had cheated death. You had laughed right in her face. Your soul had been salvaged once more. And yet, you wondered why, as you held onto your bleeding torso... The blunt thud of Donny's bat suddenly ceased, which snapped you back to the world around you. He wiped some of his sweat away with his forearm as he grinned at you, "Congratulations, kid. Takes a helluva a basterd and balls to do what you did. You're one lucky basterd." You looked at him... That was your answer. Donny Donowitz was the reason you were still alive...

Aside from the fact that he'd literally beaten your would-be-murderer to death...there was more to it. You saw it but denied it, after every single lingering glance, every unexplained smile... Sometimes he spoke a little softer when you were around. You'd noticed that, but you refused to take it into account. Donny...may not have been the brightest basterd, but he knew a thing or two. He knew your sharp tongue was a double edged sword. You spoke rarely, but when you did, you seemed to push him away at every chance. Sometimes, he did the same. Eyes could never lie, though.

There was something there... And it was the reason you didn't die in any of your lucrative missions, or in the POW camp, or that night. You found love...

Or maybe, love found you... Love was in Donny's eyes. His smirking pride vanished when he rezlies it hadn't been just a few hits. When he saw you stumble, your knees shaking, when the blood seeped through your clutching arm. "Oh, fuck! Y/n!" He let go of his bat, something he'd never done before, and held you up. "Is it bad? It's bad." "Not too bad." You shook your head...definitely having seen worse before. "You're bleeding, y/n! Aldo! Guys?! She's hurt!" You winced a little, but shook your head, "It's ok, Donny." "What?" He looked at you as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Your blood was smeared on his arms, something that would never leave his mind. "It's not o-fucken-kay!" You smiled a little, looking up at him, "I've had worse. I'm not dead, am I?" Sometimes, he thought you were too easy going for your own good. "You're hurt, doll. You're bleeding. And I'm not leaving till I know you're ok. I'm not leaving, you hear that?" You nodded once and smiled softly, "I  hear you...kind of." He rolled his eyes, helping you down until help came... "Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, kid." He wanted to help you himself, but he didn't know much about medical things, and sometimes he didn't know his own strenght. He didn't want to risk hurting you even more. You looked up at him... Maybe you'd underestimated your wound...you realized that as the adrenaline died down, but looking up at Donny, you knew everything would be alright. It had to be. You had a reason to be alive, and he was looking right down at you. "What'cha smiling at?" He couldn't help but smile a bit himself. "Thank you, sarge." "Me? What did I do?" "I'm only alive because of you and Omar." He shook his head, "We're only alive cause of you." "Thanks, Don..." He looked down at you, and realized it all... "Hey...hey kid?" "Yeah?" You realized something too....before that, he never called you anything other than 'the russkie' or 'the spy.' He'd been calling you 'kid,' and even if you were half deaf, and half dead, you could've sworn you heard him call you doll at some point. Donny, at that moment, realized he loved you... As Andy and Hirschberg arrived to help you, he stood back. But he never let you out of his sight. Not again. Life gave you a second chance, he didn't want to risk losing you. As much as you both loved ridding the world of nazis, and fighting side by side, and living a basterd's life... a wave of relief washed over Donny the night the basterds ended the war. A nazi's bullet would never be near either or you again. There was no need for a bloody baseball bat. There was no need for you to be close range to nazis day in and day out. There was no need to ever be apart. And you never were again. A former spy, and a basterd: Two undisputed war heroes, who did the impossible to stay alive and stay together, somehow stayed in love after years of denial and danger. Somehow, your second chance to live became Donny's chance to love.

[queenwinry]

Quick Thinking

Pairing: Royai

Rating: K+

Words: 2065

Summary: Mere seconds away from being discovered by their mark on a stealth mission, Riza Hawkeye has to quickly come up with a way to not blow her and the colonel’s cover. Her solution is...less than ideal, though Roy’s certainly not going to complain. 

A/N: Hello friends! I know I’ve been MIA for a while (and just showing up with a random oneshot is more on brand than i’d like to admit) but I couldn’t resist eventually getting this idea down. I’ve been off and on writing for the last few months but nothing quite as steady. This idea attacked me and wouldn’t let me go, so here have some Royai nonsense for the start of your weekend :) (p.s. I miss everyone and hope yall are doing well <3) 

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Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye watched with a flash of annoyance as her superior rubbed his gloved hands together to abate the cold and cursed for the umpteenth time since they’d stationed themselves outside the secluded East City club. The colonel was being overly dramatic yet again and she was far from patient enough to deal with it by this point, also thoroughly chilled to the bone. 

She watched as Colonel Mustang blew out a puff of air, easily visible even at the late hour, before he nearly pouted. “You know, when I got promoted, I really thought I’d be done with these half-assed stealth missions.” 

Still trying to keep her eyes trained on the front doors of the swanky club for their target, Riza let out a sigh of her own. “You should consider it an honor that General Grumman only trusts you for these types of things.” She wasn’t sure whether she was even trying to be sarcastic or not, but, regardless, her superior took it as such. 

Letting out a scoff, he replied, “Yeah, great. Good to know that old coot has no one else in the entirety of Eastern HQ he trusts enough to stand outside in the freezing weather for hours doing nothing.” 

Riza resisted the urge to clench her fists and roll her eyes. She tightened the scarf around her neck before gripping the ties on her simple black coat, attempting to pull it even closer to her. Both her and Mustang were dressed in civilian clothes for this particular “mission”. She was grateful for that at least. Though the blue wool uniform was warm on most days, the flimsy military-issued black overcoat would not be nearly enough for this weather. “Colonel, if you keep complaining like that you’ll miss the target and then this will all be for nothing.” 

Another scoff. Riza was beginning to become quite irritated with the noise. “Then maybe Grumman himself will let me off the hook and come out here on his own time.” 

“Right, because that will do wonders for your reputation.” 

