#real pot = kettle energy right now

[enniewritesathing]

memory management (preliminary)

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Charles: "Tonight's the night."

Daniel: "Hm."

Charles: "I'll be candid for just a moment. There were times I thought I wouldn't get this far, but it pays to have patience even if there is none." (He adds a small chuckle.) "...and of course, there's the question of a little persuasion."

(Daniel doesn't respond, and lets the low hiss of the ventilator be his answer.)

Charles: "I'm curious, Daniel. You've been quieter these past few days. More... pensive than usual. Did anything happen between you and Jordan?"

(Daniel blinks as the question snaps him out of thought.) "What? No, we're fine. Charles, I'm gonna be blunt; I have a bad feeling about tonight."

Charles: "A 'bad' feeling? What do mean by that? Speak your mind."

(Daniel takes a deep breath and sighs. This is going to be the only time he'll have an opportunity like this.) "I have a bad feeling; if we do this, John will die."

(He feels Charles' cold stare.) "I'll explain. He's been showing signs of strain for a while, a couple of months, a year at the most, but they're there. We know that his healing ability can be passive but I believe it's being broken down. Slowly, like a leak."

Charles: "Go on."

"Putting him on this regimen is accelerating it. He may be fine now but his heart is not going to be able to handle the trial. If, if, he survives, I don't think he'll live long after."

Charles: "Really? And what are you basing this off of? One of your 'hunches'?"

Daniel: "I've never been wrong when I get them."

(Charles eyes narrow. Of all the things to say... but he did allow him to speak. He'll entertain.) "You're doubting me."

Daniel: "What I'm saying is we have to call this off. We've done enough to try and help John and we haven't gotten anywhere near the goal. The data that we have right now is already invaluable and we should be looking at that instead."

(He shakes his head.) "Say we press on anyway? And then what?"

(Daniel jabs a finger at Charles.) "Everything will land on you when the trial goes sideways. He dies, Charles, and then what? How will you explain yourself to his loved ones?"

(Charles stares down the barrel of Daniel's finger and rolls his eyes with a scoff.) "Please cut the theatrics out; it is not your strong suit. You can keep the honorable act while you're at it."

"May I remind you that you are in this as much as the rest of us; you've been here the whole time. If you were actually honest with your feelings of morality, then you should have excused yourself well before now, Daniel."

(Daniel falters and Charles heaves a long sigh as he shifts his attention.)

"Have a little faith! You must remember we're trying to give Johnathan total control; he knows the costs and risks involved. The poor boy truly wants this."

(Charles regards John as he strokes his hair. Goodness, it's soft.)

"You're underestimating him. He's very strong and he's grown into a fine young man. Everything that we've done, every possible solution may have garnered less than ideal results, Johnathan has surpassed my expectations in every way. Even if there is damage, it's nothing he can't handle; he will heal in due time."

Daniel: "The only reason why John's alive is because he's a werewolf."

Charles: "Perhaps you are right. He is quite stubborn as well."

(He laughs to himself.) "Ah, that wolf. I can't tell you how many times I've seen that murderous look in his beautiful eyes. First chance he has, he will kill us. We've all heard his declaration. He is a threat to us, to all of us."

(A gleeful smile spreads cross his thin lips.) "All the more reason to get this dog under control! If we don't stop him, who will? We don't want him to be running wild, now do we? We have to put him in his place!"

(Daniel flinches. Something rises from his stomach and before he knew it, words he's held back comes out of his mouth.)

"You're mad, Charles! I know what you're doing now... you're running out of options and this is your last ditch effort! If you fail tonight, the werewolf wins and you can't fuckin' stand that possibility!"

"You have tortured him and John for years but not once, not fucking once, has he ever bend to you! This isn't going to work, Charles; deep down you know this. Your pride is blinding you! He dies, you fail. He lives, you fail and you'll have nothing to show. Just like you're a failed va--"

(Charles straightens up. His voice is cold and flat.) "I suggest you choose your next words very carefully. No; I won't tolerate what you said."

"Don't you ȩ̪͛v̘ͤ͝e̡͎͗r͙̓̀ speak like that to me again. I will determine the outcome of this trial. I will succeed. Do I make myself clear?"

(Daniel stares at a lost of words. Did the room temperature drop for a moment?)

Charles: "I will not repeat myself."

Daniel: "Yes, sir."

(Charles takes a meaningful look at John before turning away from him.)

"Understand, Daniel, that I will not stop until I get what I want. This is for the sake of Johnathan and I will exhaust all options available to make sure he is cured from his devilish affliction. Until then, he is mine."

"If you know what's good for you, don't get in my way. Is that clear?"

Daniel: (mutters) "...crystal."

(Charles takes a cleansing breath, smoothing out himself out. As he begins to walk away, his demeanor shifts to something that resembling pleasant.) "Good! Prep Johnathan for transport and report to the lab. You have two hours."

(Daniel didn't move for a while. Whatever Charles did, he didn't want to see that again; he wasn't expecting the mask he wore to slip like that. No doubt that the cost will be astronomically high, if he could even quantify it, for everyone involved. He hates that Charles was right.

He looks down at John and almost feels sorry for him. He is clueless about what's in store for the night ahead of him.

Daniel can't shake that bad feeling. He's always right when it came to that.)

// Next ⏭️

[jeonscatalyst]

The fact that tkk sit around in their group chats, decide to ban together and try to gaslight millions of BTS fans is truly disturbing. New lie, after new lie and they all stick with it on purpose. Imagine begging and writing posts believing with your entire soul and praying for your favs to enlist together. Confident it would happen. Writing about the buddy program before anyone else. Only for Jikook to enlist together. Then go into panic mode and say they would separate after 5 weeks cause JK wants to be with Tae. When that didn't happen, you move on and say they are not in the same dorm/unit. When pictures come out proving they are still together in the same dorm/unit, you move on again and this time you are banning together to say Jikook enlisting proves they are not real cause why would two high profile celebs who are queer defraud the government just to be together on the same base And that they will never be able to say they are a couple after military cause they could be arrested and how Hybe would never sell Jikook if they were couple. Even tho Tae was right there with Jikook for some of the episodes and AYS photobook and showed up in Jk's documentary & book, stuff YOU ALSO HAD TO PAY FOR, TO SEE TK INTERACT ON. What now? Pot meet kettle. Y'all went from leaping hurdles to jumping mountains since Paris coming out lmao. You know you don't believe what you are writing, cause deep down its what you wanted for your ship to start with. You wanted JK on Friendcation. Wanted a TK travel show and wanted TK to enlist together and a GCF dedicated to Tae, so what you are saying then, is your ship can't be real either, by this logic. Right? So again, why all the gaslighting about Jikook? Even if JIkook aren't real, there is a mountain of evidence PROVING your ship is not real. Funny, You never cared when Tae went public with his girlfriend of 2 years & put this much energy into them & trashing Tae for blowing your ship to pieces, the way you trash JK. Don't you think Jk was hurt and humiliated his husband cheated on him with someone else for 2 years? Why didn't you care about JK's feelings and cause a fuss like this? Why you so obsessed with Jikook? Losing sleep over a fake ship and crying thinking Tae is hurt by JK and gaslighting everyone, even yourself and other tkk? What a sad and pathetic, hypocritical life to live.

Imagine how tired I am😮‍💨

[skzoologist]

It was a bit(e) of a mistake

word count: ~1.3k

genre: crack

warnings: none

summary: Filming their Halloween special was always a hazard for Bae, now more than ever.

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

This day of the year came again, something that Bae both looked forward to and dreaded at the same time.

Why?

