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everythingsinred · 3 years ago

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 24)

Hello, friends. The story is rapidly approaching an end. I imagine I'll only be posting for another couple weeks (maybe three at the most) before this essay draws to a close.

Last night we wrapped up the Time Travel Arc. Now we return to the larger parent arc, the Escape Arc. Mikan has made up her mind to escape the school with her mother, and although this breaks Natsume's heart, he'll do all he can to get her out safely without at all complaining. If she's leaving for good, then the only thing that matters to him for the next little bit is keeping her as safe as possible. After that, he's resigned himself to a lonely and imminent death... And then Mikan has an epiphany.

Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Four

They’re finally all back in the present. The room they left is now empty, and they wonder what happened. Undoubtedly the situation is more pressing than ever.

Mikan is concerned about everyone’s safety, but Natsume makes it clear that the priority is making sure she can make it out of the academy with her mother. If she’s going to leave, then he will do everything he can to make sure the process goes as smoothly and safely for her as possible. Her concerns about everyone else have no place here when everyone’s dreams and futures are threatened by the ESP if he ever gets his hands on Mikan’s alices. Besides, his happiness and safety always come dead last to him. He’d act and speak this way, even if it was only Mikan’s well-being on the line.

He will protect her no matter what happens, he says. That’s his priority. This is no different than the way he’s been living for the last year or so.

Yeah, there's the whole thing with the school and protecting the student body and stopping the ESP but Mikan is his priority always.

Everyone else agrees, and Mikan is outvoted. She comes first now.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

Mikan and her friends run into a horde of students, either controlled by Luna’s alice or afraid that they’ll end up being controlled or punished. They all move to attack Mikan in particular, to capture her because maybe they’ll even be rewarded for it.

This is a mistake, because Natsume will not allow anything to happen to her. He uses his alice to fend off the students, but his fire takes a strange shape, unlike anything he’s ever made before. His ability to manipulate the shape better than ever is a result of the stone Mikan inserted into him, which Tsubasa theorizes is psychokinesis.

Ruka pleads with him to stop, concerned about Natsume’s health the more he uses his alice. He immediately stops on the behest of his best friend, but then he uses his new alice to pull everyone over closer to him. Mikan specifically flies into his arms, where he wanted her. He’s able to catch her, whereas the others land on their heads. Now that they’re safer, he tells her to teleport them.

Who cares where the rest of them land? They can deal with it on their own.

Tsubasa comments that this extra power makes Natsume feel like more of a man, more powerful. This isn’t a farfetched theory. We know how much Natsume wants to grow up, to have power. Now that he has this extra alice, he’s more useful than he already was, and that naturally translates into some extra confidence.

Another thing is that Natsume is putting his all into getting Mikan out safe. He’s willing to expend all his energy and alice in order to accomplish his goal. Adding on to that, he knows he won’t see her again after this. He can hold on for a little longer, but to survive the unknowable amount of years before he can see her again? Unlikely. He doubted he’d even be able to graduate, let alone be on standby for possibly a decade and maybe even more. He has no reason to believe he’ll make it. So he keeps her close now. He’ll be right by her side ‘til the very end, take advantage of every touch and interaction he can. So even if everyone else collapses onto the ground after he uses his extra alice, Mikan will land safely in his arms.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

Natsume may have spared Nobara earlier, but he still doesn’t really trust her. She’s been acting weird this whole time and he’s suspicious. When they have a moment, he confronts her, warning her that if she sells them out to Persona, he won’t go easy on her. After all, to him, she’s still the girl who’s always been Persona’s little pet.

But Nobara doesn’t want to sell them out. She wants to stop Persona and her DA friends from hurting the cause and themselves. She wants to stop them so they don’t become a part of the fight.

She stands back so she doesn’t teleport again with the rest of them. She wants to do this for Mikan.

Mikan doesn’t understand. She’s concerned that she left Nobara behind, so she says she’ll go back to get her, but Natsume stops her. She needs to allow Nobara to make her own choice. Even if Mikan doesn’t get it, the only thing that matters is their original mission. Nothing will change that. He won’t be strayed from it, no matter what obstacles come their way. Nobara made the choice, and she’s the best person to confront the DA class. The rest of them should allow her to do as she wants.

They move forward, and Natsume keeps back when he feels his coughing fit coming on. Now that everything is dire, he definitely doesn’t want to slow things down by worrying people with his body. He worries that he won’t be able to properly protect Mikan, considering the shape he’s in, but he would never say that out loud.

Death creeps ever closer... Why isn't he ever concerned for himself?

Even more, Nobara stressed before she left that Natsume was the most important person to stay by Mikan's side, that he should protect her to the end. Though he wouldn't be so bold to say that about himself, he wants to stay 'til the end. But the fact that he might die at any moment doesn't reassure him. However, any insecurities or fears he has must stay in his mind. He wants to be strong for Mikan, to accomplish their goal and keep her safe. He’s pushed any and all feelings of his own out the window. All that matters is their goal.

He can die afterwards.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four

Mikan needs to go to her mother. She and Ruka are to teleport to Yuka, since Ruka has the barrier alice and he can keep her safe. The rest of them are going to hold off the Fuukitai and other enemies. There’s really no time for heartfelt goodbyes. Natsume might never see Mikan again, but he turns away because there’s no time for anything else. He will fight off the enemies to keep her safe. That’s what he can do. Anything else will just waste precious time.

Except that Mikan has the telepathy alice now. She’s mostly kept it a secret, sharing it with Hotaru and nobody else.

Natsume can stay silent all he wants, but his heart and mind are racing with thoughts and feelings. She couldn’t ignore it if she wanted to. It’s not the time to be lollygagging. She has to get going, and everyone is urging her to move on and teleport with Ruka, but she’s hesitating.

And then Natsume hears it too. She’s saying it back, telepathically, that she loves him too.

Terrible timing, Mikan. You had all night to say it back! (joking)

It’s all he’s never allowed himself to want to hear. Something that would only happen in a delusional fantasy world. Mikan may care about him, to some degree, but he’d never expected she would love him back. She should love Ruka, who is kind and polite, or literally anybody else. He’s always had to push her away, and even if she saw through his insults to see what he really meant, he still wouldn’t be good enough. He can’t be with her, because his life is running out. He shouldn’t be with her, because all he will do is cause her more pain. He’ll never be with her, because he doesn’t deserve to be. He won’t be with her, because she’s running away with her mother and he’ll never see her again.

But she loves him too anyway.

Despite every insult and attempt to keep his distance. Despite their beginnings of mutual disdain. Despite how he’s said he hated everything about her, about how he wanted her out of his sight. Despite acting like she was a pest and nothing more than an annoyance. Despite everything he did, she somehow still loves him.

It’s the worst thing to ever happen to him, to stand there and hear her saying that in his mind and then watch her disappear forever.

He’s said it out loud only one time. He confessed with his kiss at Christmas, with his alice stone, with the borrowing race, with his speech to the ESP. He’s confessed with every time he got in front of her to protect her, with every cruel word forced out of him by the higher ups, with every smile he had just for her.

Now she finally said it back and it’s too late for anything. He can’t kiss her and show her how much he means it, how much it isn’t just hype over nothing. He can’t tell her he loves her to her face and with his whole chest. He can’t take her by the hand and run away with her. He can’t live happily ever after with her.

That was all okay before, when it was just him who was suffering. So his life would be lonely and short. Okay. Who cares? But now he knows she wants all that too.

He’s miserable. He calls out to her but it’s too late. She’s gone now and all he can do is fight the enemies who want to threaten her security.

Natsume has been left behind with Tono and Tsubasa to fight as hard as they can against the Fuukitai. When they finally get away for a moment, Tono tells them to fight for the girls they love. Tsubasa and Natsume both berate him for this, because who was he talking about? Tono argues it wasn’t about him; he was just trying to cheer the two up after they had to break apart from their girls.

Natsume is clearly in emotional turmoil, but he frequently is, so he doesn’t let it show a lot. He may threaten Tono with his alice or tease him with Tsubasa like all is normal, but it’s not. His current circumstances couldn’t be any worse unless Mikan were in danger, and he’s doing everything he can to keep that from happening.

Tono finally admits that he’s been nervous this whole time because Noda is probably the traitor among them, but Natsume realizes the truth: It’s Goshima.

Tsubasa and Tono are going to try and find Goshima, who has the key Yuka and Mikan need to escape. They also need someone to go and tell them that Goshima can’t be trusted, and Tono wants Natsume to do it.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five

Tono is urging Natsume to go and tell Mikan about Goshima, to go protect her. Naturally, he doesn’t hesitate before taking off. Any excuse to see her again and keep her safe is enough for him.

Tsubasa doesn’t understand why Tono sent him off, though, since Natsume is in such bad shape. Having him run and exert himself further seems wrong.

I just want him to be happy. Is that really so much to ask?

Tono puts it all into perspective. It had to be Natsume. The kid was in a state of absolute misery, even knowing his love is requited and perhaps because of it. He can never see Mikan again. His life will end. The rest of them can talk about decades and decades into the future and still be sure that they will meet Mikan again, but it’s clear that Natsume won’t make it that far. As Tono puts it, it’s important that Natsume has a chance to see her for the last time, to say good-bye properly.

Natsume would go to her no matter what, too, and he does, running with all his might to find her, even though he’s coughing and his body is breaking.

He will use his alice and do anything he can to find her and tell her and keep her safe, and they finally meet again.

He’s standing over the bodies of enemies that he’s just defeated for her, and he finally has a chance to say the good-bye he thought he’d never get.

There are other things that need to be said, but he might not have a chance to say his feelings again if he doesn’t take the opportunity now. He’s sad, because no matter what, their story will end soon. But this is more than he could’ve asked for.

But all of the words that should come out of his mouth don’t. He doesn’t talk about the traitor. He doesn’t tell her he loves her to her face. He doesn’t say anything except her name. None of the feelings he has can be put into words. For the moment he’s speechless.

She is too. She rushes into his arms and they share a quick second of holding each other before they inevitably part forever. The fact that she hugs him might have reminded him that she loves him too. Then again, how could he forget? Either way, he finds the words that were lost to him before.

He’s going to stay with her until the very last second. He won’t leave her or part from her for even a moment again until they have to say good-bye for good.

No, they won't last. She'll leave and he'll die, but they have this moment, even if it's the only thing they'll ever have.

No, he doesn’t mention the traitor even though he was sent to. Natsume very rarely talks about his feelings, but they felt so important this time that he had to say them out loud.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six

Even though Natsume didn’t say it to Mikan, Shiki got the information from him via telepathy and then conveyed the information to Yuka.

Now that Yuka and Mikan are reunited, they can all go to see them off, fighting Fuukitai and Luna along the way. Narumi and Mikan are trapped in an enemy’s ice alice for a moment, until Natsume melts the ice and takes Mikan’s hand. He wasn’t joking about staying by her side until the very end.

Until the very last moment.

Sure, she needed to reunite with her mother and Narumi, but they’ll be spending forever with her after this night. He only has these next few minutes. He’ll be the one to take her by the hand until he has no choice but to let go. Until then, he will stay by her side.

Lucky for them, Yuka’s plan to wait until the last moment for the key so they can leave with Naru panned out. “Tsubasa” arrives with the key and hands it off. There’s no time to waste; Yuka rushes to open the warp-hole but all that comes from it is an explosion.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven

Yuka and Narumi were caught in the blast. Yuka shielded Narumi with her body and took the brunt of the hit. She’s now in critical condition.

No hesitation. That's his only keepsake from his mother, his only reprieve from endless pain, but he'll give it Yuka because he can't not give it to her.

Natsume doesn’t hesitate, and he gives Mikan the healing alice stone that his mother got from Yuka. Yuka is Mikan’s mother. Her death would be crushing for Mikan, who’s already had to face so much trauma from watching her father die too. This all was about getting Mikan and Yuka out safely, and all that effort would be in vain if Yuka dies. And after Natsume has seen everything that happened in the past, he respects Yuka too. All Yuka has ever done is suffer, just like he has. To simply die after all that--he doesn’t want that either. Yuka gave his mother that alice stone, something that brought him a little reprieve whenever he had a coughing fit or felt ill. The least he can do now is give it back.

But it doesn’t work. It’s not enough. Yuka has enough time before her death to hug Mikan and apologize to Luna, but then her heart stops.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight

The ESP arrives to break the period of mourning. Luna can’t believe that he would orchestrate this, but it’s not much of a surprise to anyone else. The “Tsubasa” decoy reveals himself to be Goshima, who holds Mikan by the wrists. The ESP only needed one person with the stealing alice. Yuka had become extendable, so he eliminated her.

Goshima goes to surrender Mikan to the ESP, but she fights, and Natsume moves to fight too, because that’s his girlfriend and he promised he would keep her safe. But the ESP always has the barrier alice cast on him, always protected, even from Natsume’s strong alice. Even Natsume can’t help Mikan now.

But Shiki breaks the ESP’s barrier and Mikan rushes to her friends’ side.

Z is invading the school and threatening to take the students captive. The MSP needs her successor, Shiki to be appointed so that he can protect the school with his barrier alice. The ESP is in a bind. Shiki can either run away with Mikan as Yuka had intended to, or he will agree to stay and act as the MSP to protect the school.

Conclusion

God this arc is a mess when all you want are the NM moments. How dare they be so scattered! Anyways, Natsume now knows that Mikan loves him too, romantically, but everything has been upside down for a while, specifically tonight, so the future doesn't look bright. In the next part, we'll talk about how Natsume feels about being separated from Mikan when she's locked away.

Sorry this is late. I'm not in a fantastic mood today which affected my motivation. I shoved a bunch of content in here and it might be too much. I don't know. There wasn't a clear way I could cut it into multiple parts without them being choppy and short as hell. I just wanted to get to the next part because this arc was stressing me out.

In any case, I feel like crap right now emotionally, because this day was very draining. I'll try to post tomorrow at a reasonable time. Thank you for reading.

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#gakuen alice #alice academy #hyuuga natsume #natsume hyuuga #natsumikan #sakura mikan #mikan sakura #my meta #ga #mine #ga meta #ga meta: nm #ga meta: manga #ga meta: manga nm #let's talk about natsumikan #let's talk about natsumikan: natsume #run by snow patrol for ur natsumikan song needs #for the last little while its been hard to motivate myself to do this essay when i feel so horrible #i want to NOT feel like this and focus on natsumikan bc they make me so happy but its been really hard #please have patience with me #bully @thesightofworms into paying more attention to me and my mood will improve. this is all her fault for abandoning me #none of this is nm related im sorry for venting here #please have a nice happy day #sry if theres issues here #sorry if it seems rushed. tbh the editing and formatting WAS bc i wanted to post and i felt Bad.#i dont think ill be fixing anything too major so apologies in advance

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seven-oomen · 4 years ago

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Until the end of time | Sambucky | Chapter 1

warnings/tags/main post here

Notes:

It's been a long while since I wrote anything for the Marvel fandom but I decided to step back into it after watching fatws. I'm writing this fic through Bucky's perspective mostly because I'm also doing it as an exercise to cope with my own CPTSD. And many of the feelings like pulsating energy and sensory overload are things I myself experience. Considering the things Bucky has been through, it seemed like a logical thing for him to struggle with as well.

I haven't decided if I want to turn this into mpreg near the end, but I wanna bring it up because I'm thinking about it. Haven't made my mind up on it yet. It will get a lot happier and brighter though, near the end. And they will end up together before the fic is over. But the fun is in the journey right?

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this.

He didn’t have a family. Not anymore.

The only living family he had left could no longer remember him. She was 102 and living in a nursing home. He visited Rebecca at times but, well, it never really amounted to anything. She couldn’t remember his name, what he looked like. And he made sure he only ever visited when her children and grandchildren weren’t around. How was he supposed to explain all of it anyway?

I’m your uncle James but I never contacted you or stuck around because I got brainwashed, experimented on, and kidnapped? Yeah… that would go over well.

He only ever observed Rebecca’s children from a distance. She had two sons; James and Robert, and a daughter, Annie, who looked just like her. It gave him some comfort to know that at least her legacy would live on.

Sometimes Hazel’s children and grandchildren visited her as well, even though Hazel herself had passed away a decade ago at 90. He didn’t know if Grace had had any children. He never saw them visit Rebecca if she had. The only thing he knew about her was that she had passed away a year ago at the age of 97.

Though they were his descendants, they weren’t his family. They didn’t know him and he didn’t know them. Not really. Files could only tell you so much about a person.

And now that Steve was gone too, life had become nothing more than a dull thrum as he tried to navigate it to the best of his abilities. Which was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. Living in New York had changed in the last century, of course it had. He found it difficult to settle in and pretend nothing had changed. To live life, go to therapy. None of that truly held any meaning for him anymore.

Or at least, it hadn’t.

Crossing the names of his list had given some of it back, for a while. He enjoyed being able to use technology and his particular skill set for the common good for once, even if his methods weren't exactly... therapist approved. Not that he listened to her anyway. He didn't see the need most of the time.

His phone pinged once again as he left the scene, letting the sirens of the approaching authorities drown out the constant murmurs and images in his head. A quick phone check revealed a text from Sam.

[Barnes I need you to answer me.]

He ignored it. Again.

It had been the fifth text in three days. Sam clearly wanted something from him, most likely his help. He didn't care much anymore. All he cared about was finishing his pardon and finding something, anything to stay alive for.

Please. Please I didn't see anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the intrusive thought, shaking his head and clenching his hands until his nails dug into his palms. Body thrumming with a pulsating energy. No. No, not now.

A deep breath. In, hold it, and out. He repeated the gesture, navigating his way through busy streets purely on autopilot

In the sanctity of his apartment, he dropped down in the nest of blankets in front of his tv and wrapped his arms around himself.

He- he couldn't.

Images of flashing metal, blood dripping to the floor plagued his mind, and the overwhelming feeling of his throat contracting made him gasp for breath.

He couldn't breathe.

His phone pinged again.

"What do you want, James?"

Family. Love. Understanding. But above all... "Peace."

"That is utter bullshit."

"You are a terrible shrink."

It was and it wasn't. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts but he also wanted those same thoughts to just- just stop.

[Barnes, pick up your damn phone.] Sam's text read this time.

He just needed it all to stop.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed as he breathed in and out, letting the energy just flow through him as he tried to calm his mind. Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall once he was done, he rubbed his hand over his face and got up to grab some water and a snack.

The days passed as usual.

He went to therapy, spend some time with Yori, went on a date that failed, and revisited Rebecca again. He read the hobbit to her once again, just as he had back in the '30s. She smiled at him once he was done and asked; "Who are you?"

He'd taken his leave after that. Endlessly roaming the streets of Brooklyn until evening fell and he ended up back at his apartment in front of his tv.

He had nobody left.

His sister was as good as gone. Steve had left him. He was alone. And he would die alone. Out of his mind with the walls closing in on him.

The incessant ringing and vibration of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. Jesus…

“What the hell do you want, Sam?” He said as he picked it up, probably a little more forceful than he meant to.

“Not Sam, and I’m just checking in on you.” Rhodey’s voice said on the other end.

Shit.

He sighed. “Rhodes, I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhodes paused, “Have you seen the news yet?”

He really couldn’t take this kind of bullshit right now, of course, he knew what Sam had done. “I know he retired the shield, Rhodes. You don’t have to keep checking on me. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Rhodes clearly didn’t believe him, although to be fair, he wasn’t sure he would have believed himself right now, “And that’s not what I meant. They-”

His tv chose that moment to cut back to the news from the commercials that had been running. Almost as if it had a mind of its own with the world’s worst possible timing. There, in white letters on a blue banner, was the worst news he’d seen in a month.

John Walker named Captain America.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

“Barnes, I know what this looks like-”

“Please tell me you’ve tried to stop this.”

“I tried. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Fuck…” He couldn’t believe this, this was, just, fuck. He needed to punch something.

“Barnes,” A pause “do I need to call someone?”

He shook his head, though it only took him several seconds to realize; Rhodey couldn’t see him shaking his head. “No. No, I’m- I’m fine.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything for several seconds but he practically felt the man’s incessant gaze and knowing smile. “In that case, you should check on Sam, make sure he’s okay too.”

“Yeah…” He didn’t want to, especially not now. But maybe Rhodes had a point, he probably wasn’t the only one struggling with this news. “Give Pepper and Morgan my love, alright?”

Rhodey probably wanted to press on, judging by the hesitation in his breathing. He didn’t though. Something he was inherently grateful for. “Sure. I’ll pass it along. Take care Barnes, I’ll be a phone call away if you need me.”

“Alright. Bye.” He said, looking at the number on his phone screen for several minutes while the interview played in the background. He was grateful for all the strings Rhodes had pulled within the government to get him his pardon. He was grateful for Pepper’s non-stop work to get his bank accounts, social security, and money restored. He was grateful for the fact that they had helped and stuck their necks out for him, even though he didn’t deserve any of it. Especially considering his past and what he’d done to their family. They didn’t seem to care, and if they did, they were good at hiding it. They helped him anyway.

But he wasn’t part of their family. It didn’t feel like he was.

He sat there, watching Walker’s interview. And goddamn it was so stupid. The man didn’t know anything about Steve or the mantle he was taking on and yet there he was talking about him as if he’d always known Steve. Calling him his brother and whatnot.

He didn’t register the bleeding lip until a metallic taste filled his mouth, his hands clenched in his lap, and anger pulsing through him with an energy he couldn’t contain. What he wanted to do in that moment would have negated everything he had worked so hard for and would undoubtedly mark him an international terrorist once again.

Instead, he grabbed his keys, went to the nearest bar, and drank through so many bottles of booze that the bartender wanted to call an ambulance for him. He didn’t need one. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism in the slightest, but it was far better than tracking Walker down to pummel his ass.

Although he knew it wasn’t fair and part of him knew that Sam couldn’t have foreseen this coming. It was easiest to blame him. So he did.

It was all Sam’s fault. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, none of this would have happened. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, Walker wouldn’t have become Captain America. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, hadn’t given up on Steve’s wish-

He shook his head and sighed. If Steve had been wrong about Sam being the right man, then Steve was wrong about him too. And that was something he couldn’t process, not now, not yet.

In the morning, he arranged an Uber to take him to the Air force base.

End notes:

So that's it for chapter 1, there will be seven chapters in total. Let me know what you think of it so far, comments fuel me and keep me writing.

What did you like this chapter? Are there things that aren't clear or not written clearly? Let me know and I will make sure to fix them.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

#until the end of time #chapter 1 #sambucky #marvel fanfiction

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ezrisdax-archive · 4 years ago

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Do you ship any Star Trek rare pairs? Tell us what you like about them!!!

Send me a ship and I'll give you my (brutally) honest opinion on it

I mean that’s most of my trek ships because of femslash, I’d guess kiradax might not fully count but!

ezri/leeta

I barely see any of this which is funny to me cause their mirrorverse pair is married for god sakes. but anyway I like both the mirrorverse pair of them and the main pair itself. I just think Ezri needs someone who would let her ramble and just get it? And also maybe not be someone Jadzia was involved with that much. I know Leeta and Jadzia were friends but like they weren’t as close and Leeta seems the most chill about Dax switching hosts. She’s a go with the flow person and Ezri could learn that at times too.

idk, I mostly just think they are cute and had potential and it was a shame we only got a season of Ezri so they don’t interact as much

ogawa/tasha

I once made an au gifset of this pairing because I just like the idea of them meeting and Tasha as security always coming in injured and Ogawa helping her out and them talking and getting to know each other over time and then getting to spend time together outside of sickbay and I just think?? it could be cute?? they could be cute?? give Ogawa a girlfriend pls.

joann/keyla

now I’m not sure how much this qualifies as a rare pair anymore, it def would meet the criteria on ao3 so I’m counting it. my god the looks between these two, the way Joann has been there for Keyla this season and noticed right away something was off and has just been reaching out. I’d love to see more of them interacting, what we do get each episode is small but it does give me hope they actually might head there some day? Like I’m not used to getting the potential of canon, it’s wild.

I do wish they’d delve more into their backstory and give me more details about Joann but I do accept these two aren’t main characters and then that gives me leave to make this however much I want of a big deal. to me they’re a big deal and I just need them to get together, I want to see that relationship develop.

michael/tilly

oh man I just checked and technically by ao3 rules which is to say if you have less than 200 fics on there, they count as a rare pair. That’s just sad to me because I do feel they should have a lot more and wow I’ve only written one fic for them??? I gotta fix that at some point.

These two!!!! I don’t have enough words to explain how much it means to these how these two hug and hold hands and are just there for each other!! all the time!! always in each others corners!! trying to cheer each other up!! jumping in to help the other without hesitation!! I need more of it, like what they’ve given me is great but I miss these two being roommate buddies this season, please give me another shot of them in their room just talking to each other about what Michael’s been through the year she was in the future without them.

Like this I’ve accepted I’ll not get as canon, I’m not expecting it and that’s fine but I still enjoy every scene they get to have with each other and they are just so cute ; ; I love them both so much and please kiss, I know I just said I accepted it but please.

b’elanna/seven

okay this one counts too apparently! now a lot of my feelings for these two you can blame @trillscienceofficer because she encourages me with these two but like there’s so much there.

there’s the whole outsiders together thing going on they have, the whole somewhat antagonistic but also a huge amount of respect for each other thing, the whole pushing each other to be better, there’s just a lot with these two that I enjoy.

