#paul isn’t going to be abusive

[girlishwhimsies]

can i be so fr there is no way paul was abusive

[pressplay-if]

demo (prologue + ch.1 & 2, 118k words)

please mind the content warnings!

cog forum post

You are one of the most famous yet mysterious characters of the 21st century rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. You and your friends formed a band, and after years of practice in a garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It’s a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has disappeared from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/possibly stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac… and all sorts of music-related drama.

TW: themes of mental illness, unhealthy relationships, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, SA-related trauma

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Stevie is tall and skinny with light brown skin and extremely long, curly black hair which she always wears in a wet look. She has big, dark brown eyes and a soft face.

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget.

Paul is very tall, broad-backed and thickly muscled with light skin, shoulder-length slicked back brown hair and bottle green eyes.

Paulette is of average height with an hourglass/slim thick figure. She has dark brown hair with parted bangs and light blonde strands dyed into it. Her eyes are bottle green.

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Angel is of average height and build with a warm beige complexion and long black hair. He has a square jaw with an occasional five o’clock shadow and brown eyes. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Lincoln (m) is short and lean, with an angular face and wavy blond hair. His eyes are cobalt blue. 

Lincoln (f) is petite and tan, with a youthful, round face and chin-length blond beach waves. Her eyes are cobalt blue.

Others:

Maddox Wells (m), drummer

Another one of your oldest friends. You don’t much like to talk about what happened with him.

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they used to try to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean, to be honest.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

Addendum: NSFW alphabet masterlist

Zima pt. 1 and pt. 2

Stevie

Lincoln

Angel

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Please consider reblogging <3

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. My main project remains Such Happy Campers. I have no title in mind for this IF (suggestions are welcome), although I am very passionate about the idea and will work on it on the side while I write SHC.

You are... or were one of the most famous yet mysterious characters in the 21st century pop-rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. Your friends agreed… and that is how your band came to be. After years of practice in your friend’s mother’s garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It's a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has withdrawn from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac

TW: themes of mental illness, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation and self-harm, unhealthy relationship dynamics

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget. 

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them. When they first walked out onto that stage, it felt like my heart was going to explode.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Others:

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they tried to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

[dividers by @thecutestgrotto]

Please consider reblogging if you like my work!

[mister-mickey]

Reverse au (socs and greasers reversed)

Cherry- greaser girl with a single father who’s pretty busy but cherishes her a lot. She’s able to befriend most people, but she gets harassed a lot because… she’s a girl. She kind of take pony’s role

Bob- greaser whose parents both work a lot, so they aren’t there for him to give him attention, so he’s an adrenaline junkie as well as an alcoholic. He works at the DX and is always drag racing people

Randy- greaser whose parents are way too strict. He’s got younger siblings and a job, his parents are always pressuring him to do more. He works at the DX with Bob and is usually the one to pull him away from fights (greaser Randy is less of a follower because he knows Bob is in more danger if he lets Bob do whatever)

Marcia- her parents both work as well, but her mom is around more. Her mom is kind of doped up and isn’t there for her. Her dad used to hurt her but ever since Cherrys dad let her stay at their house, she barely goes home and it’s stopped ever since Marcia got taller (aka able to defend herself better) she is dating Randy but honestly he’s just her friend. She feels bad about it.

Paul: Cherrys cousin on her mom’s side. He takes Darry’s role and is very protective of her as well. He wanted to go to college, but can’t obviously. He’s the leader of their gang, but he feels like he’s somehow betraying them by being in love with Darry. He’s Paul still, so he’s kind of arrogant and assumes he knows more than other people. He’s obsessed with “shortcuts” and “work smarter not harder” and often gets in trouble for this

Darry- Sox who is currently in college. He isn’t around a lot even though his parents are dead (soda and pony are left with a nanny who comes around three times a week to check on them and report to Darry. Darry also calls every day to check on them) he’s a likeable guy but he is still in love with Paul. He has romps with Tim sometimes but he’s very conflicted. He does LIKE Tim but Tim is far from Paul m. It doesn’t help that twobit gets wrapped up in this sometimes too. Darry’s head is about to split open sometimes.

Soda- Soc who didn’t drop out, but he’s still failing all his classes. This upsets Darry a lot, but soda could care less. He’s very popular and throws parties a lot, which makes Darry very upset. Soda doesn’t think college is important, but he also knows that he doesn’t get a choice and no matter how bad he does, he’s going to end up there. So he doesn’t try too hard and just has fun.

Pony- soc who is a smart cookie. Basically the same tbh, perhaps a bit less traumatized from the basic environment. He loves talking to greasers because Darry said not to.

Johnny- Sox who is still abused, it’s just hidden now. His parents actually care about public perception so they act like a loving family in public and at events. They both tell Johnny he sucks and isn’t good enough to be their only son. Johnny takes this to heart a lot and it makes him try harder at school (but it stresses him out so he does worse)

Dally- soc whose dad is a big time lawyer who doesn’t act like a father. Dally is left to run wild and jump greasers (he also gets with greaser girls sometimes because he’s not supposed to sully soc girls) dally is failing most of his classes but somehow gets a’s every semester (his dad pays the school) he’s besties with tim and they jump greasers together. They don’t have the same relationship as they do as greasers because i think it’s less acceptable for civilized boys to beat each other up like that. Instead they both were in the boxing team in highschool and made sure to stay in the same weight class lmfao

Steve- soc with absent single father, Steve has a car hobby. He’s got two cars and they’re both super expensive. The cars are his babies and his dad pays him a lot more when he upsets Steve now. Steve has one super nice car he drives his friends around in and one that he keeps in the garage and obsesses over. He likes to jump greasers but not with soda because sometimes soda feels bad about it 💔

Twobit- soc, his dad didn’t leave, he’s just always on business trips. His mother is a socialite who is always bragging about him, even if there’s nothing to brag about. He’s an alcoholic whose parents paid for him to not have to retake junior year. Despite this, he’s a fun guy and everyone likes him, even greasers. He’s very non discriminatory (and is lowkey in love with Darry) He helps his buddies if they get jumped but he won’t jump a greaser unless he has a reason (like a vendetta against one specific greaser who keeps exchanging eyes with Darry)

Tim- stepdad is also on business trips a lot, his mother is classy old money. His family has ties to the Italian mafia on his mother’s side. Tim (like Paul in the series) didn’t go to college and instead works for his father’s company and is already making a shit ton of money at 18. He likes to scare greaser girls and children. Sometimes he revs his engine super loud around greaser girls to make them shriek. He likes darry and romps around with him but he’s aware of the way Darry looks at Paul. He HATES Paul and tries to hit him with his car sometimes

Angela- most popular girl in school. She ruins relationships and makes girls insecure. She shoves cherry and Marcia around sometimes and bullies them in the locker room. She doesn’t actually have anything against them, she just has a lot of built up frustration inside. She’s still awful to them. She tried to steal Bob 😭 but he didn’t gaf about her and she got embarrassed

Curly- He’s always getting arrested but somehow has no criminal record. He likes to jump people ofc because he’s curly but nobody takes him seriously because he always jumps weak people. He knows he isn’t that scary. He struggles in school and his mom threatens to send him to boarding school when he pisses her off (this sets his straight for two days before he’s back on his bs)

Evie- pretty soc girl that is always wearing the newest and most expensive clothing. Incredibly spoiled but not a total jerk

Sylvia- soc girl that’s always with a new guy, usually bounces between Tim and dally. Her focus in this au is more along the lines of picking the best husband because her parents have basically groomed her into a trophy wife position

Buck- daddy’s boy. Very spoiled. His father runs a successful beer company and Buck holds an important position there. He’s Sylvia’s cousin like always and is trying to keep Dallas and Tim AWAY

Sandy- Soc girl that is incredibly eager to become a mother. She’s a typical “good Christian girl” and gen believes this is the best she can do

[writing-n-memes]

A list of things I don’t like about the Percy Jackson show in no particular order because I’m a hater

- Sally talks back to Gabe. She’s supposed to be a silent rebel and book Sally would never jeopardize Percy’s safety because she’s angry with Gabe. Because I think the writers forgot, the WHOLE reason Gabe is there is because she is protecting Percy with his presence

- Annabeth is too stoic. Obviously, tv Annabeth has emotions and expresses them but it’s very limited in my opinion. Book Annabeth is emotional about everything. She is quick to anger, pride, sadness and to not show it because she’s ‘too smart for that’ is dumb. She’s 12 and emotions are normal

- Instead of Percy seeing the fates cut Luke’s string, it’s annabeth. Annabeth may be closer with Luke, but it should not be her to be aware of Luke’s fate. She’s too close to Luke to be analytical. Percy seeing it made him realize the prophecy is about Luke. Percy is the main character and should give Luke the knife. Also, Annabeth giving Luke the knife wouldn’t be nearly as meaningful because she’s always had faith he would turn around; even after he trapped her under the sky in titans curse. Percy trusted Luke to do the right thing at the exact right time

- Grover is a whole different character. The only example you need to know he’s not book Grover is tv Grover straight up lying/manipulating the god of war to his face. Book Grover is brave but not like that. He has too much respect and fear for the gods. Don’t get me wrong, I like tv Grover, he’s just not accurate to the book

- Misdirect of Clarisse being the lightning thief. What was even the point? Just seemed very random

-Fight scenes were lacking. I can’t entirely explain it, but I was bored for every one of them. Hate to bring the movies into this, but at least the movies had interesting fight scenes that had me on the edge of my seat

- Poseidon was basically a saint in the show, which is a big no no. I’m not saying he can’t be likeable, but Poseidon was NOT that nice. First of all, he wouldn’t go against Zeus like that. Not for Sally, and certainly not for Percy. He would do some minor rebelling, but he would not directly fight or disobey Zeus for either of them.

- Despite the last point, they showed too much of the Olympian’s bad sides. They absolutely would do all of this stuff in the show and more, but Percy shouldn’t be made aware of this yet. Percy knows the gods aren’t great in book 1, but he doesn’t quite know the extent until he finds out about the story of the oracle in book 5. This is why he’s more bitter in heroes of Olympus. He knows more about the god’s bad sides. If book 1 Percy knew/saw all the stuff about the tv show gods, then he probably would’ve led his own rebellion against the gods and Kronos.

- Gabe’s death? Come on. What happened to ‘If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself’ (don’t know if that’s the exact quote). Sally deserved to kill Gabe. Percy could’ve done it, but Sally made the choice for it to be her. Ignoring the fact that Gabe wasn’t abusive, just a general jerk so he didn’t deserve to die, but also, the death being an accident felt easy. Sally killed her husband and she had zero remorse for it. She used his dead statue body to sell and use the money to go back to college and follow her dream of writing a book, while also meeting the real love of her life, Paul Blofis

- Kind of made this point already, but I’d like to specifically point out Athena being too cruel. Not to say she isn’t cruel, because she is. However, the show made it clear too early on. Annabeth is the favorite child up until mark of Athena, that’s why she’s so distraught over her hat losing its invisibility power. Annabeth always had Athena’s respect up until that point. Athena wants to protect Annabeth from Percy in the original series. She would not just try and kill her. At least, not in book 1

- Changing Medusa’s story. I understand to a degree why they did it. There’s been a lot of talk the past few years on social media about what Medusa’s story means to them. They did show Medusa as a victim, but immediately disregarded it because she uses it as an excuse to… kill children for no reason. Might as well have kept the original story in at that point. Not to mention Poseidon sucks, but only in this story, and he’s a saint for the rest of the show. Feels like that makes it worse

- Deadline didn’t matter. They miss it, but it doesn’t matter for no reason. Every book has a deadline, including in every spinoff so what’s going to happen with future seasons? Is the timeline going to be ignored because it was fine the first time? Or are they going to backtrack and say, ‘Ok, THIS time limit matters. Ignore the fact there was an exception the first time’

- Luke is too tamed. Too apologetic. He’s supposed to be angry. So sure he is right that nothing will stand in his way. Not any friend or family could talk him down at this point. We’re not supposed to sympathize with him. Not yet. He is the main villain at this point and there should be no sign of redemption yet. May’s story (his mom) happened way too soon. It was told in the last book for a reason. So Luke could gain sympathy and make Percy question his side; he does question it but doesn’t “trust” Luke until he gives him the knife 100-200 pages later.

- Annabeth was there for Luke’s betrayal. She should not be there because Annabeth is supposed to be a Luke defender for the whole series basically. ‘Luke was wrong, but he can change’ basically. I don’t know how she’s supposed to defend him when she experiences his betrayal firsthand instead of just hearing he betrayed everything she believes in. This is important because it’s the main conflict between Percy and annabeth through the series; Annabeth’s loyalty to Luke. Also, little side note: This is an example of tv Annabeth being too stoic. Book Annabeth would do what she’d have to in this situation, but she’d be a crying mess. Which is fine! Having emotions is normal!

- Dialogue is stiff. I don’t know why it is, but some things just don’t flow. Even direct quotes from the books doesn’t feel right sometimes. Maybe it’s because they rushed filming and should’ve done more takes to get it right? I don’t know. I don’t doubt the actors talents so I’m not blaming them. Walker Scobell did great in the Adam’s Project and he was only 12 I believe! He didn’t have a single line that felt stiff in that movie but his lines along with the other mains seemed a little off at times.

- Kind of goes along with last point; some dialogue is accurate to the characters, but not in the context it’s used in the show. Here’s an example that someone else pointed out and I agree with them completely. Percy’s line about Thalia having a pine cone’s fate is so out of character. Would Percy say that to Thalia in Titan’s curse? Probably. But would book 1 Percy insult and dishonor Thalia’s death after finding out she sacrificed herself for her friends? Absolutely not. Percy thought her story was brave and tragic. Percy would say that line in other cases, but he would not say it under those circumstance.