Because his band members were notorious for teasing him more than usual, forcing the poor makeup artists to hurry and try to cover up his heated up skin, before the situation got so bad it would become straight up impossible. The poor staff members were all familiar with it, learning to enjoy it more than anything, if their amused smiles and laughter were anything to go by. And through it all, Bae couldn’t do anything, his only choice was to silently accept it and try to shoot their Halloween special video for their beloved fans, hoping that his cheeks only looked like they had too much blush applied to.

He tried in the past, but it didn’t work. All it got him was a firm place in SKZ meme compilations, something that wasn’t exactly his aim, to be quite honest.

“What do you think we’ll be dressed up as this year?” - Seungmin asked from beside him, breaking Bae out of his stupor. “Well, probably not something we already were in the past, so I’m curious too.” - Jeongin replied, sipping on some caffeinated drink he found in their break room. “I hope it’s vampires, that one was fun.” - Felix added in as he entered the room, plopping right next to their maknae and immediately clinging to him. “Oh my god, you’re right, we should be vampires again! The fans loved it, didn’t they, Bae hyung?” - Jisung excitedly said, wiggling his eyebrows at the mentioned male.

Bae, of course, silently shook his head in denial, even though his mind instantly relayed to him the clips of all the videos STAY made, some cool, some… on the more questionable side. His skin already started darkening, something his very ‘kind’ friends pointed out to him gleefully.

“I agree with Jisung, the stylists did a really great job.” - it was Minho this time, a devious grin already forming on his lips. “Of course you do, you couldn’t keep your hands away from him in those black leather pants.” - that expression of Chan’s was frighteningly starting to look like the one Minho had, making Bae do a double-take. “Please, as if you were any different.” - Hyunjin said as he rolled his eyes, his lanky form draped over Felix as he was watching the boy’s phone. “Says the pot to the kettle.” “Yah!”

In the blink of an eye a playfight broke out between the three, everyone else watching it, even though they were just as guilty as the participants. It was a miracle in itself that Changbin hadn’t joined in, opting to instead continue snacking in their limited breaktime. Jisung somehow managed to avoid it all, quietly standing back and enjoying the show while sipping on his own chosen beverage. Based on his dangerously rising energy levels, it had to have been coffee, adding to Bae’s increasingly worsening stress levels.

“Can we have ONE occasion where you guys aren’t flirting, teasing and just straight up grabbing at each other?” - Bae muttered out into his own hands that rested on his face, only the ones sitting next to him hearing it.

While he didn’t get a vocal answer, something he didn’t really hope to get -he wasn’t that naive-, Felix just sympathetically patted his back in a fruitless chase of comfort.

Soon they were whisked away, their stylists moulding them to the image in their heads, turning them into the idols their fans knew and loved. Bae always loved it, obediently sitting in the chair and letting the professionals work away on him, covering up any imperfections and painting on his skin. His long hair always got the same treatment, sometimes even having two people work on it at the same time. This time the dark strands were hanging free, some taken to be braided and clipped to stay in place.

He felt like a work of art himself.

“WOOHOOO, WE’RE VAMPIRES, YESSS!”

A very miserable work of art.

He truly couldn’t help the deep sigh that resonated from his chest, the notion not at all new to him. His red eyes followed the excited form of the others joyfully darting around the room they were soon to be filming in, somehow even Chan joining them, instead of trying to wrestle the others into his hold to calm them down. Bae dreaded fully stepping into the room, knowing fully well what was about to happen once he did so.

The stylists thankfully crafted a less daring outfit for him this time, granting him that classy, old time vampire look with a hint of that usual kpop industry shine. His skin was fully covered up, nothing to bashfully try and hide, yet his neck was delightfully peeking out, two little painted on red dots revealed in the right angle.

Of course, this didn’t stop the others from flustering him the moment they noticed him, latching onto his rigid form every chance they could get. No matter how hard Bae was trying to act unaffected, to dodge them and their hands, his mask was starting to crack. It didn’t help that Minho was using the short moments when Bae was distracted to do what he was the best at: hunting butts. Even his little discipline, Seungmin, joined in, causing Bae to have a smaller brain aneurysm.

He didn’t think it could ever get worse, until he felt a presence behind his back, sharp pain in his neck following it close behind. A strangled little shout left his lips, sounding more surprised than anything.

Bae didn’t know what to think, as he stood there, silent, just like the perpetrator, all the while the others were laughing so hard, he was becoming slightly concerned for their well-being. But soon his brain rebooted, his eyes darting to the side, discovering dark strands of hair and round cheeks. 

A dangerous idea popped into his head, the taste of revenge too sweet to think of the consequences. Thus, he turned around, caging the mischievous little quokka in his hold and he bit, his two fake, elongated teeth sinking deeper than the others into his prey’s flesh.

A small sound took Bae’s attention away, his head urgently tearing away from Jisung’s neck and looking at him with wide eyes.

“Did you just fucking moan?!” - his voice was raised, something that didn’t happen a lot. “Hey man, I don’t kinkshame you.” - it was all the reply he got before his face shifted, his arms holding the man in his hold the furthest away from him he could.

Laughter bounced around the room, accompanied by thuds as some people fell down from the force of it. Some members were trying to form sentences, but failed as no word that left their mouths made sense. Even the staff members joined in, some desperately trying to hide their laughter, some entirely giving up on the impossible task.

“Holy s-shit, I, I have never seen, I-, Bae hyung look so disgusted, and, and h-he lives with Gymracha!” - it was Felix’s deep voice that succeeded first, riddled with laughter and wheezing, his lungs desperately trying to gather in air.

Seungmin and Jeongin were quick to agree, doubling over again, joined by the resident cat and weasel. All the while the mentioned members looked at the young aussie offended, but the memory of what just happened replayed in their minds once again and took their attention away, blessing them with another bout of laughter.

“I am giving you up for adoption, Jisung.” “Wh- wait, wait, Hyung, I’m sorry, please come back!”

As Jisung went out to chase after Bae, the others scraped themselves together, watching them with joy still swimming in their eyes.

“Now I wish I did it sooner.” “Me too Seungmin, me too.” - it was Felix who replied, but it was clear they were all thinking it.

“I guess I’m giving you all up for adoption then, bye.” “Wait, naur, Bae come back–”

[gotatext]

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 & 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲  + 𝚠𝚎𝚋 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐  /   @blondcs

 JENNY:  “ what, is it shocking i'm into him ? are you shocked ? "  /   JUDE:  “ jenny is hot, but that doesn't mean i want anything with her. like at all. i don't. ”  /   ANGEL:  “ dude. the blonde is always looking at you, be fucking for real. ”   JUDE:   “ nah, fuck off. she’s not, is she ?  it’s literally nothing. ”    ANGEL:   “ i'm not gonna say the lad doth protest too much, but... ”   /  JUDE:  “ whatever makes you feel like you're being a good girl, i guess. ”  JENNY:  “ i can only be so good. ”   JUDE:  “ i like you better when you're naughty, anyways. ”   /  JENNY:  “ i dunno. just haven't been feeling especially bold lately. i wanted to kiss jude but i kind of convinced myself our whole 'thing' was in my head. like—okay, it was easy to put myself out there with josh because i knew he wanted me back, whether he wanted to or not, you know? but like, i really couldn't tell with jude until that kiss. like, i thought he did but then sometimes he would say stuff where i was like oh, there's no way... ”  /  JUDE:  “ i never know what you're thinking. ”  JENNY:  “ that's so pot, kettle. you're totally impossible to read. like, you were saying one thing and your body was saying another. ”  JUDE:  “ yeah? what was my body saying?  what's it saying now? ”  JENNY:  “ it's saying you're addicted to nicotine...   and that you've got all this frustrated energy right now and could really use a distraction.. and that you really want to fuck me but you're afraid of the fallout... ”

[lunarblazes]

i made a desertduo playlist and then decided to be a nerd and write explanations for all the songs! like a nerd!

playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ZGylutQpyTbgX7MY7Lrzz?si=t8_kBwBHSYG5kxTvZoIrTQ&dl_branch=1

QUICK DISCLAIMER: i am aware that a lot of these songs may have or imply romantic connotation! i would really really like it if these were not read as though those romantic connotations carry over to scar and grian. even if we’re just talking about the third life characters, i would prefer not to ship them or imply romance between them on this post. thank you so much and keep reading if you’d like to see the playlist analysis!

and now that that’s out of the way, PLAYLIST TIME!