I think Seven does need someone who would call her on the bullshit of trying to remain logical and unemotional and B’Elanna needs someone with a cooler head at times to make her see beyond just her immediate reaction. I really enjoy that over time you can see this relationship between them grow into a friendship and I just like to imagine more from there.

b’elanna/stadi

OKAY LISTEN.

tom dies in the pilot and I get stadi au is like...one of my fave aus. they’d be so much fun together! Stadi enjoyed the teasing and I can def see her doing that with B’Elanna and sure there’d be some antaganism at first because Starfleet vs Maquis stuff but they’d get there and I just wanted to see it. I just like to imagine it happening in my head.

t’pring/uhura

oh my god I did not expect this to count but I do think it might just be a bigger thing on tumblr than elsewhere. or maybe that’s just me. anyway, these two! one of my top trek femslash ships! like c’mon Uhura straight up “she’s beautiful” and I’m expected to not take it this way?

I’ve talked about these two so much at times before so I think I don’t have too much to say here beyond....Uhura deserved a girlfriend and T’Pring deserved to see what else what out there beyond Vulcan men. and they deserved to have a proper conversation with each other and do Vulcan kisses and human kisses.

tasha/troi

???? man are all my ships so low on ao3?? I need to fix this somehow. Again I’ve talked about these two enough I don’t have much else to say here because I was robbed of Tasha being in more seasons but what we got of these two interacting was already amazingly gay and god I just like to imagine how much gayer and gooder it would have gotten over time....

ro/tasha

THEY WERE GAY TOGETHER IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE AND I DON’T THINK WE TALK ABOUT THAT ENOUGH. even if they did kill one of them off, whatever I’m over it (a lie).

worf/deanna

the rare trek het canon ship I have, like yeah I do love deanna/riker but these two were so fucking soft and good in season seven of tng I cry

worf/riker

look I’m putting 1 (one) slash ship on here and it’s this. I just enjoy riker teasing him a lot. I’m a weak individual what can I say.

#beej talks star trek #trek femslash #okay I actually do have a lot more but this post was getting long enough #Anonymous #replies in thirty minutes or its free

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dsudis · 5 years ago

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M/M romance novel recs

The last time I meant to do this I wound up procrastinating for, uh, approximately eleven months because I got fixated on Doing It Right, so... here are an arbitrary number of recommendations for books chosen unsystematically from things I’ve read in the last year or so, that aren’t as detailed or thoughtful as the books probably deserve, because the perfect is the enemy of the good and all that.

All of these are M/M, with a range of gay/bi/pan character identities.

Salt Magic, Skin Magic by Lee Welch - YOU GUYS I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH. I don’t think I’ve actually read the text version of it yet but I’ve listened to the audiobook narrated by Joel Leslie (available through Hoopla!) twice and this book is! so!! great!! It’s set just after the Great Exhibition of 1851--working magician John Blake helped secure the structure of the Crystal Palace, and Thornby, who is mysteriously trapped on his father’s estate in Yorkshire, is livid at having missed the whole thing. Also oh my god this one goes HARD on the hurt/comfort, like I think there is swooning-from-injuries and being-cradled-in-the-other’s-arms in Chapter Two. I LOVE THIS BOOK SO MUCH.

How to Howl at the Moon by Eli Easton - This is the first book in a series based on the premise that dogs who are sufficiently loved by a human, who then are left behind when their beloved human dies, can become Quickened--sentient, and able to shift into human form. So brace yourself to cry about sad dogs but on the bright side NONE OF THE DOGS DIE, JUST HUMANS. Now if you think this premise through for a minute you will realize that this could lead to some super hinky situations, because an adult dog, shifting into an adult human, is like... as little as three years old? and brand-new as a human? So you will be glad to know that this first book introduces you to the whole idea with the least-hinky possible version of the story: Tim is a human who comes to live in a town of Quickened, and Lance, the local sheriff and also a border collie shifter, is a third-generation Quickened, so he has grown up in a totally linear fashion. Books 2 through 4 then proceed to explore progressively more, uh, delicate permutations of the idea, but they are all great I swear.

The Werewolf’s Fae Mate & The Broken Faewolf’s Mate by Liv Rider - I read the second book of these first, because I could not resist the premise of a werewolf who’s been stuck as a wolf since childhood suddenly shifting back to human when he meets his true love (who has werewolf blood but is determined never to lose control and shift into wolf form). Both books are delightful and do werewolves without the whole a/b/o situation, building a whole rivalry between fae and shifters.

How to Bang a Billionaire (trilogy) by Alexis Hall - This is very much like 50 Shades of Gray but a) good and b) gay and c) Arden has a much better instinct for self-preservation than Ana and is willing to say “um you’re treating me like shit and I don’t care about your money more than I care about my own happiness, so I’m out.” Also the kinky sex is something they work up to over time, because of reasons. Lots of delightful secondary characters and a really lovely development of their whole relationship.

Briarley by Aster Glenn Grey (aka @ospreyarcher) - A Beauty and the Beast fixit set during World War II, where the country parson trespasses on the beast’s manor and then, when the Beast demands that he exchange his daughter for his freedom, says, “Uh, no, I’m not going to do that to my daughter, you lunatic, and also she has important war work to do” and stays put and makes the Beast adopt a disabled dog in order to learn what love is. And also the Beast is a fucking dragon and it’s great.

Seven Summer Nights by Harper Fox - Set just after World War II, with both heroes coping, with varying degrees of success, with their combat traumas. Rufus is an archaeologist and a war hero, but he’s missing the memory of the events that left him with his scars and medals, and attacks a colleague on a dig during a flashback. Archie is a small town vicar who’s lost his faith but still believes in looking after his people--and his church, which seems to have a really unusual history. Rufus is sent to Droyton Parva to investigate the archaeology of the church and to hide from his ruined career, and he and Archie run headfirst into some of the last remnants of magic in a mostly-mundane world. Amazing supporting cast of women (and one trans guy who gets a great happy ending although bits of it were... not written in a 21st century way which makes sense for characters in 1946 but, you know, it might be jarring. Also, content warning for offscreen death of an infant.) Mostly this is a story about finding, and creating, and protecting, the spaces where you can be who you are with the person or people you love, and, you know, also some weird magic? It’s great.

(Also I am just permanently recommending that you go read everything by KJ Charles, Cat Sebastian, and Keira Andrews, I have not gone wrong with them yet.)

Anyway, if there’s a particular kind of book you’re looking for, ask and I’ll see what I can come up with! And if you have if-you-liked-x-you-should-read-y suggestions related to the above, I’d love to hear about them!

[Cross-posted to my blog at dessalux.com]

#book recs #romance novels #lee welch #liv rider #harper fox #aster glenn gray #eli easton #alexis hall #gay romance #queer romance #historical romance #historical fantasy romance #paranormal romance #one random contemporary romance because sometimes I read those if they're kinky

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ilguna · 4 years ago

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Ethereal - Chapter One (f.o)

Summary: Five years of watching your trainees die, you’re sick of it. She will prevail, she will win.

Word Count; 5.8k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“(Y/n)! Reaping day!” The words ring out through the house. And instead of them settling gently, they stick in the air violently. The words echo through your head over and over.

Reed manages to forget annually that you have been awake longer than he has. That you could count the days and circle them on your calendar. He forgets that reaping day and the month that comes after seem to be the worst. Every single year.

You’ve been up since the sun peeked through your window. Knowing that you wouldn’t be sleeping lightly. Tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable spot to sleep the rest of the night in. Obviously it didn’t happen.

The second that the sun showed, it was a reason to get up and do anything but lay in bed for longer. But when you went to get ready, you froze in place. You don’t want to be here, and you don’t want to be out there either.

Despite this, you push yourself out of bed and gather your clothes. You leave your boots at the dresser, you’ll be back in your room after the shower. It’s nothing like what you use on the train every year, but it’s better than nothing. Making tubs of cold water every morning for reaping day had gotten old.

Now it’s warm water in a shower, still with a tub. You guys give baths to Alyssum still, even though she’s turning seven or eight this year. Too old to still be babied but you don’t want to let her go. Soon, she’ll be included in the reaping.

It’s not that much of a worry. She’s got the knot tying down. She likes to fish and cook the food when given the opportunity. It isn’t often because of how she likes to burn it so it ‘tastes better’. You teach her how to use a spear and throw knives as best as you can. The problem is, when she shows she’s eager to learn, you step back.

You’re worried that she’ll want to be placed into the games because she knows all of this cool stuff and wants to try it out. She’ll volunteer at first chance to be brought into the games so she can try. And because of this fear, you started to make Reed take over.

You should be doing it, because you were the ones in the games. But the idea of watching your future twelve year old sister get picked for the games is… it reminds you of when you were in. And the misfortune the kids from district twelve had. One of them by your own hand.

You can see him in her. Which frightens you, and hardly makes it possible to be around her. The nightmares that plague you are about if Alyssum was the boy and not her. What would you have done then? Beg and plead for her to come back?

Or watching someone else do it. Being the family back home that cries when their sibling dies. Having to stand up in front of the victors when they’re on their tour. Hating every part of them for killing your child but knowing that they wouldn’t have done it if they didn’t have the chance.

It’s not your fault. It’s not any of the victors fault. The Capitol runs this, President Snow runs this as a punishment that happened over seventy years ago. He’s punishing the generations as if any of you remember. The oldest person in your district doesn’t even remember it. They declare that you guys deserve it, but time is supposed to heal wounds. They just keep digging.

Once you’re done with your shower, dressed but still with wet hair, you open the door to see your sister, holding up some flowers, “Can you put them in my hair, please? They’re busy with food.”

And they probably don’t know what they’re doing with hair either. You nod, grabbing the brush and a couple of rubber bands as you take her into your room. She sits on the floor as you sit on the bed, being gentle with her hair. You mostly get some of it out of her face, braid a spot here or there in the back. Then, you place the flowers, securing them with bobby pins.

She’s excited when she sees that it’s done. A quick hug to you before she’s running out of your room, feet thumping against the floorboard loudly as she yells for Reed to see what you did to her hair.

You pull on your socks and shoes, sliding on your mother’s ring. When you stand, you see that you can move freely. The jeans aren’t as tight as you thought they would be. You haven’t bought new clothes just yet, even though you’ve been meaning to. Laurel stopped sending you clothes a while ago.

It’s probably because her fame stopped and it went right back to the district that had won after you. It’s like trends, the stylists that had designed for the victors clothes are famous for at least a year after. And then when the new games come around, there’s someone else to focus on.

In the bathroom you pull some of your hair out of your face but leave the rest down. Then, you go downstairs to where the others will be waiting at the table.

Blonde hair stops you.

“Finnick?” You ask, he turns and looks up, you’re still in the middle of the stairs, “What are you doing here?”

Time heals all wounds right? That’s what you said, and they had healed at least a little bit. You and Finnick are on speaking terms but seeing him is as rare as it was before. He barely makes it in time to be there for reaping day. Last year, you had mentored the boy and girl on the train all by yourself. Finnick was waiting at the Capitol to help but even then, he wasn’t around.

You’d like to think that it wasn’t your fault that they died because you and him are supposed to be working together. You tried your best with what you could do. Finnick didn’t pick up his part of it. A pair of teenagers and they had a good shot at winning. Smart, they picked up things quickly. They made friends and were sure to make allies immediately.

They died because they didn’t know how to do anything medical, exactly what Finnick was supposed to do. You sent them meds, to combat infection but they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Imagine how badly you were pulling out your hair watching them bleed to death.

“Here to escort you to the stage.” He smiles, but you don’t return it.

Five years later and he still seems to be in love with you. He still thinks he can win you back even though he’s still doing the same shit. Thankfully, he stopped promising he would change and finally came to terms with the fact that he won’t make the deadlines ever.

“And why do I have this pleasure?” You ask, heading over to the dining room, Reed looks up at you. There’s a silent question on whether or not you want him to get Finnick out of here. You don’t answer.

“I want to talk strategy.”

“We’re not in the games.” You mutter to him, fixing Alyssum’s flower before it falls out of her hair. She holds up a bobby pin for you to secure it. Then, you go and sit at your own spot at the table, “Joining us for breakfast?”

“I guess I will.” He says, and then moved to sit next to you.

Off to your right as usual.

It’s mostly quiet except for Alyssum’s occasional chatter. Your eyes are watching the clock, knowing that you’ll have to get there early to be on the stage. Your family doesn’t have to be awake this early, they just choose to do it so that you can eat together. After all, it is an especially hard day.

They stopped seeing you off at the stations after you asked them not to. You’d rather they help out around town or something. It’s not like you’re going to die or anything. You won’t be permanently staying in the Capitol either. Unlike Finnick, you don’t like the luxury that they insist on showing off.

You’d rather be where your heart is, where you grew up. You figured this out a couple of years ago, that Finnick didn’t come home because his heart isn’t here. You weren’t his family then, his family was dead and it was better to be in the Capitol than anywhere near where his family had died.

Even if he’s closer to Snow in the Capitol. Closer to the person that had killed that family. You promised to be the replacement, to allow your brothers be his, but he hadn’t taken it. He couldn’t stand to be in the district, which was why he chose to leave early. He hadn’t stuck around for the festivities for all that long because he was too close.

Finnick didn’t show up on the tour because he would have to face what he had done. The people of the Capitol think that he’s so great and strong and charming. When you’re carrying this heavy load for both him and you. You faced the families, you let him lean on you, you took those interviews, and pretended to be embarrassed when he presented love stories for you in front of the nation. You stand and watch as the kids get picked in the reaping, be the only one to mentor them, and get them sponsors and watch them die. You have to apologize to the families when you deliver them dead.

Finnick has been the damsel all along. And you hope that he’ll shape up to what he needs to be soon. These games, you’re keeping him right next to you no matter what it takes.

You might be irritated that it took him five years to show, but he needs to see that this is no job for one person. If you have to pretend to be in love with him, well shit is tough. Anything it’ll take for him to be around for every single part of it. From beginning to end.

“Finnick, we should go now.” You tell him, getting up from the tale. You’d finished all your food but it looks like Finnick had been taking his time.

“What—“ He begins, but you don’t listen.

“I’ll see you three in a bit, huh?” You tickle Alyssum a little bit and she squirms out of your arms.

“Happy hunger games.” Reed mutters bitterly, you laugh with Mox.

Before you go, Alyssum hops out of her seat to give you a hug and thank you for doing her hair again. And then, you and Finnick are out the door.

“Do you normally leave this early?” He asks after some bit of silence.

Of course he wouldn’t know anything about being on time for one of these. The second games you had mentored he showed up during the boys’ reaping, and that was the last you’d seen of him. It might have been shame that inspired him to not return for the past few years.

“Yes.” You tell him, starting for Mags’ house. Finnick completely misses this, and you catch his arm, yanking him with you, “Pay attention.”

You make him stay put out of her house and you go in. You don’t bother with knocking, because her door is always unlocked. There’s no point in locking it, no one would rob you guys. What is there to take besides meaningless statues? Hell, none of your money is actually in hand either. You have to go up to the District Four “office” building just to take out a portion of it.

Inside, Mags is sitting at the chair, drinking what looks like tea. She smiles and motions you over, holding up the same cup for you to taste. You take a small sip to please her, and you’re happy to taste something so sweet.

“That’s new.” You tell her, and she laughs. She finishes off the tea and you help her to her feet. She’s only getting older, which makes it harder for her to walk around and all of that.

She takes your arm, and the both of you begin to leave the house. However, you have to give her a little warning, because one would have done you good too. Mags doesn’t show it, but she’s irritated that Finnick had left you the job alone.

“Finnick is outside.” You tell her, “He says he’s here to mentor.”

She scowls slightly, and you laugh. You know exactly what she’s thinking. It’s the same you thought when you heard that he was going to help. How long will it last and does he actually mean it?

Once you reach the doorway, Finnick perks up and goes to help you. You hold your hand out, because you get her up and down these stairs multiple times a day. She doesn’t want to be carried, because she can do it on her own. She just wants a little help so she doesn’t slip.

The door is shut, and you have your arm there, her hand hovers over it as she takes it one step at a time. When you look up to see Finnick, there’s grief. He’s missed a lot, and in that time you were able to get to know Mags well enough to the point where you’d know when he can and can’t help.

She moves faster on regular ground, no longer needing your arm. She may walk faster than your average elderly, but you still had to leave early for her. You’ll have to walk Finnick through what it’s like to sit in those chairs. Proper and poise, there’s no time to be slouching.

Cameras will be on you guys. Watching and waiting to see if it’s any family member that gets picked. Luckily for you, your sister is still too young and brothers too old. Finnick doesn’t have any family to worry about and Mags never had any kids.

The cameras and people in the Capitol will be hoping for something dramatic, and you’ll be sure that Finnick doesn’t provide. He can stand tall and wave to the cameras because he’s the darling of the Capitol. But this is no show, this is a time for mourning.

At the stage is six chairs. The first two are for your governor and the district representative, Elysia. The next four are for the victors. First sits Mags, a gap for the guy who you still haven’t seen, you, and then Finnick. While you watch as the people file into where they’ll be standing, waiting to be picked, you explain how it’ll go to Finnick.

Reed, Mox and Alyssum show up at about the same time as Caspian and his family does. Alyssum is still on Reed’s shoulders and she waves to you when she sees you. You blow her a kiss, she pretends to grab it. Mox casually slides away, and you catch him meeting up with a girl. He knows you’re watching, so he disappears with her.

One the square is filled, the normal routine goes through. The anthem, the reminder, the speech from the governor. The introduction of Elysia, her wishing a happy hunger games and for the odds to be in everyone’s favor. Then she gives a small look to you specifically and you nod.

You and Elysia are on better terms now, she can sympathize with what you had to deal with. She knows you’re under a lot of stress during the hunger games so she keeps interactions light and to the point. She helps with sponsors, and shaping kids’ personalities.

Her hand plunged into the bowl, grabbing one off to the side. No matter what slip she grabs it’s always going to be a girl on the other end. There’s no right choice here, it’s just the matter of her accidentally picking a teenager rather than a kid.

She removes the tape, and then takes a deep breath as she leans towards the microphone, “Annie Cresta.”

The name echoes from the delay, your eyes sweep over the girls section. Hoping for a teenager, someone who’s tall and looks capable for what’s to come.

A girl in the sixteen section comes forward. You must have let out a breath of relief, because Finnick turns to look at you. You pay no attention, leaning forward, watching at how she walks up to the stage.

Definitely not proud, and surprised that she was picked. The couple seconds of delay of her realizing it was her name isn’t that big of a deal. She still came relatively quickly. At least she didn’t run like the kid in your first year. They were a lost hope and targeted immediately in the arena.

Annie’s most prominent feature is the red hair. She’s got bangs and it’s kinda long. The stylists will have a hay day when it comes to it. There’s so many different ways they’ll be able to style it.

She’s pretty, the Capitol will love her. Hopefully not enough to turn her into a prostitute like they did Finnick. If it weren’t for the fact that Snow had done that to him, then none of the problems would have happened. You and Finnick would be going five years strong.

She’s short though. You clear her very easily, Finnick will look like a giant next to her. Kinda muscular, it’s what you guys get for working with fish and wrangling them up all the time. She looks to be middle class almost—because that still unfortunately exists in District Four. You’d even be considered to be upper class, if it weren’t for the games then you’d still be between lower and middle.

You’ll be able to help her.

She reaches the stage quickly, accepting Elysia’s hand for help. Stops right behind the bowl, and you watch as she straightens up her back. One look at the little tv off to the side, you can see she isn’t going to cry. She looks serious. She looks like she’s going to pose a threat.

And then Elysia moves on to the boys. Digging her hand into the paper, she pulls out the one. Removed the tape, unfolds it, a moment to read, a deep breath to say and she leans forward.

“Marsh Milillio.” She reads the name easily, even though it sounds like the last name is complicated.

A brown haired boy lurches forward from the thirteen area. Your heart sinks in your chest, it’s too young of an age. He won’t survive past the first day unless Annie helps him in the arena.

The boy doesn’t even make it two steps before the, “I volunteer!” Is echoing through the air.

You and Finnick lean forward a bit more. Because this will be interesting. An older sibling, definitely. They look almost like twins except for the fact that he’s coming from the seventeen section. Tall, somewhat muscular. But he looks worried.

Marsh seems to reach for the boy who had volunteered for him. The boy pushes him away, back into his section as he continues to the stairs. This isn’t about glory, this is about looking tough and as if he doesn’t need them. You can take a bet right now that he’ll cry when he’s finally left alone with his brother and parents in the departing room.

Elysia is surprised, as are you. There haven’t been a ton of volunteers in your district. Careers, but not careers. It’s like the middle class, you suppose. But this time you’re somewhere between high and middle like district three, five, etc. The high class is obviously district one and two. Lower ones being ten, eleven, twelve and whatever else might fit into the category.

The boy gets on the stage, and he stands tall with his shoulders back. Both very capable tributes it seems, the older ones seem to understand that they need to look strong to win. They won’t be messed with if they’re making themselves look bigger and meaner.

Obviously the other tributes will see where they walk from. All district sections are mirrored the same. Age twelve in front, and all the way to eighteen in the back. This is typically because the younger ones are shorter, and it gets taller as they go back. Of course, this doesn’t work all the time because there are a few who sprout early.

Girls on left, boys on right. It’s the same. Family hangs around the very back and sometimes the sides. Even if you’re not family, you’re required to go unless you’re sick and dying in bed. If that is the case, a peacekeeper will check it to make sure that they are dying. They don’t send out sick tributes at all, it doesn’t look good for the show, if they die easily on the first day of the games.

Anyway, your point is, you’re not entirely sure how people even thought that you and Finnick were intimidating when you had gone up on the stage. A fifteen year old girl and a fourteen year old boy. Maybe it was because of how confident both of you were when it came to the games. You guys looked prepared and almost like you had been picked specifically for it.

Too bad you’re not in district one or two, then maybe you’d believe it. They train their kids all the way up until they’re an age the trainers believe they could win. And they they pick them out specifically, forced to volunteer or whatever. Go into the games, win more than they lose, and come home to a grand victor house.

You guess it’s because it keeps the glory on the favored districts. Keep the rich, rich. And keep the poor districts, poor. If the other districts, like ten–they’re livestock–were to start winning then they would have the possibility of being favored. Guess where all their lamb, cow, chicken and pig come from? District ten. If the Capitol ever truly recognized that, then one and two would be fucked.

All those weapons for the peacekeepers and for the games? Come from district three. Without them, everyone inside of the arena would still be beating each other to death with rocks. That would be boring, and the only thing that would develop out of that would be the tributes learning how to throw and bettering their aim. Everyone in the districts would start training their kids specifically to be able to throw rocks. How useless.

Or district eleven, all their plums, apples, oranges, pears, bananas, all of that comes from district eleven because they’re agriculture. Capitol wouldn’t be enjoying their fruits and veggies without them. All those delicacies on their deserts, their breakfasts, dinners, lunches, snacks. All those foods that they throw up during their parties, come from every single district that makes food. Including four.

Your question truly is, what’s so special about one and two? All one does is make couches, lamps, lightbulbs and all of that. Sure, things that you can’t live without–actually, yes you can! You can live without all of those things. District two is the same. Masonry? Are you joking? They help make the weapons that three do. And three isn’t even in on the glory!

You know what you can’t live without? Food and water. Food comes from four, and nine, and ten, and eleven. Four districts that make the food that they eat, the you eat, that the rest of panem eats. And there’s only one of you in the spotlight for it all, and it has to be fishing. Instead of eleven that deserves it, or ten.

Another district that definitely deserves to be shown off to the rest of the Capitol, is district eight. All those clothes come from them. The exotic shit that’s on demand all the time from the Capitol comes from them. They work their asses off to make sure that the clothes make it there in time before the trends pass.

And let’s not forget some honorable mentions. District seven and twelve, no one would be warm without wood and coal. District five, power. That keeps every single district running, including the Capitol. And the Capitol takes up enough power to make sure that the other districts only get it for a couple of hours a day. Excluding the tribute houses, which is so extremely unfair. Six is transportation. If it weren’t for six, there would be no trains, cars, elevators, anything. No tributes, food, lumber, coal, textiles, masonry, all that furniture, without the trains.

And yet, one, two and four manage to be the most popular districts. It’s bullshit. It’s unfair. It’s stupid.

Elysia leans over to the boy, “And what’s your name?”

“Paslee Milillio.” he says, you lean back.

A brother, family, it’s expected. Save the younger one, since you love them too much. It means he bonded well with them, he could use that during the interviews. Be a tough guy with a soft heart, people will eat that right up. As for Annie, you’ll have a clue on her soon, you just need to dig, and most importantly, talk to her.

Elysia wraps it up after that. Soon, they’re being escorted off the stage and into the rooms inside of the Justice Building–the main district building. During this time, you say your goodbyes to your family just like the others. No danger in this, you just like to leave off on the right foot.