- Kind of the opposite of previous points, but why is Hades so nice?? They made him into a silly guy and play it off for laughs. It’s supposed to be a serious scene. There’s humor everywhere else in the series so use that humor somewhere else. Hades is angry because Percy ‘stole’ his helm and hates him for the rest of the series. How are they going to make this guy lock Percy up in the last Olympian and fight him? This is the guy Nico is scared of, which is why it was brave he stood up to him. This is the guy who told his son that he wished he died instead of his sister. Just doesn’t seem right

- They figure everything out too fast. They figured out who Medusa and Procrustes is right away. This series is kind of like an introduction to Greek mythology to kids who don’t know anything about it. It’s about learning, but also building up the tension. Knowing something is wrong, but not knowing what. I don’t care that they were all told Greek myths growing up and that 2 of them have been training for years. Learning something in the classroom doesn’t mean they will automatically know what to do in a real life scenario. Monsters are supposed to TRICK. That’s what happens in almost every book.

- Why were there four pearls only for them to lose one? When I first read the book, I didn’t think about them needing more than three so it felt super unnecessary

- I know I’m pointing out too much about each god that appears but I don’t care. Ares admitting he loves his family is soooo weird. Pretty sure he would take over and destroy most of them

- tv show watchers don’t know how close Luke and Annabeth are. Those two barely interact and they tell us a couple times they’re close from lines like ‘She’s like a sister’ and whatnot, but it doesn’t accurately portray the care they have for one another. It doesn’t help that Annabeth barely reacted to his betrayal in the show

[makeitagood0neao3]

Weather Me To Nothing (2/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Thank you for still being here! Marry in the morning, earn your bitter father, It's easier to try not to eat.

Read Part 3

That evening, you entered the dimly lit dining hall without your guard. Opting for a lighter dress with a breathable material, you kept your shawl around your shoulders. The table is ridiculously long and the commander at the head of it positioned so his power wouldn’t be questioned. You are on Arrakis and, for the time being, that belonged to Vladimir Harkonnen. He didn’t rise when you entered, but opened his arms wide as you approached his left.

“The Princess returns. A visit from you has been long overdue!”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Vladimir.” You offer him a bow of your head as you approach. Unable to stand, he remains in his chair. Vladimir is like your father, often speaking indirectly and in political avoidance. Feyd-Rautha requires a firmer hand, a more direct approach, while this adversary is a longer play. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

A large section of the table is full of large platters, filled with food. Too much for two people, even with his appetite. Most of it will go to waste, while the rest of the inhabitants on this planet starve. The distinction between wealth and poverty in this Empire has become staggeringly large. The divide is growing larger everyday. That has to be creating an unrest amongst the Fremen. How long can they continue to live like this?

“For the beloved daughter of the Emperor, we would spare no expense. And if it’s wealth you’re concerned about, we have an endless supply.” His greedy smile is enough for you to lose your appetite. Was that the last look Duke Leto saw?

You take your seat and as a pale, hairless girl fills your glass. Her onyx eyes are so large you can’t see anything surrounding them. You don’t want to drink, but her hand shakes as she pours so you offer her a reassuring smile, not interested in adding to whatever abuse she already receives. Your appetite has not returned from your first wave of spice ingestion.

“Your nephew explained that spice production has never been higher.”

“Yes, made possible with your father’s generous gifts. To House Carrino,” he says, raising his glass to cheers yours. Before you can reply, the doors open once more, Vladimir’s attention stolen from you.

“Uncle, we have secured the location for tomorrow.”

“This is a dinner without business. Sit, you’re late.” Vladimir’s command to his loyal dog is instant. Feyd-Rautha takes his seat across from you, in his rightful place as Vladimir’s right hand man. He’s had access to you much more than you’re comfortable with.

“Where?” You ask Feyd the moment he sits. He looks to Vladimir for permission to proceed and gets it.

“At the top of some rock formation an hour south.”

“You don’t sound familiar with this location. How do you know it isn’t swarming with Fremen?” You asking, tilting your head in disbelief.

“We have killed hundreds of Fremen since re-taking Arrakis, my lady. There aren’t many left.” Vladimir’s tone shifts on lady, as if he soothing a child.

“Why can’t he come here? Arraken is the safest place.”

Feyd looks to his uncle in an ‘I told you she’d make this difficult’ way that makes you want to throw something at him. They are offering you up to the desert like a lamb to the slaughter.

“We will have Sardaukar on the ground the entire time. It’s best to let the young Duke believe he is in control. Your safety is our priority.” Vladimir offers what he probably thinks is a smile, but comes across as cold. You open your mouth to retort, to show him this is flawed when the impatient Feyd cuts you off.

“We need him to die in the desert.” Feyd’s expression is a sneer. His deep set black eyes hold no remorse, no compassion for the soon to be death of Paul. You feel that he has given you a clue. Something obvious you’re missing in the puzzle.

“The disposal of the Atreides family was… sloppy.” Vladimir’s sneer toward Feyd-Rautha is unmistakable, no doubt regretting putting Rabban in charge of that. “It drew attention from the surrounding Houses. Houses that favored the Duke and didn’t take his removal lightly. They have been talking, asking questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

Vladimir ignores you and keeps one forearm resting on the table while the other moves, gathering more food for his large plate. It’s clear the effort it takes for him to move just one arm. In the years it’s been since you’ve dined with him, he has also aged. The weight of his enormous body catching up to him.

“Will the Emperor kill their families if they answer his call, too? Or are the Harkonnen’s assassins for hire now? What’s stopping any one of them from taking over Arrakis and reaping the rewards?” Vladimir doesn’t seem bothered with this questioning.

“They could never be successful here. We have been here for generations,” Feyd-Rautha’s lip curls at the audacity that any other family could rule here.

“And finishing off the remaining family will stop the chatter?”

“It will show them what we do to those who try to come between us and the dune,” Feyd spits out. His uncle has programmed his rage expertly. “It will show them how savage the Fremen really are.”

Your eyes narrow, fork placed back onto the plate as you realize what you should have seen all along. The final piece falling into place.

“You want the other Houses to think the Fremen killed Paul.” If the Fremen are willing to kill their savior, the one they’ve waited generations for, then they have no loyalty. It’d be a betrayal equal to what your father did to the loyalty of Duke Leto. It shows the galaxy they do not answer to anyone and if they don’t stand for good, then they will not gain the support of any House to rise up against the Harkonnens. It isolates them in their seitches. It makes them vulnerable. The only thing stopping him from blowing up parts of the planet is the humanitarians in the galaxy who forbid it.

“Perhaps you have the gift of sight, after all.” Vladimir sees your mind churning over this information, running the data, evaluating the casualties. You don’t even dare to consider the death toll.

You must give credit where it is due. Feyd-Rautha may be the one coordinating this plan, but the conception is all Vladimir. Feyd has never been the face of the family, only the next in line to inherit it. He’s still too primal, too unpredictable without the direction of his uncle. He is a pawn in this game, as are you, under the thumb of Vladimir. The lengths he will go to grow his wealth is staggering. Left unchecked, he could become more fierce, gaining followers to hunt down the Fremen simply by instilling fear.

“And what happens after?” You keep your tone unbothered, as if the thought of killing someone wouldn’t tear you apart, wouldn’t ignite the extinction of an entire people. This bargain you have made is suddenly much more complicated than originally predicted.

“The plan is for you to leave for your father’s ship immediately following Paul’s death. It will be too dangerous for you once the Fremen find their savior dead,” Vladimir says between chews. “As the new widow to the last heir of Atreides, who barely escaped with her life and saved by the Baron, the safest place for you while we subdue the Fremen is with your father.”

“Your evacuation is my responsibility.” Feyd’s voice is low, his eyes watching you like the griffin of his family crest. Eyes of a hawk, patience of a lion, and the claws to keep you in his clutches. You won’t let that happen.

“I think that’s best. My father will want to settle his side of this arrangement with me once I return.” You keep your voice casual, trying to gage how determined Feyd is to keep you close. If you leave for another planet, it will take him too long to gain access to it and in turn, you.

Feyd smiles at this, gazing at his uncle. Vladimir’s eyes are set upon you, the finality in his stare tells you everything you need to know that this will not be leaving your father’s Flagship. He leans over towards you, his imposing size too close for your comfort. He is intimidating, but you are the daughter of the Emperor and will be damned if this man sees your fear.

“House Harkonnen is risking intergalactic war against the Empire for not only the execution of Duke Leto, but also his son. Do you think your father would just reward us with new harvesters and a permanent residence on Arrakis?”

“He would let me pick any one of his daughters. And Rabban, too.” You stare Feyd down, noticing the twitch in his eye. He isn’t used to verbal combat and he’s met his match. He showed his hand too quickly, but it still catches you off guard.

“The youngest two aren’t old enough.” Your sisters will never be married to anyone in House Harkonnen. They are vile, cruel. Your sisters are soft, kind and too young. They will always be too inexperienced for men more than a decade older than yourself.

“We can wait. A long term payment plan.” He thinks he’s clever, but he has you in a corner. “Rabban is unaware of this possibility.” So there’s time. You may not have much of it, but your sisters have their whole lives and you will ensure they get it.

As much as you hate him, you could never allow your sweet sisters to be subjected to this family. Your father's leash on you has only tightened since your first sentence here, but you would take the choke chain around your throat instead of your sisters.

“What is the price of clearing my father’s debt to you for this… act of loyalty?”

“Feyd-Rautha has been very patient, Y/N. Your father and I believe the match will not disappoint.” It’s the first time either of them have said your name or really acknowledged you as a woman independent of the Emperor. Vladimir is a master manipulator, waiting until this moment to appeal to you in the way you’ve always wanted to be. To be the one to have a decision in your fate.

You nod your head, nausea burning through your stomach. They are unaware of your infertility, or at least Feyd is. He will be rewarded for being a good dog, but won’t get the chance to become out of control if he has children. Children of Feyd would destroy an entire planet.

In turn, your father transfers his ownership of you to the one person with a heavier hand than himself. Marrying you off the man who ‘saved’ you after your husband was murdered is exactly the way he would gain the positivity of the Empire. The Harkonnen maniac who instills fear in all, the savior of a daughter to the people’s most beloved Empress. May she rest in peace.

You won’t get away with sending anonymous messages to other Houses. You will end up on one of two of your most hated planets in the known universe. The Geidi Prime or Arrakis. And who knows what his reaction will be when you he realizes you are infertile. But if it protects your sisters, if it pleases your father and buys them time, maybe they can choose their own path, too.

The whole plot is diabolical and you bought into it for the reward of peace. Of being left alone on a planet far away. You should have known that would never be allowed to happen.

“I accept the debt,” your voice is a rasp, your throat burning as you try to suppress the scream you want to release. The decision is heavy, but you feel numb. It must still be the effects of the spice. Vladimir raises his glass between you and Feyd-Rautha. He’s beat you, the studious strategist.

“Your father will be pleased!” It’s the most enthusiasm you’ve ever heard from Vladimir. Your assumption that past strategies translated over into the present was wrong. The rules are different when it’s man vs woman. You won’t be tricked again.

You summon your fiercest predator gaze and raise your glass to meet theirs in the air, the spread of food rotting before you.The air in your bedroom is warm, even though the sun set hours ago. You watched it set beyond the horizon before your guard ushered you inside, insisting that being out in the wind with your sensitivity to spice was not safe.

Unbearably warm, you’ve removed your dinner dress and are in a night slip that stops mid thigh, the satin doing little to cool your skin. The strap slithers off your shoulder, loose and tickles your skin. This is the heightened awareness you’ve always felt on Arrakis. The paranoia of the future preventing you from sleeping.

The bed you lie on rests inside the alcove carved into the dense stone. Its sharp angles and clean modern lines add to the sterile room too large for its purpose. Everything built by the Harkonnens is grand, taking up as much space as possible. For someone with your condition, you don’t mind how open it is.

Above your head, the plate of gold spanning the wall has elegant coy fish carved into it. If you unfocus your eyes, they appear to move. The light from the wall lamp catches the scales and reflects off it as if it were truly an image in water. Meticulously crafted, ornate and unique.

You’ve slept in this room before, when you stayed on this planet for an entire standard year. The bed is familiar, yet sleep will not take you. Not when you know this the bed your future husband spent his nights in before the attack. Your body is heavy, but your mind is relentless.

Mulling over the details of tomorrow brings you no peace. There isn’t a way out of this, at least not one you can see. If Paul doesn’t kill you on sight in revenge for his father, what will you say to him? From what you’ve been told about Paul, he is honorable, like the Atredies men before him. He’s observant and rumor has it he sensed a Hunter-seeker and destroyed it before he killed him. A rare feat.

Yesterday, you would have considered yourself honorable. There is honor in saving your sisters, but will there be any humanity left when you achieve it by means of murder? After the death of your mother, your life became your sisters and protected them from your father’s harsh expectations. You swore to never let any harm fall upon them and would rather drink what’s in the vial than subject them to knowledge of this arrangement you’ve agreed to.

Once Paul is dead, you could leverage the remainder of your soul to Vladimir to prevent unnecessary bloodshed of the Fremen. What he will want, you do not know. Perhaps he wants to elevate himself from a businessman to a political position. You could help him achieve a seat in the court.

Perhaps you are more similar to your father than you thought. Playing into this game, going all in with the risk of losing it all, is exactly what he would do. Allowing the death of one to get what you want, even if the intentions are not purely for you.

Your life as the wife of a Harkonnen will be greatly different. And a shudder runs through you at the thought of sharing a bed with the most detested creature. In this moment, you are grateful for your infertility, perhaps it will gain you sympathy. Harkonnen women are bred to be mothers and healers. If you cannot conceive, you have no doubt you will have the pity of the majority, seeing you as less than worthy of children. Being the daughter of the Emperor, you have never received the pity of anyone. You’re almost disgusted with yourself, stooping so low to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you after you murder one of the last innocent men in the galaxy.

There is a knock so faint you think you imagined it, until it comes again. Rolling over to face the door, it opens without waiting for your response. You are not in power here. You sit up, pulling the strap of the slip over your shoulder again.

The same hairless girl with large, black eyes stands in the doorway with a small metal tray in her hand. Her eyes are cast at the floor in fear and you know why. Behind her, Feyd-Rautha casts a shadow over her as he moves around her and enters your private room. At the sight of him, you pull the sheet higher up to cover your front.

Casual, he’s removed his bulky black armor and wears a matte black tunic over loose pants. He’s barefoot, which shocks you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of his armor. It’s unnerving to think the barriers between you both are crumbling, that one day soon you will see him this casual often. In your room, in your bed. He doesn’t even appear to have a single weapon on him, though he could tear a man apart with his bare hands.