•

passerine- the oh hellos

“you were the song that i’d always sing/you were the light that the fire would bring/but i can’t shake this feeling that i/was only pushing the spear into your side again”

this song really just... firstly, it’s one of my favorite songs, and the line i chose there pushes home the sort of terrified devotion i think the desert has. plus there’s a fun line about the cold wind blowing in from the north in the ending bits that i think very much fits their conflict with the red army, and a lot of legally obligated flight imagery that i need to have in every possible song because i’m a fuckin nerd.

•

no children- the mountain goats

“i hope that our few remaining friends/give up on trying to save us/i hope we come up with a failsafe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us”

i will admit that no children isn’t a perfect fit, but the general vibe of sort of defiant pessimism and betrayal fits very well with them! it’s very triumphant in its death, and i think that is very desertcore, because what’s more triumphantly dead than being the last duo left alive?

•

skulls- bastille

“when all of our friends are dead and just a memory/it’s always been just you and me/for all to see”

okay like this entire song is SO MUCH DESERT VIBES? LIKE SO MUCH. if i were to ever make an animatic for them i’d do it with this song. “a match is our only light, it’s day of the dead i’m indiana jones, yeah,” “i hope you can make me laugh six feet under when we’re bored of each other,” “i don’t want to rest in peace, i’d rather be the ghost that annoys you,” IT JUST KEEPS GOING. i think this song would work well with any third life duo, honestly, but these two in PARTICULAR just because of how it ended with them literally ‘buried’ next to each other, and again, the chaotic death vibes.

•

freaking out- mystery skulls

“i just keep out of my tongue/til all you want is done/and you just wanna leave me, oh yeah”

this song is a very third life grian song to me in particular! it could be my bias because of my little headcanon of grian burning on his red life, but seriously, this song is very reminiscent of the back and forth of loyalty that grian has with scar. the above line is sort of representative of the betrayal on red, and of course grian’s life debt.

•

night running- shin sakiura

(this song is in japanese! these lyrics are the rough english translation i found on google.) “someday we will stand at this place once again/for sure we will stand up again and again/we will watch it will the end/i want you to live freely”

this song is actually the ending theme for the anime bna, which i adore, and i just added it on a whim before looking at the translated lyrics. but um. holy hell the lyrics hurt me because they’re about running in search of someone, running for no reason, looking for something, and it just really hit, because the desert never really had a goal! they didn’t expect to survive, they were trying to survive, but what was their longterm goals? nothing. so that sort of endless search felt fitting for this. plus the song is a parallel for the two estranged best friends of the show so! perfect.

•

summer nights- siames

“it’s summertime/singing al green in your car/heading to a party/and the night air feels alive”

okay again, i will admit this song is mainly on here because i absolutely love it, but i also do think it fits well. it’s also about healing/estranged friendships, with a very distinct feeling of nostalgia for a happier time. maybe for a time when this was all a game, when there was no blood or betrayals on their hands. little canon divergent, but it’s fun for me, so into the playlist it goes!

allies or enemies- the crane wives

“are we allies or enemies/this will be the death of me, this will be the death of me/all’s fair in love and war but i can’t fight with you anymore”

. i just. points to that lyric. it literally led to both of their deaths. are they allies or enemies? it also fits with scar still wanting grian to be his friend even after he’s no longer indebted with the line “what happens now? do we have another go, do we bow out?” another very good animatic song that i’ve considered heavily. i listen to this playlist a lot

•

burn him down- kitsch club

“you must destroy, oh you must destroy, beyond all recognition/you gotta burn him down, you gotta burn him down, beyond all recognition”

this song just has a lot of fire and arson and high energy vibes. my little war criminals look at them go

•

rose- the oh hellos

“what's true is like a sickle/it'll cut you to the middle/your rose is without a thorn/but no, my mouth don't taste of metal/from the pot here to the kettle/i think we got a lot we gotta learn”

this one is like the exact opposite vibe of burn him down. the oh hellos are so poetic and this song just... feels like the healing potions after a battle. many of the metaphors here fit, i think

•

lone digger- caravan palace

“hey, brother, what you thinking/that good ol' sound is ringing/they don't know what they're missing/(they call it lonely diggin')”

okay this song is straight up just a dance song. i added it because i like it and also for some reason it feels ominous to me? i’ve got no idea why, it’s seriously just a club song, but it’s a banger and it’s in this playlist because i said so

•

feed the machine- poor man’s poison (suggested by my friend argonaughtkeene!)

“somethin’s goin” on, just look around/fear is on the rise, and there’s blood all over the ground/let’s all just blindfold the poor, we all know what’s in store/ we got ‘em now, just break ‘em down a little bit more”

this song is a VIBE for both desertduo members. there’s parts for both of them. it’s ruthless, gritty, very maniacal, perfect. listen to it and you’ll immediately understand why i added it.

•

sweet tooth- scott helman

“i hold hands with cosmic entities/i’ll take this two-ride if i please/i got this sweet tooth baby, yeah i got this sweet tooth baby/i exploit my opportunities/some broken hearts, some cavities”

sweet tooth is super upbeat and bright with these strangely dark lyrics? like i’m pretty sure it’s about addiction. in any case, i thought the “i hold hands with cosmic entities” very funnily fitting for both of the desert boys. it’s a banger!

•

necromancin’ dancin’- bear ghost

“when i’m necromancin’, everyone’s dancin’/nobody can stop me, i dare you to try/the dead are infused with insatiable groove and they’re coming for you, there’s nowhere to hide”

necromancin’ dancin’ just. bastard vibes. there’s not much more to say it’s just huge villain song vibes. i adore it.

•

crazy = genius- panic! at the disco

“if crazy equals genius/then i’m a fucking arsonist/i’m a rocket scientist/if crazy equals genius/you can set yourself on fire/but you’re never gonna burn, burn, burn”

i. yeah. y. yeah. more bastard vibes. also shoutout to an artist i saw (i think it was strifesolution?) who made a desertduo piece to this song because i have not stopped thinking about it ever

•

sweet bod- lemon demon

“i’m diggin’ up your coffin/and pouring out the contents/your sexy, sweet solution/is ripe for distribution”

you know how i said freaking out was a grian song? this one is a scar song. it’s my favorite lemon demon song and also it has the total macabre capitalism vibe that third life scar NAILED. more bastard vibes good for him <3

•

drunk- the living tombstone

“feel so much better than usual/i feel indisputable, oh/but now i’m feeling so beautiful/don’t wake me up from this spell i’m under, if i’m still breathing/i know that i will be ugly when i feel like myself again, oh/but right now i’m feelin’ so beautiful”

the descent of this song, starting off with a polite gathering and ending with a gasping drunk in the parking lot gazing at the stars that he can barely see? yes. yeah. mhm. i used a line from this song for a fic, actually, it fit so well.

•

oh no!- marina

“one track mind, one track heart/if i fail, i’ll fall apart/maybe it is all a test/cos i feel like i’m the worst so i always act like i’m the best”

bubbly pop track about false confidence, the ruthlessness of the pop industry, and the influence of the media? you know why this is here. it vibes. it rocks.