She listened in satisfaction as her superior grumbled at the accuracy of her statement and kept his mouth shut. They’d been on the hunt for this particular crime lord for a few weeks now. The conniving man and his lackeys had bested Roy’s team a few times already and General Grumman (along with all of Eastern HQ) was starting to get antsy. It wasn’t like the upstart colonel to fail this many times in a row. It was straining everyone’s patience and Mustang’s ego. Hence, why Grumman had sent the pair out on the front lines trying to find some sliver of information that would work to bring the crime lord in. 

Riza was a little wary of the plan, however, given the fact that their target knew the faces of the colonel and his team quite well by now. If they were accidentally spotted out here, it could mean serious trouble. The lieutenant absentmindedly huddled further into the shadows of the dark alley they had decided to hide in. 

It remained silent aside from the distant hum of the bustling East City nightclub and Mustang’s occasional expletives, but Riza took what she could get. She was as exhausted and cold as her superior, though she’d never admit it out loud. She hoped their target showed up sooner rather than later. 

Suddenly, a movement out of the corner of her eye had the trained sniper immediately on alert. When she turned her head and watched a seemingly hidden door open in the opposite wall from where they stood, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and her heart sunk. 

How had she missed an exit right beside them? She nearly kicked herself for not investigating their hiding spot well enough. She’d thought the alley on the side of the club was the perfect place to stake out, but she realized with startling clarity as two figures (two distinctly familiar figures) stepped out of the doorway, that she had been dead wrong. 

In that moment, as Riza immediately recognized their crime lord target and one of his bodyguards walking not even five feet beside them, she realized that she had mere milliseconds to make a decision. Her superior was a few steps away, his back still turned and his mind still focusing on how annoyed he was. Their target hadn’t yet seen that they were there, but he inevitably would once he was fully out of the doorway. The lieutenant realized she didn’t even have enough time to grab her gun beneath her many layers, even though the last thing she wanted to do was cause a scene and waste another golden opportunity. 

In hindsight, the lieutenant would admit to herself that she really had no idea where the sudden thought had even come from. She was certain she had buried all such inclinations years ago, and nothing even resembling the terrifying emotion would ever come to the surface. But, as panic overtook her system in the mere second before the crime lord turned around and noticed The Flame Alchemist and Hawk’s Eye standing next to him, it was the only thing she could think of and the only thing she could’ve possibly acted on. 

With a very different kind of dread filling her stomach, Riza took a few quick steps over to her superior (her goddamn boss), grabbed his arm with desperation, spun him around, pushed him against the opposite alleyway wall and crashed her lips onto his. 

She could practically feel the shockwave rush through his body as she grappled for the lapels of his over coat and angled her head just a touch. She still had no idea why her best idea for a cover was two horny adults exchanging saliva outside a nightclub, but she figured it was probably the quickest she’d ever thought on her feet. 

Colonel Mustang was still frozen in place, his hands having come out to grip the sides of her arms (probably more in surprise than anything else). He wasn’t moving his mouth at all but she probably couldn’t blame him for that. At least he hadn’t immediately pushed her away. 

Riza waited in anticipation as the sound of the crime lord and his bodyguard taking a few steps, stopping once they noticed them, and then reacting filled her ears. A feeling of relief coursed through her body once she heard the footsteps stop, before the pair started chuckling, no doubt shaking their heads at the “couple” they stumbled upon in the throes of passion. 

Too focused on their target’s reaction, Riza barely even registered as her commanding officer finally got the memo, realizing they were not, in fact, all alone out here. His hands relaxed on her arms and his lips began to move in conjunction with her own. A strange, very foreign feeling began to emerge from the bottom of her stomach, but she ignored it in favor of keeping a listening ear on her surroundings. 

Either the crime lord or his bodyguard (Riza wasn’t really sure who, her mind starting to become regrettably foggy), scoffed and gave a simple, “Get a room,” before the pair both laughed and their footsteps retreated from the alley. 

Riza waited probably another full minute, again attempting to ignore the movements of Colonel Mustang as his hands meandered from her arms to her lower back, before she finally broke the kiss and immediately sneaked over to watch their target get in a nearby vehicle before he drove away. 

As she watched the car go, she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in and relaxed her entire body against the nearby wall. That had been far, far too close. While her method of quick thinking certainly brought on a whole new slew of problems, she was thankful they had at least dodged that theoretical bullet. 

Not really wanting to, given the uneasy feeling coursing through her,  Riza let her eyes drift back over to her superior. He was still leaned up against the wall, a stunned expression on his face. She swallowed down the flare of desire that appeared as she watched the colonel take a few unsteady breaths, trying to keep his chest from heaving. He looked as dazed as she felt. 

Riza gulped again when his dark eyes finally flitted back over to her. There were a thousand different emotions playing behind them. Shock. Confusion. And, dare she say it, a bit of desire as well. He opened and closed his gaping mouth a few times and looked to be struggling just to find the right words. She could only imagine how he was going to react, so she stepped forward and beat him to his inevitable questioning. 

“Sir, I sincerely apologize.” She had to work hard just to maintain eye contact. She could feel her cheeks heating and she was thankful the darkness would help shroud the outward signs of her embarrassment. She watched as Mustang’s shock began to fade slightly at her words, but he remained silent as she continued. “I-I didn’t know what else to do. It was my fault for not doing a thorough enough search of the alleyway and missing the other exit. I hope you’ll forgive my blatant insubordination.” 

A rather tense pause ensued as the colonel merely blinked in her direction and shook his head, seemingly still trying to wrap his mind around the interesting turn of events. Riza waited with bated breath before he must’ve come to some conclusion as his entire body relaxed and a sly smile emerged on his face. 

“Rest assured, Lieutenant, I’m not over here complaining.” His voice was hoarse and cracked which added a rather unfortunate huskiness that Riza did not need right now. 

“It’s fine,” he continued with that same breathlessness, the absurdity of everything seeming to dawn on him. “I was just...surprised, I guess. That’s good quick thinking though. We would’ve been in deep shit if he’d realized who we were.” 

Riza managed to scramble enough dignity to nod her head in agreement. 

Roy sighed again, though this one had nothing to do with his annoyance at his own superior. “Well, I guess that’s that, then. Let’s head home. I’m sure the general will want a full update in the morning.” 