“Your light is on,” he says, straight to the point. “I’ve brought you a sedative.” His eyes never leave you, but he motions for the girl to approach you with the tray. A small glass of water rests next to a single pill.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” you do your best to sound firm, but he knows there will be no punishment for this. This is his uncle’s home. You are in debt to them. Your guards, however, are not and you don't understand why they let him enter.

His eyes survey you, taking in every inch of the skin on your arms and across your chest. In the warm glow of the lamp, you must look ethereal to him, because he seems to be struggling for a retort. Finally, with the droop of his chin, he finds it.

“Superstition is for the groom the night before, but you are not my bride tomorrow.”

The girl reaches you and you note she is careful to not stand directly in front of you, but off to the side so he doesn’t lose sight of you. You don’t fault her for it, noticing the way her hand shakes slightly as she holds the water out to you. She may be more afraid of him than you are.

“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t take substances like that.” Not since your mother swallowed a handful of them.

“I can sit with you then, until you fall asleep.” You hold his stare, knowing he has the high ground as he towers in height just feet from your bed as he inches closer. You don’t miss the implication and disgusted, grab the pill from the tray before he can take another step closer. You swallow it without the water and nod in acknowledgment to the girl.

She bows and nearly runs past him before he tells her to leave the water in his native language. It comes out like a grunt, harsh and commanding. She places the water on the nightstand before shuffling out, the sound of her plastic dress swishing as she goes. Your eyes never leave him in a challenge, but cautious to push him when your guards are clearly confused about who they protect.

Slowly, he creeps closer to the bed, calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

“I know the last day has been a shock for you, but you will adjust. You’re resilient.” He reaches the bed and places one knee on it, leaning closer to you. “You’ll adjust to the effects of spice, too.” His hand reaches up and you’re too scared to pull back more than an inch or two. His finger traces the line of your strap hanging over your shoulder. He is so warm, hot even. “Please me in completing your task, and I’ll buy you the Atreides’ planet.” He means please him in murdering Paul and inciting a war against the Fremen.

“Caladan?” Your voice snaps him out of his trance over the plains of your exposed skin and he pulls his hand back.

“Consider it a gift to my bride.” He smirks then, cruel and knowingly, before he gets off the bed entirely. “You are soft and not made for Geidi Prime. It’s too harsh, industrial. I will ease you into life there when you are with child, but perhaps the oceans of Caladan will help you rest when I’m away.”

“Away?” You ask.

“I haven’t been named, but the Baron will make me his heir. That will require me to tend to business in his place.”

With that he bows slightly to you and leaves the room, closing the door behind you.

You’re not sure what to make of that, but agree that his home planet is less than appealing. Though he can’t be that oblivious to know that sending you the planet of the man you’re about to murder it a cruel form of torture. Every hall reminding you of the life you stole. Perhaps there are worse places than originally thought.

Enraged at the thought of continued torture over this crime against humanity you’re about to commit, you rip the covers off and storm to the door. Yanking the heavy thing open, your tormentor is gone and your guards are nowhere to be found. The halls are quiet and still, dimly lit in warm lamp light. Unable to hunt down your guards in a skimpy slip, you abandon the idea. If Feyd was going to do anything to you without them present, he would have. He’s toeing the line again, testing when you’ll act out.

You must refrain from impulsively reacting to him. Anything that displeases him now will be paid back to you when you are married. No longer can you hide behind your father’s power. Your safety. and the safety of your sisters, is in his hands.

Re-entering your room, you close the door and get back into the warm bed. Unable to keep your eyes open longer than a few moments you allow them to close, the light on the wall is still shining upon the fish mural behind your bed.

Read Part 3

[the-authoress-writes]

Safe and Sound Chapter One

Or: It’s the Great Karmic Bitchslap, Jake Seresin!

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Seresin OC

Safe and Sound Masterlist

Synopsis: After leaving her violent and abusive husband, Anastasia Seresin has known nothing but fear for months.

Always looking over her shoulder, wondering if he’s found her and their son, Luke, again.

With nowhere left to go, she turns to her younger twin brother, Jake, hoping that finally, she’ll have fled far enough.

But when she meets Bradley Bradshaw, her world is turned upside down, and she’s left wondering…

Will she have the courage to love again, and to let herself be loved?

Series Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of domestic violence and abuse, mentions and descriptions of sexual abuse, stalking, PTSD, character(s) of faith (Catholicism), warnings will be updated as the series progresses.

This is a story dealing with very serious and sensitive topics.

Please be careful, and protect your own peace.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of triggers, mentions of past domestic violence and abuse, mentions of Catholicism, mention of gaslighting, brief mention of assault, discussion of eating habits, stalking, and of course, military and legal inaccuracies.

Author’s Note: This story is one that is special to me; this was one of the first Top Gun stories I came up with, soon after I watched TG:M.

I’ve been keeping this to myself, because this is going to be intense and hard, but I know that if I don’t put this out there, I’ll never finish it.

So here we go.

Title is from the Taylor Swift/Joy Williams & John Paul White song of the same name.

Not breaking my habit of naming my stories after songs, it seems!

How had her life come to this?

Constantly on her guard.

Watching the way the shadows shifted.

Breaking into a cold sweat whenever she smelled anything that reminded her of his cologne, and when she saw or smelled red roses.

Living out of motels with her son.

How had she been so deceived?

How had she given her heart, mind, and body to the maniac she called her—thankfully—ex-husband?

All the things she gave up for him…

All the things he did to her…

All the things she let him do to her…

She shuddered just thinking about it.

All these thoughts swam through Anastasia’s head as she stared up at the ceiling, listening to her son, Luke, breathe.

Luke.

The only thing she didn’t regret about her marriage.

The only truly good thing Derek ever gave her.

Her beautiful, brave boy.

How she wished she could give him a better life than this.

A better life, the life he deserved, where he could just be the happy eight-year-old he was, instead of quiet, grave, and much-too responsible.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, not wanting to wake Luke and burden him even more than he himself was taking on.

She should have listened all those years ago when her twin brother Jake told her Derek was bad news, but Derek had fooled her so well, and she’d been so in love with him, or maybe she was just in love with love.

She would never know, now.

Regret burned in her heart as she remembered her last argument with Jake.

“Stash, I don’t like him.”

“God’s sake, not this again; you haven’t liked anyone I’ve been with, Jake.”

He rolled his eyes, “Not like this.

I have a bad feeling, Stash, he—something’s just plain wrong.”

“He loves me, Jake,” she defended.

“He says he does, but I don’t think he does; I don’t like the way he looks at you, why can’t you see it?” he said, voice rising.

“You know, I think you’re just jealous that I’m in a committed relationship, and you’re not!” she pointed.

“This isn’t about that!”

“Then what the hell is it about, Jakub?!”

Her younger brother inhaled and exhaled evenly. “I am concerned about you, Stacia.

You have to break up with Derek.”

Frustration flared in her chest. “See?!

You can’t even give me a straight answer about why I should!

And for another thing, why should I listen to relationship advice from you, when you have such a fantastic track record in your relationships?

You couldn’t keep one in high school to save your life, so why would you know the meaning of the word commitment?

Oh—sorry, not sorry, you wouldn’t know it, even if it hit you over the head!!”

Jake clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to get into an argument with you before I go back to Annapolis, Stash, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll end it with him,” he said, voice shaking.

She scoffed, “You don’t want to get into an argument with me?

Well, too fucking late; I’m not going to break up with him, I love him, and he loves me, end of story.”

He threw his hands up, “You’re so fucking stubborn, you know that?!”

“Pot, meet Goddamn kettle!

I’m not breaking up with Derek, and that’s final, so you can go back to Annapolis, and while you’re at it, get the fuck out of my life, Jake!” At the shock in his eyes, spite sparked, hot and furious, in her heart. “And you know what?

If you hate Derek so much, I don’t have a brother anymore.”

Jake’s face fell. “Stacia—”

“No, I love him, and you’re wrong about him, so do me a favor and stay the hell out of my life, Jacob, because clearly, you can’t be happy for me, so you’re dead to me.”

That was the last thing she’d said to her brother almost ten years ago.

One year after her and Jake’s argument, she walked down the aisle without her brother on her side of the church, trading Anastasia Seresin for Anastasia Malloy.

And still, despite everything she’d said, Jake sent her a letter, that she read despite herself. “Dear Stacia,

I pray that you had a great day.

I pray that you have a happy marriage.

I’m currently in Pensacola for the next two years for flight training, and while I will respect your decision to cut me from your life, I just want you to know that you will always be my sister and I will always love you, Stacia.

With all my love,

Kuba”

She kept that letter, even though she initially wanted nothing more than to throw it away, eventually moving it to her Bible, between the cover and the paper lining, once Derek became abusive.

Over the next ten years, Jake sent her cards every time his duty station changed, something she only discovered while taking out the trash five years ago, finding his card detailing his assignment to VFA-151 in Lemoore, which mentioned the other cards he’d sent.

When Derek found it hidden in her dresser, he threw the card again, and she got a sprained wrist and slammed against the bedroom doorframe for it.

Unable to escape her memories and regrets, she lay restless in bed until it was time to get up.

The routine was just that; after washing up, she woke Luke, so the two of them could eat breakfast before she looked for jobs in the area—since it’d been four months since Derek last found them, she felt it was safe to start looking for at least a part-time job—and because it was a Sunday, they would go to church for Mass at noon.

The church was nice, and the homily was decent, but it just made her miss her old parish church.

She especially missed Father Janusz.

The grandfatherly priest was the one who encouraged and exhorted her to leave Derek; he and his sister, Bożena, his housekeeper, were the only ones who believed her when she first said she was being abused.

Because Derek hadn’t just fooled her, he’d managed to fool the whole community into thinking she was crazy and a cheater, and that he was a salt-of-the-earth Sheriff’s Deputy, suffering an unhappy marriage for the sake of his son.

Father Janusz and Bożena kept her anchored to the world, even through Derek’s relentless gaslighting.

She remembered the night she left.

“Go, my daughter,” Father urged, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“I’m scared, Father.”

“Be not afraid, Stacia.

Just drive; get away from here.

We’ll handle the rest, and cross the bridges when we get there.

Here, take this.”

Father drew back, and pressed a cellphone and a credit card into her hand. “The cellphone is one of the administrative phones paid for by the parish; don’t worry about the charges—and this is the card to a savings account in Bożena’s name.

I placed some money there for you from my personal savings.”

Tears welled in her eyes, “Father, I can’t take all this, you’ve already done so much for me and Luke,” she gestured at the ‘97 Toyota Camry Father had given her.

“You will—you must.

Do it for your boy, hmm?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Now go, Stacia—I’ll file the annulment with the Diocese, as well as the divorce papers, request for custody of Łukasz, and restraining order, in the city tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

“Okay—thank you so much for everything, Father—I can’t thank you enough.”

“No thanks needed, child.

Niech Bóg będzie z tobą, Anastasja.”

The divorce and annulment went smoother than she thought it would, but somehow, even with the testimonies of Father Janusz and Bożena, she still managed to come out the bad person, with the request for a restraining order denied, and Derek cleared on his charges of domestic and child abuse.

She comforted herself with the fact that at least she somehow got sole custody of Luke, and together, they ran to the other side of Texas.

She and Luke were beginning to settle down three months after the whole thing, when she got a call at half past midnight from Bożena.

“Hello?”

“Stacia, it’s Bożena.

You have to run.”

“What?” she frowned, sitting up.

“Janusz was attacked in the rectory.

He couldn’t identify who it was, but we both believe it was Derek.”

“Is Father alright?” Anastasia gasped.

“He’s as alright as he can be.

But he’s in surgery right now for a broken arm and leg.”

“Did they arrest Derek?”

“No.

There’s no proof it was him, and you know what they think of you and him in that stupid town, córka,” the elderly woman bitterly muttered.

How Sheriff Lackman and the other deputies could be so blind was truly astounding. “But they have to investigate!

Father was badly hurt!”

“And they will, but I have no doubt that “whoever” did it will never be caught and prosecuted for it.

Which is why you have to run.

I’ll put more money in the account Janusz gave you tomorrow.

Take Luke and go, fast,” Bożena urged.

And that conversation was what triggered her packing her life into bags and taking Luke, praying that Derek wouldn’t come after them.

But he had, and he’d found them nearly half a dozen times, to her terror.

“Mama, can we get waffles again for lunch?” Luke’s voice broke her from her thoughts as she stood in front of the door to the church’s parking lot, can of Mace in the hand which wasn’t holding Luke’s.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she absently said, intently scanning the parking lot and checking the corners before she opened the door and they stepped onto the sidewalk.

After checking the backseat and trunk of the car, she buckled Luke into his booster seat, and drove them to the local diner, where she barely ate, wanting to save as much of the money Father Janusz and Bożena gave them, keeping her head on a swivel, ironically using a saying her ex-husband was fond of throwing around with his fellow deputies.

“Mama, I can’t finish, can you help me?”

She looked down to see Luke looking up at her pleadingly. “You barely ate, Kaszek, and you finished the plate last time.”

“‘m not that hungry,” he muttered, tapping his thumb on his opposite palm, his tell that he was lying.

“Lucas Tymoteusz Seresin Malloy, we just came from church.”

He sighed, “Please just help me, Mama?

We can both eat.”

A dagger plunged into her heart; of course he’d noticed that she wasn’t eating much of anything—she’d finished her plate of fries ten minutes ago. “I’m okay, honey, you can finish it.”

The rumbling of her stomach gave a different answer.

“Please, Mama, let’s both eat, please,” Luke pled.

Tears welled in her eyes; her beautiful boy was so loving and considerate, despite all the abuse he’d been raised around. “I don’t want you to be hungry, Luke.”

“I don’t want you to be hungry either, Mama.”

With a sob, she pulled Luke into her arms, running her hand through his dark golden blond hair, the exact same shade as her own. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“Are you sure, you’ll get hungry later?”

“Mm-hmm.

You’ll be even hungrier than me later if you don’t eat.

Please, Mama.”

“Okay, I’ll eat a little.”

Luke’s smile lit up the room, and it reminded her of Jake’s smile, twisting an old knife in her heart.