•

do it all the time- i don’t know how but they found me

“we’re taking over the world/a little victimless crime/and when i’m taking your innocence/i’ll be corrupting your mind/no need to cry i’m only doing everything i want to do because i do it all the time”

EVEN MORE BASTARD VIBES! SOMEHOW THERE IS MORE! this playlist is half villain songs and half heart-wrenching ballads and that’s the real desert experience i think.

•

the phoenix- fall out boy

“i’m gonna change you/like a remix/then i’ll raise you/like the phoenix”

BATTLE SONG BATTLE SONG! i’ll be honest i partially chose this song because i am a huge sucker for phoenix grian imagery in particular, but it’s also just a very good war song for them. villain song no 18372948 except this one originally had a hero vibe and now it’s changed specifically for them?? wild. their power

•

the other side- the greatest showman

“right here, right now/i’ll put the offer out/i don’t wanna chase you down, i know you see it/you run with me/and i can cut you free/out of the treachery/and all you keep in”

scar and grian’s desert monopoly conversation went exactly like this canonically because i said so fuck you <3

•

icicles- the scary jokes (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“icicles don’t soften when they die/so why should i, why should i?/oh, icicles don’t soften when they die/they sharpen into sabers and they stab you in the eye”

this song actually has specific parts for both grian and scar! my cool epic friend mx demizorua pointed both of them out to me and i adored it so much. it’s a very spiteful song, just like the desert boys. also it feels vaguely murderous. perfect

•

problems- mother mother (suggested by my friend demizorua!)

“i’m a loser, a disgrace/you’re a beauty, a luminary, in my face”

literally this entire song fits them. particularly their relationship with the flower husbands, to me, honestly— the whole “when we meet at the pearly gates/you’ll get the green light/and i’ll get the boot in the face” reminds me a lot of them hdksjdks

•

tongues and teeth- the crane wives

“i know that you mean so well/but i am not a vessel for your good intent/i will only break your pretty things/i will only wring you dry of everything”

h. yeah. this song is literally gaslight gatekeep girlboss and i attribute it to the desert for that reason alone. songs to commit murder to!

•

you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead- saint motel

“you’re nobody til somebody wants you dead/and the list, it grows, and grows, and grows/it grows, and grows, and grows/and grows, and grows, and grows/until it’s everyone you’ve ever known”

this one is very self-explanatory. enemies pogchamp

•

curses- the crane wives

“there’s a fire in my brain and i’m burning, love/oh my, oh my/keep running to the sink, but the well is dry/oh my, oh my/every word i say is kindling/but the smoke clears when you’re around”

okay again! this one has two very specific parts for both of them. grian’s the first verse, which is above, and scar’s the second verse!! i really do like my fire imagery for these two don’t i? well, i blame them for having a fuck ton of tnt on them at all times and literally burning their enemy’s banners as a final act of defiance.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 12: Asking Her To Marry You

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

(Which is now complete!!)

Check it out on Ao3 or FFN!

————————————

Asking Her To Marry You

At this point in your relationship, you’ll hopefully know her well enough to plan the perfect proposal. But don’t worry too much about perfection— if you’ve followed our advice, she’ll be charmed enough to say yes to an imperfect one too. So alas, this is where our guidance ends, your future together begins. Best of luck!

————————————

Ron chuckled at the book’s irritating, yet unsurprising lack of advice. Annoyingly, the book was right— he no longer needed its guidance. What he needed was sleep, in fact, his body was now begging for it.

He set the book on the table beside him and curled up behind Hermione. With his face in her hair and his arm around her waist, he closed his eyes and was asleep in no time. Any anxiety about the next day was appeased by his dreams, in which his elaborate— maybe slightly exaggerated—  plan to propose went off without a hitch.

xxxxx

In his dream, Hermione was the first to rise— as usual, and Ron woke to the sound of the shower. Ron watched himself stumble out of bed and into the steam to join her, where she enthusiastically embraced him, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips, her cheeks and her neck before working his way down her body. Dream-Ron moved his mouth between her legs while Hermione gripped his hair and slipped her thigh over his shoulder. Pleased with his own technique, Ron smugly watched on as Hermione unravelled, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time that day Dream-Ron would invoke such an enthusiastic exclamation while down on one knee.

Almost too suddenly, the shower scene morphed and shifted like a memory transition in a pensive. Dream-Ron was in the kitchen, and Hermione was curled up in the living room with a book. Pots and pans sizzled on the stove, and the scent of a hearty breakfast filled the air. The tea-kettle whistled and he poured two cups before piling their plates high with food. They sat cozily on the sofa, eating breakfast and confirming plans for the day.

The walls of their apartment then faded away, rematerializing into what appeared to be a blend of a nearby bookstore and the Hogwarts library. Ron and Hermione were quickly engulfed by the maze of bookshelves. Hermione’s mind was always turning, looking for problems to solve and puzzles to complete, so she didn’t protest when Ron handed her the first book— Wuthering Heights, and told her he’d set up a puzzle for her to solve. In that book he’d dog-eared a page, and circled letters that named the title of the next one. Ron saw a smile spread across her face as she began her hunt, excitedly flipping through each novel until her stack included Wuthering Heights, as well as Iliad, Little Women, Life of Pi, Year of Wonders, Oliver Twist, and Utopia.

Hermione became so engrossed in the scavenger hunt that she didn’t notice Dream-Ron leave the bookshop. She had no problem finding the rest of the books, and was soon holding a stack of blurry titles which Ron knew to be Moby Dick, Alice in Wonderland, Robinson Crusoe, Rabbit Hill, Youngblood Hawke, and Mansfield Park. There was just one more to find— Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’, which happened to be a portkey enchanted to bring her to Grimmauld Place.

It might have seemed like a random assortment of books, but it wasn’t. Ron had spent significant effort locating these exact titles, and he could list them in order by memory, and as a result, they’d been swimming in his dreams for quite some time now. He knew Hermione was clever enough to figure out the pattern, possibly too clever— so much so that she might miss the connection entirely. After all, she frequently overlooked what was right under her nose.

As soon as she laid her hand on Emma, the walls of the Corner Books—Hogwarts Library hybrid started spinning, morphing into the drawing room of Grimmauld Place as if it had taken a long swig of polyjuice potion. Soon enough, Hermione was standing face-to-face with Harry and Ginny.

“Hermione!” Ginny said excitedly. “You made it!”

“Where’s Ron?” she asked excitedly.

Harry answered by handing her another scrawl of paper.

Meet me in the place we first kissed. You’re clever enough to find out how.

Hermione looked up at Harry and Ginny, letting slip a little huff of annoyance. “That would be the room of requirement.”

Ginny shrugged, as tight-lipped as Ron had told her to be.

“The only way to get there is with a house elf—“

“Keep reading,” said Harry.

Hermione glanced back down to the note.

Ps: Remember what I said to earn that kiss!

Hermione scowled at the note.

Harry nodded. “I can summon Kreacher if you want—“

“No!” she said, and Dream-Ron smiled. Just like at the battle of Hogwarts, he would never force house elves to be part of his proposal plan, and he understood her well enough to assume she knew that. “There’s another way.”

Harry smiled and gestured to the rest of the house. “Have fun.”

The world spun around her once again, shifting into another room upstairs. Hermione was suddenly standing in front of one of the Vanishing Cabinets that the Aurors had confiscated from an ex-Death Eater months prior. In his dream, the cabinet was a bit more obvious than in reality. It was tall, colorful, and bursting with energy as though it were alive, unlike the dull, dark, and sinister version that actually existed. Even though the cabinet looked fun and enticing in the dream, Dream-Hermione was still a skeptic, so she stood in front of it with her arms crossed, her face scrunched up as though it had called her a dirty word.