At his sudden switch into business mode, Riza straightened up and followed his lead. “Yes, sir.” 

They began to walk down the alleyway in the direction he’d parked his car when Mustang suddenly stopped and turned back toward the lieutenant. She nearly let out a groan at the shit-eating grin that had emerged on his face. He leaned down closer to her and she resisted the temptation to take a whiff of his usual cologne. 

“I will say this, though.” Riza could only guess the next words out of his mouth. “I wouldn’t be opposed to more stealth missions after all, if that’s going to be your usual method of keeping our cover.” 

Riza’s entire guilty, embarrassed countenance fell immediately at his words, replaced with her usual annoyance at his antics. She supposed she should be glad he was using his cocky, womanizing facade to ease the tension of what had just happened. She knew deep down he was doing this for her sake, getting her to relax and realize that it didn’t need to be as big of a deal as she was making it out to be, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to punch him in the arm for the look on his face. 

She settled for rolling her eyes and heaving a put upon sigh. She walked past him without another word and gave a terse, “It’s late, sir. We should head home.” 

She wasn’t looking at him to see, but she could just picture the self-satisfied grin on his face. “Sure, sure,” he spoke, following after her toward the car. 

Riza vowed, as they silently walked back toward his car and made their way to their respective homes, that she would always do her best staking out and covering all her bases when they went on these types of missions. Her dignity could not possibly handle having to resort to such desperate measures again. 

She also vowed never to speak a word to anyone of the way her lips still tingled long after she’d gotten home. 

[syntaxeme]

Needs Met ch. 1 [Moicy]

[Read on AO3] [Next Chapter (coming soon)] Rating: M Notes: This story involves Ph*rmercy elements. It also involves cheating. If you’re bothered by one or both of those things, please just ignore the story! I’m not here to engage in any kind of ship war or to encourage it among others.

Summary:  By some cruel twist of fate, Angela finds herself once again working with Moira O’Deorain, an ex with whom she had a particularly complicated (D/s) relationship. Unfortunately for Angela, her thoughts and feelings about Moira refuse to stay in the past. Realizing that the stability and control Moira offers are things she still craves, she finds her pride bending to her own desires. No, not desires. Needs.

— — –

Throughout the entire mission, Angela kept her eyes to herself. She went to the side of anyone who needed her, was mindful of her companions and her surroundings—but no more than “mindful.” She didn’t look closely. She didn’t listen for a particular voice. To be plain, she wasn’t all there. Not to say that anyone suffered for it, but she was very aware of her own condition. Maybe if she had been informed of these unusual circumstances ahead of time, it wouldn’t have affected her so much. Maybe not.

“I much appreciated your aid, Angela. I doubt we would have succeeded without it.” That voice. That was the one she had been trying to ignore all day. Not the words spoken, as they were more than competent, inventive, helpful (as expected) to the mission. The sound itself was what affected her.

“You’re exaggerating,” she answered coolly. “I was only doing my part, Doctor O’Deorain.” Of course, she had known that she wouldn’t escape Moira’s presence altogether. Now that they’d boarded the transport that would deliver them from the field to their accommodations for the night, her fears had been realized.

“‘Doctor,’ is it?” Moira laughed, eyes lingering on Angela’s tense shoulders. “And I thought you and I were better-acquainted than that.”

“Maybe we were at one point.” Why was she carrying on this conversation? Why did she answer when Moira spoke? A conditioned response, she supposed, from years ago, one the sound of that voice had brought back with an intensity she’d never expected. They stood in one corner of the ship, and none of the others present seemed to notice how heavy the air was between them.

“I suppose some time has passed since then. The years show in your eyes, Doctor Ziegler,” Moira pointed out, hands remaining folded at her back despite the wandering of her gaze. “Your charming optimism has faded.”

Angela gripped her staff more tightly with both hands. “The absolute last thing I’m here to do,” she said quietly, “is ‘charm’ you.” Moira laughed openly at that, and blue eyes stayed fixed in a glare at the floor below.

“Yes, I’m certain you don’t do it intentionally.” Inquisitively inspecting Angela’s armor, she changed the subject: “Your Valkyrie suit has greatly improved since last I saw it. The staff’s function is much more elegant…and I see you carry a sidearm now.”

“It’s purely for self-defense.”

“Primum non nocere. How appropriate. I do wonder what else has changed over the years,” Moira observed. Taking a slow step closer, she went on, “Since we’ll be spending the evening in close quarters, this seems a fine opportunity for a closer look. At the suit, that is. Given your permission.”

Angela’s eyes fell closed as she tried to decide how to answer. She had expected the suggestion—she’d been expecting it since she’d found out they were working together that morning. That it came this late in the day was the only surprise. And of course, she knew it wasn’t really her armor that Moira was interested in. Suffice it to say they’d had a very complicated relationship during her time with Blackwatch; her ‘closer look’ would inevitably become something much more involved. If only Fareeha had come with her, Angela was certain this conversation wouldn’t be taking place at all.

She had been seeing Fareeha outside of work for nearly a year by that point, and they’d been sleeping together for months. Had she been there, her jealousy would have picked up on Moira’s intentions immediately and prevented her from coming anywhere near Angela outside the mission. But she was busy elsewhere at the time, and of course they were both certain that the brief separation wouldn’t be an issue in any way.

“No,” Angela said in what she hoped was a firm tone. “I prefer not to share my inventions with untrustworthy individuals.”

“Untrustworthy?” Moira repeated, though she sounded more amused than offended. “You have changed, aingeal.” Still, she didn’t press further. She inclined her head in a semblance of a bow and left to speak with one of their other associates instead. Angela remained silent for the rest of their trip, trying her best not to dwell on the interaction.

She was no psychologist, but she was certain that her response to Moira’s voice was nothing more than Pavlovian conditioning. Not a sign of lingering feelings for her, not a reflection on her mental state. Nothing but a learned reaction that her body had somehow held onto all these years. It was nothing short of a biological betrayal that she should be forced to recall, in vivid detail, the moments that had enforced this affliction.