She ate less than Luke probably would have liked, but her stomach was glad for the little extra food, and they even managed to enjoy the day, going to the library and the dollar store, where she let him pick out three things, the two of them later deciding to splurge on McDonald’s for dinner, where Luke managed to get the toy he’d wanted in his Happy Meal.

She had an almost optimistic outlook on things when they arrived back at the motel for the night, and she was maybe, just maybe, beginning to hope that she could finally start over.

“Okay, honey, get your clothes for tomorrow,” she said, doing the same and rummaging through her own bag, making use of the system she’d come up with months ago: they kept their clothes and important belongings in the car, just in case they had to make a quick getaway, that way, they would leave as little as possible behind if Derek found them again.

“You good, Kaszek?” Anastasia asked, shoving her clothes in her tote bag.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Okay, let’s go!”

She held Luke’s hand in her left, her can of mace in her other hand, carefully sweeping the parking lot and the motel building with her gaze.

She was just about to step up onto the sidewalk running along the motel building, when her eyes landed on the ground just before their room door.

She stopped in her tracks as fear shuddered down her back.

Because just there, lying innocently in front of their room door, was a single red rose petal.

Red roses.

Those were the flowers he’d always give her after he hurt her, as an apology, to show that he was a “loving and caring” husband.

“Mama.” Luke’s voice was heavy with warning, having obviously also seen the rose petal.

“Look behind us, Luke.

Is he there?” she breathed, trying to keep her voice from shaking, as she gripped her Mace tighter.

“No.

There’s no one, Mama.”

“Good.

We’re going back to the car,” she whispered, glad she’d already paid for the night yesterday, and they wouldn’t have to worry about local police coming after them for the motel room fee.

“Run, Mama?”

“Yes—go.”

They ran back to the car, Luke buckling himself into his booster seat, and she mentally cursed as her trembling hands dropped the key, the sound as it hit the car floor ringing like a death knell, but she managed to pick it up and insert it into the ignition.

To her horror, the car didn’t start, and it could be a figment of her imagination, but she could swear the shadows at the corner of the building were beginning to coalesce into an all-too-familiar figure.

The ignition cranked and cranked, but the car still refused to start.

“Oh God, please,” she cried, turning the key yet again.

The sound of the engine starting was like the most heavenly music, and she threw the car into reverse, speeding towards the highway—she had to stay off the back roads, especially now.

Once they made it to the highway, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease minutely, glancing back to see Luke’s frightened eyes on her.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama.

Daddy found us again,” he despairingly breathed.

“I know, I know.

I’m so sorry, Luke, you shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“I’d rather run with you than live with Daddy, Mama.”

Anastasia bit her lip to keep her sob from escaping. “Ja cię kocham, Luke.”

“Ja też cię kocham, Mama.”

“Try to get some rest, okay, sweetheart?”

“I’ll try, Mama.”

An hour later, he was finally asleep, and she allowed the tears she’d been keeping down, to come.

Was this what she’d be doing for the rest of her life?

Always running, always looking over her shoulder, wondering if Derek had found them again?

All she wanted was to be able to breathe, to live, to raise Luke in peace, but where would she be able to do that?

Because Derek had found them, every single time.

Suddenly, as she drove, a wild hope seized her, her thoughts turning to the card in her bag, which she received after Father Janusz was able to convince the mailman to deliver any letters addressed to her to the rectory.

“Dear Stacia,

I don’t know if you even get these, at this point, but since none of them ever get sent back to me, I’m going to keep sending them.

I’ve been assigned to NAS North Island in San Diego for the foreseeable future; I’m part of a new special, elite STRIKFITRON, VFA-223, called the Black Cloaks.

(You’ll never guess what our squadron callsign is)

God, I wish we were on speaking terms, Stash, I want to tell you all about my new squadron.

Without disclosing classified information of how we came to be, we’re the best of the best’s best, forged as a team through one of the toughest missions I think will ever have to be flown, under the command of the best officer I’ve ever met.

And I’d dare to say that we’re a real team… maybe even a family.

I wish I could introduce you to everyone.

I even have a real wingman again.

He was a bit of an acquired taste; we first met in Pensacola for flight training, but he’s not a bad guy, I’m actually happy to fly his wing.

You’d love Phoenix—and Mav, my CO, he’s the second-most charming bastard I know, after yours truly, and the best naval aviator I’ve ever seen.

He handed me my ass all through training for that mission I talked about, and he’s even better than the legendary reputation that precedes him.

He’s taught me so much, and he actually cares about us, not just because we’re valuable to the navy for our skills.

He cares about us as people, and I’m honored to serve under him.

Fuck, there’s so much I want to tell you, all the paper in the world wouldn’t be enough to write it all out.

I pray you’re happy, that I was wrong about everything—there’s nothing more that I want for you, Stacia.

You’ll always be my sister, and I’ll always be your brother, no matter what, even if we never speak again.

Ja cię kocham, Stacia.

All my love forever,

Kuba”

She could go to Jake.

There was no possible way that Derek could bullshit his way onto a Navy base without a military ID.

They could be safe there.

But her mind flashed back to the argument she had with Jake all those years ago, to the horrible things she told him.

Could he forgive her for what she said, for the years of silence, first voluntary, then forced by Derek—could he forgive her for all of it?

Anastasia suddenly shook her head; that was her pride talking—from all the letters he’d written, there was clearly nothing that he wanted more than for them to speak again, so why would he turn her away?

At any rate, she thought, looking at Luke’s peaceful face in the rearview mirror, even if Jake did turn her away, maybe California would finally be far enough away from Derek, and she pulled over to look up the address for NAS North Island.

It felt like it took forever, but finally, after hours and hours of driving, she pulled up to the gate of NAS North Island.

The guard peered into the car before looking expectantly at her. “Good evening—ID?”

She handed over her driver’s license, and the guard took one look at it, before saying, “I need your USID, ma’am.”

Anastasia mentally facepalmed.

The very requirement which would keep her and Luke safe from Derek, would be the same thing which kept them out.

“I… I don’t have one.”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t enter.”

Her heart sank. “Please, sir, my brother is assigned here, I need to get in—”

“Ma’am, without a USID, I can’t allow—”

“I need to see my brother,” she pled. “Please, sir, we haven’t spoken in years, so I don’t know his number, but I know he’s stationed here and living on base, and I need to see him.”

“Ma’am—”

“If you call him—surely his number is in some sort of database—he’ll tell you I’m his sister.

Please, I have nowhere else to go, sir,” she breathed, tears welling up against her will.

The guard stared at her for a long moment, and then turned to face the computer in his station. “Alright, I’ll call him, but if he says you can’t come in, or he doesn’t know you, you have to leave, ma’am.

Does your son have any ID?”

“No, sir.”

He ambivalently hummed, before typing something into his computer. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Jacob Seresin.

He’s a pilot.”

He typed some more, then picked up a phone, the sound of the buttons seeming so loud in the night air, before the longest silence she’d ever heard deafened her, and she prayed that Jake would answer the call.

Blessedly, finally, the guard perked up. “I’m very sorry to wake you, Lieutenant, but I have a kid and woman here at the gate asking me to let them in, she says they need to get to your house,” the guard replied.

A short silence.

“The young man has no ID on him, but the woman’s driver’s license says Anastasia Malloy.”

This silence felt like an eternity, and Anastasia held her breath, praying that Jake wouldn’t turn his back on her, that her hope in him wasn’t unfounded.

“Alright, sir.

I’ll escort them to your housing.”

She sobbed in relief, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Alright, ma’am, your story checks out.

I’ll be escorting you to your brother’s housing, just wait here.”

Once the guard came back with someone else to man the gate, he drove up in a black Charger, instructing her to follow.

“Mama, we’re going to see Uncle Jake?” Luke asked.

“Yeah, we are, baby, hopefully, he’ll let us stay with him, at least for a little while,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even as the emotions were coursing through her.

“Do you think he’ll like me?”

“Of course he will, Kaszek, he’ll love you.”

Her brother had a soft heart under all the bravado he liked to show the world, and if he was still the Jake she remembered, he would love Luke, even if only because he was her son.

“I hope so, Mama.”

They drove past score after score of cookie cutter houses before stopping, and her breath caught in her throat.

Shadowed by the exterior lighting of his house, Jake stood on the path leading up to his house.

From what she could see, he looked much the same as a decade ago, but maybe with a slightly more muscular build, like he’d finally grown into the figure given to him by their father, his hair was disheveled as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, and there was a taut line of tension in his body, which she instinctually prayed was not going to lead to anger directed at her.

“Wait here, okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama.”

She stepped out of the car on shaking legs, walking to her little brother.

He looked her up and down, the tension seeming to pull tighter throughout his body, a furrow carving its way between his brow as he took her state in, and she fearfully looked into his eyes, their mother’s eyes, as tears she could no longer contain, traced down her cheeks.

The fear practically drained from her as she registered the look of warmth, love, and concern in those green eyes, and she murmured, voice trembling and breaking, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Stacia.”

And as he opened his arms to her, she launched herself forward into his embrace, sobbing, feeling safe for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

To be continued…

Previous Part Next Part

There is actually a sizable Polish community in Texas, and in fact, one of the oldest churches in the state is a Polish Catholic Church.

Which is just perfect, because here, the Texas-born Seresin twins have Polish ancestry and nicknames, since I headcanon that Jake has Polish ancestry, like his actor, Glen Powell’s supposed ancestry, so—

Polish Glossary

Disclaimer: this is all taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Jakub (pronounced YAH-coohb): Polish version of Jacob

Stacia (pronounced StAH-shuh): Polish nickname for Anastasia (the Polish version is Anastasja, pronounced AHNA-stAH-sheeya)

Kuba (pronounced COO-buh): Polish nickname for Jakub

Janusz (pronounced YAH-nuush)

Bożena (pronounced Boh-zhEHna)

Łukasz (pronounced WOO-kahsh): Polish version of Lucas

Niech Bóg będzie z tobą, Anastasja: May God be with you, Anastasia

Córka (pronounced TSOO-rkAH): Daughter

Kaszek (pronounced KAH-zheck): Polish nickname for Łukasz

Tymoteusz (pronounced TEA-moh-tAY-uush): Polish version of Timothy

Ja cię kocham: I love you

Ja też cię kocham, Mama: I love you too, Mommy

(Yes, Mama is Polish for Mommy)

NAS Pensacola is “The Cradle of Naval Aviation”, where all Naval Aviators and WSOs go for their flight training, and training can go from eighteen months to as long as two years.

I played it safe with two years.

VFA-151, the “Vigilantes”, based out of NAS Lemoore, is Jake’s squadron in TG:M, according to his flight suit patch.

STRIKFITRON stands for Strike Fighter Squadron.

Gee, I wonder what VFA-223’s squadron callsign is… 😉

USID: Uniformed Service Identification

It is highly unlikely someone could pull an Anastasia and get on base the way she did, but it’s all for the ahhhht, dahhhling.

My subtitle for this story was the working title this story was under until I came up with “Safe and Sound” as the actual title.

It’s derived from the classic Peanuts television special, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”.

I thought about not putting it, but giving Jake the biggest karmic bitchslap was the entire reason I came up with the plot, so I’m putting it.

Taglist

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[ghostinacardboardbox]

@averagecygnet-blog i accidentally deleted your ask about my opinion on the themes in Black Friday 😶 sorry bout that anywhere here’s my thoughts.

So like first of all, like you’ve already said, the critique of consumerism is incredibly heavy handed. You are right. It is not at all subtle. We’ve all heard Made in America. But I really don’t think it was possible to tell this story and have it be subtle; this was always going to be an incredibly overt anti-capitalist message.

Starting with the real life inspirations of the premise, the “Tickle-Me Wiggly” is already a direct reference to “Tickle-Me Elmo,” which was a toy that inspired real life riots ending in at least a handful of injuries and arrests. In the scene right after the Wiggly Jingle, Paul and Emma discuss Cabbage Patch Kids. The Cabbage Patch riots have their own wiki page. The idea of parents literally resorting to violence over toys on Black Friday is something that already happens. So this musical is really just looking at those events, saying, “Wow, capitalism sure makes people behave badly,” and then pushing that concept to its most exaggerated form. The fact that it isn’t subtle is not a bug, it’s a feature.

I also see people bring up this theme almost entirely in relation to the song Made in America rather than connecting it to almost every scene. As if this isn’t a show that doesn’t begin with an advertisement. The opening number is an ad.

(Apparently an effective one, considering how quickly Starkid sells out of the Lord in Black dolls whenever they sell them. People literally watched a whole musical about how the doll represents using the product of capitalism to distract from societal problems and then went and bought the doll. And I would have, too, if I had the money. But I think about the irony.)

I'm not going to go through every scene and the capitalist imagery in it, mostly because I don't actually have anything particularly unique to say about it. Like most of them are fairly self-explanatory and I'm not particularly good at analysis. But do want to specifically bring up the lyrics of "Our Doors Are Open" since they usually get overshadowed by people talking about how much cunt Corey served (it's a lot of cunt. Record amounts of cunt served), because the entire song is both satirical and foreshadowing. Also the bridge of "First of Famine" and the dehumanization of the worker, etc. etc.

I'm also fascinated by the social dynamics in Black Friday. Lex is basically raising her sister due to their mother's neglect; Tom is a single dad; Becky is a domestic abuse survivor; and while Linda's family externally looks very well-put together, she's had multiple affairs, and it's revealed in the Nightmare Time episode "Honey Queen" that she blatantly plays favorites with her kids and has a terrible relationship with her father. Lex is a poor retail worker, Tom and Becky are middle class, and Linda is very wealthy. Black Friday more than any other Starkid show acknowledges the implications of social class, I think. I wonder if part of why a lot of people don't like it is because it's not really escapism the way a lot of other musicals are; it's pretty clear about dealing with real life problems, in a very simplified but obvious way.

I think all the time about the scene where Linda tells Becky, in front of a crowd, that everyone knew her husband was abusive and chose to stay silent. It's such an important moment because it's directly showing the audience just how cruel Linda is. It had been implied before but this was on another level. And it also serves as, again, a pretty basic depiction of how society treats victims. Like, saying that "bystanders will always look away as long as there's plausible deniability to preserve their own comfort" is pretty simple, but that doesn't mean it's a bad point to make, and I think it's made well. The title song also has the lines "I don't want your half-baked sympathy, / When did it save those in need?" which reinforces a similar concept; expressing pity isn't the same as actually taking any kind of action.