Ron had pulled some serious strings to set the second one up in the Room of Requirement, but luckily, McGonagall was as much of a hopeless romantic as he was. Hermione continued to study the cabinet from a distance, as if checking for dark magic, and he understood her hesitation of course— she had no way of knowing where its sibling was. She gingerly opened the door to find another note scribbled inside.

You found it! See you on the other side.

Hermione beamed, and then to his confusion, dropped her bag to the floor, hastily removing books. When her bag appeared empty, she piled two books back in— Year of Wonders and Emma.

Interesting. Ron wasn’t going to pretend to understand that choice, even in a dream-state.

He shrugged it off, which was easy to do once distracted by the look of pure giddiness on her face as she disappeared inside.

Grimmauld Place faded away, and its place appeared the Room of Requirement. Not that it was recognizable as such— Ron had asked the Room of Requirement to look a very specific way, and of course, it had obliged, exceeding all expectations. Hermione stepped out of the cabinet into what appeared to be a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, just like the one where he had first met her.

She looked around, and tears filled her eyes as the memories of their first encounter flooded in. On the cabinet door was another note, which she unstuck from the wall with a trembling hand.

This is where we met! It’s also where I first realized how much I valued the opinion of that precocious know-it-all, Hermione Granger. I still check for dirt on my nose everyday.

Hermione shakily laughed, and wiped a tear from her eyes with her free hand. Then the train compartment doors slid open to reveal another room. This time it was a bathroom, much like the one where she nearly lost her life to a rogue troll when they were eleven.

She shuddered at the memory, but grinned when she noticed the writing on the wall.

This is where I learned exactly how desperate I was for your forgiveness, and how far I was willing to go to earn your friendship. Thank you for teaching me how to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa.

Her eyes watered again, blurring her vision so that she nearly missed the door sliding open again to reveal the next room. Patting her sleeve to her eyes, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the Great Hall, which was all dolled up for the Yule Ball. The Weird Sisters playing loudly in the background was a stark contrast to the soft decorations and draping lights which looked exactly as romantic as they did in their fourth year.

This time, however, the lights spelled out a message.

This where I realized I fancied you.

Hermione laughed, clearly not as saddened by the memory as she could have been. Instead, she appeared grateful for the event that made Ron’s daft teenage self realize she was not just any girl.

A pair of doors appeared across the room, and Hermione continued her way through, admiring the decorations with a soft smile on her face. When she exited, she found herself in the Gryffindor Common Room— more specifically— the armchairs and fireplace where they had spent so many nights huddled up close to one another, studying, talking, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

Her eyes paused on a message plastered on the wall, just above the fire.

This is where I fell irrevocably in love with you.

She looked longingly at those chairs, like she wanted to take a seat by the fire and curl up with a blanket and a book. He could clearly imagine her eyes scanning the pages, her fingers drifting over the words as if touching them would make them real, and her lips forming into a content smile as the day’s stress left her body. It was a beautiful image of her in her default state, a picture that was one hundred percent Hermione. He’d never seen her happier anywhere else.

Dream-Ron had appeared behind her. He cleared his throat, and Hermione turned on her heels to face him, her eyes instantly re-watering at the sight of him.

“Hermione,” he began, his voice shaking with nerves. “I know that you don’t like surprises, so I hope this doesn’t come as one.”

Her lips quivered and she brought a trembling hand to her face to absorb the tears that were now falling freely down her face.

“I even spelled it out for you in the bookstore, so I hope you’ve had time to think of your answer.” She softly laughed and her eyes sparkled when he reached into his pocket and took a step toward her, lowering himself to one knee. With a shaky inhale to prepare, he asked the question. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

Dream-Ron’s voice cracked like he was a teenager asking her to a dance, and he half expected her to look at him in confusion, and ask “what?”

But that’s not what happened. She was lost for words, and answered with her head which bobbed up and down as she ran toward him. He opened his arms to embrace her, but she halted.

“Wait!”

She dug into her bag, and pulled out the two books she had purposefully brought with her, Year of Wonders, and Emma. She handed them to Dream-Ron, who looked them over with an amused grin on his face, while she dove back into her bag. She pulled out a third— one that was not from the bookstore. Pride and Prejudice— her favorite book, the one she always has with her. It all made sense now.

Year of Wonders

Emma

Pride and Prejudice

Holding all three books, Dream-Ron smiled up at her. “Is… this a yes?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have an S, it’s a ‘Yep’,” she said, before finally diving into his embrace as the books tumbled from his arms like basilisk fangs.

He had forgone all effort to keep from crying, and so had she. He momentarily pulled away from the hug to slide the ring onto her finger. It took a couple tries with their trembling hands, but then she fell heavier into his arms and he tightened his embrace. He lifted her up and carried her to an armchair, and they sat intertwined by the crackling fire, hugging, kissing, and crying into each other’s hair.

Ron half expected the room to shape-shift again, bringing them to the celebration at the Burrow where their families were waiting, but his dream never got that far. Their embrace in the armchairs began to feel even more real, and soon enough, the Gryffindor Common Room was fading to black.

xxxxx

Ron awoke in his own bed, his arms still wrapped solidly around Hermione. The sun was shining through the window, sending a beam of light to the floor where Crookshanks slept, belly up, as if he was trying to photosynthesize. Hermione began to shift restlessly in her sleep, groaning, as the light knocked on her eyelids like an unwelcome solicitor..

Reality set in, and it would have been easy to feel sad upon realizing his perfectly-executed proposal was all a dream. But instead, Ron just felt giddy with excitement. This could very well be the start of the best day of his life.

As long as everything went according to plan.

———————————————

“To Ron and Hermione!” exclaimed Arthur, reaching his champagne glass straight up into the air.

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed a chorus of Weasleys, Grangers, and a Potter.

Glasses clinked, champagne splashed, and a beaming Ron slipped an arm around Hermione to pull her close to him. She tilted her head up to his, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. He felt her arms wrap around his middle and vaguely heard a few whistles in the background.

Ron and Hermione. It always had a ring to it.

No time had been wasted before preparing The Burrow for the celebration. CONGRATULATIONS was magically written on the wall in capitalized, tinsel-like lettering that flashed red and gold. Jean and Molly had prepared an impressive spread, which rivaled Hogwarts welcoming feasts. Hugo was already mentoring Arthur in the art of mixology, while Charlie and George eagerly volunteered to taste test each new cocktail. There was a cake shaped like an engagement ring, and it appeared that Ginny had gotten to it, because the words “about fucking time” were scribbled across in icing.

“So, Darling,” said Jean, as she refilled her champagne glass. “Aren’t you going to tell us how he proposed?”

“Yes, dear! Please tell everyone!” echoed Molly.

Hermione, who had just taken an unusually large bite of watermelon, replied with a look of surprise, as if for some reason she hadn’t expected that question. She slowly chewed, buying herself some time, and sent a panicked glance in Ron’s direction. A silent conversation followed.

How much do I tell them?

That’s up to you.

They squinted at each other for a few more moments, finalizing the details of their abridged story. Then Hermione turned back to her mom. “I’d love to tell that story.”

xxxxx

Earlier that day...

“Good morning,” were the first words Ron mumbled at the start of the best day of his life.

“Morning,” she muttered back.

He snaked his arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, sending him a look of slight confusion at his eager confession of love. “I’ll be right back,” she added before hastily untangling himself from her arms, and bolting to the bathroom.