You hardly argue with them anymore. If it is, it’s stupid little things. So to worry about starting a huge fight with them is practically impossible. You see them around the side, give hugs and say goodbyes, and then you’ll get on the train with the others, and begin your mentoring.

“Where are you heading?” Finnick asks, and you remember that he’s clueless.

Taking his arm, you drag him with you, not saying anything. He tries to slip to your hand not-so-subtly, but you just regrasp his arm, he seems to understand after that. If you have to drag Finnick by the arm everywhere to make sure that he’s going to stick around, then you’ll do that.

You’ll lay down all the rules later, in private. Inside the train where he can’t escape so easily.

Reed is there with Alyssum, no Mox in sight.

“Where is he?” you ask, releasing Finnick’s arm.

Reed’s eyes dart to Finnick for a moment, and you sigh. Turning around, Finnick’s eyebrows are raised, “What?”

He’s in the family. You promised him five years ago he would be in the family. Yours is his and his is yours. You regret it all now. And you don’t regret much anymore.

“This is an us thing.” You begin to explain, and he holds up his hands.

“Okay, I get it–” he goes to walk off, but you catch his arm.

“Finnick,” he looks at you, “A me, you, Reed, Alyssum, Mox and maybe Caspian thing. This is a family affair.”

He turns his body towards you, “I don’t remember being family.”

“Unfortunately you’ve been family since the celebrations when we won five years ago.” you tell him, “If this shit gets to the public of the Capitol, you can consider yourself as good as dead.”

“You underestimate me.” he squints at you.

You tilt your head, lips pursing, “Really? Because I think this is a pretty big job for you.”

Letting go of his arm, you look to Reed again, and you can see the hint of a smirk. It’s too small for Finnick to know it. He would have been able to recognize it by now if he had been with you these past five years. Reed does it when he knows something that you don’t. You can guess what it is this time. It’s the tension, he’s going to call it romantic because Finnick still obviously loves you. And you’ll agree, but your part is irritation. Whether or not he agrees, you’ll find out after the games.

“Mox is seeing some girl.” Reed tells you, shifting on his feet, “He’s giving her money. I think that’s all she’s after.”

“How much is he taking from the justice building?” you ask.

Technically your family can go up and take it. Reed especially since he is your guardian, which he filed for as soon as possible after your dad had died in that boating accident. He’s in charge of you, Mox and Alyssum. Sometimes he takes out cash in advance so that you guys can cruise for a month at a time. You only need so much that you get from victors winnings, the most of it you’re saving up.

What for? A trip to the other districts.

You’ve met a lot of the victors since the sixtieth hunger games. You actually got to meet Gloss and Cashmere, they’re pretty good friends of yours. The only times you get to see them is during the mentoring and when they win the games. You were able to pull some strings and it turns out that you could go and stay with them for a bit, catch the train back and then still see them during the games.

Enobaria too, she won the sixty-second games, district two. You didn’t like her as much though, because the teeth really freaked you out. The reason why she had her teeth sharpened into points is because of the fact that she had bitten and ripped out the neck of the other career. It’s how she won her games, you guess.

To you, it’s disgusting that she would choose to embrace a memory like that. You can hardly handle your nightmares now, and they’re so… you’ve had years to get used to them. But then there’s the careers, and they don’t really get them at all. You talked to Gloss and Cashmere about it, and they said that they don’t get them.

Maybe for like a week that had gotten them, but they stopped. They said that you should be getting over yours soon. But here you are, still waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Trying to remind yourself that they’re only nightmares, and they’re not actual memories.

Also, talking to them unlocked a friendship, obviously. You know them better than you ever thought you would. You learned a couple of things about Cashmere, which is that she was also sold around in the Capitol following her year. Which would be from the sixty-fourth to sixty-fifth. She was being sold when you were still in the games.

She was a teenager.

She wanted to know if the same thing was happening to Finnick still. Saying something that he has to be high demand if he’s still being bought. But you were kind enough to inform her of a few things. The first, he’s still there because he likes the spotlight and his title of ‘darling of the Capitol’. Second, he’s not even gaining any money from it. He’s getting ‘secrets’ that he won’t bother to tell you.

Unlike Finnick, she got out as soon as possible. She doesn’t have nightmares about the games because she’s still too busy screaming about what used to happen to her. When you think or look at Finnick now, you wonder what’s worse to him. Being sold, or the games.

“Mox is taking enough to supply a small family.” Reed tells you, Alyssum wanders over and hugs your lower body, you rub her back slightly, fixing the flower in her hair.

“Well, I’ll talk to them when I get back, I guess. How often?”

“Once a week. But it’s taking a toll on the savings.”

“What are you even saving for?” Finnick asks.

You look to him, “Anything that Reed, Mox or Alyssum will need when they get married and buy houses of their own.”

“They won’t stay with you?” he asks.

“Finnick, they’ll have families of their own. Wives, husband, kids. Even if I’m not going to have any of that, doesn’t mean I want them to crowd my house. Feel free to rent out your own though. Your things are collecting dust.” you shake your head slightly.

Finnick seems to be quiet, and then he asks, “You’re not going to have kids?”

“Or get married.” Reed adds, it’s sour. When it comes out of his mouth it’s an accusation.

Two things on the list of things you wanted to do with him. First on that list was to get through the tour together. Second, mentor a pair of kids every year until you’re old enough for marriage. Then, Finnick would propose, you guys would get married, and a few years later have some kids. Maybe get a winning tribute somewhere in there, make some friends of tributes along the way. Grandkids, holidays, all of that.

Amazingly, there’s not a single man in this district that understands, or will ever understand what you went through. They make it about them, and they’re always after the money.

Finnick? The other victors? They understand. They get it.

You’ve begun to surround yourself with people that get it and accept it. Your main family, including Mags and Finnick you suppose. The other victors. Caspian’s family because they had pitched in the most for the rope they sent you during the games. And the list gets smaller every year, when all they do is come to you to get things for them. When they never talked to you before the games at all.

“No, I gave that up.” you tell him, looking to Reed, “I’ve got to go. I’ll mention it to the governor before I go, have him take Mox off of the list. Hide any cash around the house, maybe even return it to the buildings if they’ll allow it.”

“Got it.” he tells you, coming over and giving you a hug with Alyssum, who seems like she doesn’t want to let go.

Finnick is standing off adjacently, and so you hold your arm out for him. Reed catches on, extending his arm. Finnick’s face turns a light shade of red but he comes over. You mostly lean into Reed, and then you guys pull away.

“I’ll see you soon, Aly. Be good at school, listen to Reed.” You tell her.

“Always have.” She grins, she’s still missing a tooth from last week, it should be coming in any day now, “Bye!”

You kiss her forehead, shove Reed, and then you take Finnick along with you to the Justice building. On the way you mention the money thing, and then you’re meeting up with Elysia and the other tributes.

Happy hunger games.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair ethereal #ethereal

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bronzepeonies · 5 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas, from your Clexa Secret Santa!

Hi there! I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful, holiday! It's been an absolute pleasure to be your Clexa Secret Santa. Here's the piece that I wrote for ya, based on the questions you answered over the last few days. I won't be online too much after this, so I hope you have a wonderful week spent with your partner. Cheers on the new job and hope you have an amazing New Year!

xx Your Clexa Secret Santa aka @cantgetoutofmyheda

---

Lexa shook her head as her fingers instinctively tapped the steering wheel to the melody of the season’s most overplayed song—Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Stopped at a traffic light, leaving the outskirts of the city before the two-hour drive, she opted to whip out her phone and take a quick video to send to Clarke. The song was most certainly her best friend’s favorite, and even though Lexa was absolutely tired of it, she figured a quick video of her off-pitch singing to Clarke’s favorite holiday tune would put some sort of a smile on the recipient’s end, since she was still stuck in Philly for a few more days taking the last of her med school finals.

The brunette felt bad about leaving a few days before Clarke, but duty called. It was tradition—Lexa would be home a week before Christmas and help on her family’s farm with the last of the mad holiday rush for fresh baked goods, wreaths and garland, and freshly cut down Christmas trees. Clarke was normally at her side for the two-hour drive, both girls having left their hometown in the Poconos Mountains for the bustling city of Philadelphia, but Clarke’s med school schedule this year had other plans for the blonde.

Her phone buzzed with a new message from the blonde.

Griff: You’re a dork, but I love you. Thanks for the early morning laugh! Drive safe and tell Anya and Gus I’m sad I won’t be there until the 23rd.

Lexa smiled, knowing that her tactic worked, before quickly typing a message back.

Your presence will surely be missed, but mostly by me because I’m going to end up stuck tying trees to the top of peoples’ cars all alone this week. Hurry home, will ya?

---

Lexa grunted as she tugged the wagon holding an 11-foot Douglas Fir, “Is the day over yet?”

“Get in the holiday spirit, little sister. Jeez,” Anya laughed as she watched her sister struggle.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” Lexa asked as she stopped tugging the wagon, “This thing weighs a million pounds. Why do we even offer free car-top mounting? I wasn’t born for this kind of manual labor.”

“Lex,” her older sister started, “as you’re a lawyer, I’d like to think that you know we offer this free service so no one accidentally gets injured on our property. And you were born for this kind of manual labor—you were literally born into the fourth generation of Triku Farms. Sitting behind a desk all day has gotten you soft.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, “I do not sit behind a desk all day.”

Anya quipped a brow, “Oh, so is that why when I asked Clarke what to get you for Christmas, she suggested something nice for your desk?”

At the mention of the blonde’s name, Lexa heard a familiar chirp coming from the pocket of her Carhartt jacket—the jacket she wore exclusively when she was home for the holidays.

Griff: Should I be annoyed that Finn asked me to skip my study group tonight so we could celebrate Christmas together before we both left, but then ended up bailing when his study group decided to go to happy hour?

Lexa clenched her jaw—the expression stemming from the mixture of her annoyance of Clarke’s current fling and the fact that Anya was cutting some rope, signaling that she was ready for Lexa to hoist herself and the tree atop the SUV next to them.

“Ugh, okay,” Lexa said towards her sister’s direction, as she found the easiest part of the tree to lift it up by.

“What’s wrong?” Anya asked, knowing that the annoyance her sister wore wasn’t just about the tree she was readying to hoist above her head.

Lexa finally got the tree settled where she wanted it, then reached for one end of the rope Anya was holding. The pair instinctively walked to opposite sides of the truck to start securing the tree down.

“Nothing, Clarke’s boyfriend is just a total loser and she deserves better,” Lexa shrugged as she tied the first knot, “apparently he asked her to cancel some stuff tonight so they could do a little Christmas thing together and then he ended up bailing on her.”

“I see,” Anya said, working on the knots on her side.

Lexa took her sister’s short reply as a sign to keep talking, “It’s like she’s disposable to him or something—he doesn’t give two shits about anything other than himself. He’s not even good looking in the slightest.”

Anya nodded, even though she knew her sister couldn’t see her, “I see.”

“She’s just... I don’t know, maybe it’s just because she’s so busy with med school that she figures being with him would be easy since they’re kind of on the same schedule, but she can do so much better, Ahn. Everything he does for her is so half-assed, if even that.”

“Sounds like it,” Anya nodded again, tying the final knot on her side.

Lexa pulled the line and made sure there was no slack, before stepping off the sideboard to meet Anya behind the truck, “She’s the most beautiful person on this entire planet, there isn’t one star as beautiful as her, but she always ends up with people who don’t see it. It’s ridiculous—infuriating, even.”

“Well,” Anya looked to her sister, “First of all, there technically aren’t any stars on this planet, Lex. Secondly, sounds like you have a bigger issue here.”

Lexa furrowed her brow, “What issue?”

Anya let out a breath, “You love her.”

“Of course I love her, Ahn,” Lexa started, “she’s my best friend.”

“No,” Anya couldn’t help but stop to laugh at her sister’s aloofness, “You’re in love with her.”

Lexa shook her head, “No I’m not, don’t be ridiculous, Ahn.”

Anya met her sister’s comment with a knowing stare, and at that moment, Lexa realized that her sister was probably right.

Shit.

---

It had been four days of painstaking manual labor and four days of Lexa having a mild mental breakdown at the realization that her sister so kindly pointed out to her. As composed as she thought she was, her slight change in behavior had been apparent to everyone—especially Clarke.

Griff: T-minus three hours until I’m back! What time are you coming over tonight?

I don’t want to take away from any family time, I know your trip got cut short for the holidays, but tomorrow at the farm?

Griff: Are you so sick of seeing me all the time that you want to cancel our pre-Christmas Eve sleepover??

I just feel bad taking time away from your parents, especially on your first night back. But tomorrow, okay?

Griff: Yeah, I guess you’re right. Tomorrow, then.

Get home safe.

Griff: Thanks. Merry almost Christmas. Love you, Lex.

Me too.

Lexa sighed at her phone and threw it back into her coat pocket. Before she had a second to overthink the conversation she just had, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hey, kiddo, thought we’d find you moseying around here!”

She looked up to find Clarke’s parents beaming smiles at her, “Jake, Abby, what are you guys doing here?”

“You mean other than seeing our second favorite daughter?” Jake jokingly asked, before pointing at a box in Abby’s hand, “Just picking up one of these for dinner tonight.”

Lexa glanced over and saw that it was a pecan pie, “Oh,” she nodded, “Clarke’s favorite.”

“Yeah,” Abby slowly nodded, “because she’s coming home tonight. Everything okay, sweetie?”

Lexa blinked a few times, “Yeah, sorry. A little stressed at the moment,” she tapped the side of her head, “got too much on my mind, I suppose.”

“Well,” Abby started, “How about you join us for dinner tonight? Clarke should be home in a few hours, so we’ll probably eat around seven. She’d be happy to see you, and don’t you guys have your annual Christmas movie night tonight, anyway?”

“I actually just talked to her,” Lexa shuffled her feet, “I told her we could skip this year since her trip was cut short, I figured you guys would want some solo time with her.”

Her statement earned a laugh from Jake, “You two have been doing this pre-Christmas Eve movie night for over fifteen years now, Lexa. Abby and I will not be the reason that your tradition stops. You’re coming for dinner, and that’s that.”

Lexa nodded, “Okay, well it’s settled, then. Seven it is.”

---

Lexa scanned the contents of the grocery bag in her hand—a bottle of Abby’s favorite Sauvingon Blanc, a six pack of Jake’s favorite IPA, and a bottle of Clarke and Lexa’s favorite Malbec. She gave herself a nod, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the Griffin’s front door.

As quickly as the door swung open, a pair of arms were wrapped around her neck and a mop of blonde hair was nuzzling into her face.

Clarke gave Lexa one final squeeze before finally pulling back, “Lex! You came!”

Even though her heart was racing a mile a minute, Lexa couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s welcome, “I did, and I come bearing gifts.”

The blonde moved out of the doorway to make room for Lexa to enter the house, “What changed your mind? Missed me so much that you couldn’t handle being apart another minute?”

“That’s part of it,” Lexa shrugged, “but your parents also reminded me that nothing should stand in the way of tradition.”

“That’s right!” the pair heard Jake scream from the dining room, “Now get in here so we can eat, I’m starving!”

For the most part, dinner went as expected: silly jokes from Jake, Abby continuously telling the girls how proud she is of them both, and Clarke having a sixth sense every time Lexa needed a drink or food refill, and doing that for the brunette. The one unexpected turn was Clarke nonchalantly dropping the fact that she finally dumped Finn.

“Good,” Jake stated, “he sounded awful.”

“He was,” Lexa agreed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clarke raised a brow at her, “Because someone was awful at answering text messages this week.”

Lexa feigned hurt, “Maybe that was because someone left me by my lonesome to haul Christmas trees across the farm for days.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Clarke scoffed, “But yes, I figured it was finally time that I took your advice.”

“And what advice was that?” Abby asked, looking between the two.

This time, it was Lexa realizing that Clarke’s glass was low on wine and was pouring her a refill, “That she deserves someone that knew how to treat her the right way, someone that would appreciate her for everything she is, because I think we can all agree that she’s quite wonderful.”

Clarke smiled at Lexa’s gesture, before bringing the glass to her lips for a quick sip, “I think I just need a clone of Lexa.”

The look on Jake’s face told Lexa that the man saw her eyes widen at Clarke’s statement. He couldn’t help but smile before asking, “A clone, huh?”

Clarke looked between her parents who happened to be sharing a knowing look with one another, “Well she’s dealt with me for this long and still hasn’t gotten sick off me, so yeah. A Lexa clone would be great.”

---

Lexa couldn’t help but yawn—it had been a long day at her family’s farm, and Clarke had made her sit through three movies.

“Noo,” the blonde protested at the sound, “one more movie, please?”

“How are you so awake right now?” Lexa asked, followed by another yawn.

Clarke answered with a shrug, “I’m just happy we’re home and happy it’s Christmas. This is one of my favorite nights of the year, I just don’t want it to end yet.”

“We can put another on, but you can’t yell at me if I fall asleep,” Lexa sighed, “and don’t forget we have to be at the farm all day tomorrow. Anya will kill us if we’re late, or useless, or both.”

“Okay, deal,” Clarke nodded, “We can put it on in my room so if you fall asleep, at least we’ll be on a bed.”

Lexa nodded, before getting up to tidy the living room before heading up. She was, without a doubt, excruciatingly nervous. Gone was the calm and collected lawyer that she prided herself on being—she suddenly felt like a teenager talking to her crush for the first time. It was all quite silly, though. Jake had said it himself earlier, they’ve been doing this for over fifteen years now—not just the pre-Christmas Eve sleepover, but sharing a bed whenever they were home for breaks, when they visited each other during college, and even now whenever they stayed at each other’s apartments in Philly. The only new thing to this scenario was Lexa’s realization that her love for the blonde wasn’t what she thought it was, and that was an absolutely terrifying thought to her.

“What’s wrong?”

Lexa snapped back into reality at the sound of Clarke’s voice, “Huh? Sorry, nothing, I was just thinking.”

“Are you sure?” Clarke nudged her, “You look upset.”

“It’s fine,” Lexa shook her head, “I’m fine. Let’s go so I can pretend to watch the movie for five minutes, then pass out.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, earning a comment from Lexa, “I’m an old lady. What can I say?”

“My old lady,” Clarke smiled as she linked arms with the brunette to head upstairs.

---

Lexa tilted her head up—the snow was starting to come down a little harder, with little snowflakes finding a resting place upon the brunette’s eyelashes, “Shit, it’s really starting to come down.”

Clarke laughed at Lexa’s apparent lack of amusement, “Lex, you love the snow. Don’t be such a Scrooge.”

“I love the snow when I’m cozy inside and watching it from the windows, not when I’m out here lugging things into the barn and sheds.”

“You know,” Anya chimed in, “last night was a record low temperature for the end of December. Coldest night in almost a decade.”

“Ha,” Clarke shook her head, “I wouldn’t know because your sister is a human furnace.”

“Clarke,” Lexa set a few bundles of ribbons and signs aside, “of all people, you should know that I run warm. Plus, you’re like a koala on my back whenever we share a bed.”

Anya looked between the two, highly entertained by the conversation, “I see.”

“Well, who needs a blanket when there’s a Lexa next to you?” Clarke shrugged, pulling the last of one of the wagons into a small shed and placing a padlock on the door before she added, “And look, you saved me from the coldest night of the year. Maybe I do need a Lexa clone.”

Anya shot her sister her trademark smirk, then turned her attention to the blonde, “A Lexa clone, huh?”

“To date,” Clarke clarified, “Apparently my parents and Lexa don’t approve of my dating history, so I’ve just come to the conclusion that I need a clone of your sister to appease them all.”

“Hm,” Anya nodded, before taking a step to walk away, almost out of earshot of the pair, “I’m sure you don’t need a clone.”

“What’d she say?” Clarke cocked her head to the side.

Lexa’s eyes widened a bit before muttering, “I’m sure it was nothing. I need to go grab a few things out in the field where the Balsam Firs are. You good finishing up in here?”

“Sure,” Clarke nodded, but Lexa was already almost out of eyesight.

It didn’t take long for Lexa to find her sister—predictable as ever, Anya was warming up inside the office of the main store, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Ahn,” Lexa stated as she entered the quaint room, “stop it.”

“Stop what?” her sister asked, fluttering her eyelashes as she mocked her younger sister.

Lexa took a deep breath, “You can’t just say things like that, especially not around her.”

“I think you should go for it,” Anya said, before taking a sip of her coffee. “You may be pleasantly surprised.”

Lexa shook her head, “It’s not like that, Ahn. Especially not for her.”

Anya gave her sister a soft smile, “Lex, for a lawyer, you can be pretty dense. I’ve watched the two of you grow up together, and you’ve always been on the same page as one another. What makes you think this time is any different?”

“She’s my best friend. It’s terrifying. The implications would be–”

“Fuck the implications, Lex. If you weren’t so blind, maybe you’d be able to see that she looks at you the exact way you look at her. You should tell her how you feel,” she got up and put a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, “It's Christmas, now’s a better time than ever.”

Lexa closed her eyes and took three deep breaths, “Fuck it, you’re right. Is the stereo system still connected?”

---

As Clarke locked the barn up, an extremely familiar tune caught her ear. She took a step back and instinctively lifted her ear towards the direction of the sound—Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

A laugh escaped her mouth, knowing well that this was Lexa’s doing. Wanting to immediately find the brunette, Clarke went off sprinting to the source of the sound system: Trikru Farm’s office.

She ran so fast that she nearly knocked her full body into the door as she was swinging it open.

“What is it with the two of you barging in here like that?” Anya asked, feet propped on the desk as she drank from her mug.

Clarke brushed off her comment, her mind was only focused on one thing, “Was Lexa in here?”

Anya smiled, “Yeah, we exchanged a few words, then she put on this god-awful song that you love so much, then ran out.”

“Do you know where she–” Clarke started, before she realized she already had the answer, “Oh, nevermind. Balsam Firs.”

“Balsam Firs?” Anya raised a brow.

“She said she had to grab a few things from the field where the Balsam Firs were,” Clarke nodded.

“Makes sense,” Anya couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “it's the last tree field with all the decorations still up, and the biggest outdoor speaker we have is over there, too.”

“Gotcha,” Clarke nodded, “gotta go.”

---

Once Clarke made her way to the field where the Balsam Firs were, it’s wasn’t exactly hard to pinpoint where Lexa was. The music system was still blasting her all-time Christmas favorite, but the sound of Lexa’s off-key singing was a definite sign she was nearing the brunette.

Peeking through rows of snow-capped Christmas trees that didn’t make it to a home this season, Clarke finally laid eyes on something that ignited a soothing warmth throughout her body—Lexa standing atop a crate with “Letters to Santa” painted on it, and an old, beat up, Santa hat lazily slung on her head. Her eyes were shut as she scream-sang the final words to the song, getting way into it more than she’d ever end up admitting.

As the words ended and the melody started to fade, Clarke let out a laugh, “Well, Lex. That was sure some performance.”

The brunette raised the side of her mouth into the prettiest smile Clarke’s blue eyes had ever seen, “Did you like it?”

“Loved it,” the blonde nodded.

Lexa took a step off the crate and walked towards Clarke. She shuffled her feet a few times before finally reaching for one of the blonde’s hands, “I’m sorry I’ve been so grumpy lately. I’m happy we’re both home, though.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke smiled at the gesture. The snow had lightened up and was only dusting them in soft waves. Surrounded by the Christmas trees and standing in front of Lexa, she realized this was exactly where she wanted to be, “I’m happy we’re home too.”

“I love you, Clarke,” Lexa let out, in the softest voice that the blonde had ever heard.

Clarke smiled again, taking her other hand to grab for Lexa’s free one, “I love you too, Lex.”

“No,” Lexa shook her head, “I don’t think you understand. I love you.”

The blonde took a deep breath and nodded, gripping her hands around Lexa’s just a little bit tighter, “I love you too, Lex. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up and realize it, too.”

“Wha–”

Before the question could even escape Lexa’s mouth, she felt Clarke’s pressed softly against hers. The feeling nearly knocked the wind out of her. She slowly pulled away, “Wow.”

Clarke smirked at the brunette, “Looks like I don’t need a clone after all.”

#clexa secret santa #submission

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oh-boleyn · 5 years ago

Text

te para tres

words: 3809, language: english. jane & kat (kind of mom/daughter relationship)

author’s note: I wanted to keep multichapters on my ao3 but I actually kind of like this fic, and so I thought to post it here too! anyway it is also in ao3

tags: jane & kat - centric, kat is homeless, jane is trying her best, canon abuse/non con, tw abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Families of Choice, Light Angst, pregnant!jane, sickness

part one: las tazas sobre el mantel part two: un poco de miel

la lluvia derramada

They take a taxi to the doctor’s office. The cold weather is not helping them to just walk or try any other route.

“Are you going to find out the baby’s gender?”

“Probably not. I want it to be a surprise.” Jane explains. “What do you think they’ll be?”

“I don’t know. I’m not good with guesses. Have you thought about names?”

“I would like to name them after a family member. It’s a family tradition I don’t want to lose.”

“Tell me names.”

“My father’s name is John.”

“Too plain.”

“Margaery.”

“I like it.” Katherine smiles.

“Edward?”

“Yes! It sounds like a prince's name, something out of Disney.” The teenager nods. “Who is Edward?”