Moments during the period when they were on the same side. More or less. Moments in her darkened office, after everyone else had gone home for the day. Moments in her apartment or Moira’s, when that voice had given orders for her to obey. With pleasure. She recalled the chuckle that came when she begged, the encouraging purr when she was doing well. The shape of Moira’s lips as she spoke. The feeling of those lips on her skin. And her tongue…

Angela groaned, more in irritation with herself than anything, as she tried to push every one of those moot points out of her head. None of it mattered. It was all in the past, and no matter how much she had wanted it—needed it—at the time, it wasn’t going to happen again. Her guilt over even thinking about it only increased when they got back to their hotel and she finally checked her phone to find a missed call from Fareeha. Of course, between their separate time zones and both of them working, it was difficult to find a moment wherein they were both free to talk. But she had left a sweet voicemail, promising to make up for the lost time once they were both home, confessing that her current bed was cold without her ‘dove’ there to share it. Angela listened to the message and felt surprisingly little—little but guilt and disappointment in herself.

She cared about Fareeha. She wouldn’t have been with her if she didn’t. She enjoyed their time together, felt safe and comfortable in her arms, appreciated all the emotional support she provided. Yes, she very selfishly loved every aspect of their relationship. But did she love Fareeha? That, she had yet to answer. Or maybe she had answered it but pretended otherwise, hoped her heart and mind might change with time. Love was such a complicated, messy subject, one she hadn’t had much luck with in the past.

Rather than calling and leaving a voicemail of her own, she answered with a text message, explaining how exhausted she was, hoping that it came off as sincere. The last thing she wanted was to hurt or discourage Fareeha somehow. She didn’t deserve to suffer for Angela’s weakness. More than anything, she wanted to sleep, to be free of the burden of thinking, just for a few hours. But sleep didn’t come easily these days, meaning she had to weigh the costs and benefits of taking medication.

Too many choices, too many decisions, too much responsibility. Just tell me what to do. She was so tired. After shedding the many pieces of her armor, wings and all, she put out the lights, crawled into her bed, and pulled the covers up to hide beneath them. Still her mind wouldn’t stop racing—or trudging, at least, as drained as she was.

There was a way to fix it. Something she couldn’t do on her own. From experience, she knew exactly what she needed. Guidance. Stability. She needed to put herself in hands more reliably steady than her own.

Discipline.

Subjugation. She wet her lips at the thought.

For years, she’d been trying to put the thought out of her head, telling herself it wasn’t healthy, that she should find some other way to cope. But what point was there when she already knew the solution?

She had brought the idea up to Fareeha before, but only once or twice. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable with it, with the notion of controlling or, heaven forbid, harming Angela. Too concerned for her comfort. Nevertheless, Fareeha had agreed to try, out of a desire to please her. Already, the motivation was wrong, and a Dom without the confidence to give orders simply couldn’t provide the firm hand Angela needed. So she tried instead to forget that feeling and be satisfied with everything else Fareeha could give. And she gave no small amount.

Then came this mission, and she was forced to confront Moira again. Moira, who had never hesitated to control her. Moira, who had been the one to show her how sweet it could be to submit. Moira, whose voice still set her blood on fire and practically made her mouth water.

She recalled their earlier conversation, her own cold and insulting words, and some stupid, desperate part of her wished Moira had slapped them out of her mouth. Wished she could feel those long fingers close around her throat and tighten when she tried to argue. Wished for nails on her back and teeth on her throat and that voice, that damned, delicious voice filling her ears. She hated herself for it. She hated Moira for it, too, for so permanently etching these thoughts and feelings and desires into her psyche.

The room was pitch dark, even darker under her sheets. She let her eyes fall closed and tried to push past mistakes out of her mind, reminding herself where she was at this point in her life and why it was better. Groping blindly in the dark, she reached for her nightstand and grabbed her earpiece to replace it. Trying to chase Moira’s voice out of her mind, she replayed Fareeha’s voicemail and focused on every syllable, imagining the shape of Fareeha’s lips as she spoke them.

If she tried, now and again, she could more or less fabricate a scenario in which Fareeha was willing to be the Dom she needed. Perhaps she came home from a mission frustrated and needed to take her anger out physically. Perhaps she grew tired of Angela’s asking and decided to give her what she wanted as roughly as possible. It was invariably some exception to her usual character, but Angela wanted it regardless.

Yet this time, her imagination couldn’t seem to muster the image. She couldn’t take the sound of Fareeha’s voice and turn it into a growl, a demand, an order. “Verdammt,” she breathed, pausing the recording. Several moments passed in silence, and, with her digital library still open, Angela noticed a folder in Shared Media that hadn’t been there before. It was labelled with that day’s date and their location. She hadn’t considered this but knew what it must be. The communications from her mission earlier that day would’ve been recorded, and they were now available for her to review. Immediately, her mind deduced that if she wanted to—if she chose to—she could hear Moira’s voice instead.

No. She wouldn’t. Even if Fareeha’s trust weren’t part of the equation, the shame it would evoke would be too much for her to bear. After all these years, giving in to those old desires, being pathetic enough to use Moira’s voice as a catalyst for her pleasure? She wouldn’t do it.

Although. It would be so very easy. Or…perhaps it would be helpful to her future combat maneuvers. Yes, that was very possible. It could have merit of a different sort. Biting her lip hard, still fighting with her conscience, she opened the folder before she could stop herself. And, of course, the comms were separated into those of each individual squad member. Another moment of hesitation. Then she played the file labeled O’Deorain – support 2 and waited.

“I do hope that you’re quite certain about this,” Moira said, as she had in response to their team leader’s plan of charging in without much effort at regrouping the team. Hearing it sent a chill down Angela’s spine. The cold, judgmental tone in Moira’s voice was maddening, as it always had been.

Please, she might have begged, all those years ago. How many times can I say it? I want this. I need it.

“Do you truly believe that’s wise?” Moira’s voice in her ear, and Angela slid one hand slowly along her collarbone, down to her chest. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Mein Gott. Angela bit her lower lip hard, her bare hand sliding underneath her form-fitting shirt to trail up her stomach and tease her breasts. Her hands were neither as long nor as inexplicably cold as Moira’s, but her imagination could supply the missing details.