Ron groggily rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day. He opened the drawer of his nightstand to find the small velvet ring-box, and slipped it into his pocket before hobbling into the kitchen to make tea and start breakfast. He filled two mugs and set them aside to cool off while breakfast sizzled on the stove. His stomach twisted in a combination of hunger and nerves as he shuffled eggs around in the pan, planning out how he would introduce today’s activities. Luring her to the bookstore should be easy enough, but he hoped she was feeling up to the rest of the adventure.

He heard the shower starting upstairs, and turned the stove down to low. Remembering the colorful beginning of last night’s dream, he stumbled back into the bedroom, hoping Hermione wouldn’t mind a visitor. He presumptuously pulled off his shirt before cracking open the door to unleash a flume of steam into the bedroom.

Ron froze at the sight of Hermione. The shower was running in the background, but she was crouched on the tile floor, hovering her face over the toilet while she wretched. One hand wrangled her hair behind her head, while the other supported her weight on the floor.

Fuck.

“Hermione,” stammered Ron. “Are… are you ok?” He rushed to her side and knelt down, taking her hair from her hands. He cleared some loose strands away from her face while she gently shook her head.

“No,” she groaned. “Not okay—” her body interrupted her as she heaved again.

“Well, shit, Hermione,” he said softly, hoping his disappointment didn’t sour his words. Hermione rarely threw up. In fact, the last time he recalled had been during a panic attack in Australia before they found her parents. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he’d held her hair on a bathroom floor while she vomited into the toilet. He felt a strange sense of pride, as if they had reached a new relationship milestone.

As his hopes for a smooth-sailing proposal started to fade, there was a part of him that considered asking her right there on the bathroom floor. It would have been the least romantic way to do it, and she’d probably hate him for it, but he doubted she’d say no. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state made his heart swell, and he wanted her to know it was that it was her humanity that he fell in love with.

Fuck, he’d marry her on a bathroom floor with vomit on her face, no question about it.

She grimaced and groaned, then leaned over the toilet yet again, and Ron gently held her close and rubbed her back as she suffered through the next wave of nausea.

He could maybe wait a little longer.

Eventually she stood up and wiped her face, revealing an expression of utter embarrassment. “Thank you,” she whispered, pointedly looking away from him. “I’m going to shower now.”

Ron scoured his mind for something to say that might make her feel less awkward. His randy brain landed on, “do you mind if I join you?”

Hermione paused, then laughed. “You want to shower with me?” she asked incredulously. “After that?” she added, motioning toward the bathroom floor.

“Well… always,” shrugged Ron.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t exactly feel sexy right now.”

He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, and that his attraction to her was unconditional, but worried it would have come off insincere. “Ok. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen—”

“About that,” she interrupted. “It smells wonderful but…” she trailed off, motioning to the toilet where she’d left last night’s meal.

“Right,” said Ron. “Would porridge be better?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. Porridge it is.”

“Thank you.”

Once in the kitchen, Ron scraped the remaining eggs and veggies into a leftovers box, and stored them in the refrigerator, before getting started on a gentler, blander breakfast.

To contrast the flavorless porridge he was making, Ron’s mind shifted into overdrive, trying to rework his proposal plan to consider Hermione’s nausea. Portkeys could upset even the strongest stomachs, and the Vanishing Cabinet was no walk in the park either. He had planned to floo to the Burrow from Grimmauld Place after returning together in the Vanishing Cabinet, and at the very least, they could always floo to the Burrow early…

Fuck.

Ron tried to keep an open mind about the day ahead. Maybe Hermione would be feeling better after her shower, and a trip to the bookstore would cheer her up. If that didn’t work, maybe his mum would be able to push the celebration back a day, and he could try tomorrow.

Everything was going to be fine.

He doubted that even more when Hermione never returned to the kitchen. Thinking he’d better go check on her, he left breakfast on the counter for the second time, and made his way back to the bedroom.

She had returned to the same place as before, crouched on the bathroom floor, head bowed over the toilet. She looked pale and sullen, and hadn’t bothered to change into day clothes or dry her hair after her shower. Her sopping wet hair stuck firmly to her towel which seemed to absorb enough water to save their neglected houseplants and she sat on the tile with the heaviness of a bag of flour.

“Hermione?” Ron asked tenderly.

She shook her head, and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not feeling any better,” he said.

Hermione shrugged.

Ron willed himself to emotionally detach from the remaining images of Hermione in a bookstore, the Room of Requirement, and the Burrow and sat down next to her. With a closer look at her face he realized she was crying.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around her. “I’m worried about you. You’re never sick.”

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

“Sorry?” he said, pulling her close to him so he could hear her better.

Lifting her face from his chest for a brief moment, she said, “We haven’t been spending mornings together.”

She was right, their schedules had never lined up enough to enjoy waking up at the same time, and as of late that was even more true. “Hermione,” he whispered. “Has this been happening a lot?”

Hermione nodded and pressed her face back into his chest. She spoke so softly against his shirt that he might not have heard her, but the words demanded his attention. “Ron, I’m pregnant.”

The images that had been dancing in Ron’s mind were still there— Hermione gathering books, searching for the Vanishing Cabinet at Grimmauld Place, wandering through Ron’s memories, and embracing him by the fire in the common room. It almost felt that his mind was expanding so that those images took up less and less space, because they weren’t actually real, and this was.

In all that extra space, his mind cycled through visions of his future, playing memories yet to be made. For the first time since he had decided to ask her to marry him, proposing felt like a simple task because he saw far beyond that now. He wanted to ask her, but then he wanted to hold her hair if she got sick again. He wanted to run out at weird hours of the night to buy the food she craved. He wanted to go to that bookstore, not so she could partake in his scavenger hunt, but so he could buy all the books about pregnancy and parenting.

“Are you serious?” were the words that tumbled out of his mouth, dripping with pure excitement. She nodded affirmatively, and an involuntary smile spread across his face.  He reached a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear, before landing his lips on her forehead.

He felt her grinning under his hand, seemingly pleased at his positive reaction. Her excitement gave her next question a melody. “Well...what do you want to do?” She asked it confidently, like she already knew what he would say.

But she didn't know.

“I want to marry you,” he stated, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

She pulled away and squinted skeptically at him as if he might be joking, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, and popped it open to reveal a beautiful solitaire ring— simple, understated, yet timeless, just like Hermione.  Then a smile enveloped her face and she didn’t need to say anything at all. She leaned into his embrace, and he felt tears leaking from his eyes, elation on his face, and nothing but happiness.

They sat there intertwined and crying for some time until he realized she’d never actually answered. “So… will you?”

She responded wordlessly, with an enthusiastic nod against his chest, and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

It really felt like the rest of the world had disappeared and they were alone, the only people that mattered. When reality started to filter back, Ron had to chuckle at the sudden realization of what room they were in. It was almost funny how much effort he had put into planning out the perfect day, only to propose to Hermione on a bathroom floor.

“I had a better plan, you know,” he said finally. “To ask you.”

She shook her head and mumbled into his chest. “This was perfect.”

Maybe it was. Their friendship began in a bathroom, as did their relationship nearly eight years later, so it was quite fitting that he proposed in one too. He’d have to save his scavenger hunt for another occasion, but that was ok. He had a lifetime of opportunities ahead.

To outsiders, it might not be the most romantic story. Luckily, Ron didn’t give a fuck what outsiders thought, because he had Hermione.

xxxxx

“We had just woken up and were getting ready for the day. We got to talking, and I asked him what he wanted to do,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her face. “He said ‘I want to marry you.’ I... didn’t see it coming at all.”

Ron was thankful for the fact that his lopsided grin was pretty much stuck to his face, otherwise he might have winced. As he had predicted, Hermione had left out the most important piece of information. Without it, it all sounded rather unremarkable.

“Out of the blue?” asked Molly, her eyebrows raised.