“My brother.” Jane states. “He is my confidant, and he is there for me every time I need him.”

“Is he a good person?”

“Yes, he is.”

(…)

At first Katherine refused to search for her family, but she knows that unless waiting until eighteen was a goal, she should contact them, at least to get her job permission signed, or any document that releases them from being their legal guardians.

What she didn’t know was that her cousin, already in her late-twenties, would want to meet her.

She introduces herself as Anne Boleyn, and it would be a lie if Katherine said that she had never heard that name. They look nothing alike. Anne is shorter than her, has pale skin, green eyes and a round face. She is kind, but tense. Katherine can’t decide if she likes her or not.

Anne is way too enthusiastic for Kat’s liking.

Their first meeting goes rather political, but not as family is supposed to be.

Still, they decide to meet again.

(…)

Jane never thought Katherine would love hair dye so much, but now for the second time in a row they were sitting on the bathroom, applying electric pink dye to the girl’s hair. Anna recommended changing brands, mostly to not ruin her hair. Cathy also stepped in suggesting that once a month was an alright amount of time, but that doing it less frequent is better.

Still, Jane buys two boxes. If she can give Katherine a sense of stability, she will. Even if stability means dying her hair the same day every month.

(…)

“I can’t remember baking cookies, like ever.” Katherine comments, breaking an egg.

“You are missing a lot.”

Jane looks bright, like the sun. For the teenager, she looks like the standard picture of some announce. Her blond hair is up in a bun, which is not messy but not immaculate, her blue eyes are sparkling warm. She’s wearing a lose overall, with a yellow shirt. Her bump clearly there.

“Do you bake often?”

“No, not really. I used to, when I was younger.” Jane explains. “Can you measure the sugar? I need a cup.”

“Sure.” Kat moves, doing her task. “Why don’t you? If you love baking so much, you should do it more often.”

“I just don’t have the time.” She takes the flour. “Now I do, but before, living with my ex and college. It was just a lot; I never had the time to do it all.”

“Do you miss it? Your life before?”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Jane smiles. “I have better things now.”

She gives Kat a kiss on the forehead as good as she can give the height difference.

(…)

Living with Katherine is not always easy.

She would zone out from time to time, sometimes almost hurting herself. It was hard for Jane to keep up with her, because the teenager would enter periods of dissociation without previous notice. Other times, her personality would almost change, becoming furious and angry, throwing hateful words at Jane and begging to be back on the street.

But lately, every episode ended up the same, with both of them curling on the sofa watching a movie, until Kat would finally go to sleep.

Jane thought a lot about how her baby is going to be in sixteen years. Most importantly, if her baby will love her. The teenager who was now under her care rarely expressed feelings with words. Judging by how she acted around, the older was sure that they loved each other.

Wondering what could’ve happened if they didn’t meet wasn’t something she was too keen on. Katherine was the person she never knew she needed. Helping her felt so natural, almost like destiny, and Jane couldn’t love her more. The teenager had made her way into Jane’s life, becoming her daughter in all but title.

Jane hopes Katherine will let her be around, wanting nothing more than to see her grow and live the happy life she deserved.

(…)

Jane’s family were visiting, and Katherine felt nervous to the core. She knew how much the older woman loved her siblings, and if they didn’t like Kat, she might kick her out.

It was impossible to think about it, but Katherine knew better than to get too attached, even if Jane was the kindest person to her in a long time, so was Culpeper, and it didn’t mean kind was good.

“How is my little princess?” Jane’s father asks.

He looks like Jane; both share the same blue eyes. The word princess makes Katherine flinch, but she tries to cover her emotions. She toys with the pink dress Aragon gifted her from the spring edition of the magazine, while trying to ignore all the people who get into the restaurant.

“Dad, let me introduce you to Katherine. Kat, they are my father and siblings.”

“Hi, I’m Edward and he is my brother, Thomas.” One of them announces. “And my sisters, Dorothy and Elizabeth.”

Katherine is both glad and nervous none of them try to initiate physical contact, not sure if that was Jane’s recommendation or just their way to let her know she is not welcomed.

“I’m Katherine.” She replies, trying not to sound rude.

“Shall we order? I’m starving.” Jane announces, resting a hand on her stomach.

(…)

“Was her family amicable?” Anne questions.

She picked Katherine from the restaurant, trying to give Jane and her family a moment to themselves.

“Yes, they were kind.” Katherine replied, making herself smaller on the car seat. “She has a brother, Edward. He explained every family detail to me so I wouldn’t get lost when they talked about their extended family.”

Elizabeth was almost asleep on the back of the car, which led to the teenager deciding to ride in the front seat.

“That is nice.”

“They are buying her a new apartment.” Katherine blurs out. “They already did.”

“They must have money.” Anne adds, eyes fixed on the road.

“Yes. It is a three-bedroom apartment, and she asked me to move in with her. Like, living twenty-four seven with her.” Kat continues. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Do you want to?”

That was a real, fair question and Katherine didn’t know the answer.

A part of her wanted nothing more to have the security and protection Jane offered, late nights watching movies, waking up and having breakfast, going back to school, graduating. But she wasn’t sure she was able to do that, if she was destined to have that kind of happy life. The idea that Jane might kick her out any moment was something she couldn’t erase, but still, she decides to take a chance.

“I think so, yes.”

(…)

“Why did father do that?” Jane questions Edward.

“Do what?”

“Buy me a new place.” The woman states as if it’s obvious.

“You are having a baby. His first grandson. Of course he wants the baby to have a room.”

“And why the room for Katherine?”

“Do you not want her?” He questions.

“I do, a lot. But none of you do.” Jane speaks hurtful.

“We want whatever makes you happy. And if adopting a girl from the street is that, we are going to welcome her as one of our own.” The brother gives his sister a smile. “We are family.”

“Do you think she will want to be a part of it?”

“Your family? Sure. Not so sure about Dorothy, she is not likeable.”

They share a laugh.

(...)

“Jane stop it! It hurts!” Kat says, trying to get the older woman away from her hair.

“Don’t apply so much pressure!” Cathy indicates.

Braiding hair is harder than what she thought it would be. Parr is giving the directions, while Jane is trying to keep up.

“Sorry sweetheart, but this is hard.” Jane excuses herself. “Is there not something easier to do? Like a beginner braid or something?”

“This is the beginner’s braid Jane. It’s just a French one.” Cathy says. “Look.”

She takes Katherine’s hair on her hands, and starts braiding it quickly. In a moment she finishes half of it, doing a tight ponytail instead of finishing the braid.

“See?”

“I hate you, Parr.” Jane half jokes. “You don’t have a baby bump in your way, it’s not fair.”

“Shut up and just admit you can’t do a braid.”

Kat laughs, watching her reflection. “You make amazing braid, Cathy!”

“Thank you!” Catherine replies. “Now, let’s give your cousin a hand with the boxes. Or you will end up moving next year with half of the stuff.”

(…)

Jane and Kat move into the new apartment on a Monday, and they have their first fight on a Tuesday.

“I don’t want to, Jane!” Katherine screams, to the top of her lungs.

“Katherine Howard, we talked about this, you are going to therapy. There is nothing to discuss.” Her voice is hard, stern.

“Don’t Katherine Howard me.”

There is a slam on the door and the poster Anne bought her falls from the wall.

Jane is speechless, Katherine has never been so aggressive before. Even when she was upset, she was usually calmer, quieter. She hated it; how afraid the girl would look if she got even the littlest upset. Getting mad could be considered an improvement, even if it was not gladly received by the older.

Anne Boleyn

Hi Jane! Is everything okay? Kat just texted me if I could come and pick her up.

Jane Seymour

Yes, it’s alright, we were just discussing therapy.

“Katherine, come here please!” She screams.

The teenager comes out of her bedroom with eyes full of tears. The old phone with the cracked screen her cousin gifted in her hand. Her knuckles went white from the pressure.

“We have to talk. I’m feeling upset, I won’t deny it. I am not kicking you out nor I feel different about you, but we have to talk.”

“If I say I will go, will you just stop?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help you. Why don’t we prepare some tea, and then we can talk?”

Katherine nods, Jane walks to her and puts Kat’s hand on her stomach.

“The baby is saying stop being so headstrong.” Jane laughs lightly, the baby kicking Kat’s hand.

The warmth on the woman’s laugh makes the younger girl relax.

Katherine Howard

I’m sorry, I over exaggerated. Don’t pick me up, but are we still on for next week?

(…)

Something good about the new apartment is how much space there is for the couch. A big pale blue sofa lays on the middle of the room, opposite to the TV. Katherine would be lying if she said she missed sleeping on the couch, her own bed being much comfortable, and her room made her feel protected. It was something she once had for granted, but having a place of her own was one of the best things that ever happened to her.

As usual of their late nights, they are searching for a movie. Streaming was good, it obviously was, but they had felt into the tradition of looking, going through channels. They found the same comedy months ago.

Watching it again comes as a silent agreement.

When the movie is half over, Katherine calls. “Jane.”

The older does not react, sleeping peacefully.

“I think you are asleep, which is good. I don’t know how to say it really, but I am so grateful and thankful and a hundred other words. You gave me a life again, the chance to be a person, to have joy. And you didn’t have to, but you did.” She squeezes the woman a little, careful to not wake her up. “You are going to be the best mom. I love you.”

Jane tries to not blow up her cover, but the slight smile shines through.

(…)

“Anne is my cousin.” Katherine begins to explain. “She is twenty-nine, and she has a little girl, Elizabeth, she is three. Anne is blunt, maybe impolite. She speaks her mind more than I would even think to, but she is also a good person. She pushes and asks me things I don’t want to think about, and it makes me angry when she does it. I also get angry when Jane asks me things I don’t want to answer, or begs me to do things I don’t want to.”

“Have you talked about this with them? Calmly, trying to understand each other.” Her therapist interrogates.

“No, not really. Jane loves to try and talk things out, but I feel nervous about it, I don’t like to talk about feelings.” She explains.

“Do you not like it or don’t know how to talk about it?”

The question plants itself on Katherine’s mind. It has been so long since the last time she had to actually worry about something that was not only her survival that she is not sure for how long she didn’t think about feelings.

Maybe it was when they stole her first backpack, or maybe the first night on the street. It might have been before leaving her house. She doesn’t remember feeling anything with Francis. Not even with Manox. Maybe her feelings have never been there until yet.

She wishes she knew how to express how much admiration she felt for the woman who showed her that not everything was lost.

(…)

“Jane! Anna called me, are you okay?” Katherine asks, running to Jane’s side.

Anne is by her side, looking worried with her car keys ready.

“Yes love, just a fake alarm. The doctor told me about this, fake contractions are a thing.” Jane explains.

“I just freaked out, okay? Cut me some slack.” Cleves complains.

“It’s alright, I had those for like two months with Elizabeth.” Boleyn puts a hand on Kat’s shoulder. “In case you want, I can drive you to the hospital.”

“No, thank you, Anne.” Jane smiles.

Their relationship was polite, they were not friends, but cared deeply for Katherine and were willing to do anything for the sake of their girl.

“Can you take us home?” Katherine asks.

Anne nods.

Katherine takes a moment to consider what she just said. Home. Jane, the baby, the new apartment. It was home, safe, secure. She felt loved there, at ease.

She wished she could just hold onto it and never let it go.

(…)

Jane feels her stomach constrict into itself.

A contraction, another Braxton-hicks. Except that it feels more painful, and a sense of unease settles in her stomach. She is only seven and a half months, the baby shouldn’t be coming, so she keeps with her chores.

Katherine picks up something that is wrong far too late into the night, her mind deviant and without having the chance to focus onto anything, even if she tried every exercise on her list. But once she does, she thinks it might be too late. Jane is having contractions almost every hour, and refusing to go into the hospital.

“Love, I swear I’m alright, there are still six weeks to go.”

“Don’t do this, let me take you to the hospital, as a precaution.” Katherine pleaded. “We might be in serious trouble if you keep refusing, if there’s nothing wrong we will come back and sleep and maybe watch a movie! But please, can we go?”

The older one takes the teenagers anxiety as something more worrisome that what is happening to her. She doesn’t want to make Kat feel insecure. Knowing her almost-daughter is in constant fear of abandonment, she decides to obey, just for her peace of mind.

(…)

Things are clearly not okay.

Her blood pressure is too high, and she has started to dilate. The doctors are quick to give her two shots, one to try and relax her muscles, in an attempt to cease the contractions, and another one with steroids, trying to help the lung development of the baby. Before Jane realizes, there are at least three beeping machines hanging around her.

(…)

“Love, have you talked with my family?” Jane asked.

Her contractions were more and more frequent, almost switching to active labour.

Jane wants to cry, feeling as if she failed her child. The doctors didn’t want to give her much information except for the stable vital signs of the baby. That was not enough to calm her down. She tried to be calmer, to don’t let her stress affect the birth, but she was beyond scared to be successful.

“I did, your parents didn’t text me back yet. Edward says he is coming, he is picking Dorothy. Elizabeth will be here tomorrow, and Thomas sends his best wishes but he can’t come.” Katherine explains. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore?” Jane tries to laugh, but a contraction hit. “I won’t lie, this is painful. Have you called Anne?”

“Yes, she was free to pick me up when I texted her. I don’t want to leave you alone, though.”

“That’s really thoughtful, Katherine.”

“Jane?” The doctor questions. “Can I check how it is progressing?”

She nods. Katherine holds her hand tightly. He checks the machines, and quickly calls a nurse. The teenager squeezes her hand, and she does the same maybe a little harder than intended.

“We have to do an emergency c-section. The baby’s heart rate is growing faster and your blood pressure is not getting any lower.” He announces. “Do you have someone to be with you?”

“Me.” Katherine quickly says.

“Are you over eighteen?”

“Yes.”

The way she lies feels almost natural, and Jane wonders for a second if she ever had to do that before. Her mind can’t focus on it for too long.

“Kat, you don’t have to come.”

“But I want to, really.” She gets closer and whispers to her ear. “Please, you have helped me so much. I have seen the worst things, I think. Please.”

“No, Kat, you are too young.” Jane says, firm. “Is there anywhere near but not in the room she can stay?”

“She can wait in the neonatal unit.”

(…)

They leave her in a corridor with a bright white light that is driving her crazy. Nobody tells her any news, and Jane’s family are supposed to arrive in a couple of minutes but there is still no trace of them. She feels helpless, unable to do anything and clueless enough to be insecure.

But then a nurse shows up with a baby.

“The mom is alright, but taking a nap.” She explained. “She wanted you to be the second to see him. She said you knew his name.”

The chat they had just months before still on her head.

“Edward. His name is Edward.”

(…)

“He is really tiny. And red. Are all babies that red?” Katherine asks her cousin.

“The ones that I know, yes. Elizabeth was quite big, but still red.” Anne smiles, remembering. “She had to be in a lamp and receive plenty of solar light because the doctors said she was yellow, though.”

“I don’t think he looks yellow, at all.”

There is a silence, not uncomfortable, but not at ease.

“How are you feeling about Edward?”

“What do you mean?” The younger questions.

“I know how close you got with Jane. When George was born, I was so upset, I almost cried for days. It took me a while, but now I love him a lot, even when he gets on my nerves.” Anne took Katherine ‘s hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure.”

She didn’t have enough time to think about it, to process that now Jane was a mother. A real mother with her biological son. The space Katherine took was now belonging to Edward.

“I am anxious, a tad frightened and excluded, I won’t lie about it.” A feeling of being exposed started creeping up. “But Jane has been nothing but kind. I can’t feel bad about him when she loves him so much. I love him too, I know I don’t know him, but if he is a little like her, he is going to be a good guy, and God knows we need those.”

Anne smiled, and the teenager embraced her in a hug.

��I’m happy you think like that, Kitty.” She squeezes the girl. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Annie.”

(…)

“Jane, can we talk?”

Katherine is trembling, her voice not above a whisper.

To admit how much she adored the older woman was nerve wracking. She almost couldn’t remember how it was to have a mother, since hers died when she was so young. Mothers were probably like Jane. She felt protected, cared for, near her.

“Honey, I’m feeling tired. My legs are killing me. Is it really important?”

She wanted to say yes. To explain how important it was for her, how her life changed for the better since meeting Jane. How much it meant the fact that she felt seen.

“No, not really.”

(…)

Jane feels worse. The ibuprofen is no longer working and her fever is burning up. Not even the idea of going to see Edward can bring her out of bed. Her headache is just getting worse each time, and she feels as if she was going to throw up at any given moment.

Katherine was by her side, trying to help, bringing water and soup, ready for when her mother, or not mother, decides to order her to call for an ambulance.

And she waits.

But Jane never asks, instead Katherine calls when she seems to no longer recognize her voice.

(…)

The teenager is sitting outside the emergency room, in a hall without anybody near her.

Her mind is not there, though, and she feels as if she can almost watch herself as a third person would. Not sure of how much time has passed, she tries to focus on counting numbers, but it doesn’t work. The presence of a doctor doesn’t help either, not even when he tells her the dreadful news. It’s not until she calls Edward, the older, that she realizes what she is saying.

Internal organs shutting out.

Say your goodbyes.

Jane is not waking up.

#six the musical #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #jane seymour #Katherine Howard

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setaripendragon · 4 years ago

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Trapped in the Amber - 1x03

Book 1 :: 01 - 02 - 03 Not a lot to say about this one, except that, on watching this episode for the first time, I was severely disappointed that Sam and Dean went to all that trouble to make those Homeland Security badges, and didn’t even think to use them to, oh, I don’t know, stop a plane from taking off? (Also, ngl, so mad that the continuity didn’t remember that they’d had Dean dealing with poltergeists before when they got to the episode Home.) Also, Moonfiends are completely made up by me, based on this one little bit of folklore I found about young women who look at a blue moon getting pregnant from it and giving birth to monsters. SPN lore is surprisingly limited for a show with hundreds of episodes, so I’m going to be tossing in more of my own lore to fill in the gaps in this story. (This being mostly self-indulgent nonsense, there’s going to be a lot of lore, a lot of ethical debates, and at least some linguistics.) And this chapter is dedicated to everyone who’s liked the last two parts, I absolutely wouldn’t have had the courage to continue posting this without you. Especially @spideypoolalways, and @lyratalus and @millieccino for those lovely comments <3

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

Meira makes Dean tell her about the poltergeist on their way to Pennsylvania. It’s a good story, and it’s also a reminder that John Winchester is a real person, her grandfather by blood. She knew about him, of course, but he was long dead by the time she came into the world, and honestly, she’d never given him much thought. Now, she’s suddenly aware that if it was her in her dad’s place, she wouldn’t be half so composed.

They don’t even stop to find a motel before heading to the airport where Jerry works. He greets Dean with no small amount of relief, and then shakes hands all around. “And this must be Sam, right?” He asks when he gets to Sam.

“That’s right.” Sam confirms. “And this is Meira.”

“Pleasure.” Jerry says, sincere but perfunctory, before leading them inside. He reminisces a little on the way to his office, and Meira listens in fascination, but once they get there, it’s right down to business. “Okay, listen to this.” He says. “It sounded like it was up your alley. Normally I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

At first, it’s just a crackly recording of a may day signal, and then it fuzzes out to be replaced by a sound that makes Meira reach for her blade on pure instinct. Pain lances through her, and she flinches hard.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jerry asks.

Meira nods. “Took me by surprise, is all.” She says dismissively.

“Alright, well, it took off from here.” Jerry explains. “Crashed about 200 miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurised somehow, nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, only seven got out alive.”

“Seven people survived?” Meira echoes in surprise.

Jerry’s eyebrows furrow. “That surprises you?” He asks carefully.

Meira shrugs with a grimace. “That sounded demonic to me. Sometimes spirits can affect radios and such, but it’s usually just static, psychic residue. That was way too loud to be residue. And demons aren’t known for leaving survivors.” It isn’t like she can tell them that she understands Hellspeech well enough. It isn’t like human languages, which she’s always been able to understand, but Crowley was one of the few creatures in existence that hadn’t thought she was an abomination. Or, he had, it’s just he didn’t have a problem with abominations, so he’d taught her how to understand his, heh, ‘native’ language.

Yeah, she definitely isn’t telling these two hunters, who aren’t yet her dad and uncle, that the King of Hell, or King of the Crossroads as he is now, taught her how to understand demons. Or that this one is fucking gloating on the radio of a plane it had just caused to crash.

Jerry pales. Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her, eyebrows raised. “Demonic?” Jerry asks, quiet and strained.

“I can’t be sure.” Meira lies. “But that would be my guess, yeah.”

“Well,” Sam says slowly, “we’re going to need passenger manifests, a list of survivors, and-”

“And any way we could take a look at the wreckage?” Dean interjects.

Jerry takes a breath to marshal himself, and Meira is actually impressed by how well he “The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage?” He shakes his head grimly. “The NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.”

Dean nods slowly, and then shakes his head in dismissal. “No problem.”

Meira has to bite back a grin, and once they’ve gotten the lists of passengers and survivors from Jerry and they’re leaving, she nudges Dean with her elbow and asks, “No problem, huh?” Dean just grins back, smug and cocky, and, oh, yeah, this is going to be good.

A short drive and an endless wait later, which Meira fills with reading a paperback she picked up from a bookshop across the street, and Sam passes with pacing and frustration until Meira gives in and starts reading aloud in an over-dramatic fashion, Dean returns with brand new fake IDs for all of them. Sam, of course, immediately remembers his impatience, and huffs, “You’ve been in there forever!”

“You can’t rush perfection.” Dean retorts, flipping one of the cards over to Meira, who catches it between the pages of her book, then retrieves it eagerly.

“Homeland security?” Sam asks incredulously.

Meira whoops. “Oh, man. Yes.”

“See?” Dean says to Sam. “She knows an awesome idea when she hears one.”

“The doors this baby is going to open.” Meira agrees in delight. “The prank opportunities will be endless and glorious.”

Sam rounds on her, while Dean bursts out laughing. “Pranks?”

Meira blinks at him in feigned wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to scare the shit out of someone by threatening them with charges of treason or something.” She points out. She wishes Pabbi were here, or Jace. They’ve always been better at coming up with the truly hilarious pranks. Sam just shakes his head and gets back in the car. Meira and Dean share a grin, and then follow to discuss the case and plan their next move.

Which turns out to be interrogating the passenger in the psychiatric hospital. Meira keeps quiet and lets Dean and Sam do most of the talking, wishing she could see the state of the man’s soul. She doesn’t really need to, to know he’s disturbed by what he saw, but it would be nice to know how disturbed. Whether he’d prefer the illusion of normality, or if doubting his own perception is doing more harm than good. In her own, limited, twenty-five years of experience with human souls, she’s never seen anything so damaging as doubting their own perception, but in some cases, she has to admit that the lie does seem to help people hold it together through otherwise traumatic incidents.

“It’s okay.” Sam says, as Meira considers everything she can read from Max Jaffrey’s body language and comes to a decision. She’s pretty sure Sam and Dean are going to hate it, but they can suck it up and deal. “Just tell us what you thought you saw. Please.” Sam entreats, and it works.

Max sighs, and starts, haltingly, to talk. “There was… this- man.” He begins, stops, licks his lips nervously. “And… uh, he had these… eyes.” He gestures vaguely towards his own face.

“Black eyes?” Meira asks.

Max’s head jerks up and he stares at her with wide eyes, while Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her. “Y-yeah. How did you…?”

Meira takes a step forward from where she was loitering, and claims the last open seat, opposite Max. “You weren’t seeing things.” She tells him simply.

“Meira.” Dean growls.

“Man deserves to know he’s not crazy.” Meira replies without looking away from Max, who’s shaking his head.

“That can’t have been real.” He protests. “I saw him-”

“Saw him what?” Sam prompts gently, although the look Meira sees him direct at her out of the corner of her eye is hard.

Max’s next breath shakes. “He- he opened the emergency exit. But that’s- that’s impossible. I mean, I looked it up, there’s something like two tonnes of pressure on that door.” He insists, looking between the three of them, pleading for an explanation, any explanation, that makes sense.

“Do you really believe you were seeing things?” Meira asks him.

He stares at her, then swallows hard. It’s several long, long minutes before he finally answers. “No.” He says, so quiet Meira almost can’t hear him. “Some-something made the plane crash, right? And if it wasn’t- wasn’t what I saw, then… what was it?”

Meira smiles at him, gentle but proud. “It was exactly what you saw.”

“But how?” Max demands.

“The black eyes are a fairly good indicator that the man you saw was possessed by a demon.” Meira informs him, and Max’s eyes widen in belated fear. “Demons do possess far greater strength than your average human, so one could absolutely open the emergency exit while the plane was still in the air.”

“Oh.” Max says thickly. “Demons actually exist.”

“I’m afraid so.” Meira agrees wryly. When it seems Max is too busy processing that to have any immediate questions, she nods. “Do you have your phone with you?” She asks. Max shakes his head wordlessly. “Do you know your number off by heart?” She asks, not hopeful.

But, it turns out, there are some benefits to being stuck in 2005. People aren’t quite so used to their phones doing their thinking for them, and some of them do, still, memorise their own phone numbers. Max rattles his off without a problem, and Meira whips her own phone out to save it. Then she sends him a text. “There. Now, when you get out of here, if you have any questions, you can call me.” She explains.