“Come back here, in ainm Dé!” Moira growled, exasperated, and Angela began to remember such phrases she’d used in their dark, heated moments together. An-mhaith and ná stad and féin a iompar. Starting to lose track of her breathing, Angela let her shaking free hand wander slowly downward, down her stomach toward her hips.

“Do you want this or not?” Moira demanded cooly. “Yes? Then listen to me.” Angela paused, the last vestiges of her pride still desperate to remain unbroken. Every word weakened her will further, and she could so easily imagine—no, recall—Moira holding her down, guiding her every move. “This is dangerous.”

“Oh, it is,” Angela chuckled under her breath. If she allowed herself this much, where would she draw the line? If she touched herself, imagined Moira touching her, if she orgasmed to the sound of her ex-lover’s voice, how would she still pretend that Moira had no power over her? She should stop. She should pause the audio and focus on trying to sleep.

“Ah-ah-ah. Come back to me now.”

She never was willing to disobey a direct command.

“Stop fighting,” Moira snapped. That tone of irritation, of impatience, got to Angela even more. “Do as I say and I will keep you safe.”

Despite herself, she slid her hand lower to edge into her tights. God, she’d missed this. Tell me what to do, she begged silently. What do you want? What am I allowed? What was that pet name she had always used?

“Mo chuisle.” Angela could imagine the words as if they were spoken directly into her ear, Moira’s breath falling hot against her skin.

“Yes,” she breathed out loud, sliding her hand lower still, letting her fingers slip between her legs and find how wet she was already. Of course. Moira’s voice had always had that effect on her. “Tell me. Please.” By this point, she was so thoroughly entrenched in her memories that she hardly needed the recording; she could simply imagine what Moira might tell her.

“Not yet, mo chuisle. Have patience,” she chided. And Angela pulled her hand back, no matter how much she wanted it. It was her own body. This was just a fantasy. But the fantasy had power over her, and she wanted it to. “Good girl. You have been neglected of late, haven’t you, pet? And how patient you’ve been for me, how faithful.”

Again: “Yes.” Her fingertips continued to trail very lightly along the hem of her tights, her other hand still groping and teasing her chest. Slowly, almost lazily.

“Such sweetness deserves a reward, does it not?” She could imagine Moira’s tongue on her neck, and she begged for a mark—a bite, a bruise, a hickey, something. Something to mark her. Property. A possession. An object. So much easier that way. No agency meant no accountability. “That’s it, aingeal. Let me take care of everything.” She could have sobbed for how desperately she wanted it. No one asking her for help. No one looking to her for answers. No one criticizing her performance.

“I’ll be good,” she whispered. She could feel Moira’s hands on her shoulders, trailing down her arms, forcing her shirt up, her tights down, so she was exposed beneath the sheets. She lacked the presence of mind to be embarrassed. Fingertips traced her lips, and she obediently let them part, allowing Moira’s fingers to slide wetly over her tongue.

“Of course you will. You always are. I discipline you because I know you enjoy it, not because you misbehave.”

“I—”

“Hush.” Her voice was sharp, fingers sliding deeper, almost far enough to make Angela gag. “Manners, my pet. We mustn’t speak with our mouth full.”

Angela forced herself into silence, doing all she could to obey. Wet fingers slid past her lips, allowing her only a moment to catch her breath before sliding down between her legs. She was already so wet, so hot, and she could hear Moira purr, “Deny it all you like, but your body knows you want this.” One finger pressed inside her, slowly, drawing a shuddering breath from her lips. Then a second, faster, to steal her breath altogether. Still, she tried so hard to be quiet and still, to be whatever Moira wanted of her.

Friction between her legs, and her heart raced, her cheeks flushed with desire. Yes, she wanted it, and God, she’d wanted it for so long. Yet she managed to keep her hips still, to not buck them upward and beg for more. No. She’d been patient. She could continue to be patient.

“Such discipline, mo chuisle. It seems I made quite a lasting impression on you.” Laughter, and she recognized the feeling of being teased and praised simultaneously. She recognized it and found she had missed it. “But it’s not my intention to leave you wanting.” Those fingers moved faster, and Angela let out a low moan of desire, biting her lip hard to stifle her voice.

There was no answer for a moment, not because Angela became conscious of the fact that she was lying alone in bed and essentially talking to herself, but as a test, perhaps even a punishment; Moira withholding her voice because she knew Angela wanted it so badly. Those fingers drew out of her and slipped across her clit instead, slick and hot from being inside, sending a delicious chill through her body. Moira’s next order was simple but stern: “Beg.”

“Please,” Angela panted without a moment’s hesitation, fingertips moving steadily but not fast or hard enough to give her what she needed. Her voice was strained, breathless. “Please, let me cum. Make me cum. I’ll be good. I’ll be whatever you want.” These weren’t promises made in desperation; they were her own desires as well.

“You always are, mo chuisle. Now cum for me and prove it.”

Her fingers moved, pressed, circled, rubbed, fast enough that she lost her breath, lost her voice, all but lost her mind. Trembling, tense all over, she gave herself over to a powerful orgasm, clamping her free hand over her mouth so Moira’s name couldn’t pass her lips in her ecstasy. The pleasure hit her in waves, even stronger than she’d remembered, until everything melted into hot, tingling contentment. As she was coming down, she realized the audio file was still playing.

“And it could have been this simple to begin with if only you hadn’t been so stubborn.”

The laugh she let slip was light, soft, for once not laced with bitterness and irony. Everything felt much lighter now, in fact.

After forcing herself up for a hot shower and a change of clothes, Angela went back to bed feeling more lucid, more calm than she had in some time. This pretend scene with Moira was just a fantasy, it was true, but the wonders it had done her mind were undeniable. The sexual gratification was wholly secondary to the psychological release it had given her. It was like taking a full breath for the first time after a half-decade of slowly suffocating. Like being honest about who she was and what she needed after so long trying to change. And if just the thought of surrendering could help so much, she could only imagine what it would feel like in reality. To actually be with Moira again.