And then, of course, there is all the religious imagery. Every time I watch this show I notice more of it, it's everywhere and it's so cool. The show takes place during the holiday season so there are a lot of references to Christmas, specifically. Wiggly keeps saying it will be his birthday, and Linda will "birth" him, so they are tied to Jesus and the Virgin Mary, symbolically (While writing this I had the thought that Wiley possibly counts as the angel Gabriel, then). And I think that using Christmas works because of how commercial Christmas in the US is. If your eldrith god is using capitalist desires as a recruiting tactic, having him bastardize Christmas for his own purposes is a pretty logical step I think. It's also not just that Wiggly is associated with Christmas thematically but also in a sense the iconography of the holiday becomes Wiggly. The garlands on the balcony turning into Wiggly's tentacles is one of the greatest set design pieces I've ever seen. Even apart from the functionality of it as a low-cost set that can go unnoticed until it's needed, it so perfectly evokes the imagery of Wiggly literally corrupting the holiday imagery. The first time I saw that scene I was amazed. I don't feel like checking rn who did the set design for Black Friday but whoever they are, they're fucking incredible. No notes.

And then the music. This is by far my favorite Starkid score overall. I love it so much. Partially because I, known 80's pop-rock enjoyer, am obsessed with a good synthesizer, but also just because of how well the songs suit this particular story. The synths are used most in the songs that show Wiggly's influence (Feast or Famine, Adore Me, Wiggle). Is "non-traditional instruments represent the unknown and otherworldly" the most unique special concept ever? No. But I like it and it sounds cool so like idc.

Jeff Blim is an incredible songwriter who is so talented in so many genres, and I'm always impressed with the songs he writes for Hatchetfield. I think sometimes we don't appreciate enough that all of these songs are by one guy (also Matt Dahan's musical direction for the entire series and the underscoring for both seasons of Nightmare Time that works in the melodies of previously used songs so incredibly). All of the Nightmare Time songs are so different, and all three of the stage shows have a very distinctive sound that really makes sense with the story that's being told. And one of the things Jeff does best in my opinion is the use of repeated melodies and leitmotifs.

Hatchetfield is full of them. There's been a lot of discussion of it in Nerdy Prudes because that show has so many motifs (i.e. the Nightmare Time riff, the "I'm not a loser" melody), and one of them actually comes from Black Friday. In The Summoning, right after Wiggly says "fwendy-wends," the keyboard melody that plays is the same as the part in the song Wiggle that goes "We will build a portal just for [when he comes]" (The last few notes fade directly into the chorus of The Summoning). I'm not the first person to notice this or anything but I thought it was so cool when it happened.

And Wiggle itself is using a different melody: The Carol of the Bells. Again, it ties into the idea of Wiggly completely taking over the idea of the Christmas season. The lyrics of Wiggle also include the lines "He will rise up with joyful noise," and I didn't realize that not everyone would catch that as a religious reference until a friend commented about it but "joyful noise" is a biblical reference (Psalm 100:1). It all ties back to the religious themes.

This last one may not be intentional, but the last song also really makes me think of another Christmas carol? The opening lyrics of What If Tomorrow Comes ("Do you all see what I see, / What I know, / What I see?") really reminds me of the song "Do You All Hear What I Hear?" The melody is different and only vaguely similar so I may be reading too far into it, but I always got the feeling that I'd heard something like that before and wasn't able to place it until last year.

Anyway TLDR Black Friday is heavy handed but I think it actually works better that way, and I like how strong the imagery throughout it is.

[nikkeora]

𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 - p.j

summary; percy comforts you after finding you on the fire escape.

pairing; percy jackson x neighbor!demigod!reader

word count; 4.6k

warning(s); themes of abusive relationships. do not interact if this is a trigger for you, and please, reach out if you need help and are able. the world is full of people who can help, even if it's just little things like consolation.

a/n; sorry this took so long!! english isn’t my first language, so there might be a couple errors. feedback is always appreciated :) // takes place between the fourth and fifth book of pjo

request(s); HI HOPE YOURE HAVING A GOOD DAY/NIGHT CAN I PLEASSSSEEEEEE GET PERCY X READER "58/ "Who did this to you?"" WITH PROTECTIVE PERCY I WILL CRY!!!

Hello! Can I please request Percy Jackson x reader with prompt #58: “Who did this to you?” Thank you!

Every time Percy made his way back home after Camp, he expected all sorts of monsters to come pounding at the door. He was the son of Poseidon, after all—the more powerful a demigod was, the easier they were to smell out.

And they kind of did; dracaenae in the grocery store, pit scorpions in the gym and pretty much everywhere else. He even saw a cyclops from his bedroom window once, lumbering pretty dam close to the apartment before shaking his head, seemingly confused, and wandering off. Well, that was strange.

Percy had tried to think of anything that could have thrown the cyclops off his trail. Maybe he smelled another half-blood somewhere, or maybe he just didn't feel like having son-of-the-sea-god fillet for dinner. None of those seemed likely.

Or maybe the cyclops just lost the trail, simple as that. But in Percy’s opinion, that was even less likely than the other two options. Being a son of one of the Big Three gods, Percy was pretty much a beacon for monsters everywhere, which was why he was always hesitant when coming home after camp. He didn't want to put his mom in danger because of him (and Paul Blowfish was really nice, too).

The only way to get rid of his smell, as far as he knew, was by covering it with a stench so foul that it got masked, making Percy smell like just a rather horrid mortal to monsters. Yeah, his mom got an apartment in a shady neighborhood to sort of do just that, but a shady neighborhood wasn't nearly enough to confuse a monster like a cyclops. He needed Smelly Gabe levels of stink, at the very least.

Another reason Percy thought the whole shady neighborhood plan wasn’t what had thrown that cyclops for a loop was because of you.

Now don't get him wrong, he liked having you around. A little too much, even, which he was embarrassed to admit. You were one of the first and best friends he'd made at camp, and you had a personality that could brighten anyone's day. But two demigods living in the same building? Going to the same school, no less? That had to be a recipe in some sort of demon cook book somewhere, just imagine—'easiest-ever cheesecake with half-blood garnish: start by catching two half-bloods, preferably from the same building to keep them fresh...'

Strangely enough, though, nothing ever seemed to get near him when he was with you. No dracaenae disguised as pregnant ladies in the store, no pit scorpions crawling out from between the bookshelves in the library. Not once while hanging out with you did a monster decide to stop by for a quick snack, which was a pretty big deal considering he never left your side if he could help it. He never understood why that was.

Until tonight.

Percy never slept well at home. Sure, it was great to be there, but this wasn’t like Camp, where a magic barrier kept anything dangerous from getting in. This was a regular mortal apartment, where a Laistrygonian giant could easily lob a giant ball of fire at if he had a half-decent aim. He lay awake most nights, which was pretty frustrating since he couldn’t use a phone or something to distract himself, and trying to read just made the words float off the page. So, naturally, he used the sound that flooded through his bedroom window as a sort of white noise to help him fall asleep.

Tonight was especially difficult. He was up way past the point where his body usually started to give in to the drowsiness, and it was really pissing him off. Every time he shut his eyes and tried to force himself to go to sleep, they just opened again a minute or two later, feeling a lot drier.

Suddenly, he heard someone open then slam their window shut a few floors up. Someone slipped onto the fire escape and started climbing down. Who in Hades would be out there at this hour?

The footsteps stopped almost as soon as they started, and nothing but the usual busy murmur of the Manhattan night continued once again. How long had passed? Ten minutes? Twenty? Percy realized he hadn’t heard another window open or close. And the footsteps never passed by his window, so Percy figured whoever was out there was maybe two or three stories up from his floor – somewhere near yours – and decided to go check, grabbing Riptide in its pen form off his bedside table.

If it was just some mortal who’d decided to hang out up there, that’s fine and all. He might have to scare them off if they were too close to your window, but no one would be in actual danger. If it was a monster trying to sneak up on him, or you, for that matter, he would take care of it and come back inside. He didn’t have anything better to do, anyway. He slowly opened his window and slipped outside, being as quiet as he possibly could considering the fire escape was practically ancient.

What he found when he climbed up, however, wasn’t some rando or a monster. It was you. And while normally the sight of you would fill his stomach with butterflies so strong they practically made his skin tingle, what he saw now made his heart drop umpteen stories to the Underworld.

You were wearing your pajamas, which any sensible person would say were much too cold for the season. It was nearing winter a lot more than autumn now, and the temperature was low enough that he could see your shaky breaths. Even so, you still sat out there in nothing but a paper-thin long sleeved shirt and some sweats, hugging your knees to your chest as to either bring yourself some comfort or warmth. Probably both. Your whole body was shaking pretty hard, and Percy didn’t need to see your face to know that you were crying.

He put Riptide into his pocket and shuffled his feet a little as he got closer to you, deliberately making his presence known so he wouldn't startle you when he sat down next to you. Quickly wiping your hand across your face, you tried to clean any trace of tears as you looked up to see who was there.

“Hey, Perce,” you said, smiling at him the way you always did. Your voice would’ve sounded normal if it wasn’t so raw. The way you tried to act as though nothing was wrong made Percy want to punch something. Or someone. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the amount of sheer anger he felt. The silence was deafening as he tried to calm himself down.

“Who did this to you?” He finally asked, his voice shaking. Whether it was from anger, or the sheer amount of willpower he had to conjure to stop himself from beating whoever was the cause of this senseless, he didn’t really know. Your smile wavered a bit.

“What d’you mean?” You replied, trying your best to look confused and oblivious. If he hadn’t caught you actually crying, he was sure he would have bought it. “No one did anything to me, Percy. I’m perfectly fine. Just peachy. All that stuff.”

“Y/N, you’re crying on the fire escape in the middle of the night. I’m not that stupid.” Percy sighed, frustrated. He was your best friend, and as your best friend, it was his job to make sure no one stepped out of line around you, the way you did for him. Like how you gave anyone who tried to talk bad about him a glare so intense they would immediately shut up and run in the opposite direction. “Who did this to you?”

You stayed still for a minute, seemingly weighing your options. On the one hand, you could play dumb and go back home, the way you always did when someone asked what was wrong. You really didn’t want Percy to see you like this. On the other, he already has, so there was no point in trying to hide it.

Besides, the thought of going back to your own apartment made your blood run cold. You ran your hands up and down your arms as chills made their way along your spine.

“My boyfriend,” you finally muttered out, looking away from Percy as you spoke. “He usually stays over since my place is always empty. Practically lives there. We had a big fight about… you, actually. He said you were bad news and told me to stay away from you. I told him you were a good person who just got caught up in some pretty bad situations sometimes. He made a few accusations. Told me—”

You choked on your words. Percy put a hand over your shoulders, a bit hesitant as he wasn’t sure if you wanted him close by right now. After all, he was part of the reason you were out here in the first place. He breathed a little sigh of relief as you leaned into his touch, pressing yourself against his side as he pulled you close.

“He told me I followed you around like a puppy anyway, so to be a good little dog and run home to my master. I didn’t see a point in arguing with him, so I told him that maybe I would. He, um, didn’t like that too much.”

You let out a shaky sigh. Now that you recounted what had happened, it didn’t seem like much of a step up from what your boyfriend usually did. He never liked it when you made friends, so why did him trying to separate you from Percy feel so much more personal than all the other times he told you to cut yourself off?

While you were contemplating the reason for it, Percy was plotting a murder.

He was pretty sure Rachel had a step-by-step guide on it somewhere. But then again, why read a book when one of his other best friends was literally the daughter of the goddess of strategy? And Clarisse.. well, as much as they didn't get along, he was pretty sure she liked you more than most of the other campers, enough to threaten to pulverize anyone who hurt you with the full intent of following it through.

First things first, Seaweed Brain, Anabeth’s voice said in his head (it did that from time to time; Percy assumed he didn't really have his own voice of logic, so his brain borrowed it from the smartest person he knew). She's freezing.

“Right,” he muttered, giving your shoulders a little squeeze. You flinched. First things first, he mentally repeated, and pulled the both of you off of the cold metal platform with an apologetic look. “Let’s get you back to my place, yeah? Get you warmed up.”

You nodded and started to follow him down the stairs. Your legs were unsteady from being folded for too long in the cold, and you stumbled on the first few steps. After the first flight, Percy stopped in his tracks and looked at you for a moment, deciding whether or not carrying you was a bit too much considering there was only a floor or two left to his window. Then he decided that he didn’t care if it was and scooped you up, carrying you bridal-style.

To his surprise, you didn’t protest. He felt you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly, the act making his face go warm. If someone were to see him right now, he was sure the mix of anger and butterflies would have made his face look the color of canned tomato soup.

Once he reached his floor, he put you down and climbed in first, offering you a hand once he was inside. You smiled to yourself as little butterflies fluttered to life in your stomach, but they soon vanished and left you with a sinking feeling that quickly spread everywhere. He was just being a good friend. He doesn’t like you in that way. You have a boyfriend, you shouldn’t be thinking like this–

Percy sat you down on his bed, rummaging through his clean clothes to find something useful. Most of his clothes were really worn out, so it wasn’t much of an easy task. Then his fingers brushed against something soft, and he pulled it out to examine; it was a blue polyester sweater his mom had bought around the end of last winter. He’d worn it a lot over the last few months, but it had been washed more recently than most of his other winter clothes.

“Put this on.” He threw it across the room at you. You caught it and did as you were told, pulling it over your shirt. The scent of ocean breeze fabric detergent and a hint of sea salt washed over you. Percy took a seat beside you on the bed, his gaze boring into you as you tried your best to ignore what had just happened. A second ago, being upset had felt justifiable. Now you were just embarrassed to have been caught.

Again, that wasn’t any worse than what he did every other day. Why did it bug you so much?

“So, you don’t naturally smell like ocean breeze, huh?” You commented, trying to lighten the mood. Or maybe distract him from what he’d just seen. Hey, why not both? “A shame, really. You’d be useful in the Hermes cabin—can’t get cleaned up for inspection most of the time, so smelling nice would definitely be an improvement.”