Max nods. Then he shakes his head. “You’re not Homeland Security, are you?” He asks.

Meira grins at him. “Special branch.” She tells him, then raps her knuckles on the table, and stands. “Don’t worry, Mr Jaffrey, we’ll get the thing that did this.” She assures him, and a little of the fear in him melts away as he nods.

It isn’t until they’re out of the hospital that Sam rounds on her. Meira honestly wasn’t expecting it. “What the hell was that?” He demands. Meira stares at him incredulously. “Why did you tell him that? You scared him half to death!”

“Um, no.” Meira snaps, indignant at this false accusation. “I didn’t. The demon did.”

“And he was perfectly fine thinking he’d imagined the whole thing, so why did you-?!”

“Checking yourself into a psychiatric hospital is the exact opposite of fine!”

“He would have gotten over it! And then he could go home and carry on his normal life, but instead, you had to go and drop demons on him!”

“You have no guarantee that he would have gotten over it!”

“You have no guarantee how well he’ll handle demons, but that didn’t stop you!”

“Oh, so we should have just joined in on gaslighting him, then?”

“Whoa! Okay, time out!” Dad barks, physically inserting himself between Meira and Rob- No, it’s Sam, Sam who is not yet her uncle and Rob hasn’t been born yet. Meira blinks rapidly as she backs up a step, and then another. She didn’t realise how in each other’s face they were getting until Dad intervened. Dean. Until Dean intervened. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying not to feel too much like her family’s been ripped away from her all over again. “Okay, let’s all just chill.” Dean instructs firmly. “What’s done is done, Sam.”

“It shouldn’t have been.” Sam insists through gritted teeth. “People shouldn’t have to deal with all this unless they don’t have any other choice.”

“Hey, man, I agree with you, but there’s no helping it now.” Dean repeats. Sam scowls.

“He already had to deal with it. It nearly killed him.” Meira points out. “I’m not going to go around shouting it from the rooftops, okay. Not least of all because people would think I’m nuts, but… Do you know how hard it is, to have the whole world telling you that you’re the problem? That there’s something wrong with you, not something wrong out there? No one deserves that!”

Sam sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, and it’s a gesture that’s going to carry through the rest of his life, all the way until he’s in his sixties and a father and an uncle exasperated with his oh so headstrong niece. But instead of patiently and logically ripping all of Meira’s dreams of chaos and glory to shreds, he just shakes his head and heads for the Impala without another word. It leaves Meira feeling strangely like she’s the one who just lost that argument. Or maybe lost something more important by winning it.

“You know, Sam ran away.” Dean says suddenly.

Meira startles, and is half an instant away from saying something really stupid, like ‘yeah, I know, Dad, you’ve told me this story about a dozen times’, but manages to stop herself just in time. “Oh?” She asks instead, her voice wobbling slightly.

Dean glances at her and grimaces faintly in apology. “Yeah. He wanted to get away from hunting, from the supernatural, be normal or whatever.” He shrugs as if to say the notion baffles him. It baffles Meira, too, but then, she never has been and never will be ‘normal’, and she’s never really felt like her life was missing anything. “Then the thing that killed our mom killed his girlfriend.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.” Meira says, trying desperately to remember that this is supposed to be news to her, not ancient family history.

“Yeah, well, it makes it pretty hard for him to argue that you should’ve let that guy live in ignorant bliss. He tried that, and it came back to bite him, it could come back to bite this guy, too. But I think he wishes the world worked that way. It ought to. People shouldn’t have to be afraid of the monsters in the dark.”

“People shouldn’t have to be afraid of robbers, either, but we still lock our doors at night.” Meira replies softly. “If people knew, if it was common knowledge what was out there, yeah, maybe they’d be afraid, but maybe they’d line their doors and windows in salt, and get anti-possession tattoos, and then go right on living their normal lives.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t sound like he believes it, though. Meira can’t exactly blame him. There’s a reason the supernatural has stayed more or less hidden for the last several hundred years, and it’s because most people don’t want to believe it’s true, so they refuse to see it. “Still think it was kind of shitty to just drop demons on him and then leave.”

Meira pulls a face, hunching down against a lecture she knows probably isn’t coming. “I gave him my number. And once we’re done with this, I’ll probably call him if he doesn’t call me and give him the full lecture on demons and theology as it applies to reality.” Somewhere Dean and Sam can’t hear her to question her in depth knowledge of the workings of Hell.

“You hunted demons before?” Dean asks in surprise, finally starting towards the Impala as well.

The answer is yes. On a normal day, demons wouldn’t really be difficult for her. She is anathema to them, after all. “No.” Meira lies.

“Then how do you know enough to give the full lecture?” Dean asks, giving her a look as he opens the driver’s door. Meira doesn’t answer until they’re both in the car with a sulking Sam, and once they’re in, Dean doesn’t give her the opportunity. “You said you don’t really hunt, but you’re a freaking encyclopedia. Moonfiends?” He prompts.

Meira sighs, and resigns herself to cobbling bits and pieces of the truth into a coherent whole, because infinite angelic memory isn’t something she’s going to bring up. “Okay, that one is because my best friend is a moonfiend, so I got a first person account.” She defends. “But my aunt and uncle keep- kept a supernatural library, and I read a lot as a kid.”

“Huh.” Dean muses as they pull out onto the road. “Okay, I’m just gonna ask. You best friend is a moonfiend?” He sounds incredulous.

Meira pulls a face at him through the rear view mirror. “Azura.” She confirms defiantly.

“What exactly is a moonfiend?” Sam asks, turning to look at her, putting aside his irritation in favour of academic curiosity. Meira beams fondly at him, because this is why Sam has always been her favourite uncle. “I know you said they’re kind of like mothmen, but mothmen are a really specific type of vengeful nature spirit.”

“Well, no, they’re more like furies. They’re not spirits, they’re corporeal, but they’re born from… desecrated ground. Furies are born from human sins against humans, mothmen are born from human sins against nature.” Meira explains, leaning forward as she gets into explaining. “A moonfiend is actually more like a werewolf in metaphysical characteristics, but like mothmen in physical characteristics.”

“So, they’re subject to the phases of the moon?” Sam checks.

Meira nods. “A moonfiend is born when a virgin, and that’s not just a sexual virgin, but a magical and metaphysical virgin, too, stares too long at an unfiltered blue moon.”

Dean actually takes a moment away from watching the road to turn and stare at her. Sam gapes for several minutes, until he finally manages to ask. “Blue moons happen every three years. Why aren’t they everywhere?”

“Well, half the time the pregnancy kills the mother before the baby is viable. Or the mother kills the baby after she’s given birth because, well, it’s pretty obviously not human. All that on top of just how hard it is to count as a metaphysical virgin these days.” Meira points out. “Or what counts as unfiltered. I mean, glasses, smog, clouds, astral disturbances.”

“Astral disturbances?” Sam questions.

“Okay!” Dean says loudly, interrupting Meira before she can even start to explain. “I’m glad you two have made up, you nerds, but can we figure out our next step here? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never hunted demon before.” Meira has to sit back and let the weirdness of that statement wash over her. This is her Dad’s first ever demon hunt. Weird. “Are we even sure it is a demon?” He asks, glancing back at Meira and sounding like he wishes he could hope, but he doesn’t. “I mean, this doesn’t exactly seem like demon MO… does it?”

Meira grimaces. “It’s not tempting mortals to sin, sure, but… they like to spread pain and suffering, death and destruction. It’s like a hobby.” She chirps, all dark humour.

“And this one’s hobby is plane crashes?” Dean demands incredulously. “That seems a little… I don’t know, modern.” He mutters, and Meira snickers. “Jesus. Okay. Evolving with the times or not, it’s still gotta be possessing someone right?” Meira nods when Dean’s eyes flicker to her in the mirror. “Great, so it could be anyone right now. How the hell are we gonna find this thing?” He asks, and Meira’s heart leaps into her throat. It’s stupid, she knows that Dean’s never done this before, but he’s her dad and he sounds overwhelmed and that scares her.

“Dean?” Sam asks, obviously picking up on the same thing. “What…?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know, man, this is kind of out of our league, don’t you think? Demon’s aren’t like the rest of the shit we hunt. Even wendigos, they still- there’s still rhyme and reason to what they do, you know? Demons, man…” He pauses and sighs, hands going white-knuckled on the wheel. “This is… this is big, Sam. I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah.” Sam agrees quietly, staring intently out of the wind-shield. “Me too.”

Meira swallows and doesn’t say ‘me three’, even though she really wants to. She wants all of her dads. She wants her grace free so that she’s not quite so helpless without them. “Hey.” She says, and ploughs on even though her voice shakes a little. “We can do this. Okay, it might be an entire order of magnitude bigger than a vengeful spirit, but it’s the same basics, right? So, how do we find our monster once we’ve figured out what it is?”

“We figure out what it wants.” Sam says practically. “Because that’s how we’ll know where it’s going to be.” Then he shakes his head. “But if all it wants is to cause plane crashes… I mean, do you have any idea how many flights take off from even just one state every day? There’s no way we could find it.”

That is a good point. Meira grimaces. She’s still trying to figure out how the hell they can do anything about this when Dean slams a flat palm against the wheel, making both her and Sam jump. “Son of a bitch.” He swears sharply, in a tone of revelation. “The survivors.”

Meira blinks. “Dean?” Sam asks, in equal bewilderment.

“The message, on the voice recorder. The demon, it said-”

“‘No survivors.’” Sam echoes. “But there were, there were seven.”

“Yeah, and if this were a vengeful spirit…” Dean trails off pointedly.

“It’d want to finish the job.” Sam realises, nodding along. Then he dives on the bag at his feet to pull out the list of passengers and survivors.

“It was gloating.” Meira interjects, a touch amused. “Prematurely. It’s gotta be so pissed it failed to kill everyone on that flight. I mean, talk about embarrassing.” Dean snorts. “So, now we know what it wants. Now we’ve just gotta figure out where it’s going to be.”

“Do you think…” Sam begins, tapping a finger rapidly on the side of the sheet with the survivors on it. “I mean, if it was a spirit, I’d say for sure, but… Do you think it’ll want to stick to killing them in plane crashes? Because that would be a way to narrow down who it’s going after next.” He points out.

“Sounds like a lead to me.” Dean agrees, and Sam immediately pulls out his phone and starts scanning over the list, before dialling a number.

“I mean, demons basically are vengeful spirits, just ramped up to a thousand on a scale of one to ten.” Meira muses to Dean while Sam hangs up and tries another. “So, yeah, some patterns of behaviour probably do carry over, at least a little.”

“That is so not comforting.” Dean mutters.

“Hey, Jerry, it’s Sam.” Sam greets. “I was just trying to get in touch with the pilot. You said he was a friend, so I thought you might-” He trails off, and then snaps “Dean.” so urgently that Dean automatically takes his eyes off the road to look over at him on high alert. “The pilot’s going up in less than an hour.”

“Shit.” Dean swears, and floors the gas.

“Look, Jerry,” Sam is saying into the phone, “is there any way you can get in touch with him, convince him not to go up?” A pause. “Please try. We’re on our way.” He hangs up, jaw tight. “How soon can we get to the airfield in Nazareth?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Dean announces, then somehow makes the Impala go even faster. “Forty minutes.”

“Okay, so we need to figure out how to get rid of a demon in forty minutes.” Sam states.

“Exorcisms?” Dean suggests.

“Do you know any by heart?” Sam retorts.

“I do.” Meira offers. It’s not exactly hard when one’s fluent in the language of angels and can invoke the name of god in it. Pretty much anything becomes an exorcism then. ‘Go away’ could count as an exorcism, as long as you followed up with ‘in the name of the lord’ or something similar. “Do we have any holy water?” She asks, not daring to hope.

“Uh, no.” Dean replies.

Meira winces, and amends her request. “Do we have water and a rosary?”

“Rosary is in the boot.” Dean tells her, while Sam retrieves a bottle of water from his bag. After about five minutes of bickering, Meira convinces him to pull over so that she can hop out and grab the rosary. Dean’s peeling out of the layby before she’s even got the door closed again, and then she screws the top off the bottled water, dumps the rosary inside, and sets about blessing it. She really, really hopes this works, and isn’t contingent on her grace being able to affect the world beyond her skin. She’s never officially been ordained or anything, but active grace or not, she’s still a fucking archangel.

“That should be holy water now.” Meira says once she’s done, handing the water back to Sam.

“Should?” Dean barks.

“I’ve never done this before, okay?” Meira shoots back, unable to keep a hint of defensive panic from her tone. “I have the qualifications for it, but I never thought I needed to check that it would work!” Dean pulls a face, but lets it go. Meira swallows down her fear. “You should- you should check on the others while we have the time.” She says to Sam, and he nods. He spends the drive going through the list of survivors and pretending to be a United Britannia Airlines survey. While he’s doing that, Meira calls Max, which turns into an impromptu explanation of how to identify demons.

By the time Meira’s off the phone, Sam’s gone through the rest of the survivors. “I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam states, hanging up the phone again.

“Given her job, I’d say that’s a bad sign.” Dean says dryly.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m going to call Jerry, see if he can tell me when she’s working next.” He explains, and then does just that. After a brief introduction, he gives Jerry the woman’s name, “Amanda Walker,” and waits a couple of minutes while Jerry does the research he can’t while he’s stuck on the highway. “Oh?” Sam says, an edge to his voice Meira really doesn’t like. “This evening? Look, Jerry-” A long pause. “No, I understand. Okay. Yeah, we’re on our way. Bye.”

“She’s working tonight?” Dean asks in dismay.

“Yeah. Flight leaves at eight. And there’s no way Jerry can ground the flight.” Sam adds in dismay.

Dean takes a bracing breath. “We’re just going to have to stop this son of a bitch before he can get that far.” He announces, and Meira tries to bolster her own confidence with his.

Nazareth, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

By the time they get to the airfield, there are already two men walking across the tarmac to a small plane. “Shit.” Dean swears, and they all fling themselves out of the car.

“Mr Lambert!” Sam calls as they jog over. Security inevitably tries to stop them, but Dean flashes a badge at them, almost too fast for them to see more than that it looks sort of official, but it is enough to get them past. “Mr Lambert!” Sam calls again, and one of the two men nudges the other, and he turns.

“Yeah?” The second man says, so he must be Jerry’s friend, the pilot.

Meira looks at the other one, who’s watching them with a sort of sceptical hostility. She holds her hand out to him. “Agent Meira Geyad.” She greets, watching him closely, but there’s no reaction except a raised eyebrow as he takes her hand. Oh, hell. She starts to turn, but then a fist meets her face with enough force to send her sprawling.

“Shit!” Dean swears.

“Chuck!” The other man shouts in horror. “Wha-” He’s cut off by an awful crunching noise that makes Meira’s stomach turn over in guilt. It’s followed by a splash, and the hissing of corruption being melted away by a holy blessing. Holy water worked then, thank God, Meira thinks dizzily, finally healing enough to look up.

The demon grabs for Sam, getting him by the throat, and Dean yells his name in desperation. Meira starts to spit out the simplest exorcism she knows, but before she can get more than three words in, the demon has dropped Sam and kicked her in the ribs hard enough to wind her. Hard enough to break ribs, actually, but those heal quickly like her fractured cheekbone did. It takes a little longer to catch her breath, and by then, the demon has abandoned its meatsuit, streaming out of Chuck Lambert’s mouth and leaving him to collapse to the ground.

“Jesus.” Dean breathes. “Sam?”

“Fine.” Sam rasps.

“Meira?” Dean checks, dropping to his knees beside her. “You alright?” Meira groans, and takes the hand he offers her, letting him haul her up into a sitting position. “I’m guessing that wasn’t how an exorcism is supposed to go.”

“No, it realised what I was trying to do and left before I could send it back to hell.” Meira huffs, rubbing at her side just to check that her ribs are back where they’re supposed to be.

“Why’d it flinch at your name?” Dean asks curiously.

“Ge-Iad is one of the names of God.” Meira explains.

“Never heard that one before.” Dean says, eyebrows rising. “I thought you used Christ to test for demons.”

“The more often the name is used without faith, the less power it holds over the demonic.” Meira replies. “You can amp it up by using a language like Latin, which is both dead and stuffed full of religious ritual by now, but, you have any idea how many people say ‘Jesus Christ’ as an invective, without a thought as to why they swear that way?”

“And Ge-Iad, that’s, what? Never used?” Dean asks.

“Never without the proper reverence.” Meira corrects, and then tips her head. “Until today.” She adds with a pointed look, which earns her the best devil-may-care grin in her dad’s arsenal.

“Guys.” Sam calls, solemn. “Chuck’s dead.”

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch.” Meira grouses, flopping back down onto the tarmac.

“Uh-uh. Come on, up.” Dean instructs, getting to his feet and holding out his hand again. “We’ve still gotta stop this son of a bitch before he brings another plane down.” Meira whines, but takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

“And we’ve got company.” Sam adds, as the airfield security descend on them.

Sam and Dean both look like deer in the headlights of a semi, so Meira takes charge. She orders security to inform the police of the incident, flashes her fake ID about, and then leaves with Sam and Dean on ‘important business’ before the police actually arrive. “Back to Allentown?” Dean checks, and Sam nods, already on the phone.

“I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam tells them several minutes later.

“We can’t let her get on that plane.” Dean insists.

Meira thinks about the fake IDs they’ve been using and has a really, really bad idea. She’s pretty sure Pabbi would approve. “I have an idea?” She offers. Sam turns to look at her, and she grimaces as she holds up her fake ID. “But… we’re going to need to look the part.”

Sam blinks once, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, no.” He says quickly. “No, there’s no way we can pull that off!”

“Why not?” Meira challenges.

“What?” Dean asks, glancing in the rear view mirror. “What’s the plan?”

“What’s TSA going to do if Homeland Security shows up and tells them there’s a terrorist on that plane?” Meira asks rhetorically.

Dean stares out the windshield for a long moment. “Okay. Monkey suits it is.” He says in a tone of resignation.

“And then what?!” Sam demands, a little hysterically, in Meira’s opinion. “We ground the plane, that’s great, and then we’re in the middle of an airport, surrounded by TSA, and we’re going to have to produce a terrorist for them!”

Meira shrugs. “Not necessarily. We just say we got a tip, or a suspicion that there might be, and when there isn’t, well, can’t be too careful in the pursuit of terrorists, right?” She points out. “We won’t even be lying if we tell them we have a suspicion that someone on board is planning to sabotage the flight. It’s true.”

“And how are we going to do an exorcism in the middle of all of this?” Sam demands.

“I’m not sure.” Meira huffs. “If it was just a case of getting the exorcism out, that would be one thing, but we have to make sure the demon sticks around for me to use it. Easiest way would be a devil’s trap, but it’d probably be a bad idea to go around scrawling pagan voodoo on the walls in front of TSA, huh?” She muses.

Dean snorts. “Okay, here’s the plan.” He says briskly. “Once we’ve got the plane grounded and all the passengers and staff isolated for interviewing or whatever, we’re going to insist on talking to everyone separately, and then whatever room they offer us, you two are going to keep everyone busy while I put a devil’s trap… on the ceiling, probably. Somewhere that’s not glaringly obvious, anyway.” He pauses, glancing back to make sure both Sam and Meira are on board. Meira nods enthusiastically, and Sam sighs in surrender. “Okay, so, what’s a devil’s trap look like?”

“Pentacle.” Meira answers easily. “You can make them more complicated, if you need to hold a stronger demon or a specific demon or you need to limit specific things within it, but… basic devil’s trap is just a pentagram in a circle.”

“Right, easy enough.” Dean agrees.

They stop to get suits at the first place they see. Dean looks hilariously uncomfortable, and Meira really wishes there was something she could say to help, but given that it’s a feeling that persists all the way through his life, she figures there’s not much anyone could say to make him feel better. “Should’ve got one with a waistcoat.” She says instead.

“Why the hell would I want extra layers of this bullshit?” Dean demands.

“Waistcoats are sexy as hell.” Meira informs him, smoothing down the front of her own.

Dean pauses and looks back at the shop with pained consideration. “Nope, no time.” Sam informs him. Dean makes a face at him, but doesn’t protest.

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

The plan goes off without a hitch. Meira knows that the most important part of pulling a prank like this is confidence, so she turns hers up to the max, channelling her pabbi and every archangel instinct she has, and TSA goes along with it. In fact, Meira is honestly a little shocked by how quickly everyone responds, until she remembers that, of course, it’s been four, not forty, years since the whole 9/11 thing. The flight gets grounded, TSA agents scurry about searching people and, helpfully, dragging them to and from the room they let the three of them conduct ‘interviews’ from. Meira is honestly having a ridiculous amount of fun, playing the scary Homeland Security agent looking for terrorists.

“You’re having fun.” Sam accuses under his breath, once they’re done with the passengers and about to get started on the staff.

Meira flashes him a wild, reckless grin. “I told you the prank opportunities were going to be glorious.” She murmurs back. Sam gives her an incredulous look, but doesn’t say more because the door is opening. Meira gives it a minute before she turns around, because if this is their demon, she doesn’t want to spook him before he’s sitting right on top of Dean’s devil’s trap, which he drew in magic marker on the bottom of the chair.

“I don’t see why this is-” The co-pilot cuts himself off when Meira and Sam turn around, his eyes flashing black as the demon loses control of itself for a brief moment in its shock. Or rage. Either one. “You again.” It hisses.

“Us again.” Dean says leaning back against the door.

The demon tries to lunge upwards, but the chair, conveniently bolted to the floor, doesn’t move, and the demon can’t leave it. It looks down, then back up again in outrage. “Who are you?” It demands, looking directly at Meira.

She smiles. “Zirdo zizop ol Ge-Iad, od lis ip darb ziri.” She informs it, and watches it recoil in horror with no little satisfaction.

“That’s not Latin.” Sam comments, looking at her in surprise.

“Nope.” Meira agrees cheerfully enough.

“You, though, you I know.” The demon adds, looking at Sam. He and Dean both go very still, staring intently. “I know what happened to your girlfriend, and if you let her do this, you’ll never find out why.” It taunts, a nasty smirk curling the host’s lips.

Sam stiffens. “Wait.” He says, and the demon grins.

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“What do you know about Jessica?” Sam demands.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you everything.” The demon promises.

Sam splashes holy water in its face, and it recoils with a yell, steaming. “Tell me, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what?” The demon spits, mocking. “What do you think you can do to me that’s worse than that?” It jerks its chin at Meira, who arches one eyebrow. “Let me go, or no deal.”

“Sam, we’re not letting this thing go.” Dean states. “It’s probably lying anyway.”

Sam’s free hand clenches into a fist. After a minute in which he doesn’t move, Meira gently pushes past him to stand in front of the demon. “Bols ma a’aiom, pa’aox il adohi ol Onsamir.” She instructs, and the demon hisses and thrashes, actually cracking the floor where the chair is bolted to it. Meira reaches out and puts a hand on the demon’s shoulder. It stills, tensing, staring at her with wide black eyes. “Niizo i etharzi, ammal, od yinay ma doal.” She says gently. “Oyi gohe Zire.”

Holy light suffuses the vessel, and the essence of the demon pours out of his mouth in the form black smoke even as it’s forced from this plane of existence, vanishing in midair.

Sam turns away and punches the wall. Dean watches him carefully, but when Sam just stands there, breathing hard, he goes to check the slumped co-pilot’s pulse. “He’s alive.” He reports. “So, do we need to carry on this farce, or can we just…?” He jerks his thumb at the door.

Meira takes a moment to hate the demon, because Sam’s mood is going to suck all the fun out of this. “I think we should finish. Let’s not give them a reason to get suspicious straight away, yeah?” She prompts, and Dean reluctantly nods, then shakes the co-pilot awake. He comes awake with a jolt, and immediately panics at the memory of the demon. “Calm down, you’re fine now.” Meira assures him.

“And if you want to stay fine, you’re going to act normal and not talk about this, or the nice TSA agents are going to arrest you for being a terrorist.” Dean adds, which doesn’t exactly help the guy’s fear, but it does redirect it nicely.

It’s a little tedious, going through the same rote questions with the rest of the staff, but there’s few enough left that Meira doesn’t mind. It’s worth it for the opportunity to bitch, in a restrained and professional manner, to the TSA agents about wild goose chases and bad information, and how she’s going to complain to her superiors about their lax fact-checking. The agents are so busy reminding her that ‘better safe than sorry’ and that it’s important work that they don’t even stop to wonder about a whole plane being delayed for what turned out to be nothing. Then the three of them are back in the Impala and driving away clean.

“We should have questioned the demon properly.” Sam says abruptly.

“Dude, Sam, seriously. It probably didn’t know jack shit.” Dean insists. “These things like to play with your mind, you can’t let it.”

“And even if it did know something, torturing information out of demons is hard, Sam. Not to mention ethically dubious given that the host suffers everything you do to the demon, too.” Meira points out, and Sam flinches, but his hard glare doesn’t waver. “Do you really think you can torture someone worse than Hell can, Sam? Someone innocent, just to find out what the demon riding their soul knows?”