Just once. Just one more time, and it’ll be enough. To get it out of my system once and for all… To get her out of my head…

She slept better that night than she had in years.

[goldeneyedgirl]

Fic-Mas Day 3: Jessamine & Alice

Day 3 <3 Today I bring you a larger section of the Jessamine/Alice fic I posted about previously; today was meant to be something else but I think it was a really unsatisfying post, so I’ll rework it/find another fic for tomorrow.

Today was spent putting my mother’s giant, elaborate Christmas tree up, so I have no other thoughts. Hope everyone is having a good day!

(Warning for internalised homophobia; ‘//’ signals a time jump, as there are large chunks still unwritten.)

When Alice wakes up, she isn’t Alice.

She just is.

Her eyes open, her lungs fill and she exists for the first time in her memory. Her heart is still in her chest, her eyes draw in every detail of the forest around her, of the grains of dirt in the mud smearing her legs, of the beetle crawling up her leg.

And then she sees the girl with the blonde hair, and that is when the world slowly pieces itself together. Mostly with a soft smile and a gaze that strips her down to the bone, and a soft, “Alice”.

That is when she is Alice. She wants nothing more than to be that Alice, an Alice that inspires that smile, that gaze.

There’s a lot that she still doesn’t understand, and her throat is burning, but she knows two things.

Her name is Alice.

And she loves that girl.

//

Alice has a tiny hotel room in a terrible neighbourhood. It smells of dust and mildew, and is barely large enough for the mismatched bed, wardrobe and desk. The wardrobe is open, and Jessamine sees three dresses hanging there – yellow gingham, red polka-dot and blue floral. They are so small and remind Jess of doll’s clothes, with the ruffled hems, the puffy sleeves, the tiny buttons. She is wearing a filthy tweed skirt and threadbare blouse that was once grey that she peeled off a past meal, and this girl… she has actual tissue paper stuffed into the toes of the shoes in the closet.

Alice is perched on the desk, beaming at her with barely disguised excitement. The emotions that she can feel coming off the tiny girl are ones of excitement, joy, awe and pure adoration. She is utterly charming, with her pink dress and blue coat, her tiny gloves and curled hair.

The clothing Alice has chosen her are… nice. Nicer than she deserves – a dark blue shirtwaist dress, stockings and flat shoes.  A pair of tailored pants and a blouse, in dark blue and yellow. Even underwear, silky and brand new. It is more than she’s owned in seventy years. More than anyone has ever given her.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom, months of dirt and blood washed away, Alice’s eyes light up, at her in her new blouse and pants, her hair damp around her face.

“You are so beautiful,” Alice coos, and is at her side, practically vibrating, and Jess doesn’t know what to say.

The kiss is so unexpected – Alice on her tip-toes, leaning up to kiss Jessamine on her lips. It is a moment so sweet and so impossible, Jessamine freezes and isn’t sure what to do.

This isn’t right. This isn’t right.

//

Alice knew that they would be tentatively welcomed at the Cullens – Jess is apparently rather intimidating (she doesn’t see it herself) and her own gift is a dangerous one. But the Cullens are peaceful people, do not seek out battle when there is any other alternative. They will sooner pack their things and leave, than claim their territory through warfare.

But she also knows that it will be their relationship that will throw the Cullens. That they live the closest approximation of a human life that they can manage. Husbands and wives, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters. There are no grey lines, just right and wrong. She sees religious iconography in her visions of their house, and that worries her a little.

She also knows that this is what Jess needs, more than anything. A peaceful retirement, a place where she is loved for herself, and not what she can do.

//

Once they arrive, it takes a few days for the family to realise. Edward has a pinched look on his face the first time Jess’s thoughts turn away from defence back to her Alice, and she is glad she cannot read Edward’s thoughts, because they would not be flattering. Rosalie has a slightly quizzical expression on her face when she catches Jess dropping a kiss to Alice’s lips in the hallway, and Esme just becomes flustered, but in a sweet way that overcompensates in her desperation not to offend them.

Carlisle is no less gracious to them, though – later – Edward will tell Alice that he was torn. Over the half-remembered lessons of his youth at his father’s knee, at the human principles he clung to with all his life, the ones that have guided him, with moderate success, this far in his afterlife.

But of everything that he has seen in his centuries of life, is a pair of mated females really that extraordinary? The idea that the bond could form between two souls, despite time and gender and all of the other minutiae that had to align is not so impossible, or he would not have found and lost, and then found Esme again.

And he watched them, to see the way they move in sync, the constant contact, the long looks that could be entire conversations, and the peace that surrounded them. To see the way Jess anchors Alice, contains the boundless energy and joy that is the slight girl; the way Alice brings Jess back to life, banishes the ghosts that haunt her gaze.

Carlisle knows that he cannot condemn that sort of soul-deep bond, cannot turn them away for their most genuine love because of old, narrow-minded teachings, because of social expectations that should have been discarded generations ago. Whatever brought them here, they did so for a reason and he will trust in a higher power, and Alice’s visions.

Emmett is the last to realise, in the middle of a hunt, and his mouth drops open, staring between the pair – standing apart from the rest of them, Alice tucked under Jess’s arm.

“They share a room,” Edward says slowly when Emmett splutters, still clutching his bear corpse. Alice can feel the tension in Jess’s body, waiting to protect and defend, should Emmett’s opinion threaten her.

Emmett contemplates them for a second, and Alice can almost see the wheels turning in his head, as he reevaluates their interactions with this new information.

“Oh well. Esme’s still got you to marry off, Eddie,” Emmett says cheerfully, and drags his bear corpse off to be buried and Alice tries not to laugh at Jess’s expression at Emmett’s response, at Edward’s scowl, at Esme’s bright smile at idea of Edward getting married.

//

After Italy, there was celebration, relief, hope. They were coming home to Forks, and everything would be okay once again. Even Edward thought that everything had been righted.