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw Harry and Ginny exchange a knowing glance.

“Out of the blue.” said Hermione, before taking another big bite of her watermelon slice.

“I think that’s so romantic!” Jean had one hand resting on her heart, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Ron, did you plan it like that?”

Ron inhaled sharply at the sound of his name. “Um, well no, actually,” he said, sending a reassuring look toward Hermione. “I had something more elaborate planned.”

“Then what happened?”

Ron grinned as he watched Hermione show off her ring to Ginny and Angelina who had appeared at her shoulder. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Molly and Jean’s soft smiles and sparkling eyes suggested they were satisfied by that answer.

The celebrations continued into the evening hours, and sometime after dinner, Ron appeared at Hugo and Arthur’s makeshift bar to find that Hugo already had a drink waiting for him.

“Congratulations again, son!” said Arthur, before engulfing him in another hug.

“Thanks Dad,” he said.

“I’m going to check on my future daughter-in-law!” he said excitedly. “I’ll see if she wants a drink.”

Arthur scurried away, leaving Ron alone with Hugo.

“I already made you an Alexander,” Hugo said, sliding the drink across the table to Ron. “Made one for Hermione too.”

Ron felt his ears turning crimson, as if he’d been caught in a lie. Now was not the time to inform Hugo why his daughter wasn’t drinking. He would just have to drink for two today.

However, Hugo was quite observant. In a whisper he added, “there’s no alcohol in hers.”

Ron met Hugo’s unflinching gaze, and the two men stared at each other for an uncomfortable pause. The tension finally broke when Hugo smiled, and Ron felt a wave of relief. “How did you know?”

Hugo chuckled. “I’ve never seen her eat watermelon.” He took a dramatic swig of his own drink before continuing. “But Jean couldn’t get enough of it when she was pregnant with Hermione.”

Ron glanced over at Hermione, who was working her way through yet another slice of watermelon. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her eating it, but was drawing a blank.

Hugo brought him out of his memories. “I guess our conversation about contraception was for shit.”

If Ron had just met Hugo, he might have put more effort into formulating a diplomatic answer. He might have interpreted his pursed lips as stern disapproval rather than a weak attempt to prevent himself from laughing at his own joke. He definitely would not have burst out laughing and answered the way he did.

“Total shit.”

Encouraged by a few cocktails, Hugo grinned widely and unleashed a hearty laugh. Then he did something surprising. He put down his glass, circled the table, and opened his arms to embrace Ron.

“I’m happy for you, son,” he said softly. “I hope you’re happy too.”

Ron saw no reason to hold back his tears, so he didn’t. He had always assumed his future father-in-law would consider Ron's happiness simply an extension of his daughter’s, but Hugo proved him wrong. This was a man who cared about him deeply, as if he was his own son and Ron could feel it. “I’ve never been happier.”

Hugo pulled him to arms length. Ron noticed a tear on his cheek and felt another wave of connection with the man. With a pat on his shoulder, he turned back to the bar and grabbed both glasses. “Now go have a drink. Have some fun,” he said before adding with a wink, “while you can.”

Ron found Hermione discussing wedding plans in the living room with Ginny and Angelina, and slid into a seat on the armrest of her chair. He pressed the glass into her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “non-alcoholic.”

She looked up at him and mouthed, thank you, before leaning against him while he slipped his arm around her.

Ginny was smiling at them as more Weasleys piled into the living room. Seeing Ron and Hermione together ignited another toast from the group. “To Ron and Hermione.”

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed the crowd.

Plus one.

He’d never been more excited about anything in his life, and it was clearly evident by his expression. When she clicked her glass against his and looked him right in the eyes, he saw his own elation reflecting back at him, and knew she felt the same way. They had come so far, but their story was only just beginning.

[pxmun]

Belo Betty had enough of sitting around and doing nothing. It had been a week or so after the Levely incident and the Revolutionaries still had not heard from Sabo and the others. Everyone was in a rut trying to find out what had happened to their comrades, investigations were in place but so far nothing had come up. Bunny Joe had just returned from the West Blue after trying to gather information from a few kingdoms on what had happened at Reverie. He spotted Betty on the docks. “Any news”? Betty asked. “Hardly, the best I got was a speculation that the others were last seen at an island called Radio.” Bunny Joe replied. “Radio? I’ve never heard of that island before.” Betty said. “I haven’t either, but the West Blue inhabitants said it has been closed off from the rest of the world after an incident that left them without a ruler.” Bunny Joe said. Bunny Joe looked over Betty and watched as Koala walked by. “How’s she holding up”? Bunny Joe asked. “Koala’s been a real trooper, but I can tell this has been greatly affecting her.” Betty sadly admitted. “Her and Sabo are really close, I’m sure the news hit her hard.” Bunny Joe responded. With a possible lead Belo Betty headed out for Radio Island later that night. As her ship neared the island, Betty brought the vessel to a stop as she noticed the large metal towers surrounding the island. Betty didn’t know why but her instincts were telling her that she shouldn’t continue on the large ship. Instead Betty boarded a smaller lifeboat and rowed toward the island. With the help of the lights on the radio towers Betty was able to safely row closer towards Radio. Suddenly a shadow in the water rocketed towards Betty. In a split second Betty was able to come to the horrifying conclusion that the shadow was a torpedo. Betty had no choice but to jump into the sea, the water immediately paralyzed the devil fruit user. By this point the torpedo had made contact with the little boat and engulfed it in a massive fiery explosion. Betty tried to move but the sea water had left her weak, somehow she was able to manage to lift her hand out of the water. Betty knew there probably wouldn’t be anyone there to save her, but she had to try. As Betty felt herself begin to sink further under the waves she suddenly felt herself being yanked upwards. Betty breached the surface of the sea and began spitting up water, gasping for air not long after. Betty looked up at her rescuer. “Lind”? Betty asked. Sure enough Betty saw the wide grin of the Southern commander. The two were currently hovering over the water thanks to Lindbergh’s jetpack. “Hey, Betty! Looks like I made it just in time.” Lindbergh said. The Mink quickly flew his companion and him to land where Lindbergh gently placed Betty on the soft sand of the beach. The Eastern commander was drenched in cold sea water and shaking like an earthquake. Lindbergh took off his orange overcoat and placed it over Betty to help warm her up for the time being until the Mink was able to get a fire going. Lindbergh rushed to gather the materials needed for the fire. He quickly set a fire pit up and got it lit. Once the flames were going Lindbergh helped move Betty next to the fire.  After being warmed up for a bit Betty spoke up. “What the heck is going on”? Betty asked weakly. “We were fighting against the Admirals when an incident happened between Cipher Pol and one of the attending royal families. Sabo had us go and investigate, when we got there we discovered the body of the Alabasta king Cobra and princess Vivi, who was about to be assassinated by Cipher Pol. We managed to stop the assassination and decided to bring Vivi back to Sabo for further instructions.” Lindbergh explained as he prepared a pot of tea. He placed the pot over the fire before continuing. “However when we returned, we were shocked to find Kuma had joined the battle. He hadn’t joined as an alley though, nor an enemy. Instead Kuma had gone off on a full blown rampage. He was charging at everyone, friend and foe alike. Sabo was worried about Kuma hurting himself more then he already was from his enslavement to the Celestial Dragons, so Sabo used himself as bait to distract Kuma until we returned. We had made it back in time to see Kuma use his paw paw powers to send Sabo flying. Kuma then set his sights on us. Karasu managed to distract Kuma long enough for Morley to sneak up and grab Kuma from behind.” Lindbergh said.

“So how did you end up here then and what happened to Sabo”? Betty asked.