Sam whips around to glare at her. “Yes.” He bites out, and then looks away, nausea twisting his expression. “No.” He capitulates. “I don’t-”

“Look, Sam. We will find this thing, alright? We will. And we don’t need to drag innocent people into it to do it. We’re better than that. Better than them.” Dean insists.

Meira smiles, bracing her elbows on the back of the front seats and lacing her fingers together to rest her chin on. “Damn straight.”

Marion, Indiana – Sunday 25th December 2005

It’s stupid, but it never occurred to Meira that Sam and Dean might not do Christmas. When she’d asked, a few days ago, Dean had just shrugged and said sure, they could do a present exchange this year, like that was optional. It’s only just sunk in, lying in the dark in a lonely motel room, that there just isn’t going to be Christmas this year.

No tree, no lights, no elaborate Santa traps, no cake for not-bro Jesus so entirely stuffed with candles that you could kill a wendigo with it, no trip to Scandinavia to have snowball fights in ancient pine forests, no stories of hunting pagan gods through the festivities. She’s alone, bound beneath her skin, with no possible way of finding out who did this to her, never mind what they did, or how to get home. She could pray to Pabbi, but he couldn’t answer, not without revealing himself to the Host, and she won’t do that to him, won’t force him to make that choice.

Midnight comes and goes, and the only way Meira knows is because she’s watching the shitty digital clock on the bedside table. She can’t feel the turn of the earth through the cosmos, can’t feel the ripples of time as billions and billions of humans make choices and change things. All she has is what’s trapped under her skin, and it’s nothing. Nothing compared to what she used to have. A family, and an entire universe to share with them.

Unable to bear it any longer, she rolls out of bed, gets dressed, and heads out. Once there, she goes to the vending machine and buys one of everything that looks like it has a cavity-inducing sugar-content, and carries it all over to the Impala. Then she hops up onto the hood, lies back, and starts in on her stash while watching the stars. “Hey, Granddad.” She says, out loud while opening up a pack of skittles, because who gives a fuck. “Looks like you’re the only family I’ve got for Christmas this year. Well, you and not-bro. How’s the garden, Josh? Sorry about no cake this year. It’d feel like… cheating, somehow, if I tried to get Sam and Dean to do it with me. Like I’m stealing something from their future, you know? Even if I bet Dean would get a kick out of it.”

She takes a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard not to cry. “You know, I always got why you fucked off, Granddad. Why you won’t interfere. I don’t think anyone else in my family really does. Except maybe Jace. He might’ve figured it out, but I bet he’s still stuck on the free will thing. That you won’t interfere because we’ve gotta do it ourselves, we’ve gotta make choices, and we can’t do that if the Father of all Father’s is looming over our shoulder. And that’s part of it, yeah, but it’s more than that, too, isn’t it?”

She has to sit up, because otherwise she’s going to choke on her own tears. Skittles spill across the hood of the Impala, and she doesn’t give a shit. “You won’t interfere because you love us. All of us, even the worst of us.” She says to the sky. “Even the actual devil. Even pond scum and slime mould and every last demon. Even me, even though I’m a blasphemy, an abomination, the devil reborn.” She pauses to gasp a few wet breaths. “I always knew, you know? You weren’t there, because you’re everywhere. But I don’t- Sorry, Granddad, but I don’t feel very loved, right now. I know you don’t like to- to interfere, but… but I could really use a miracle right about now, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

She waits, but of course nothing happens. The stars don’t move, the world doesn’t shift. There isn’t even a change in the wind. Meira smiles bitterly, blinking tears onto her cheeks, and pulls her knees up to wrap an arm around them and bury her face in them. She gasps for air and lets it out in silent screams, with nothing left to pray for. Somewhere in the motel, a door opens and footsteps crunch across gravel.

“Meira?”

Meira’s head jerks up. Dean is standing there, looking sleep-rumpled and a little bleary, squinting at her in concern. Then his gaze drops to the mess of sweets scattered around her, and he snorts. He shoves them more towards the middle of the hood so that he can hop up to sit beside her, and snags a pack of M&Ms out of the pile for himself. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, and there’s a veneer of carelessness to it, like it’s an idle question and he didn’t just find her bawling her eyes out in the middle of the night, but he’s asking, and he’s there.

Thanks, Granddad. Meira thinks, as she tips over sideways to drop her head onto her dad’s shoulder. “I miss them.” She says quietly. “Never done Christmas without them before. Didn’t realise… how hard it’d hit me ‘til I got here, and suddenly it’s like I’m the last person on earth, it’s so lonely.”

There’s a long silence, but Meira doesn’t mind. She just watches the stars, and retrieves a skittle, and then starts in on the haribo. After a while, Dean shifts, but only enough to get his arm free so that he can put it around her shoulders. Meira shudders with another sob, and is so desperately glad when he doesn’t take that as a sign that he shouldn’t have done it.

“I felt the same, after Sam went to Stanford. Me and Dad were hunting separate, and Sam was gone. I knew I could just drive to Palo Alto, and he’d be there, but… That felt further than the moon, when he’d chosen to be there, instead of here.”

Meira nods a little against his shoulder, to let him know she’s listening, and she understands. “Pabbi used to dress up as Santa.” She says, sniffling and trying to put a little cheer into her voice. Pabbi didn’t so much as dress up as Santa as conjure one out of the ether for them, actually, but close enough. “And he’d have this huge sack of presents, right? But he’d only leave one. The rest, he’d say, we had to get for ourselves.”

Dean bursts out laughing. “He made you steal from Santa?” He asks, delighted.

“No, he made us hunt Santa.” Meira corrects, laughing a little herself. “Traps and tricks. A present would magically fall out of the sack every time we scored a ‘killing blow’.” Dean gasps out a startled curse, laughing too hard for anything else.

Once he’s calmed down a bit, he wipes at his eyes, still chuckling, and steals a few of her haribo. “Man, we never did anything that fun.” Dean bemoans, but not too seriously. “Most of the time Dad wasn’t even there for Christmas, tell you the truth, since monsters don’t stop just ‘cause it’s Christmas. One year Sammy gave me this, though.” He adds, lifting a hand to snag the cord around his neck and lift an amulet out from under his t-shirt. “Best Christmas present ever. Though, if you tell him that, I’ll put itching powder in your underwear.”

Meira catches it in the palm of her hand to draw it closer. It’s dark, but as she peers at it, she recognises it, despite never having seen the actual thing before in her life. Recognises it from her dad’s and qaada’s stories, and from some deeper well of knowledge that’s from the part of her that should have been nothing more than the Angel of Thursday, the remix, and instead ended up a little bit archangel.

And maybe it’s just lingering body-heat, but it feels warm in Meira’s palm. She grins, and lets it fall. “It’s pretty awesome.” She agrees. “And my lips are sealed, I swear.”

Love you too, Granddad.

#Supernatural #time travel #next generation #original character #Supernatural retelling #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #SPN 1x04 #Phantom Traveler #Meira Winchester #Trapped in the Amber #I'm so sad I didn't get to include Amanda in this #Enochian is THE WORST #seriously #on a scale of 0 to Tolkien #Dee is about -4 with how well constructed his conlang is #there's NO consistent grammar #there isn't even consistent spelling #'no i's in the angelic alphabet' Dee says #and promptly spells ever other word with an i #STILL I DID MY BEST #So have some translations #'I am a vessel of the lord and you will obey me'#'be not amongst us and return to your kingdom of hell'#'go in peace demon and do no harm'#'thus sayeth the lord'#Is Meira praying to Chuck when she prays to her granddad?#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#Idk I like Prophet!Chuck and God!Chuck about the same tbh #I'm leaning towards Prophet!Chuck for this

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deadinsidedressage · 4 years ago

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Have you watched the great? How "sometimes true" is it?

Hi so first of all I took a muscle relaxer because I've pulled a muscle in my back so this might loose coherence.

Most of what I saw of it in trailers was inaccurate.

It seems they're trying to model Peter III more like the infamous very "Russian" antics of Peter I (Peter the Great) instead of having any accurate portrayal of him.

Peter III did not speak Russian as a first language or even with any fluency at the time Catherine was married to him. His mother was the daughter of Peter the Great but his father was a German duke whose family was ruling Denmark at the time. As such, Peter III was very non-Russian. He self-identified as German and his mother was part of the wave of "Western educated" nobles that greatly destabilized Russia. For one, many Russian nobles such as Catherine Petronova (Peter III's mom) spoke French as a first language, German as a second, and then finally maybe Russian as a third. Peter the Great had sought to bring Western innovations to make Russia a stronger nation but instead the royal families of Western Europe took this invitation to engage with Russia (and literally engage Russian nobles) as a way in which to slowly break the nation down. If you can marry their royals with your royals... well suddenly everyone is a German noble and you can successfully consolidate power under one European empire. Do make note that Peter the Great would have absolutely loathed Peter III and his father Charles Frederick. The entire reason we got Peter III in power in the first place was because while Peter the Great fucked (2 wives, 14 kids) he didn't successfully fuck enough to have a son outlive him to rule--- and precisely that he wasn't dying fast enough was why his eldest son Alexei briefly fucked off to Austria (so I mean no throne for you) before dying (mmmm dying from torture basically at the hands of his dad lol).

Peter the Great's immediate successor was Catherine I (his wife) as Russian has generally always operated under Tsar & Tsarina "co-rule"--- debatable how involves most tsarinas are while their husband lives but does set the precedent that should the Tsar die his wife will rule until the next in succession is old enough to take over. Catherine's death then put into power Empress Elizabeth (Peter I's eldest daughter) who by all historical accounts was a pretty solid Tsarina. Well though some stupid people will tell you Elizabeth had to stage a coup to gain power from 2 month old Ivan VI, son of her uncle Ivan V who had once upon a time co-ruled with Peter the Great before dying (possibly purposefully assassinated by his brother). Ivan V was entirely blind and senile by age 27... It was assumed that either Ivan VI would inherent these traits OR was actually illigitimate--- Ivan V was... Perhaps never all there enough to consummate his marriage. At any rate, Elizabeth had Ivan VI moved to a secure palace where he'd be allowed to live out his life under strict orders for him to be killed should anyone ever try and use him as a tool in a coup. It was the 1700s what do you want from me.

Elizabeth was Peter the Great's eldest daughter and was assumed even before Alexei's death to have some potential as a successor--- as such her education reflected it. It wasn't uncommon at all for the Russian throne to go to the eldest sister of a Tsar if he was childless, so eldest daughters were often given special tutors. She successfully navigated the War of Austrian Succession and the Seven Years War. Unfortunately, her fiancé died before her marriage AND as she was unmarried & at the time childless she could not gain a husband before her mother died and she took the throne. Yeah dudes in 1727 sucked ass and were like lmao an UNMARRIED, CHILDLESS EMPRESS OF RUSSIA??? 0/10 unfuckable her nephew is the heir apparent & there's not a high change to knock her up with a boy before he'd be able to claim the throne. 🙃

WHO WAS ELIZABETH'S NEPHEW? PETER THE FUCKING THIRD! Son of Mr. Exiled to Russia for Trying to Overthrow His Uncle as King of Sweden and Mrs. I Was Never Assumed to Have Any Political Worth By My Father So He Didn't Really Care What I Did.

As I said before, Peter III identified as a German and didn't speak fuck all Russian. He acted like a German prince and really wanted to BE a German prince. Enter Catherine II (Catherine the Great) a Prussian (is she more technically Austrian than German? who fucking remembers) princess. Empress Elizabeth actually was responsible for the matching of Catherine to Peter III. She knew that Russian needed a strong Austrian alliance since Peter III's reign would be highly scrutinized (and exploited) by the still pissed off Swedes. Catherine (then Sophie, nicknamed Fike) came from a reportedly abusive and cold mother to Russian to be wed to a drunken baby bitch boy who played with toys. Princess Joanna (Catherine's mother) immediately became a huge pain in the ass when she recognized that according to Russian custom her daughter could become Empress. Joanna was actually BANNED FROM RUSSIA FOR SPYING IN BEHALF OF THE AUSTRIAN EMPEROR by Empress Elizabeth following Catherine's arrival there. Catherine also was famously deathly ill upon her arrival to Russia and would have continued to worsen if she'd followed the medical advise prescribed by Joanna (who was anti-bloodlettting). Joanna sent a Lutheran pastor to hold a final confession for Catherine assuming she'd die and Catherine famously turned him away in favor of the Orthodox father attending to her. Empress Elizabeth fucking loved that shit. Upon getting well, Caterine converted to Orthodoxy (both her parents where BIG MAD) at which point she took the name Екатерина Алексеевна (Ekaterina Alekseyvna/ Catherine "daughter of Alexei")--- now when non-Russians take fake patronymics it's usually the russified version of their father's name or a variant of Vladimir but I've seen theorized Alexei may have been the Orthodox Father's name and I think that's more fun anyway.

Catherine hated Peter but she loved Elizabeth (mostly because of the fuck your mom be a strong woman like me) and immediately threw herself into becoming deserving of the Russian throne. She practiced her Russian lessons so long and with such frequency that she actually gave herself pneumonia. Peter though did not make the moves to he deserving off the Russian throne. He was a Lutheran, he hardly spoke Russian, and insisted on spending as much time with Germans as possible. Once his rule began he was even devising a way to give as much Russian terrority to the German royal family as possible.

Can you even believe?

Catherine had won the favor of the advisors around her husband quickly as no one loves a weak Tsar and was able to stage a coup and froce Peter III to abdicate about 6 months into Peter's actual reign. Peter III died later... Potentially in an assassination potentially not. Catherine also potentially had Ivan VI assassinated or maybe he died in a failed coup attempt by people who wanted a controllable Tsar who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️.

At any rate, no the show doesn't look accurate. I appreciate that they've taken the stance that it's not supposed to be either. There's a lot about the ways Catherine has been portrayed in media & by historians that smacks of sexism--- you often see her touted as being a huge slut who fucked her way into power but that entirely ignores that fact that she was an extremely well educated woman who got into and held power for so long by her OWN MERITS. She also was extremely dedicated to following in Peter the Great's footsteps in bringing positive aspects of Westernization to Russia without degrading the Russian culture as lesser. She never lost her Austrian accent when she spoken Russian, she was always more comfortable reading in French, and French was often the first language of her children BUT she is essentially responsible for the creation of Russia's art culture and Russian nobility actually being Russian in culture if not through ethnicity/nationality. She also did some of the largest expansions of the empire in her time which you know is good or bad depending which point you're arguing from.

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tendertenebrosity · 5 years ago

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Part 12. Previous: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven)

Lian lost track of some time after that.

They didn’t really know how they had made it from the gardens back into the private areas of the palace. Nevertheless, there they were, sitting in what seemed to be one of the private bathing rooms. The blood was slowly drying against their skin, tacky clumps on their forearms, their hands, sticking their hair to their neck and face. It made them feel dizzy and shaky to think about that, so they tried to stop.

They heard whispering around them, servants conferring. Perhaps they thought that Lian couldn’t hear, or wasn’t listening. They were mostly right. It would have taken effort to turn the murmuring into words and follow who was saying what, and Lian just couldn’t summon it.

Lian hadn’t needed or wanted help bathing and dressing themselves since they were small. But they sat there, on a small stool, and allowed people to divest them of the blood-soaked robe, and sponge the worst of the blood from their skin, and rinse their long dark hair in a basin of warm water. They knew they ought to be doing something, saying something, but it was all just so hard.

After a while the murmuring died down and the room seemed less crowded. Lian was, faintly and tiredly, glad of that.

The room smelled of blood. Lian didn’t like it but it didn’t occur to them to try and move away or make it stop. They sat there, inhaling the coppery smell, feeling light and empty. Empty except for the miserable knowledge that they had made a huge, horrible mistake, and it could never, ever be made right. What was the point of doing anything?

What murmuring was left seemed to be only two people, and some of it resolved into words.

“There. Lean forward, child.” Hands gently pressed against Lian’s shoulders and they let themself be moved.

They would regret being this quiet soon, they knew. There was always something Lian needed to be doing, and currently they weren’t doing anything, and that meant they had to be neglecting something important. They thought they could feel some core of themselves yelling and crying at them to get up, move, do something - but that urgency felt very far away and they were, selfishly, a little glad of that.

“That’s it. Bring me the towel, they’re shivering. ”

Somebody was shivering? Lian considered that while their hair and shoulders were patted dry. Odd, because it wasn’t cold. They looked down and realised that their hands, newly clean, were trembling. Oh. It’s me.

“Here we go,” the voice prompted them, gentle but very firm. “You’re going to put this on, now. You’ll catch your death sitting around like this.”

“Grandmother, should you - ”

“Hush. I know what I’m doing.” The voice was almost sing-song, slightly cracked. “Come on, what did I say? Sit up, now, here’s your robe. Help me get this onto them, yes, that one. Moving on, child, let’s get you dressed.”

Cloth met Lian’s hands, soft and dry against their fingertips. They closed their hand in it vaguely, looking down at their lap. A robe, yes, they should put something on. They could probably just about manage to do that, since the person who’d helped them bathe wanted them to, and it was a good idea anyway. They really couldn’t sit around unclothed.

“There now,” the cracked voice said, and for the first time it registered with Lian that she hadn’t addressed them as Ruler or your highness. “Lift your arms, child. Over your head. That’s it.”

Lian blinked, lifted their arms obediently. Nobody had spoken to them like this in… over a year, probably much longer. Not since they had taken the throne, certainly. The softness of the material went over their head.

Once they had emerged from the neck hole of the garment, they looked around properly for the first time since being brought inside. A bathing room, yes, with tubs of water and the smells of herbs and soap, and two women in the clothing of palace servants. The woman helping them dress was old, her greying hair pulled up with flowers and her eyes bracketed by laugh-lines.

“There you are,” she said.

“I… yes,” Lian whispered, understanding what she meant. “Thank you.” They stood up, slowly and shakily, and their hands automatically went about the movements of wrapping and tying the robe securely around themself. It was one of their old ones - well-made but simple, in the traditional style that Lian wasn’t allowed to wear around the Empress.

Of course. That was right. The…

“The Empress,” Lian exclaimed. “Aren’t I - oh, I’m supposed to be somewhere!” Slowly, sluggishly, panic started to rise in their throat. They fussed with the clothing, not sure if they had to time to change it or if they should rush off now. Would the time it took to change make her angrier than seeing them dressed like this? “I need to - oh, she’ll be angry if I - ”

“Sit down, child,” the old woman said sternly. “It’s all right. She is not here. And good riddance!”

Lian turned a wild look on her. “But - But -”

“Sit down. Or stay standing if you like, but no rushing anywhere!” The old woman shook her head. “Young folk, dashing hither and thither. No cause for it. Sit a while.”

“She’s meeting with her generals,” the other woman in the room interjected softly. When Lian turned to look at her, she blushed and dropped her gaze. “It’s true, highness, she’ll be gone for several hours. She didn’t want you to be there. She said she expected you at the dinner this evening.”

Lian looked between them, confused, guilty, desperately wanting to believe that it was true, that they didn’t have to rush back to the Empress’ side. They sank back down onto the closest dry surface they could see, the wooden bench by the side of the room.

“I have a few hours,” they echoed. They folded their arms, hugging them against their body. They were still shivering, they noticed, and their heart seemed to be doing something strange, caught between rapid panicky racing and the same lassitude that had gripped them earlier. They felt like each beat was shaking their chest. The images from earlier resurfaced in their mind: a body folding and hitting the floor, not even time to scream or beg or comprehend what had happened. The ease, even satisfaction, in the line of the soldier’s arm as he raised the whip. Their fingers, pressing and grasping uselessly at the blood-soaked ruin of a stranger’s throat. They propped their head up on their hands, wet hair falling about their face.

“Now,” the old woman said, hopping up to sit beside Lian. “You aren’t silly enough to believe her, are you? About it being your fault.”

Lian frowned, pulled away. But they found it surprisingly difficult to be offended. She was talking to Lian like they were her own child, or grandchild, and part of Lian soaked it up like parched sand.

“It is my… my responsibility,” they said eventually. “That’s what being Ruler means. It means I need to… to…” They found their throat drying up. They curled up on themselves, arms folded around their stomach. They thought about the servant’s face as he’d looked to Lian, eyes alight with devotion. Had Lian ever done anything in their life to deserve that? It wasn’t enough to simply be born and inherit the title. It needed to be part of you, it needed to be everything to you, or you had no right to claim anybody’s loyalty. Rulers did not whine about things not being their fault, they took the responsibility of fixing it.

“I’m all people have,” they croaked eventually. “I’m the only one that can make a difference. And when I don’t, people die.”

This was far from the first death Lian had witnessed since the invasion started. It wasn’t even the most horrible. So why…

They dragged in a long breath, and lowered their head to their knees, making a long, low, miserable noise.

They felt a small, strong hand on their back, rubbing in slow circles. They felt like they didn’t deserve it - they were not the one who had died today, or lost loved ones, or been tortured. This old woman wasn’t even family, that Lian had the right to expect comfort from her. But they would take it, if she wanted to give it. Simple human contact, their familiar clothes, the chance to cry where nobody could see them - these little things wouldn’t make things better in any real sense, but Lian would take them.

“It isn’t your fault,” she said brusquely, “And it isn’t the fault of those poor folks who died, and it isn’t the elf’s fault. Leave all of the blame where it belongs. With them, and her.” She patted Lian on the shoulder one last time.

Lian sniffled. They wanted to say, I’ll try, or maybe it’s not that simple. But talking was, just then, too difficult.

The old woman had left when Lian next looked around. They hadn’t the faintest idea who she was - and that, they thought bleakly, was probably for the best. Being known and valued by Lian wasn’t very good for anybody’s wellbeing.

Even though it was the middle of the day, the rest of the staff Lian seemed to have gathered shepherded them to their bedroom. They didn’t object. They curled up under clean covers, running their hands over and over the smooth cotton and their arms, and slept.

Rylior sat up, blearily, at the sound of someone moving around in his rooms. He swore he had only lain down for a moment to rest his eyes, and yet he could tell it was hours later. His rooms were finely appointed enough not to be offensive, but Rylior was pretty sure they had been placed in a side wing of the palace in order to make it as inconvenient as possible to get to official functions. Elisandre had shot herself in the foot if so, because it made it a lot easier for Syllea to sneak in and out.

He made his way out to the sitting room to see Syllea making herself a mug of tea.

“Guerrilla freedom fighters keep late hours, I take it,” he said, leaning in the doorway and picking sleep crust from his eyes.

She glanced upwards. “I told you you shouldn’t wait up. You’ll ruin your nice going-to-concerts-with-mass-murdering-despots outfit.”

Rylior plucked at an artful ruffle with two fingers. It was sadly rumpled. “Oh, this? Nothing, just a little something I threw together,” he said archly. “Good taste would be wasted here in any case.”

Syllea said nothing, but proceeded to add another mug to her preparations.

“So?” Rylior prompted her. “Any success?”

She handed him the mug. “You first.”

Rylior sighed. “Nothing,” he said. “No book. No message. No Ruler.”

She nodded, taking the news with equanimity. Rylior himself tried not to be too disappointed. He had hoped that Ruler Lian might bring him the book back at the concert tonight, but he hadn’t banked on it. The important thing was that they had the book, and the knowledge that they could send a message to Rylior any time they wanted to.

He took a long swallow of tea. “Yours?”

She dropped gracefully onto the lounge without so much as stirring the surface of her tea. “I managed to get a meeting with this Black Kite.” She stifled a yawn. “Took long enough, but you can’t blame them for paranoia.”

“You think he’s the real deal, then?” Rylior asked.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “I think he is. He’s got… how do you put it? Presence?”

“Hmm.” If I was a resistance leader meeting with a foreigner I didn’t trust, he thought, I might ask a suitably imposing-looking underling to pretend to be me for a while.

“You know, like the Queen,” Syllea added, and Rylior understood what she meant. Not all great leaders had that spark, but if they did, he wasn’t sure it could be faked by someone else.

“Anyway, he’s interested in further talks,” Syllea said. “Cautiously, of course. These people haven’t survived this long by making rash decisions.”

“Excellent,” Rylior said. “I’ll send my report to Her Excellency tomorrow.”

Syllea sipped her tea. “I did overhear some interesting comments,” she said. “Sounds like they’re planning something. For next week, before all of these officials from the motherland head back home.”

Rylior considered that, and hissed gently. “Could be interesting,” he said.

“Could be a bloodbath,” Syllea corrected. “Obviously the Black Kite didn’t let me see the extent of his people, but I highly doubt he can be hiding enough to make a serious dent in the Imperial army.”

“Hmm. See what you can find out.”

She gave him a lazy salute, then tipped back on the lounge, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Tomorrow. Blow out the light on your way back to bed.”

#ruler and empress #Lian #Rylior #Syllea #comfort #angst #bathing #dissociation #trauma #aand some plotty stuff as well #self-doubt #guilt #self-loathing #my stuff

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catflowerqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Sableye Backstory

So here’s that backstory I promised you all months ago now… and which I worked on instead of writing the actual paper I have due this week….

I’m going to go ahead and refer to the sableye by name throughout the narrative for ease of understanding, but none of them actually had individual names until some varying point after meeting Laura.