But then, he’d never seen Jess in full-flight. Alice had caught one of her fits of temper in a vision, before Peter went back for her, but had never witnessed the full scale of Jess’s wrath in person. Peter and Charlotte had both alluded to the temper that had made Jess such a legend in the south on occasion – it was rare that she was ever ‘out of control’; usually it was cold rage with a clear aim.

But when she lost her temper, well, neither Charlotte nor Peter had words for it, aside from a warning that it usually involved some property damage.

Perhaps the fact, according to Peter, was that even Maria backed down when Jess was in a ‘confrontational’ mood was the best indicator, to Alice, of how terrible Jess could be.

It was never planned ahead, and Jess was probably second only to Carlisle at keeping Edward out of her head.

The pacing was what caught Alice’s attention, and by then it was too late to stop Bella and Edward from coming into the house. And if her sight was any indication, the sooner the confrontation happened, the better off they’d be.

Edward realised the issue a moment too late, but there was no way to get Bella somewhere ‘safe’. And from the look on Rosalie’s face, it was clear Rose thought that Bella witnessing the result of the trauma of their eternal lives would probably be good for the girl.

“Jessamine,” Edward had said cautiously, and Alice wanted to bang her head against the wall. Only three people called Jess by her full name – Carlisle, as a mark of respect for her age; Alice, on occasions when she wanted to be taken seriously, and Charlotte, as a sign of deference for her former leader and creator. Peter called her Jessie, Maria had called her Major or Majorette, depending on her mood, and everyone else knew her simply as Jess.

For Edward to use her full name was a red flag to a bull, and Alice just knew Edward was going to be without some extremities by the end of this.

Jess hissed outright at Edward, and Bella was backed into the corner, eyes wide. Esme had ghosted over to the human girl, obviously to sooth and protect, and Alice just perched herself on the side table, waiting for the fireworks.

The argument was loud and unspeakably nasty, ending with Carlisle, Esme, and Emmett gaping in Jess’s direction, Jess putting her foot through Esme’s solid oak coffee table, Edward having his right arm snapped clean off at the shoulder, Rosalie enjoying herself immensely, and Jess storming off to cool down.

“I’m sorry about the table, Esme,” Alice hopped off the side table. “I’ve got another one ordered. It should arrive in a few days.”

Bella and Carlisle were already crouched beside Edward, reattaching the severed limb.

“You knew,” Edward said between gritted teeth. She shrugged.

“Did I know she was angry? I did. Did I know she would confront you? Yes. Did I let this happen? Only because if I had interfered, it would only delay the inevitable,” she said. ‘It would have been so much worse, Edward. So, so much worse.’

‘That’s the first time I’ve been scared of her,” Bella said, her eyes wide. Rosalie snorted at that comment.

“Don’t, Rosalie.”  

[bigskydreaming]

How would you go about a good Spyral Dick Grayson storyline? I like the idea but not the execution (if it was stated he was acting like an idiot I'd like it better). Also in the same vein how would you do DickTiger/how do you think it'd work?

I’m side-eyeing you a little anon, lol, because I’m not sure what you mean by it’d be better if it was stated he was acting like an idiot. Because see, as far as I’m concerned, nothing about Dick’s actions was out of character....so long as you center Bruce’s actions as the real driving force behind Dick ending up stuck undercover at Spyral. Dick’s actions make perfect sense....as the fractured attempts at recuperating from a massive trauma without any semblance of a support system or any time or space to actually dedicate to acknowledging and accepting what he’d just been through before leaping right back into danger.

It remains extremely troubling to me that even WITHOUT taking into account Bruce’s victim blaming him for his own death, emotional manipulation and physical beating...all of that only stacks on top of what should already have been the takeaway, IMO:

And that is that its absolutely ridiculous to think that Dick could have remotely been emotionally and mentally composed enough to make an informed, non-coerced decision about undertaking the Spyral mission AND keeping it from the rest of the family.....mere days after being extensively tortured and then briefly died.

He wasn’t in a sound state of mind to make that decision with full awareness of all the implications and repercussions like he would have at other times. Nobody would have been.

And the rest of his family might not have known about him dying, but they did know about him being tortured for days and then unmasked, since they literally saw that on TV....and they know, post Dick’s return, that Dick had been in place undercover before his funeral was even held...the same week he was thought to have died. It should have been obvious to a family of geniuses that all choices made in a matter of days after being tortured and unmasked and who knows what else might have happened offscreen that they could only know about by ASKING him about his ordeal instead of jumping straight to punching him for the choices he made while in the immediate aftermath of massive trauma....like, point is, even without knowing he died, there was always more than enough info they were privy to that there’s no real excuse for their response to his return being judgment instead of concern for how the hell has he been coping with all of that, out there all on his own without anyone he could fully trust, let alone unburden himself to.

None of them spared a single thought for what any of that had been like for him, because they were too focused on their own hurt, and I’m always going to be pissed about that, lmao.

Anyway, apologies if none of that was anything you intended with your word choice, but to be perfectly honest I need very little excuse to go off on a rant about how even the rest of his family’s response to that storyline was like, fundamentally flawed.

NOW. On to your actual question! Because I do have an answer as I’ve thought about this particular thing a LOT, and my ire at both the Spyral storyline and the amnesia storyline coalesced into conjoined seething frustration because of how EASILY they could have avoided making all of the Batfam seem shitty, EVEN BRUCE, and like, also avoided them driving Dick further away rather than bringing him back closer to the family.

All you gotta do....is smash those two stories together and do them both at the same time.

LOL, a few months ago I actually literally wrote out a whole post outlining it in detail here:

https://bigskydreaming.tumblr.com/post/187334221591/if-dc-had-just-combined-their-spyral-and-amnesia

And I’ve copied and pasted the content of that post below the cut here too, just to keep it all in one place for convenience.

As for Dick/Tiger - that’s a whole other post I don’t have time to get into at the moment, but in a nutshell, I’m hugely a fan of their pairing but in specific ways...I mostly see them as each other’s angsty kinda ‘the one that got away, that they could never shake how they got under their skin, but can’t find a way to actually be with, longterm.’ Because the thing is, so much of their dynamic and interactions with each other were clouded by the layers of deception they both wore at all times, and how many different lies they had to tell in service of their whole reason for being there, and how much of themselves they had to hide.