Percy ran his hand through his hair, his frustration starting to get the better of him. “Does this sort of thing happen often?” He asked. When you didn’t answer, he gently put his hands on either side of your face, making you look at him. Finally, you sighed.

“It’s not usually this bad,” you offered, giving him a small smile. “He never means what he says—or what he does, for that matter. He just gets a little carried away when he’s worried. He’ll apologize in the morning, I’m sure. Always does.”

Usually?

Never?

Always?

This had been going on for a lot longer than Percy had imagined. How could he have let this happen? Was he so dense as to notice the signs? He’d met the guy, for fuck’s sake. He realized now that you weren’t flustered or anything like that whenever your boyfriend dragged you away from him all those times. You were dreading what would happen once no one else was around.

“This isn’t okay, Y/N,” he muttered, moving his hands to hold yours instead. His thumbs traced little patterns on your skin, and you could swear it sent little electric shocks up along your nervous system.

“He’s the best I can hope to get…” You replied, a bitter smile on your face. He told you so all the time. Your best friend got a funny look on his face, something you could only describe as ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ That look then faded into anger, then sadness, then anger again. His expression alternated between the two as he took a breath, then said,

“Tell me everything.”

You were almost certain he almost said something else, but you figured it wasn’t too important. If it was, it would come up again, eventually.

You bit your lip. You didn’t really like telling anyone about your relationship. But then again, this was Percy. He would understand, wouldn’t he?

Percy’s gaze softened as he noticed how hesitant you were. “Please? Promise I won’t judge.” He added.

Oh, come on, that voice was cheating. How could you say no?

So, you started from the top.

From the beginning of your relationship, every time you made some minor mistake, your boyfriend would swoop in and clean up the mess as a ‘favor’. Even if you knew for a fact you could set things straight on your own or didn’t want his help, he was always there to act like it was this huge deal. He would tell you that you were a hot mess, and that no one else but him would ever want to keep you around. He only put up with you because he loved you. And after a couple months, you started to believe him.

Later on, he used those favors against you to guilt you into doing things you didn't really want to do. It started with little things, like getting you to wear what he wanted all the time.

“C’mon babe, remember when I did that thing for you? Just think of it as a little thank you. You can do that for me, right?”

To quote your boyfriend, you were to wear ‘nothing too long, but nothing too skimpy, either’. You weren't allowed to take your coat off in public if you wore a dress that went above your knees, or if your top showed off a little more than what he deemed necessary. You used to joke that you felt like you were dating a high school teacher, but what little humor you managed to find in the situation gradually disappeared as your entire wardrobe was stripped of your own personality and taste.

He became more demanding over time, doing things like taking you out to party with people you barely knew in clothes that made you feel downright uncomfortable, letting his friends ‘borrow’ you if they needed arm candy for a family dinner or something to get their folks off their asses, etcetera. You’d very nearly avoided giving him your first night on his fifteenth birthday—however mad he got, that was the one thing he couldn't guilt out of you.

That was the first time he’d hit you.

“He apologized afterwards,” you quickly added, feeling Percy’s grip tighten. The two of you were now sat facing each other on the bed, shoes kicked off on the floor and legs crossed, with not much space in between except for your intertwined hands. “Like I said, he always does. He was as surprised as me when he did it, and we avoided each other for a week before he came back with a written apology. He told me he wouldn’t go further than anything PG-13 if I wasn’t okay with it.”

He nodded, but you could see his eyes getting darker with each word, their usual sea green color changing until it had more of a stormy blue tone.

Wait a minute, why were you defending the boy who hit you, again?

You continued to tell him how your boyfriend was really insecure, though he tried to hide it in public. You did your best to try to help him, reassure him that he didn’t have anything to be insecure about, but he was almost impossible.

He didn’t like it when you had friends who weren’t also his friends, or when you hung out with anyone else more than him—which, considering he went to a different school than you, meant you weren’t allowed to interact with people much other than the basic stuff. You always distanced yourself from everyone to appease him. So, seeing how much the two of you were around each other, Percy wasn’t exactly popular with your boyfriend.

He murmured passive-aggressive comments whenever he saw you with him, never directly accusing you of doing anything with him but making the questions abundantly clear. He had tried on several different occasions to get you to push him away, and every time you refused, he just got a lot more persistent.

He picked out all the times Percy had supposedly gotten you into trouble, blissfully ignorant about the world of live-action D&D that practically required you to be in danger ninety-nine percent of the time. He made comments about Percy’s ADHD and dyslexia, which you shut down immediately every time. It wasn’t cool to be rude towards people for something they couldn’t control.

Your boyfriend wasn’t used to not getting his way with you for so long, but quite frankly, you didn’t care. Percy was special to you—with him, you could pretend you were just another pair of stupid teenagers doing stupid things. Ironic, considering he was front and center for every major thing that went on. He made you feel like you could breathe, and you’d be damned before you let some sorry excuse of a person take away what little freedom Percy offered.

You made sure to leave that part out, though. There was a time and place for everything, and this wasn’t really the time to confess you had a crush on your best friend, despite having a boyfriend.

That was a secret for another time, if it were to be told at all.

Every time you’d told someone about your boyfriend so far, you’d tried to explain to them that it wasn’t all gray skies and rain. He was so sweet to you back when you were friends, before you got into a relationship; you were sure he just needed some time to get used to the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing before he bounced back to his regular old self. This time, though, you skipped that part completely.

Something about how Percy treated you made something inside you snap. It had been two whole years, and you were tired of thinking he would change, tired of holding onto hope in a hopeless situation. You were sick and tired of your boyfriend, and it was time you stopped making excuses for everything he did to you.

But, old habits died hard. You felt the all-too-familiar words on the tip of your tongue, and so, on complete impulse, you stopped yourself from starting the obligatory ‘he’s not that bad’ speech by leaning forward and burying your face against Percy’s shoulder. You could tell he was as surprised as you were, and froze on the spot. Red alarm bells blared through your head as you held your breath, waiting for him to make the next move.

Oh fuck oh gods oh fuck—

You fully expected him to push you away, but he didn’t.

Instead, one of his hands snaked around your waist to pull you closer, and closer, and closer, until you were on his lap with your legs on either side of his. He rubbed your back—not exactly in a steady rhythm, but it was comforting nonetheless. You thought you’d cried everything out earlier, but, evidently, you were wrong. Tears made their way down your face and onto Percy’s pajamas, and you choked out apologies between sobs. For what, you didn’t actually know. Getting him wet, not telling him sooner, for making him find out like this… everything.

“I’m sorry,” Another sob racked through your body. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” He said. “Come on, let it all out.”

You stayed like that for a few moments, and Percy only pulled away when he felt your breathing start to level out. When he looked at you again, your eyes were a lot redder and he was sure they’d be really swollen in the morning.

“You said he… hit you, right?” You nodded, and Percy felt his blood physically boil. “Can I take a look?”

You didn’t say anything – tired out from all the crying, he guessed – and pulled up the back of your shirt instead. Percy hastily got out from under you and got one of the first-aid kits stashed around the house, flicked on the bedside lamp, then pulled out a tub of Arnica.

Apart from the scars and stuff from general life as a demigod, your skin should have been free of any unusual marks. But it was black and blue. A lot of the bruising was more recent, a few just starting to form, so the cream would work fine. But some of it was older and had more of an ashen tone. Those would be tricky to treat, as they would require a lot more long-term care. He dabbed on some of the ointment from the tub and rubbed it in, careful not to put too much pressure. You visibly relaxed, feeling like jelly under his touch.

Once he was sure he had gotten every single bruise, he tugged your clothes back down.

“I think you should stay over tonight.” He concluded, putting the first aid kit back in the general area it had been in. You drowsily agreed, your eyelids already drooping. Neither of you were eager to get back to your boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend, you decided, telling Percy as such. You’d put up with him for way too long. You would break up with him officially the next day, and tell him to pack everything up and get the hell out of your apartment and out of your life. A weight lifted off your chest at the thought, the pressure that had been built up over two years suddenly dissipating.

When you snapped out of your thoughts, Percy had started to make his way out of his room, muttering something about sleeping on the couch. Before he could get a hand on the door, you caught his sleeve and gently pulled him back to you. You didn’t want to be alone after the night you’d had. And, to be a bit more honest, you wanted to be around him. You wanted him to stay.

“Or… you could just sleep with me.”

Percy’s face turned bright red and you realized how that sounded, sputtering out a few sentences of ‘literally sleeping together’ and ‘didn’t mean it like that’ before giving up and just pulling him down next to you. The two of you got settled under the sheets on opposite ends, which didn’t really do much because Percy’s bed had a single-size mattress. Eventually, though, the two of you moved into a cuddling position to avoid dangling off the sides.

“You don’t mind?” You asked, snuggling closer to him and making his heart skip one or two beats. “Me staying over, I mean.”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway, so you can’t really make it any worse. I think you’re helping, actually,” he replied. “So no, I don’t.” He felt you nod slightly.

“Thanks for everything.” You whispered, hugging him tight. He couldn’t see your face, but he knew by the way your arms slackened and your breathing evened out that you drifted off immediately after.

That was when it hit him.

He was in bed.

With a girl.

And not just any girl, either.

He was in the same bed as you, his best friend, who he had been holding back feelings for, for as long as he’d known you. And you were cuddled up to him, the way all those couples that died really early in all the scary movies his mom loved to watch. It made his heart beat a little faster. A lot faster, actually.

The couple part, that is, not the dying early part.

No, no, no, no. No. This was not the time. If he were to tell you how he felt about you, he would wait until you were healed, mentally and physically.

He hoped that day would come sooner rather than later. He’d help you get there if you’d let him.

His eyelids slowly got heavier and heavier until they closed completely. He hoped his mom wouldn’t be too surprised and scream when she walked in her son’s room and found that you had just magically appeared in his bed.

“For the record,” he murmured, finally feeling the clutches of sleep dragging him down into the abyss. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world…”

I’d give you mine, if you want, he wanted to add, but those words could wait until another day.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Because why else haven't the things the media discovered in 2016 been published (like her debts, her addictions, her real connections to Soho House, her Flim Flam business and all her trademark/copyright applications)?

Once Harry says he's done with her, all bets are off and the dirt is going to fly.

Nothing reputation destroying will be exposed once H&M divorce because the media will be too busy making money off both of them. Previous hints of things doesn't mean the media will turn on her in the future. It'll just be the next stage of the Meghan show, they'll reveal enough to get people angry but they won't destroy her. The media will probably play along with Charles' rehab of Harry but they want a divorce war that can make them as much money as they can. The time for the real dirt to be exposed was the dating stage but Charles wanted a mixed race member of the family and Harry probably already played the race card in private. The BRF could have publicly destroyed any chance of Meghan becoming a member of the BRF without harming themselves but they were too busy placating the spolit brat that Harry is. If they had done it then public opinion would've been with the BRF, the late Queen could've said Harry can marry her but he'd have to give up his title and place in the succession. If the real Meghan was known no one in the UK/Commonwealth would want her being a part of the BRF. By the time they divorce some may want everything on Meghan to be made public but the UK media won't want to return to mostly drama free BRF reporting and internationally no cares. Now she's the mother of two of King Charles' grandchildren, whatever happens between her and Harry in the future doesn't matter, the children are her shield. The time for exposing the real dirt has been and gone.

This isn’t a quiet little royal divorce. It’s gonna be a messy celebrity divorce.

The media won’t have to do anything. Harry and Meghan will do all the dirty work for them. They’ll just recap it all and stir the pot.

Some examples to brush up on:

Amber Heard and Johnny Depp

Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt

Paul McCartney and Heather whatsherface

Charles and Diana

Britney and Kevin Federline

Britney and Justin Timberlake

Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman

You can find more examples here.

This isn’t going to be a “conscious uncoupling” (Gwyneth and Chris), a quiet after-the-fact announcement (Meryl Streep), or an amicable kids-first process (Peter and Autumn).

This is going to a nasty drag-down knockout fight. The signs are already there:

Meghan’s been setting up a domestic abuse storyline since the engagement.

Harry’s been talking for 4 years about how isolated and estranged he is from his family and the life he knew.

They’re both obsessed with the victim narrative.

They both spend massive amounts of money on PR.

They have very different approaches to their children - Meghan wants to show them off, Harry wants to keep them private.

They both have addiction issues.

So the dirt is coming. It may not be the media that exposes it, but they’re definitely going to publish it. They’ll publish it all and they’ll stir the pot to keep it coming.

[bella-goths-wife]

Hey! I had an Idea for the Father Lost Boys, How do you think the boys would react to accidently killing the reader, during the attack of the Emersons and the boys?

If you don't want to write it that's ok!

Thanks!

Lost boys accidentally killing their daughter

Hiya :)

I’m happy to write this but it won’t be for the Emerson attack because I don’t want to rush my timeline in my head for my fics if that makes sense?

This isn’t canon for my lost boys daughter au :)

Contents: how the lost boys would react if they accidentally killed their daughter

Warnings: overdoses, gore, death, murder, descriptions of wounds, burning, blood

Dwayne

You had been running around the cave trying to escape them again, you were trying to leave them and Dwayne couldn’t stand it.

Your leg muscles screamed in protest, for you to just take a break and to stop running. You couldn’t though, you were so close to the exit.

You had just reached the exit to the cave when Dwayne appeared behind you. You could hear the waves thrashing against the sharp rocks of the cliff side below.

“You can’t keep running sweetheart” Dwayne tries to say gently in an attempt to coax you back into the cave, his tone comes off more sinister than he wanted it to.

“Papa please, I can’t stay here” you say with tears in your eyes “not with David, I can’t be one of you”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have to stay with us” Dwayne says firmly as he takes a few steps forward and you take a few steps back in response “we’re a family”

“No we’re not” you say with frustration in your voice “families don’t lock their children away in small spaces and starve them, families don’t hit their children and leave scars on them!”

“Stop talking like that baby, we’re a happy family and your our perfect little girl” Dwayne refuses to look outside his delusional view of the family as he comes closer and closer to you “your just going through an emotional phase right now”

“You can’t be serious” you yell in desperation “you all abused me, you locked me away and lied to me for years”

“Enough (y/n).” Dwayne orders firmly as he closes his eyes and attempts to calm his growing rage “your being ridiculous”

He continues to walk closer and closer as you back away with every stop he takes.