General Backstory:

This will also have to be split in several parts, since the six sableye that I lovingly refer to as the “Sableye Gang” actually started out as two distinct groups. Sort of.

Technically speaking, all six sableye and their families were originally part of a bigger clan/tribe of sableye, so they spent part of their early life together. They all had varied relationships to their blood relatives, but the six of them were always very close, and good friends with each other. They had their squabbles, of course, but more in the manner of close siblings—even though only Seis and Trois are actually related by blood. Or at least, they have the closest blood relationship—some of the others could probably be considered cousins, if only distantly, considering how tight-knit the clan used to be, but no one really bothered to do any sort of genealogical study to confirm that, nor do they really care either way. They’re all around the same age, with Cinq being the oldest and Trois the youngest—the age difference between the two of them probably isn’t any bigger than three years or so, however.

The leader of this clan was Seis and Trois’ grandfather. After his death, when the eldest of the gang (Cinq) was around six or seven, there was a schism in the group over which of the grandfather’s two sons should be the next leader. Ultimately, Seis and Trois’ uncle would win—and he ended up banishing the families that opposed him, so the gang was split up when Seis and Trois’ family was forced to leave. I’ll call this group “Group One,” because even though it’s the smaller of the two groups, it makes a bit more sense chronologically speaking to talk about this group first as far as Seis and Trois are concerned.

Group One

This group did not fare well at all. They were smaller in number, and couldn’t take on bigger groups of pokémon, or strong solitary pokémon, and so often lost fights over food/territory. It wasn’t long before their leader—Seis and Trois’ dad—decreed that in order to survive, they needed to get rid of the dead weight. By this, he meant the kids—including his own sons. Luckily for the duo, however, their mother loved them very, very much and protected them, covering their escape. But she was severely injured in the process, and didn’t survive long. Her sons kept her chest gem as a memento, and then buried her before moving on and trying to make a life of their own. The safest thing for them was to keep moving and work on speed (and acting skills, in Seis’ case), since they’d already seen the results of what happened when a too-small, too-weak group tried to assert dominance—and they had the added handicap of being children. They managed fairly well for themselves for a year or two… until Trois got really, really sick when Seis was around 8-9 years old. So sick, in fact, that Seis feared he would die, especially since he didn’t have any medical training and didn’t know how to help.

Luckily for them… when Seis was out looking for some clean water to at least try and keep his brother comfortable, he ran into the Little Imp, who was out with Dusknoir on a sort of reconnaissance mission, and he convinced her to help. She basically bullied Dusknoir into going out and getting medicinal fruits and things—either by gathering them himself in the future or getting Dialga/Celebi to send him into the past to get some (because at this point I’m not entirely sure whether or not Little Imp and Celebi had their brief meeting that forced Celebi into moving away from Grovyle and closer to Dialga, where he could keep a watch over her). With her help, Trois manages to recover—though he’ll always have some health/physical development issues stemming from this incident. The only reason that she doesn’t adopt them on the spot is that Seis’ acting skills are so great, even at this stage, that he convinces her that he is way older than he actually is, and that this illness was a freak occurrence and the two do just fine by themselves usually—he totally has everything handled.

He does NOT have everything handled, but the two adults kind of scare him a little (or a lot) despite how helpful they’ve been—Little Imp because of her intensity and how genuine she is in her kindness and caring (since its something he hasn’t seen since his mother passed away) and Dusknoir because he’s just being his typical suspicious and intimidating self—and Seis fooled him as far as ages go, too. He would have probably toned things down at least a little had he known Seis was a child, and not just Trois, he would have toned things down a bit—given his own backstory, he’s always been pretty good with children. Though, granted, the children he’s most familiar with were actually fairly well-adjusted, considering the circumstances.

In any case, despite him not having nearly as good a grip on things as leads everyone he’s ever interacted with to believe, he actually managed fairly well after this incident.

Group Two:

This group consisted of the remaining four sableye and their families. They mostly kept the same lifestyle that they’d had up until this point, as the group was still fairly large. Nothing major happened with them for roughly four or five years. But when the kids were around 9-10… the group’s leader made a humongous mistake that changed the course of their lives.

Safe spaces to hide and rest are at a premium in the dark future, even for an experienced group like the sableye clan, so when they come across a cave—complete with a sort of door mechanism guarding the entrance—that looks untouched, despite being very well-hidden and near a grove of fruit trees… they decide to try and make it their new base for a while. But the fact that it was so untouched despite being in such a great location should have set off some major warning signals, because shortly after the adults start trying to force the door open… an absolutely furious Dialga shows up. Apparently, this location was the equivalent of a holy place, and Dialga does not take well to the perceived desecration. He starts a massacre, going so far as to actually ignore and push aside the Little Imp—who had been frantically trying to catch up to him and then stop him—and then the next thing the kids know, all the adults are dead. The only reason the kids survive is that the Little Imp shields them with her own body—going so far as to gather the absolutely freaked out kids in her arms and then turn her back to Dialga so that he wouldn’t be able to push her aside again—and then makes a desperate plea and tries to bargain with him. Dialga is too far gone to listen to reason—but he’s apparently still able to parse through plans of vengeance.

Dialga is mad because the adult sableye were trying to break into a location that’s extremely precious to her, right? So if anyone deserves the right to punish the sableye, it would be her. But simply killing them is a waste, when there are more productive things that could be done—like making them into an object lesson for anyone else foolish enough to cross Dialga. And what good is an example if it can only be shown off once? Especially in this crazy world, where people are liable to forget things if they aren’t constantly exposed to it. So even though she absolutely hates the phrasing and implications, the Little Imp finally manages to secure the lives of the four kids by, essentially, putting them under her control and trading their lives for their freedom. It’s the only thing that makes the slightest bit of sense to Dialga, even though he hasn’t quite been appeased by the carnage he already wrought. In his mind, they owe the Little Imp everything—not because she spared their lives, but because they tried to ruin something that belongs to her, so she is owed repayment of some sort. Even if they didn’t actually do anything, and the whole thing was an accident.

��But the Little Imp hates it, absolutely hates it, because she doesn’t want the kids to feel like they owe her anything, or that they have to be servants. She just wants them to live, and to be able to be kids. But she knows that because of what Dialga just did and said, and because of what the world in general is like… that can’t happen. Especially not now.

Still, despite the unfortunate implications and the trauma, she—and Dusknoir—try to help the kids and raise them the best they can. She doesn’t feel like she can really be a mother figure to them (which is why she never attempts to give any of them names—along with the fact that, as an adult, she actually has the chance to learn about pokémon naming conventions in general, and how some just don’t give specific names to their kids, for various reasons [such as in Dusknoir’s family, where the tradition is that the eldest child of the family remains unnamed in order to “carry on the family name/line/etc.” while all subsequent children get their own name. So Dusknoir, as the eldest, only has his species name while his younger brother, who remained a duskull, did get an actual name]), and she actually feels kind of awkward around them given the technicalities surrounding their situation… but she still tries. And it eventually starts to work—at least, a little. Their relationship is extremely complicated, and they still think of her and Dusknoir as more their bosses/masters than anything like a family… but they become extremely fond of her. They come to adore her, really, and feel safe enough to express the fact that they’re extremely grateful that she saved them—even if they don’t really get why she did. But before she can try to teach them more, or get them to understand their own worth—or the fact that they’re allowed to be angry that she couldn’t do more for them, that she chose this option rather than trying harder to change Dialga’s mind—she dies. This takes place when the eldest of them is around 12-13… and they, along with Dusknoir and Dialga, are absolutely devastated. Also a bit afraid, since she was basically their shield from Dialga’s wrath… but mainly they’re devastated.

None of them even considers running, event though they probably could have completely escaped during this time of distraction, so they’re still kind of awkwardly mulling around in confusion and grief when Dialga finally regains himself enough to start plotting about kidnapping the Little Imp’s successor. Dusknoir is just as confused and grief-stricken as everyone else, but he also has enough age and sanity to be able to keep ahold of himself and make his own plans and realizes that, given how unhinged Dialga is at the moment, the sableye are in a very precarious position, because their connection to the Little Imp was the only thing keeping his master’s eyes off them. So he quickly takes full control of them himself, telling Dialga that it’s only until the Little Imp’s successor comes of age and can decide what she wants done for herself. Plus, they can still be effective bodyguards as she grows up. Given the nature of the Little Imp, and Laura’s connection to her (and, thus, to the cave that is at the root of this whole mess), Dialga agrees to this pretty readily. Also, he’s half distracted with making preparations and trying to wrest enough control/power from Palkia to be able to open another portal to the human world.

The sableye are pretty on board with this board with this plan, mostly because they don’t really know what else to do, and are fully prepared to take on the role of guard duty/whatever Dusknoir tells them to do—in part because it really isn’t too different than what they were already doing. They and Dusknoir were expecting the new human to be an adult—because, again, only Dialga for sure what is meant by “successor”—and the fact that Earth and the Pokémon world are in different universes means that time doesn’t necessarily sync up exactly between the two [even without the mess that comes from the fact that time is currently messed up in the Pokémon world], so just because… let’s say, ten years or so have passed in Dialga’s perspective from the Little Imp coming to his world to her death, it doesn’t mean ten years have passed on Earth. It could have been twenty. Or a hundred. Or less than month. And by that same token, just because three-ish years passed on Earth from the time Laura was born to when she was kidnapped doesn’t mean that it took that same amount of time back in the Pokémon world. So even though the timing on the Rainbow Child’s personal timeline would imply that the sableye should be around 16-17 or so when they met her next incarnation, by the time they meet Laura they’re all still around the 13-14 they were when the Little Imp died.

So while the gap in age between them in Laura is still a bit large… it isn’t large enough that they aren’t all still basically kids. They’re more on equal footing—and Laura looks at them as friends and guardians more than anything else. The baggage isn’t there on either side, and they can befriend each other without worry—and, actually, the sableye are more or less encouraged to befriend Laura, because friends are what she wants and needs—and their job as her bodyguards is to keep her as happy and safe as possible. So they get to come to like her and be her friends and adore her as much as they want, without worrying overly much about what others think—though they still have to maintain a bit of “professionalism” in order to avoid ticking off Dialga, and they all know that, technically speaking, Laura is their actual boss—even if they’re listening to Dusknoir for now.

In any case, once Laura comes into Dusknoir/Dialga’s care, things proceed pretty much like she told everyone in Relatia’s Cave. The groups wouldn’t meet again for roughly 5-6 years after Laura makes her escape and befriends Grovyle.

The Convergence of the Groups:

As I said earlier, despite the bluffing that Seis managed to pull off in regards to his actual competency level, he and his brother still managed things fairly well and eventually grew strong enough that they didn’t have to be in panic mode all the time, and could actually chill out and take things a bit slower. He was also able to reflect on things a bit more and decide that the Little Imp probably really was just that kind and genuine, and he probably owed her some sort of debt—or at least a more genuine thank-you. He came to the decision in part because Seis kept asking him for stories about the strangers who helped him back then, since he was really out of it and has no recollection of the events. The two of them (though, mostly Seis, really) decide to try and find her again, working off vague clues that Seis half-remembers about her being important to someone with a high status, and the two of them utilize Seis’ acting skills to gather more information eventually come into contact with Dusknoir again. To their utter shock and joy, when they finally do find him, it also brings them back into contact with their childhood friends—who are quick to assimilate them into their group once more. The two of them actually meet up with the group first before coming into contact with their boss. Dusknoir does not recognize them as the duo he’d helped before given that Seis is acting completely different now—or, rather, he isn’t acting, for once—and he didn’t actually get a good measure of Trois given the whole “riddled with illness” thing he had going on the last time they met. Seis elects not to bring it up—because while he was swapping stories with his friends on the way to go ask if they could formally join the group, he learned that the Little Imp had since passed away. He was devastated, of course, since it meant he never got the chance to formally and fully thank her for the fact that his brother is still alive. But Dusknoir hasn’t gotten any less intimidating since the last time he saw him, and considering how close the two were, he’s a little afraid of mentioning her at all in fear of how he might react—that, and he doesn’t want to bring up any sad memories for his friends, since they were really close to her as well. So no one but Trois actually knows that the two of them met her as well, and since Trois can’t actually remember it, he isn’t quite as impacted on the personal level that the others are.

Seis had already planned to join up with his friends in their work for a lack of anything else better to do, plus the fact that it provided more support and stability, and Trois was of course going to follow his brother, but, privately, Seis also decided to join for the sake of Laura—as the Little Imp’s successor (in more ways than anyone other than Dialga and possibly Dusknoir realize at this time), Seis figures that the debt he has towards the Little Imp transfers over to her. …And he guesses he technically owes Dusknoir a debt to, and this does help to fulfill that one as well, but… honestly, it’s more for pragmatic reasons that he elects to stay on the guy’s good side since, again, he’s kind of terrifying. The better bonus to the situation would be that his friends like Laura, and he likes his friends, so helping her helps them as well.

Given his complicated feelings on the matter of the Little Imp, and the way he’s transferred them onto Laura, one might assume that a better way to repay that debt would be to actually help her in her quest directly—but at this point in time, the fact that she and Grovyle are trying to change the past is more of a side note to the fact that she just straight up ran away from home. No one really realizes yet that changing the past will lead to their nonexistence, so they’re more concerned with the fact that she’s constantly putting herself into dangerous situations—which is an undeniable truth, since… yeah, she is. And since he hasn’t spent any actual time with her, he and Trois don’t have the same conflicted feelings that some of the others might have in regards to the reasons why she’s doing what she’s doing. By the time that they figure out the ramifications for their existence if she and Grovyle manage to succeed in their plans… well, he still hasn’t spent quite enough time with her to feel as conflicted as, say, Dos does, but he is fond of her for her own merits—rather than simply for that tenuous sense of obligation carrying over from the Little Imp—and has silently decided that he’s going to try and get to know her better/cheer her up and be as good of a friend as she’ll let him be once she’s captured for good. Or, at the very least, he’s going to make sure that she’s as physically protected as she can possibly be, since he can’t see her being too happy with the actual outcome of getting captured.

That’s the basic backstory (though their ages are prone to flux as I pinpoint down exact dates and things, and how old they all feel in canon compared to how old it would reasonably make sense for them to be able to do things while still being able to keep close enough to Laura’s young age that it wouldn’t be weird for her to think of them and Grovyle as friends/older brothers)—but I do want to get into one last thing before signing off. Namely, how the sableye all got their names. Two of these stories have already been posted, but I’m not sure if I’ll end up doing specific ones for the rest, so I’ll just go ahead and list them here, in the order they were named.

1. Dos: Laura gave him a name after the two of them bonded over painting when he was guarding her cell. She did it for a silly reason, and almost on an impulse, really, after she realized that the two of them had painted portraits of each other—meaning that there were now “two” of them, although she only pointed out her own painting in that explanation. There’s no real reason she decided to give him the Spanish translation of the number, aside from maybe her thinking that since it was in a different language than either of them typically spoke, it would sound more like a name. And “Dos” was less confusing for her to spell out than “Deux.”

2. Cinq: She named him in guilt, after he got extremely injured picking her a bouquet of five flowers. Again… she thought that the foreign language sounded more like a name than the English/pokémon equivalent translation (which is still technically English, but no one realizes/calls it that since their written language has, for some reason, evolved way beyond that to become pretty much unrecognizable. Is that how linguistics actually work? Probably not, but that’s what I’m going with). She chose French this time because, for whatever reason, she just thought that “Cinq” sounded more elegant/better than “Cinco” for a name.

3. Un: Named because he was the first pokémon she ever saw, as he (along with Cinq) was one of the ones who came with Dusknoir to kidnap her from Earth. Since she’d already given two of the sableye names at this point, she just decided to go ahead and do the others as well—though she hadn’t realized that she was establishing a theme of numbers. They just sort of… happened, because they fit the situations she was naming them for. As with Cinq, she chose the French version because she just thought it sounded better in this instance.

4. Cuatro: He was the last one she gave a name while she was still in Dusknoir/Dialga’s custody, and he was was so named because he would typically greet her with four questions/fun facts whenever they saw each other, given his curious nature. This time, the Spanish version of the word sounded better. She still had not yet realized she’d locked herself into the number theme.

5. Trois: The first time she met him (which was when he joined the others in trying to chase her down and capture her) he called her “Laura.” Just “Laura,” no honorifics—and he was only the third pokémon to ever do that (with the first being Dusknoir and the second Grovyle). Since practically no one ever used just her name—even Grovyle tended to call her “Partner” most of the time—this pleased her immensely. Of course, the other sableye were horrified by this, and quickly corrected him on the matter—the next time the group caught up with her and Grovyle, he was calling her “Miss Laura,” to her great displeasure. But she’d already given him a name, so she couldn’t change it now. She elected for “Trois” rather than “Tres” because ‘Tres” sounds like “Trace” when spoken aloud, and she wanted to highlight the “three” aspect in her naming reasoning.

6. Seis: His is probably the most boring reason/story. She had finally by this point recognized the theme she’d inadvertently given the rest of the sableye (or had it pointed out to her by one of her friends), and felt compelled to continue with it. He’s named Seis because it means “Six,” she didn’t want to repeat a number, and the others alternated in language so next up was Spanish. If any other sableye joined up after him, they would have been named Sept to follow the theme and pattern. Seis takes it all in good humor—and probably figured out the reasoning behind his name without having to be told—though he can get a little annoyed when the others—especially Trois—tease him over it. And Trois likes to do it a lot, since he’s an annoying younger brother and revels in the fact that not only was he named first, despite being younger, but his name actually has a cool story behind it.

#procrastination at its finest #pokemon mystery dungeon #the world's treasure #writing #fanfiction #spoilers #explorers of sky

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oddcoupler222 · 5 years ago

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do you have any pov swapped chapters of those who wait that you never posted? i love it so much i want to read the whole story from both of their points of view lol. if you don't that's okay. i just want everything about them :)

well. i do have chapter 1 written from margaery’s point of view, if you are interested in that…

Not getting home from the office until almost ten at nightwasn’t even common for her renowned workaholic self. Not on a Friday night, atthe very least.

Though, she should probably gear up for more of those, shethought, pausing for a moment, as she slowly closed the door to her apartmentand shook her head. Because campaigning for the small council, on top of herjob that already kept her late several days during the week, wasn’t going to bea small feat.

It was happening,though, and that much was for certain. She was going to run for the newly openseat on the small council.

She almost couldn’t believe it – mostly because it didn’t goin accordance with the plan. The plan she’d outlined and had in place foralmost ten years now. The Plan, really, of her entire life. First, to intern atthe Keep throughout college as she got her political science degree –completed, rather masterfully if she thought so, herself, considering she’ddone so with honors and holding a record number of jobs and internships in theKeep.

Then to jump head-first into whatever department had anopening; truly, it hadn’t much mattered to her which department it would be,because she knew she could find the passion for any of them somewhere inside ofher. Also rather masterfully done, as she’d been there for just shy of fiveyears and was already the assistant director.

But the plan after that had been – well, calling it simplewould be the world’s biggest understatement and, honestly, utterly foolish.Margaery was no fool. So, the plan was by no means simple, but it was well-crafted and thought out. To be on the smallcouncil by the time she was twenty-eight. To be inducted to the World PoliticalLeader’s summit by thirty, and work on a liaison team from King’s Landing withthe cabinet of one of the other regions. Most likely The Reach, as that madethe most sense, but once again, she would make it work wherever she could.

Then to be on the high council by the time she was thirty-five,so that by the time she was in her forties, she could fastidiously andundoubtedly have gotten every possible kind of governmental experience shewould need to run for Prime Minister by the time she was fifty.

It was ambitious, she knew. It was crazy, if she asked herbrothers. It would take a nearly single-minded focus and determination thatwould be almost impossible – her grandmother’s words. Words that she’d utteredwith that proud slight smile that told Margaery what Margaery already knew.That she could do it.

And even though the Plan didn’t entail her actually runningfor the small council for another two years, when the next traditional electionwould be held, Jon Arryn’s unprecedentedly vacant seat… well, it presented herwith the only deviation to her plan that she’d ever truly considered.

If she could attain her goals even sooner than planned, itwould only make things simpler for her in the long run. She’d thought about it,whether or not she should campaign for it, unable to think of almost anythingelse for a few days.

The email she’d gotten from her grandmother this evening,sending an attachment for the official forms to file for the small councilelection with the simple note – No timelike the present – only confirmed it.

And in the three hours since officially deciding to run, Margaeryhad already started to come up with a plan for the coming months.

Of course, she’d need to officially file the documents and announceit. Especially to Renly, even though, she grimaced slightly as she took off herheels, she didn’t quite know exactly how he’d take the news. It wasn’t asthough she wanted to leave theDepartment For the People. Yes, she would have taken a job at any department inthe Keep fresh out of college, but she was lucky to land in one she genuinelyloved. And she knew her boss and best friend may not have anticipated herpossible departure so early.

Releasing her hair from the twist she’d had it in for work,she reached for a wine glass and the bottle of Dornish red she’d planned tobreak open this weekend with Loras and Renly. But getting a head start tocelebrate by herself – she deserved that.

Tilting her head to the side as she cradled the wine glassin her head, she hmm’d in thought. Organizinga small staff to help keep her campaign in order would have to be a priority, too,but that would take a bit of time and research to determine who she was runningagainst and viable candidates.

“And that’s only the start,” she murmured to herself,thinking of the to-do list she’d been working on for the past few hours. Andrather than feel overwhelmed at the prospect, she felt buzzing with life.

This was the time to start climbing the ladder. And for thesake of the Seven, she was so ready for the rest of her life.

Drumming her fingers on her countertop, she felt that buzzdrop just a bit as she looked down at her phone where it now lady next to herwine glass.

Because there was the small but significant matter –relatively high on her new to-do list – of getting rid of the only somewhatpublic evidence of her sexuality. And if she was being entirely honest withherself, and she was, this was probably the biggest hold out Margaery had hadagainst running for small council now.

Being discreet about being a lesbian had never bothered her.Going to fundraisers and promotions and galas and every event in between witheither Renly, a family member, or by herself rather then with a “romantic”partner had always been a benefit to her, really. Not that she’d ever had awoman interest her in a romantic fashion beyond the physical, anyway.

No, Margaery hadn’t made her profile on the aptly named WomenLovingWomenofWesteros app severalyears ago to find a love connection by any means. She smartly steered fairlyclear of anyone who’d messaged her seeming to look for anything deeper than ahookup, and found that the app’s promise to maintain privacy of it’s users tobe entirely accurate.

What she had madeit for, though, had worked out so truly well for her.

After a stressful week at work, there was never a shortageof attractive available women who wanted exactly what she wanted – mainly, tofuck. Once or twice, and then part ways.

It was satisfying and quick and easy. And Margaery wasalways smart about it – chatting for a couple of days and getting a read on whoshe was getting involved with before offering to meet at one of the places thatshe and the majority of the women on the app understood to signify that thiswas going to be nothing more than casual.

Not once in the last five years and too many women to count,not that she would, had her read on people even via the short, impersonalmessages let her down.

Did she want to give up having sex while her name and facestarted to become more recognizable? Of course not; the idea of committing toanything other than her job made her grimace, but the idea of giving up all ofthe orgasms…

She sighed again, heartily. It wasn’t like she would becelibate forever. Eventually, when she had a more secure foundation, she knewshe could very carefully indulge in some flings.

And besides, she could give herself orgasms. In comparisonto this small council opportunity, giving up WLWoW was a no brainer.

With that in mind, she opened the app. Instead of her semi-regularFriday night hookup perusal, she’d delete. She had to do it before shesubmitted her campaign paperwork at the beginning of the week, anyway.

After taking another sip of wine, though, she decided toprolong her last foray and check out her inbox that was beckoning her with threenew messages since the last time she’d opened it.

Genna, 2:11PMFunny thing, coming across yourprofileagain so soon. But messaging you last timeseemed to work out fantastically for both ofus, so I figured why not? Want to start withdrinks?

With a laugh that wasn’t quite a snort but very close, shedeleted that message in a second. Genna, she remembered the name and the prettybrunette in the picture accompanying it, wasn’t wrong in her assertion. They had a good time getting drinks aboutthree weeks ago, and the sex after was pretty good too.

But Margaery could count on one hand the amount of timesshe’d slept with a woman on multiple occasions, and on a couple of thoseoccasions, there always seemed to be a graying moment on the other woman’s end.It was a moment she could sense here and there of – could there be more?

And she sure as the seven hells wasn’t going to even pretendthat would be happening at this stage. Not even a polite message back. Besides,her profile would be gone soon anyway.

Addison, 5:56 PMIt looks like we both like dancing and dornishwine and gorgeous women… I’m thinking there could be a few other similarities as well. HMU

On a normal day, Margaery would go to this Addison woman’sprofile and check out what she had to say for herself, get a closer look at thefew pictures she had up – that read like an average first message for someonewho might be interested in the same thing she was interested in.

But today wasn’t a normal day, “Goodbye, Addison, niceknowing you,” she murmured with an eyeroll, and deleted that one, too.

“Lucky number three…”

Sansa, 7:43PMHey, there. I saw your profile and you look really interesting – and hot. Do you want tohook up meet up sometime?