Like, I tend to picture them as kinda both wistfully thinking if they’d met in another life, in another way, without all the cloak and dagger and lies from the very start...they could absolutely be happy together. But as it is, there’s no getting around that they both feel in any kind of relationship, there’d always be some part of them, even if just deep down, that was always keeping an eye open for a crack in the other’s mask, a sign that once again, they were not what they professed to be.

So I see them as being very much that spy vs spy trope, even after Dick goes back to vigilantism and civilian life and even when he and Tiger are theoretically on the same side.....like, I could see them having very emotionally charged, physical, almost desperate kinda encounters in secret whenever they’re in the same city or whatever....because they’re past denying that there’s definitely something between them, always has been, probably always will be...but without even talking about it, just with mutual understanding and implicit agreement, they always know these encounters are just for the night....and then its back to reality. With them thus becoming a kind of escape and fantasy for each other, all rolled up in one and thus inevitably romanticized even further within their own minds...

But they’re also both very pragmatic people, and used to taking what they can get and making the most of it. Its nice to picture the could-have-beens in a world where they met under more honest circumstances, but they live in this world, and here, this is what they can make of what they have, this is what they can make work. So its not all terrible, because if they both ultimately decide this is one of the better outcomes resulting from where they began, which neither of them can change...then it becomes more possible to appreciate what they have for what it is. Even if its not ideal. Or conventional. Or even forever....because I think they both are prepared for it to end if either one of them meets someone who can give them those kinds of nights and still be able to be there in the morning...

But none of that means that what they do have isn’t real, isn’t significant, isn’t as powerful and worthy in its own way as any more conventional relationship.

After all, neither of them are conventional people. They wouldn’t even have met if they were, making a lot of those might-have-beens a moot point. Probably wouldn’t even be as drawn to each other if they were other than what they are, because so much of their dynamic is tangled up in their respect for each other’s skills and convictions and more along those lines.

To be honest, I imagine both of them value and prize each other’s acting ability, their skills with deception and subterfuge....even as those are the very things at the root of why they’ll never be that conventional, longterm couple.

Because it keeps things even between them, and thus even when lying to each other’s faces, there was still an honesty to their dynamic, a balance. Neither is burdened by excessive guilt for deceiving the other, because they both were doing it and they understand why. Thus even when outright deceiving each other, there’s a weird kind of balance there that wouldn’t exist in relationships they had with others who couldn’t match what the other brought to the masquerade, so to speak.

Idk. I have a lot of thoughts on them obviously, lol, and totally meant that all to be another post but got carried away as usual, but I’ll leave it on that note for now, lmao.

How To Make The Spyral Storyline Work (If You Ask Me, which someone literally did so I can get away with saying this).

Ahem.

So. If DC had just combined their Spyral and amnesia stories into one, instead of like the mess we got, we could’ve actually had a good story.

Like, literally all you gotta do is back during Forever Evil, find some way to separate Bruce and Selina from Dick’s body BEFORE Luthor revives him….so Bruce too is of the belief that Dick’s dead, and Luthor being heralded as the one who saved the day from the Crime Syndicate protects him from Bruce or the Batfam’s reprisals.

Then all you gotta do is…instead of Dick getting amnesia like a year later from being shot in the head by KGBeast….Dick gets amnesia from complications in how long it took Luthor to revive him. And of course Luthor capitalizes the HELL out of this.

And then, you can pretty much do everything the same….without it being ANYONE in the Batfamily’s fault, or anyone taking anyone for granted?

You can still have Dick go undercover in Spyral, be Agent 37….only now its on Luthor’s orders, because Dick woke up with no memories and all he knows about himself or like, anything, is whatever Luthor tells him.

And he knows SOMETHING’S not right about everything, like, something’s off about the person he feels like he is and the person Luthor claims that he is, but Luthor’s savvy enough that he’s not forcing Dick to do anything that might trigger some buried memories or built in moral resistance to an order, he’s invested in keeping Dick as fully cooperative for as long as possible, because he knows Dick will be way more effective if he’s on board with stuff than actively fighting things. So Luthor has Dick sold on the idea that he’s infiltrating Spyral on behalf of the good guys, like Dick thinks he’s fine with doing morally gray stuff but isn’t full on trigger happy so Luthor doesn’t force him to kill people on his behalf and thus Dick’s time in Spyral and his character conflicts with Helena, Tiger, etc, remain largely the same.

And meanwhile, Dick’s in the dark about his real identity and past because not having any clue he’s alive, the Batfamily reluctantly has been doing their best to bury details of the late Dick Grayson, no matter how much they hate it, because they have to worry about the living members of their family and try and distance themselves from Dick post being-unmasked, so nobody connects the dots to all of them.

And then of course, eventually one of them runs into someone who reminds them suspiciously of Dick on a case, like his face is still all swirly because of the Hypnos implants but he says or does something that’s so quintessentially Dick Grayson that they can’t NOT wonder. Because here, Dick doesn’t KNOW to tamp down on his natural quips and banter or mannerisms around the Batfamily, and so they give him away even as he remains faceless, and there’s not really any way Luthor could have seen that coming or prevented it, without like….scripting everything Dick says or does in every possible encounter he has, which of course is impossible.

And so THEN ultimately, you can have one or two Batfam members pursuing possibilities that Dick’s alive on their own, and then eventually comparing notes and realizing Dick really IS alive, what Luthor must have done, and that Dick didn’t come home because Dick literally doesn’t remember where or what home is…..

And then whammo ka-blammo, its Fully United Batfamily To The Rescue as they basically just invade Spyral and blow it to Kingdom Come whilst convincing Dick that he’s their brother/son/friend and belongs with them and Lex Luthor is a lying liar who lies, SEARCH YOUR HEART, FEEL YOUR FEELINGS, YOU KNOW WE SPEAK THE TRUTH and blah blah blah et cetera et cetera et yada yada.

And nobody ever has to read Tom King and Scott Lobdell’s like…..*gestures disgustedly in the general direction of their utter tripe*….That.