“You killed my mother!” You yell in a grief stricken rage “your all fucked in the head, your all sick-“

“I SAID ENOUGH” Dwayne yells in rage while his vampiric features forced their way to his face and he stared at you without a hint of recognition for you.

You hadn’t realised how close to the edge you were until Dwayne’s angry screams had scared you into moving backwards again, causing you to miss a step and fall down the cliff side.

There is a moment of hesitation in Dwayne’s actions as he watched the little girl that he had held as a baby and raised fall to her death. The shock rendering him stuck in place for a few seconds.

After the shock passed, he ran forward and attempted to use his vampiric abilities to reach you and save you, but it was too late.

He heard you let out a loud grunt as your body made impact with the sharp rocks below, but he still wanted to try and save you.

He fell to his hands and knees as he looked below and saw your body impaled on a particularly large rock. Even from the distance between the top of the cliffs to the waves and rocks below, he could hear you choking on your own blood.

He saw your pain filled eyes meet his and he watched as your life drained from them while your spirit left your body.

Dwayne stared with widened eyes at your mutilated body for a few minutes before the tears started to flow and he let out what could only be described as a pained howl of grief.

He had killed his little girl, and your last memory of him was watching you die.

Paul

Paul hadn’t meant to leave you locked up. He just forgot.

After David had commanded him to keep watch of the punishment room with you locked inside, Paul got bored, and when Paul got bored he got high.

After taking enough pills to tranquillise, or a vampire in this case, Paul fell asleep on the couch for several hours.

And when he awoke, he was still under the effects of the hallucinogenic medication.

“Kid?” He spoke confused with a raspy voice as he saw your figure sitting at the edge of the couch with your back to him “your not meant to be here”

“The sun rises soon” you whisper with no emotion in your voice “the rest will be back”

“How did you get out of the punishment room?” Paul asks confused and half asleep as he sits up on the couch and stares at your turned figure “it’s almost impossible to get out”

“Why did you take the pills Paul?” You ask calmly “don’t you know how dangerous that could be?”

“Don’t start (y/n)” Paul warns with a groan as he rubs his temple in an exasperated manner “or I’ll just take you straight back to the punishment room and make you spend another night in there”

“I don’t see how you could do that Paul” you say with what sounded like amusement “tell me Paul, have you always been this uncaring for me or is it a recent development”

“I love you kid, you know that” Paul says with an annoyed groan “but I can’t stop my fun for you all the time”

“I’d check your watch Paul” you warn calmly “it’s almost time”

“Time for what?” Paul asks exasperated “why are you talking in riddles?”

“Do you remember what you did after you locked me in that room?” You ask ominously “do you remember exactly”

“I locked the door, I pulled over the bolt and I lit the candle in the candle holder outside your door” he answers with an annoyed sigh “are you going to tell me I forgot to lock the door or something?”

“Which candle holder did you use Paul?” You prompt “the one on the right side of the door, or the one on the left side of the door”

“Does it matter?” Paul asks with a roll of his eyes

“The right side was cleaned and repaired by Dwayne the night before so that it was safe to hold the weight of the candle, the left side was rusted and falling apart” you state “so which did you use?”

“I don’t remember-“ Paul answers but you cut him off

“Fucking think about it” you snarl “which one did you use-“

“The left one!” Paul yells back “I used the left candle stick holder-“

Paul stops speaking when he smells smoke wafting down the caves tunnels. He springs up off the couch at the sudden realisation as he runs inhumanly fast to the punishment room.

When he gets to it, it’s covered in fire and smoke. The left candle stick holder is reduced to pieces of rusted metal on the floor and the candle sits idly next to the wooden door, erupting it into flames.

“The candle fell three hours into your nap, the fire started ten minutes after that” Paul heard your voice behind him but he could rip his eyes away from your cremated corpse that was laying on the floor in front of him, you were barely recognisable with your body burnt to charred skin apart from those damn eyes that stared at him lifelessly “I tried to stave the carbon dioxide that was going to suffocate me by placing blankets under the door but they eventually caught fire so I called for your help but you were too high to realise, I eventually suffocated after two hours of torture and then the fire reached my body and burned me to ash on the cave floors”

“This isn’t real” Paul denies frantically “you can’t be dead, your talking to me”

“You didn’t think those pills would effect you at all, did you?” You ask as your figure walks in front of him and looks him the eyes “I’m not your real daughter silly, she’s dead and burned”

“Please I’ll do anything, I’m so sorry” Paul gets to his knees and begs “please I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Bring me back to my little girl”

“Your so pathetic Paul” you spit “but there is one way you can see her again”

“How?” Paul asks desperately “please tell me”

You make your way behind him so he has a view of the flaming room as it crumbled beneath the hot temperatures.

“Walk into the flames” you command “and the you can be with her”

“I’ll die, I can’t” Paul refuses with a shake of his head

“The others will kill you once they get back anyway Paul” you remind

You walk in front of him and you hold your hand out for him to take.

“Walk into the flames with me papa” you command almost gently, wearing a joyful smile that reminded him of when you were a young girl “and we can stay together forever”

Paul stares at you figure with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knows your a hallucination, but your the closest thing he has to his daughter right now.

He wipes his tears and takes your hand before walking into the flaming room, ready to accept the fate he forced upon you.

Marko

This wasn’t markos best idea, but it was the only one he had.

He knocked on your door gently with the sandwich and milk on his hand, and he mustered a genuine smile to his face.

“Pops?” You say confused as you open the door to your room “what’s up?”

“I’ve made you some lunch” he says with an innocent smile “it’s your favourite from when you were a little girl, peanut butter and jelly sandwich”

“That’s nice pa, but I’m going for lunch with James and faith” you remind gently as possible to make sure not to anger him, markos face has an annoyed twitch at the mention of your lovers “did you forget?”

“Oh sorry baby” he coos almost condescendingly “but it’s a shame to waste the food, it’s not like I can eat it”

“Pa it’s sweet of you to offer but I don’t want to be full” you say apologetically

“So your not gonna eat it? I went out and bought bread specifically for you” he attempts to guilt “but I guess if your not hungry enough”

“No, no” you say quickly as you take the plate from him “I’m sorry I’m being rude, I’ll eat it”

“That’s my girl” marko says with a smile as he kisses your forehead “shout if you need me”

Marko walks away and once your door closes he lets a sinister smile spreads over his face. He thought himself so clever.

He stockpiled Paul’s sleeping pills for months so he could save you from having to go out with your lovers. Now every time they try and take you out you’ll simply sleep through it until they get tired of trying.

He thought crushing those pills up and putting them in your food was the best option, he didn’t know it would bite him in the ass.

After a few hours of you not emerging from your room and being hours late for the date with your lovers, Marko let a smirk come to his face.

After a few more hours the cave felt colder because of the winter air, so marko being a ‘dutiful’ father decided he should go bring you a blanket and tuck you in. Humans are fragile after all.

He opens your door with a grin and a blanket in his hands. He sees you turned on your side in the bed with your back facing him.

“It’s just me baby” he whispers to your sleeping form “i didn’t want you to get cold, so I brought you a blanket”

He approaches your sleeping form and notices your lack of snoring, he thought it was the sleeping pills just putting you in a deep sleep but that changed when he also noticed your lack of heartbeat.

He rushes to your body and turns you over to find a glassy sheen over your eyes and froth at your mouth.

“Baby?” He says desperately as he shakes your body in an attempt to wake you up “baby please”

You don’t wake up, your icy cold in his hands as he stare at your expressionless face and empty eyes.

“Your just sleeping” he tries to convince himself as he wipes your mouth “you made such a mess baby, it’s okay I’m here to clean in”

He strokes your hair gently before his hand brushes against your ice cold cheek.

“You should have told me If you were cold sweetie” he scolds your corpse as hysterical chuckles force their way up his throat “here let’s wrap you up nice and warm”

He wraps the two of you up in the blanket and he lays your head on his chest. He holds your limp body close to him as he tries his best to convince himself that your just asleep.

“My sweet girl, my little baby” he coos in delusional “I’m so sorry that your so sleepy, it’s all my fault”

He sobs and he holds your corpse close to him under the blanket, convinced that he’ll be wake you up if he gets you warm enough but you were dead hours before he found you and he never heard your heartbeat slow or you choking on your own vomit from the overdose.

The others would deal with him when they got back.

David

It was another typical day with David, the usual arguments and anger filled the room that only held the two of you.

David wanted time with you and you wanted to be as far away from him as you possibly could be, but he had the power to force you into the room with him. That didn’t mean you had to play nice for him.

He had your leg chained to the wall with a long chain that made it so you could sit on the couch with only a slight bit of discomfort. David was sat next to you as he pretended to watch whatever movie was on the old television.

“Stop staring at me” you commanded sternly as you kept your eyes on the tv and David’s gaze burned into the side of your face “it’s creepy”

“I’m your father, could it be creepy?” David questions with a scoff

“Technically you’re not” you point out with a huff “so it makes it creepy”

“I fed you, clothed you, and raised you” David points out as he sips his beer with a furrowed brow “that makes me your father”

“If we’re going by that logic then your still not my father” you scoff “Dwayne would be my only father if we go by your logic”

David massages his temple with a frown and an angry glare.

“Enough” he commands with a glare “i don’t even know how you got this attitude, but you need to cut it out”

“I got this attitude when I found out you killed my mother, kidnapped me, lied to me and abused me my entire life” you exclaim angrily

“Yeah but you seem extra pissy today and it’s pissing me off” David says in a sinister tone “so just shut the fuck up and enjoy the movie”

“Maybe I’m extra pissy today because I’m chained to the fucking wall David” you yell before sighing “your a sick fuck, y’know that David?”

“Yeah yeah, I get it” he refutes back unamused “poor you having a roof over your head and unconditional love from four fathers, woe is me and all”

“Unconditional love?” You laugh humourlessly as you stand to face him “love that I received in the form of starvation and abuse?”

“You needed to be punished” David says with an annoyed sigh

“What happened to you David?” You ask as he stands and you use all your force to push him away from you “who fucked you up this much? Who made you into this cruel monster? What happened to you? Did daddy hit you so now you have to do the same to me?”

David’s eyes widened and his head jerks to look at you as he grabs your arms and holds you in place.

“Listen here you little bitch” David seethes as he holds you in place “you don’t talk to me like that ever again. Do you understand me?”

“Or what David? You gonna hit me again?” You say without fear as you shove him away again “your just a coward David, a stupid fucking coward who targets children and vulnerable women just to feel less like a miserable fuck up”

“enough kid” David commands firmly as he balls up his fists and his vampiric claws begin to extend and stab into his palms

“Is that why you started this little group of emotionally stunted men? To feel less alone and less of a fuck up because you always had people to fall back on?” You scream in his face as you push him again in anger

“Enough (y/n)” David repeated louder this time as his fangs extended and he felt rage build up inside him

“Is that why you kidnapped me? Because you wanted to feel less alone so you stole me away and isolated me from everyone I loved” you scream “or did you do it because you wanted to prove to max that you don’t fuck up everything you touch and you thought a child would be the best option for that? Well David you fucking failed”

“Enough” David yells again as he stalks closer and you push him back once again

“I hate you” you yell out “you should just kill me like you killed my mother”

“Stop it” David yells sternly “shut the fuck up”

“Go on murder me, murder me like you murdered my mother” you yell louder with each word as you get more in David’s face “murder me! Murder me like you. Murdered. My. Mother!”

“I said stop” David yells and he pounced on you with his hands wrapping around your neck harshly and his vampiric claws dig into the delicate flesh of your neck “shut the fuck up”

David only realises your bleeding when he hears your pained howl. He removes his hands quickly from your neck and sees a large slit across your neck that his claws caused.

He stares at his blood covered hands before his gaze travels up your trembling body until it reached your fearful, teary eyed face.

“Oh baby” he says desperately as he holds his hand to your wound and applies pressure in attempt to stop the bleeding “oh fuck, what have I done”

Your tears run down your cheeks as you begin to gasp for air and choking on your own blood. You look David straight in the eyes as you feel yourself slowly choke.

“Dwayne! Marko! Paul! Help us! Please” David cries before returning his gaze back your bleeding neck as he hears your desperate gasps for air “no baby please, it’s gonna be okay, I’m here baby”

He clutches your neck desperately trying to stop the bleeding, knowing he couldn’t lose you. No one was responding to his calls and he could hear your heartbeat slowing down

“I’m so sorry baby” David cries as tears begin to build up in his eyes “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to”

You feel your self losing consciousness and with your last moments of life.

“Fuck you” you mouth through choking on your own blood, your vocal chords had been cut apart so you unfortunately couldn’t scream like you wanted to

You go limp in David’s arms after a few minutes but the blood still pours from your neck like a waterfall as it creates a puddle on the cave floor. David sobs as he holds your corpse and looks into you now doll like eye’s because all they held was emptiness and a lack of a soul.

David cries apologies as he realises that his child is dead and gone, never to be with him again.

Until a thought pops into his head, how could he keep a part of you with him forever?

David’s fangs extend and poke holes into your half drained neck as he bites down and tastes your blood.

David cried as he drains your body of blood before letting your corpse gently fall to the ground. Now your blood was in his system, David was convinced that you’d never leave him.

Sorry this took so long I wanted each of the deaths to be unique because I like to imagine it as a alternative universe for the lost boys daughter au where she died and I wanted to make how the boys reacted very different or creepy

Thank you so much for the request, I love getting them :)

[suresne]

Paul McCartney Character Sheet (Disco Elysium)

4 INTELLECT / 2 PSYCHE (+1 SUGGESTION) / 1 PHYSIQUE / 5 MOTORICS

SKILL LIST (canon equivalent in [brackets] where applicable)

INT (4)

LOGIC: Put that classical grammar school education to work. Exercise those brain cells!

SONGBOOK [ENCYCLOPEDIA]: Keeps track of important trivia. Mostly music related, but there’s some miscellaneous facts crammed in the margins, as well.

DIPLOMACY [RHETORIC]: Powers of speech and persuasion. Because your way is usually the best way, especially if you can make someone else think it was their way all along.