Her thumb, that had been settling over the delete button asit had for the last two messages paused. Before she read the message overagain. And then again, once more, for good measure. There was just – anaudacity, she guessed was the best way to say it, in those words that gave herpause.

She straightened her spine as she leaned farther over hercounter, and instead of delete, she tapped the icon to get a better look at thetiny thumbnail size picture.

Oh.

The tumble of wavy red hair that had stood out in the tinychat icon screamed for attention when she pulled the picture up to full-size. Itwas blowing in the wind, the moment clearly a snapshot where she wasn’t tryingto pose or be anything. She was half-turned, as she genuinely grinned into thecamera, as if whoever had taken the picture had just said something that shecouldn’t help but giggle it. That was no manufactured-to-look-alluring smile.

It was warm, she decided, tilting her head as she felt herown lips quirk up in response to it. It was almost like she was the person onthe receiving end of that warmth, the person on the other side of the camera.

She was almost hesitant to leave the profile picture toclick through the few others. One where she was grinning again, this timealmost incredulous, Margaery thought, but with a sparkle in her eyes that wasso… open.

And then a third, that had Margaery pausing again. Thistime, though, it was the eyes that stopped her. The clear, light blue of themand winged with more makeup than she’d worn in the previous photos, it couldhave easily looked like seduction, she was sure. With a bit more pouting onsoft looking pink lips, or even a change in angle or… anything. But instead, shehad the barest of what seemed like a sincerely innocent small smile, the bit ofmakeup accentuating her eyes looking flawless, the bit of rosiness in hercheeks giving Margaery the oddest sensation to want to stroke her thumb overher cheekbone and see if it was as soft as it looked.

The entire look of her, of these guileless looks, made herseem somewhat exposed even though none of her pictures were indecent by anymeans of the word. The warm feeling of wantthat had settled in her stomach wasn’t really unexpected – this was a verybeautiful woman, after all – but it was surprising in how much she felt it inresponse to pictures that were so very innocent in nature.

In the years she’d been using this app, it was herexperience that there was typically at least one picture that women – women whosent provocative messages at the veryleast – posted to look purposefully alluring. With smoky makeup, smolderingeyes, revealing clothing… a whole number of things.

And who was Margaery to judge, when she admitted to all ofher pictures being selfies with the eye smolder in at the very least one ofthem? It was a tool of the trade, so-to-speak, and she’d hooked up satisfyinglywith many women who played that specific game.

She took just another interested perusal at the pictures,before tapping back to her profile.

Likes: literature, dogs, snow, knitting, running, and lemon cakes.

Her eyebrow quirked up at that, unable to stop herself. Just becauseseveral of the likes weren’t even typical to find on here – knitting, hello? –and Margaery was often skeptical of the truth in “literature” being alegitimate interest, but something about this woman had Sansa truly believingthat all of these were very true to her.

“Sansa,” she murmured. Not the most common name, definitelynot beyond the North, but pretty. It rolled off the tongue easily.

She could imagine the way it would sound from her own voice,panted or shouted, depending on what the girl with the fiery hair and the oceaneyes could make her feel.

Going back to the original message, she shook her head asshe reread it. The you look really interesting – and hot and the clearly crossed out rather thandeleted hook up invitation. Both very flirty remarks, no subtlety in theapproach. Not a hint of shyness, even coyness.

Not that she minded – she could even prefer such astraightforward attitude, really – but something about the message feltstrangely at odds with the unassuming, almost gently disarming look of thewoman in the pictures.

Granted, Margaery supposed that she didn’t actuallytruly know this Sansa; she could look like an angel while underneath being someonewho was going to completely knock Margaery off her axis.

All she really knew at this moment was that if she wasgoing to delete her profile and go into sexual exile for the foreseeablefuture, she could do with one more potentially great fuck.

Feeling herself smirk, she finished her wine and tookanother look at Sansa’s picture – make that three or four great orgasms; if shewas getting all of this from just a read on these pictures, she was more thanwilling to bet that Sansa’s effect would be even better in person.

She ignored thedelete option again, and instead hit Reply.

Margaery, 10:02PM My, that is one of the less subtle approaches I’ve received on here, I must say.

A shiver of anticipation worked through her already. Afterall, she might as well make the most of this last weekend before she officiallyfiled her campaign forms.

She was meeting her grandmother in the morning to iron outsome details and ask some questions she had about some campaign particulars,and had potential plans with Loras and Renly. But those were for dinner;nothing too late. And if it conflicted with Sansa’s schedule tomorrow, well,dinner with her brother was easily rescheduled.

Yeah, a sex Saturday with Sexy Sansa seemed to be just whatMargaery needed as her final big bang.

She was pouring herself another glass of wine, this timepreemptively toasting to herself and the hopefully illustrious night in storefor her.

The reply she got in less than five minutes made her smirk –until she read it.

Sansa, 10:05PMGods, I’m so sorry! I’ve been wanting to sendthis for hours, but couldn’t message you againuntil you answered. That’s not – I’m not theperson who sent that first message! My friendcreated this account and sent that to you. I’msorry, again. And dreadfully embarrassed.

Well. Margaery blew out a breath,pursing her lips as she read the message over. And a part of her that couldn’thelp but question and analyze first wondered if perhaps she was embarrassed ofthe original message and was trying to backpaddle.

Then again, she supposed, she didhave the distinct impression that the message with the hooking up implicationdidn’t seem to fit the persona she’d somewhat expertly put together. Shesupposed she could at the very least take away that her people reading skillswere still proven to be spot on.

But just to be sure Sansa knew there was nothing to beembarrassed about if that was whatwas holding her back…

Margaery, 10:07PM I never said lack of subtly was a bad thing. Perhaps in other matters, but not when it comes to this.

She paused, tapping her fingersagainst the counter for a moment before she figured she may as well just askfor her own sake of figuring out how likely it was that there could be anythinghere.

So, your friend arranged this? Are you not a lady loving lady of Westeros, then?

She’d barely had a second torinse her glass out in the sink before her phone buzzed in response.

Sansa, 10:08PM Oh, I am. Yes. Well, kind of.

Her eyes narrowed even as she felt her smirk returning. Nowthat was an answer that was a little too fast for true disinterest.

Margaery,10:10PM Kind of?

Sansa, 10:12PM I meant to say, that I like both men and women.

She waited a few minutes, weighingthe words as she brushed her teeth. It was because of the pictures, she wassure, that she almost felt like she could see the earnest expression on thiswoman’s face as she said the words. And the way she could imagine it, sheimagined a lot of discomfort in those words. As if she perchance hadn’t reallydisclosed the “woman” factor of her sexuality much.

After all, quite literallyeveryone she’d ever spoken to on here had thrown their sexuality into thisconversation fairly quickly, easily, when prompted.

So she took a guess.

Margaery,10:16PM You haven’t done this very much, have you?

Sansa, 10:18PM No. Never, actually. Is it very obvious?

“Extremely,” she murmured througha chuckle, amused and unsure if she should be alarmed or endeared at her starkhonesty, as she made her way into the bathroom to start getting ready for bed.

Margaery, 10:19PM Only a little ;)

As she slipped into her bedroom, she debated leaving theconversation there. After all, there wasn’t going to be anything coming fromthis, clearly. And it was getting a bit late.

But on the other hand, Margaery found her curiosityunusually piqued.

This Sansa seemed to be… different from what Margaery wasused to encountering on here, to say the least. Intriguing, really, and sincewhen had Margaery ever been able to pull herself away from something who’dtugged at her curiosity? It just was a matter of being that it was very rarethat someone made her curious.

Margaery, 10:22PM Tell me, why did your friend deem it necessary to create this account and send messages from you that seem to be more suggestive than you would like?

For a few minutes – the longestit seemed to take Sansa to answer – she wondered if she’d overstepped – itwasn’t as though she was ever willing to answer questions beyond fairly lightones to establish a flirty rapport, personally.

Sansa, 10:27PM She thinks I need to get out more, I guess. Andshe thinks that I should, um, go out and hookup with someone.

She had no idea why she thoughtthat the somewhat rambling of words seemed endearing. And the thought made hernarrow her eyes at her phone, “Your friend certainly knows how to tease me witha good time, then, doesn’t she?”

Margaery, 10:30PM And that’s not what you want?

Alarm for the morning set, andshe climbed under the blanket just as she got her answer.

Sansa, 10:34PM I – well, no. Not that I don’t want to ever meetsomeone, it’s just… I’m not wanting to go outand find a hook up just for the sake of hookingup. You know?

It was probably a good thing, shethought, that hooking up didn’t seem to be what Sansa wanted. Mostly because,truly, a beautiful woman like Sansa with this apparent penchant for telling thetruth and revealing more than necessary information even to strangers on adating app would get truly eaten alive on here.

Which… oddly, she didn’t want toenvision for her.

Even, she sighed, if it meanttheir paths definitely weren’t going to line up. Because Margaery certainly wasone of those who would very much like to eat her alive.

Margaery, 10:39PM Unfortunately, that is where you and I differ. Which is a shame, I might add.

She couldn’t resist adding it.Especially when she could imagine the reaction it might have on a woman likeSansa who seemed so very shy.

Sansa, 10:45PM Do you? Do this very often, that is.

… okay, not the response she’dbeen expecting.

Eyes narrowed, even though shewas not really feeling insulted, because she truly wasn’t ashamed of hersexcapades via WLWoW, and she didn’t generally give a damn what the few peoplein her life who knew this side of her thought about it, either. But she foundthat with a small kernel of something, that she didn’t quite likethinking that this woman might be judging her for it.

Margaery, 10:48PM Are you insinuating something?

Sansa, 10:50PM No! No, no. I was asking because I was just,well, curious about how this usually happens?

Sansa, 10:51PM I mean, you seem… like you know what to do,in situations like this. Unlike me, clearly.

Hmm. So she was going to go withmore endeared tonight than alarmed, apparently, picking up her phone to typewhen it vibrated yet again for a third time.

Sansa, 10:52PM Gods, that was probably a very silly thing toask. You can just ignore me.

“Ignore you… not quite yet,” shehmm’d to herself, still grinning slightly as she shook her head.

Margaery, 10:56PM Oh, dear girl. I don’t typically make it a point to reveal the inner-workings of my interactions on here, you know. A true lady shouldn’t reveal her secrets.

This, she firmly did believe wastrue. There was no need for her to share her inner-workings and dealings onhere with anyone, and frankly the thought of telling almost anyone else she’dmet on here about her somewhat formula for picking up women made her feel a bitdistasteful.

Granted, those were all differentscenarios. Because she would be using those moves on those other women.

Margaery, 10:57PM However, I could make an exception for a pretty woman in need. I only need to know one thing…

Sansa, 10:58PM Which is?

Briefly, she wondered if this wassomewhat too much – after all, she had made it abundantly clear that if Sansawanted to hook up, it would be something Margaery would also very much enjoy.

But then she landed on Sansa’spicture again, and figured it couldn’t hurt to ask…

Margaery, 11:02PM Just to be completely clear, there is no chance of you being interested in – as your first message said – a hook up? Because I absolutely cannot abide showing my hand in that case.

Especially because Margaery couldmake a few tweaks to some of her rules of thumb in this case. She got the verydistinct impression that everything in this conversation with Sansa was thepainful truth. If Sansa, this seemingly sweet-and-sexy, albeit charmingly naïvewoman wanted to forgo meeting at a club or a bar, in a place that she feltuncomfortable, Margaery would make an exception for that.

Sansa, 11:05PMI can confirm that I don’t think I will be preparedto hook up with anyone any time soon.

Regretful. Truly regretful. Shetook a moment to say goodbye to her imagined fantastic final sex for theforeseeable future, before she got herself more into a work mindset. Aproblem-solving, question answering mindset. She could field questions for asweet girl like Sansa for a night.

Margaery, 11:09PM Well, then, disappointed as I may be, I am now willing to answer what you’d like to know. Do you have specific questions in mind?

Sansa, 11:11PM Do you only use this website for hooking up?

Huh. Well that question seemedrather her-specific rather than about the app community populace in general.

Margaery, 11:13PM Yes. Though in the name of honesty, I am always upfront about my not-serious intentions.

Sansa, 11:16PM Okay. But what happens then?

It took her a moment, as she re-settledunder the covers, to decipher what she meant by that. Because as soon asshe read it, all of the images that Margaery conjured to mind were so veryX-rated.

But… Sansa, this innocent Sansa,certainly wasn’t asking her to essentially sext with her, right?

No, she reasoned. Probably not.

Margaery, 11:18PM I do hope you aren’t asking me to explain the proverbial birds and the bees, sweet girl. I was under the impression you wanted this to be PG ;)

No harm in testing the waters,though. It wasn’t as though she would be opposed in the least to indulging in abit of dirty talk with Sansa. It wasn’t something she really did on here,admittedly. Some light sexts as a prelude to meeting up on occasion, maybe.

Sansa, 11:19PMNo! No, I know how… that… works. I meant, like, how do you go about doing all of this? Whena woman messages you, what happens then?

She found herself shaking herhead, grinning minutely down at her phone as she blew out a breath. Of courseall signs pointed to Sansa being a bit flustered by her – the unexpected partwas how much Margaery was into it.

She’d never really considered herselfhaving a thing for naivety before. It never really crossed her mind that shewould find a bit of excitement in this somewhat shy, almost innocent approach.It wasn’t really like she was going to often find her hookups in genuinely shyand/or naïve women.

Another regretful sigh, this onea bit lofty, left her, before she nodded to herself. They may not be havingsex, and she didn’t really want to reveal that she had somewhat of a pattern onhere with women, but Sansa seemed to genuinely want to know, so.

Margaery, 11:22PM Well, it’s all fairly straightforward, no pun intended. We chat a bit here and make plans to meet up. Typically at a bar or perhaps a club – always somewhere public. We spend a bit of time out to make sure we’re… compatible. And from there, I see if they’d like to go back to my place for the night.

Really, ideally, she typicallymanaged to finagle the situation so that they went back to the other woman’splace. She didn’t necessarily enjoy having the women she was sleeping withoccupying her personal space – not that she was entirely against fucking womenin her own bed, but the few times where they’d gotten the mistaken impressionthat they were going to stay for the night were never a fun aftermath foreither party involved.

It entailed Margaery being ascourteous and magnanimous as possible, as she essentially showed them the door.

She hesitated for a moment,before figuring – what the hells? If she was being entirely honest:

Margaery,11:22PM Not to boast, but they usuallydo.

Sansa, 11:23PM Oh, I can imagine.

The reply took her by surprise –in all honesty, Sansa had probably taken her more by surprise in the last hourthan anyone had in the past on this site.

But that instantly smoothdelivery…

Margaery, 11:25PM That was smoother than I expected. Offense entirely unintended.

Sansa, 11:27PMNone taken, as it was actually inadvertentlydone.

So very charming, she thoughtwith a tired laugh. Yeah, she was fairly certain that if Sansa got a tighterhold on her confidence in messaging women on here she would kill it. Seeminglyintelligent, a knockout, and the utter lack of falsities – a dream for manywomen.

Margaery’s ideal hookup dream,apparently, too.

But it was truly best to cut thisoff now, before Sansa drew her into more conversation that enticed her despitethe lack of chance of anything going on between them. Really, it would just beteasing herself, plus the fact that she had to be up in less than seven hours.

Margaery, 11:30PM You’re an interesting woman. Unfortunately, however, it is getting late, and I must be getting to bed. I’ve an early morning tomorrow.

Sansa, 11:33PM I don’t think I’m quite as interesting as youare. But I should be going, too. Thank you, forthis. You know, not mocking me like youundoubtedly could have.

That damn sincerity she couldjust feel coming through in that message. She briefly wondered why Sansa wouldbelieve Margaery would actively mock her, before she decided Sansa wasentirely, completely unaware of her entire appeal.

Margaery, 11:35PM That’s not really my style. But it was more entertaining for me than I might have anticipated. Goodnight, Sansa.

And good luck, if you stick itout on here, she silently added. But she couldn’t quite envision Sansa continuingon here for a long time. In a way, she didn’t quite want her to. She had asneaking feeling that if she burned herself out for too long on here, thatquite engaging thing about her wouldn’t shine quite so bright.

For that sake, she hoped Sansafound what she was looking for relatively soon.

Sansa, 11:36PMGoodnight, Margaery

She plugged in her phone, rollingonto her side as she cuddled into her blanket. She still had to delete herprofile and wipe the app itself from her phone – the entire goal of the nighthad been sidetracked, and she rolled sleepy eyes at herself.

The chat with Sansa was still up,though, when she looked down again. The bright laughing smile and red hair gleamingoff the screen at her. Instead of deleting, she hesitated for a moment andlocked the phone. She still had a few more days before it was a necessity.

#those who wait #sansaery

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tartareus · 5 years ago

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CAOS MUSES CANON DIVERGENCE; not unlike many here, i too found the third act of sabrina’s adventures a bit…lacking, to say the least. bad writing got me more and throwing character development to the bin made me finally decide that i am not going to accept most of what happened as true - i will, however try to keep the changes to mininal as a say to make canon complying muses’ interactions with mine run smoothly.

for starters: my edward, salem and my della are primarily based on the comics (the chilling adventures of sabrina and sabrina the teenage witch) + my own head canons, therefore do expect their nature to be a bit darker\different than the show presents them. with that in mind…

edward did not die - he was in a circle of hell trapped inside a tree. once lucifer’s power over hell waned, the prision that kept the warlock there started to weaken and, thus, eventually he got out, finally free… only to find himself in…

queen lilith’s hell - yes, i am not going for that idea of lilith not being their queen, more than anyone else she does deserve the title, she worked for it and there is no point to not make all the effort during pt1 and 2 to go without a reward; for that to happen, though, i still accept the plot that sabrina went after nick, but instead of just taking satan back to earth…

edward becomes the morningstar’s host - besides being more than capable of taking him, edward is a known, talented, conjurer, had a somewhat deal or even relationship with empusa (a shape shifting demon), he knows how demons work. he knows what to expect and, other than that, he knows the boy will struggle. he won’t. although his very own existence is kept a secret from sabrina, in a similar fashion of b.ckwood, instead of struggling for dominance, edward will try and strike a bargain with lucifer (unknown to anyone else), if only to be sure that everything goes along with his own secret agenda…

he still helps zelda, though - as he is in hell and is not dead but trapped there, he makes use of some of lucifer’s powers to cross the veil and go for their aid.

della still remains a head witch - that is, still works for the council in rome, but with a slighly different twist. she herself is a hedgewitch. i’ve thought about this, and what it would mean for her character (originally in the sttw comics as sabrina’s mentor and the one that tried to guide her to the path of night, and them also as the queen of sabbath in the tcaos comics) and it seems that it just might fit her character altogether. hedgewitches are, after all, very old, powerful, lone witches who are but a few - which was what i was going for her originally. with that in mind, i have come to an hc that

della has her own very unique abilities - much like gryla, sycorax, and pesta, della possesses her own abilities as her own deal was slightly different. instead of having an aggressive ability like pesta and sycorax, she has a spiritual one - although not too similar from gryla’s ability to gather the spirits of her lads - that is very subtle: she can walk through the veil between the living and the dead, roaming in the in between without the fear of never returning (unless, of course, it is her time). that means that in her astral projections the psychopomps do not acknowledge her presence at all, one of the reasons she was hired by the council.

her age is hard to determinate - she is clearly younger than the members of the council, but way older than the spellmans. to maintain her youth and looks, and not require a powerful glamour that would make her tired and weak if she kept holding for years, della consumes babies, mostly mortal orphans, in order to survive. that ritual is only required after some centuries (if it is a witch baby) or after the lifetime that mortal would’ve had. for that, it is needless to say that…

her relationship with gryla is of mutual hate and disdain - for the two of them are rivals in their quest for younger souls. although gryla herself has no choice but pick orphans, della prefers them because it usually avoids the whole ordeal of stealing a child. imagine how complicated it must’ve gotten when she answered the distress call from the coven in greendale…

although she is part of not coven, per se, della goes to their aid - or rather, is summoned against her own will, but she’s never going to admit that. particularly taking great joy at hunting the pagans, chasing them off greendale in the timeline that was fixed. in the broken timeline (aka the end of the world), not unlike ambrose (however using slightly shadier strategies) she managed to survive and remained hidden, safe in a witch’s cell in the vatican’s necropolis. sadly, she does end up going a little mad, but before she loses it all…

she manages to send ambrose some books that once belonged to the council - in hopes that these unholy scriptures, that had never been to the access of other witches and warlocks other than the scholars of rome, would help, hoping that he would be able to do what she had failed to: figure a way out of this mess.

salem is not a goblin but, in fact, a mortal curse by a witch he scorned centuries ago. cursed to become her familiar, after the witch he was forcibly bound to died during the salem trials the dark lord himself appeared before him, telling him that he would only lift the curse if he sold his soul to him - which he did, however what samuel (his mortal name) failed to realise was that he had not been specific as the date he should be free and, as such, the father of lies told him he would only be free once he had met, served and protected a white haired witch that was and was not daughter of night. it took centuries for him to find her, but when he saw sabrina he knew inside his old bones that it was her.

he has come to terms to his current situation - he used to be a good christian, yes a bit reckless and an asshole with how he treated women, but he changed. it was a hard lesson he had to learn. as he learned to repent, he also learned to understand the nature of witches better. they reacted with what they had. as such, he started to grow fond of sabrina and her family, even her friends (although he does not fancy being treated like an ordinary house pet).

he never liked robin nor lilith (when she was pretending to be ms wardwell), hissing soundly at them as he deemed them a probably threat to his witch.

lucifer granted him a couple of gifts to endure his long life - magical abilities akin to a warlock’s (but never enough to turn himself into human again, at least not for a long while) and speech (although he spent such a long time silent that he wonders if his throat still can produce anything other than a felinesound), as well seven lives. he is currently on the begining of his last life.

in both timelines salem tries to protect the spellmans - in the broken timeline, salem is dead (with satan no longer on the throne to secure his powers, the cat, much like the witches he served, started to weaken), probably trying to find sabrina and failing miserably. in the fixed timeline, he stays with zelda and mambo, refusing to leave her side. as they escaped, salem found that a good way to distract them was by attacking blackwood with the last remnants of his strength, unaware that faustus beared the mark of cain. wounded, he hides behind vinegar tom, trusting that the protective magic surrounding zelda’s old familiar (which she insisted that was still alive, just his vessel dead), would keep them from fiding him. he eventually recovers his strength and rejoins the spellmans, but feels something off, as if there was something wrong with sabrina.

overall, my main pet peeve with this season was how poorly handled some archs were. as much as i love the new order of hecate (which btw sounds very pagan to me but okay), i wish they had kept the church of lilith and, as such i will accept both realities and place them in different timelines, especially for hilda.

i do hc that she still prays for her, away from zelda’s hearing of course, because when she was in the pit (unaware that they were praying for hecate) and in the in between when zelda and edward left, she prayed for her even though she is not the religious type, and came out of it alive. it was only after all that mess that she realised that maybe her prayers were in vain, but she didn’t mind at all.

i also hc that, after her spidey-incident she's been getting a bit uneasy near her own familiars (and they seem to notice that too, being slightly worried for her), she also decides to take a break from her relationship with cee; even though she loves him, and he proposed, she almost killed him ( and may or may not have tried to make him fertilize her eggs , unholy fuck that sentence shall haunt me for some good while) and that starts to make her realise that their relationship might be too dangerous for him, as a mortal. he already faced a witch hunter to protect her and now this? the last thing she wants is to cause him harm.

with mambo being around to look after zelda, hilda just might look for a place of her own, perhaps a little cottage in england as she so desires. it's not that she doesn't want to be part of the coven, or better the order, but even for her, non-religious and almost skeptical, bouncing off from deity to deity is not proving to be a good thing. besides, she's grown quite a backbone (about damn time) and she will no longer endure how she has been treated by her sister - i will elaborate further on the domestic abuse and the ptsd hilda suffers from being killed so many times and the mutual codependency of her relationship with her sister on a separate post, eventually

sometimes hilda puts a few drops of a soothing draught on zelda's food, because apparently if she asks for her sister to take a deep breath or watch her blood pressure it is a reason to receive a dark look. Sl instead of fretting and being pushed away, she just gets it done anyway. it is also comforting for her to know how easily she could kill zelda by putting something lethal on her food. whilst she does entertain herself with these thoughts, she knows she would never be able to kill her ow flesh and blood.

she raised ambrose almost mostly by herself, back when she lived in England. as her first child,she did spoil him rotten. Hilda never really thought of having kids herself, being demiromantic/demisexual she couldn't find it in herself to partake on the coven's festivities and enjoy lupercalia with a random witch or warlock, zelda was the baby crazy one, who had held sabrina almost possessively. she spoiled sabrina as well, perhaps due to Edward's recent death or because she knew how much her murders took their toll on her young niece, but not enough to "ruin" her as zelda always made sure.

although she could easily wear glamours to look more like the rest of her family (tall and slender), hilda learned with time to love herself, being more positive both inside and out.

#m; e. spellman \ hcs #m; della \ hcs #m; s. saberhagen \ hcs #m; h. spellman \ hcs #theres so much shit in this season that i dont even know where to start #its 5 am and i am sleep so dont mind if none of it makes sense ok

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