MACH SCHAU [DRAMA]: (German: “Put on a show!”) Performance skill. Croon seductively into the microphone or scream your head off. Either way, the crowd is gonna go wild.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: The art criticism skill. Ability to see and understand the big picture and come up with ambitious creative projects.

BALLADEER [VISUAL CALCULUS]: Songwriting skill. Song lyrics form in your head based on current events and your surroundings and take on a life of their own in the world as you go about your day.

PSY (2+1*)

MAJOR KEY [VOLITION]: Ability to look on the bright side, even when things are looking grim. Keep your Morale up.

LOOKING GLASS [INLAND EMPIRE]: The creative mindset. Causes you to notice things others might not: perhaps even the supernatural. Greatly enhanced by mind-altering substances. Shared skill with songwriting partner John Lennon.

EMPATHY: Self-explanatory. The ability to not just understand another person’s pain, but to experience it yourself. Often felt and expressed through song.

MANAGER [AUTHORITY]: The leadership skill. After all, someone has to be the grown-up around here.

FOUR-HEADED MONSTER [ESPRIT DE CORPS]: Beatle mindreading. All 4 Beatles have this skill and use it to communicate amongst themselves, to the frequent chagrin and confusion of outsiders.

SUGGESTION*: Your signature skill. This skill makes you irresistible. The ability to charm others and thereby influence their behavior to get what you want.

FYS (1)

RHYTHM SECTION [ENDURANCE]: As the bassman, it’s your job to keep that deep pulse going. If you stop, then everything falls apart, and what happens then? Shared skill with Ringo, the drummer. 

NOLI ME TANGERE [PAIN THRESHOLD]: (Latin: “Touch me not.”) The rockstar life isn’t for the faint of heart. You need to be able to take a certain amount of abuse—mental, emotional, and physical. How better to survive than to keep yourself at arm’s length from the people and things around you?

SCOUSER [PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT]: You may not be brawny, but you’re scrappy. You grew up playing in old bomb shelters by the docks of Liverpool. You cut your teeth in the red light district of Hamburg. You’re no fookin’ pansy. Defend yourself. Shared skill with all 4 Beatles.

AMPLIFIER [ELECTROCHEMISTRY]: Turn it up. Way up. Drown out everything else. The sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll skill.

THE UNDERGROUND [SHIVERS]: The London art and music scene is abuzz with activity, and you thrive in its streets, galleries, clubs, and happenings. You always have a pulse on London’s Place to Be, because The Place to Be is wherever *you* are, whether you like it or not.

FEEDBACK [HALF LIGHT]: The coping skill. For when things are going off the rails and you’re hanging on for dear life. Exert control over the situation or distance yourself from it completely. Those are your only two options.

MOT (5)

VOCAL VIRTUOSO [HAND/EYE COORDINATION]: Your vocal dexterity: go from falsetto, to chest voice, to growls, screams, belts, and yells. Makes you a beast of vocal performance. 

PERCEPTION: Self-explanatory. Your senses: how perceptive you are.

DOUBLE TIME [REACTION SPEED]: Your sharp reflexes and quick wits mean you can turn on a dime, and very little escapes your notice. By the time those around you realize what’s happening, you’ve already gotten a read on the whole situation. 

CALLUSES [SAVOIR FAIRE]: The acrobatics skill. You’ve always been a bit of a show-off and a daredevil. Scamper and climb to your heart’s content—just don’t look down.

SOUTHPAW [INTERFACING]: The ability to master almost any musical instrument with ease. Left-handed, of course.

COMPOSURE: Your poker face and sense of put-together-ness. Look good for the cameras and the fans. 

[floridaboiler]

Hollywood Squares

It's 1977,  I'm 9 years old. My mom and dad are roaring with laughter and I don't understand what's so funny.

Q . Paul, what is a good reason for pounding meat? A. Paul Lynde: Loneliness! (The audience laughed so long and so hard it took up almost 15 minutes of the show!)

Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it? A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn’t neglected.

Q. Do female frogs croak? A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Q. If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be? A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it.

Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years? A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes.

Q. You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman? A. Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake.

Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's married? A.. Rose Marie: No, wait until morning.

Q. Which of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older? A. Charley Weaver: My sense of decency.

Q. What are 'Do It,' 'I Can Help,' and 'I Can't Get Enough'? A.George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment.

Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands while talking? A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing old question Peter, and I'll give you a gesture you'll never forget.

Q. Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather? A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily.

Q. Charley, you've just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any during the first year? A. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I'm too busy growing strawberries.

Q. In bowling, what's a perfect score? A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy.

Q. During a tornado, are you safer in the bedroom or in the closet? A. Rose Marie: Unfortunately Peter, I'm always safe in the bedroom.

Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls? A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out.

Q. When you pat a dog on its head he will wag his tail. What will a goose do? A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark?

Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to? A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark..

Q. According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the habit of kissing a lot of people? A. Charley Weaver: It got me out of the army.

Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, what was he trying to do? A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth.

Q. Jackie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they? A. Charley Weaver: His feet.

Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in bed? A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh.

[o0anapher0o]

Miss Lily and character stereotpyes

I’ve been re-reading @halo4life2017-blog's rewatch blogs and the discussion we had about Miss Lily and about how Lestat might at some point tell us he only killed her because she was actually planning on blackmailing Louis or something like that, and I had some more thoughts I need to get out.

The thing about Lily as Louis presents her is, she’s a stereotype. The ‘whore with the heart of gold’ is a common trope. It’s a cliché the same way the though, street-hard, black pimp is, or the rich European genteel who is abhorred by American racism, the stately southern matron who saves face at all cost even if it means waving off a guests outburst with a comment about the weather, the sassy little sister who supports her gay brother and only wants to see him happy, or the religious zealot who is really a gentle angel when he’s not possessed by the holy spirit. All those are sterotypes that Louis uses when he introduces the people in his life to the story, ways he tries to shape the narrative perception of them. Or maybe lies he tells himself about them.

And all of these stereotypes get dismantled within the first episode: Louis is really a sensitive baby gay who likes to read and cries at the opera. Lestat is a terrifying vampire, who we can rightfully assume has never cared about how black people are treated anywhere prior to meeting Louis, and really still doesn’t.  Florence is an emotionally abusive bitch who happily unloads her own grief on her child, Grace is mommy little princess who deserts Louis when he needs her most to side with Florence and Paul is a condescending brat who shamelessly uses his mental illness for the liberties it gives him (we don’t talk about it enough because mental illness is tricky and Paul is a great character, but the way he acts towards Grace’s fiancé and wedding, and how he talks to the priests when he goes to confession are on a level of entitlement that’s breathtaking. And that’s instances when he’s supposedly ‘right in the head’. My favourite is ‘I wasn’t being rude”, like, yes, you were. Just because the voices in your head told you to say it doesn’t mean it’s not rude to say it and the fact that you’re trying to justify it tells me you know that.).

You could probably make a similar case almost all other characters, Bricktop, Tom Anderson, Levi, all of them are initially presented in a very stereotypical way and later we’re shown they are not quite what they seem at first (Fenwick might be the exception here, he’s always a horrible racist pig). Except for Lily. She never gets the chance to be shown as more, because she gets killed off-screen and is never brought up again.

But we do get hints that everything isn’t as Louis presents it with Lestat’s throwaway comment on her wretched life, or the fact that it takes Louis two weeks to even notice she was dead, which tells me they weren’t as close as some people seem to believe. (Yes, he was a regular customer, one she might even have liked but they definitely weren’t friends.). So yeah, I won’t be surprised if we do learn about some nefarious goings on she was involved in. That’s not to make Lestat look better btw, he did kill her and the main reason was no doubt to get a reaction from Louis and/or to dismantle his support system, but I do think there was more to it than that just ‘she was a poor substitute’. And just as a side note: since we tend to treat Louis as an unreliable narrator (justifiably so) if and when the time comes we certainly need to look at Lestat’s story the same way, because I’m pretty sure if anyone is trying to make Lestat look better, it’s going to be Lestat.  

[lakesbian]

do u ever think about how heartbreaker sent two ten year olds after cherish and how this was probably the first time these two kids saw the world in an unbiased manner away from their fathers influence (and possible even powers) and how cherish was alike “woah woah woah not cool” and cartwheeled away into the claws of the S9. like I know it isn’t said or anything, and I’m making shit up to make wildbow a better writer than he is, but the concept of heartbreaker weaponizing the only who cherish Might feel some sort of respect and kinship about and show her the world will never love/respect her the way she wants, even with her siblings who might understand her experiences, and then making her enact that same distrust of her family toward Alec is something I chew on when I’m hungry

i will say i do not adhere to the ward retcon that they're 9-10 (meaning they would've been far younger than that while hunting cherie.) like:

“Anyways, it got old real fast, them constantly finding me, constantly making me pack up and run somewhere else. Besides, the freedom to do what I wanted and go where I wished kind of lost its appeal when the boredom set in.  I would’ve done it even if my big brothers weren’t coming for me, but I joined the Nine.”

it makes far more sense, and is far more interesting, that rather than heartbreaker being willing to risk losing his grip on two 9-10yos, he sent two of the kids even older than cherie who he Knows he has a firm grasp on after her. in my head theyre like

nicholas: you know how cherie's power is an exaggerated fawn reflex that sort of mimics her father's power without actually having his same capability for long-term abuse? nicholas's power of Makes You Afraid is an exaggerated "fight back/scare off" reflex--thinks that if he can just be as scary as his dad he'll be able to keep himself safe, will still always be under his father's thumb.

guillaume: to me the power of being able to see thru random ppl after touching them + being able to fuck w those ppls own senses/blind them temporarily absolutely smacks to me of being a trigger from a failed escape attempt, because it's the thing that would be Really Useful if you were heading out thru entire crowds of people while trying to avoid one specific person/group of people, right? i like to imagine that after his little brother jean-paul ran away he eventually tried to as well, failed, and triggered from the despair of being caught/punished. now he uses the same powers to track down his own escaped sibling, thoroughly caught in the cycle of abuse

i also like to imagine that--bc of the WoGs talking about alec's siblings being responsible for a lot of his grooming into hypersexual behavior, and bc of cherie making it very clear that the older siblings participated in general abuse of the younger siblings--they were responsible for a lot of the shit that alec went through. no fond memories there.

[worstjourney]

Fr Jeffrey John on Sportsmanship and Competition, Paris Olympics 2024

This sermon was broadcast on Radio 4's Sunday Worship from St George's Anglican Church in Paris on the opening weekend of the 2024 Olympics. I thought it worth saving because it speaks to the ethos of the time period in which the modern Olympic Games were born, and in which Our Guys were brought up.

Baron Pierre de Coubertin is generally acknowledged as the father of the modern Olympic Games. He was born in Paris in 1863, and convened the first International Olympic Congress at the Sorbonne in 1894. He was the energy behind the first games to be held in Paris, in 1900, and then again in Paris on a much larger scale in 1924. So it is wonderfully appropriate that, another a hundred years later, the games are in Paris again.

De Coubertin was an aristocrat, an educationist and an anglophile. He believed strongly in the ancient Greek philosophy of sport as building character and esprit de corps, and thought it was ideally exemplified in English public schools. He was a great friend and admirer of Thomas Arnold, and strove hard, though unsuccessfully, to introduce the same ethos into the French school system.

His real and enduring success was the Olympic games themselves, though clearly it was never going to be easy to achieve the kind of harmonious agreement and international co-operation that the games demand. Inevitably there were problems.

In the London Olympics of 1908, there was a particularly bitter dispute between the British and American delegations, with the Americans complaining that a British jury had unfairly disqualified some of their best athletes. The dispute escalated even to the White House and Downing Street.

In a special service for the Olympics held that year in St Paul’s Cathedral, the sermon was given by an American Bishop, Ethelbert Talbot,  who tried to calm the quarrel by reminding both sides that according to St Paul (in the text that we just heard) winning the game was not the most important thing. Runners may compete to win a prize, says Paul, but the earthly prize is nothing: 

"Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one."

So Bishop Talbot concluded:

"If England be beaten on the river, or if America be outdistanced on the racetrack, well, what of it? The Games themselves are better than the race and the prize. St. Paul tells us how insignificant is the prize.  Our true prize is not perishable but imperishable, and though only one may wear the laurel wreath, all may share the equal joy of the contest."

De Coubertin heard the bishop’s sermon and wrote later how deep an impression it had made on him. It made him see more clearly than before that the Olympic aim was not simply a sporting or educational ideal, but a human and religious one; and that overcoming both personal and national ambition in a spirit of genuine co-operation is essential to real flourishing. As he put it:

What matters in the Olympic games is not winning but taking part, because what matters in life is not to triumph but to compete well. We must hold fast to this truth: it is basic to every area of human experience.

That dictum, ‘It is not whether you win or lose but how you play the game’ has become proverbial in French and English, but do we actually believe it?

It is easy to be cynical. Oscar Wilde said it would be truer to say ‘It is not whether you win or lose, but how you lay the blame’. 

We know very well how much corruption, drugs, commercialisation, and the buying and selling of athletes for obscene sums of money have tarnished every kind of sport. 

Some modern athletes have flatly contradicted Coubertin’s grand ideal: ‘Of course winning isn’t everything; winning is the ONLY thing’ said one.

But I think the cynics are wrong.  Even if sport can be abused, ‘abusus non tollit usum’ – abuse doesn’t cancel out proper use. And even if some athletes are obsessed with winning, what inspires is not the gold medal but the extreme dedication and courage it takes for all the competitors to reach their peak of perfection.

The motto of the games isn’t ‘Fastest, Highest, Strongest’, it’s ‘Faster, Higher, Stronger Together’.  In other words, as De Coubertin said, what counts for everyone in every sphere of life, is the determination to do the best you possibly can, against whatever odds. The explosion of enthusiasm for the Paralympic Games in recent years is because somehow, we fell that we are all made braver and nobler in reaching our goals by seeing their bravery and nobility in reaching theirs.  The beauty revealed by the games isn’t just of the body, it’s of the soul.

Whether it is in sport or anything else, if we strive to do the best we can with what we’ve got, in the end we can all hope to say, as St Paul said at the end of his life, ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith’.