“Well it turned out Kuma wasn’t as secure as we had thought. Karasu and I were trying to remove the slave collar around Kuma’s when Vivi approached us. Apparently the key had fallen off of Saint Charlos during the confrontation in Pangea’s court yard. She helped me with removing the device, but once we got it off Kuma was able to move his hand just enough to send Morley flying. With Morley now gone it was easy for Kuma to toss the rest of us off. Karasu quickly gathered Vivi and I up right as Kuma tagged him, so we all got teleported together.” Lindbergh continued. “And Kuma sent you guys here”? Betty asked. “Yeah, I have no idea why but he sent all of us here. When we landed Sabo and Morley were waiting for us.” Lindbergh said. Betty looked around her surroundings. “So, where is everyone then”? Betty asked. “That’s the bad news, apparently the locals don’t take to kindly to the Revolutionary Army. We walked to a nearby town and the residents immediately recognized us as Revolutionaries. The whole town began chasing after us and these towns folk are on a whole different level compared to those we have interacted in the past.” Lindbergh explained. “Different how”? Betty asked puzzled. “For one they aren’t as fragile and scared as other town folk, they knew where we stood on the Revolution ladder, yet they still confronted us. The next, well I don’t know how to describe it except for vocal haki.” Lindbergh said. “Wait, they know about us? How? And what is Vocal..Haki”? Betty questioned. “I don’t know, my best guess is that they somehow found out by word of mouth or worse...We have a spy in our ranks. As for the Vocal Haki, they appear to build up energy through humming, then they either release it physically or vocally. Unfortunately for Sabo he got exposed to this vocalization. If it was anyone lower than Sabo’s level this haki would have knocked them out. Sabo was left very disoriented after exposure. Morley tried to provide back up but by this time the island’s law enforcement arrived.” Lindbergh said. “They call themselves Radio Rangers. They wear cowboy hats and tan dusters, if you see them avoid them at all cost.” Lindbergh warned. “Just the citizens alone sound tough enough, how much worse are these Rangers”? Betty asked in morbid curiosity. “Way worse, best I can scale them at is Marine captain level.” Lindbergh said. “We found out the hard way as four of them went after Morley. You remember how I said vocal haki can also be released physically? Well that’s what happened. The crazy thing is that these Rangers didn’t even use their fist, all they did was touch Morley with an open palm and they fell right over.” Lindbergh said. “Sounds like the vocal haki did damage to Morley internally. What about Karasu”? Betty asked worried. “ He was putting up a good fight, Karasu was giving those Rangers a run for their money. His devil fruit was making it really difficult for the enemy to target him. Karasu had managed to knock two Rangers into the mud before more Rangers showed up with better equipment.” Lindbergh recalled. Betty continued to listen, her heart beat increasing from the anxiety and worry about what happened to Karasu. Betty nearly jumped when the tea kettle began to whistle. Lindbergh removed the kettle from the fire and poured tea into two cups. He handed one of the cups to Betty. She took a sip, eager to warm up. “Thank you.” Betty told Lindbergh. Lindbergh acknowledged Betty’s gratitude with a nod before focusing his attention toward a large glowing radio tower within the island. His tone changing to that of dire concern. “These guys must have a spy infiltrating our group, when their science unit arrived they brought with them a special gun. Karasu was in the air when they fired it. This thing was specifically designed to work against Karasu’s devil fruit. It launched a gum like substance and it stuck to Karasu and all of his crows. Luckily Karasu wasn’t that far up in the air when he came crashing down.” Lindbergh said, his back facing Betty. There was no response.

“ I warned Sabo to try not to get caught. Don’t get me wrong the kid has a good heart, its just.... its just that he needs to look before he leaps, he’s not a pirate, he’s a Revolutionary, the second in command. He doesn’t have the luxury to be reckless. If Sabo had just paid more attention, then he would’ve known this place didn’t like Revolutionaries. If he had just looked into it....Sabo would’ve been weary of me.” Lindbergh finished. There came a soft “thud”. Lindbergh turned around to find Betty collapsed on the sand. Lindbergh walked up to Betty and knelt down, observing Betty’s breathing. “Good, it looks like the sleeping drug did its job.” Lindbergh said to himself. Lindbergh stood back up. “Clear”! Lindbergh shouted. From behind the trees and rocks Rangers came running out, surrounding Lindbergh and Betty. The group drew their rifles and pointed them at Betty. “ Its okay, she’s out cold.” Lindbergh stated. “Sorry sir, but we don’t want to take any chances.” One Ranger replied. “ Stand down, that’s an order.” Lindbergh said. The Rangers seemed caught off guard by the cat Mink’s response. After some hesitation the group lowered their weapons. Lindbergh gave a sincere smile. “I appreciate everyone’s concern. If it’ll make the group feel any better, I’ll place Betty in sea stone leg and handcuffs to restrain her and prevent her from using her devil fruit.” Lindbergh said. The Rangers looked at each other before giving a nod to Lindbergh. Lindbergh then gently scooped up Betty into his arms, removing her sunglasses and hat. “Its still dark out so there shouldn’t be anyone out, but I don’t want to take any chances of one of he residents seeing another Revolutionary, so lets take the backroads.” Lindbergh said. “Do we have an update on the ship Betty came on” ? Lindbergh asked. “Omega squad is chasing the Revolutionary ship away from our borders as we speak sir.” A Ranger spoke up. “Alright, let’s head back to the palace then.” Lindbergh said. And with that the group headed off onto the dark road.

[uraharashopslut]

dreamland {hirako shinji fic}

- summary -

shinji had forgotten about the girl he grew up with in rukongai, until she waltzed right into his quarters with the last person he'd expect, his fukutaicho, aizen sosuke.

content warning: when life hands ya lemons, ya put 'em in ya story. this is gonna be a mature fic. not sure what the full extent of that will be, but there's definitely gonna be some crude language. yoruichi and urahara are swingers. it's gonna be a grand ol time.

{consider the Glass Animals album "Dreamland" the soundtrack for this book}

Chapter One

"Taicho," Aizen bowed as he entered his Captain's quarters.

"Always so formal, Sosuke-kun. What is it?" Shinji sat on his futon with his eyes closed, head against the wall, listening to the jazz from his Living World record player.

"I was wondering if I might have permission to move a guest into my quarters, sir," Aizen asked, kneeling in front of his captain.

Shinji opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. "Eh? Move someone in? From outside Seireitei?"

"Hai."

"Well, I'm gonna need more information than that if I'm to even consider granting such an odd request. Who is it?" Shinji asked. His lieutenant had always been incredibly private, to be fair, so had Shinji, but this was rather uncharacteristic of Aizen.

"My girlfriend."

---

"I can't believe he said yes, Sosuke-kun! How exciting. I'll grab my things immediately." Ayame began grabbing robes from her closet and shoving then in a bag.

Aizen reached out and grabbed her arm firmly. "Listen to me, Ayame. You must treat every person in Seireitei with the utmost respect. They are in a class above you and you must behave as such. Do you hear me?"

Ayame nodded, trying to loosen her boyfriend's grip. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"If you slip up even one time I will have no choice but to send you back here, are we clear?" His grip remained.

Ayame's eyes fixed on the floor. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"Good." He removed his hand. "Now finish packing, we leave in an hour." He flash-stepped away.

Ayame sighed and continued to pack. Is this really the best idea, she asked herself. She had been with Aizen for three years, but had never gotten used to his coldness. She looked around her room.

She was going to miss this place. Her floor was littered with buckets to catch the leaks when it rained, but it was still home. It was still the first place she could afford with money she earned, thanks to Aizen.

He was a dream, at first. They met when he was on a mission to the outer Rukongai district, where she was a makeshift house mother for a particularly rowdy group of boys. He helped her find a job and save enough money to move into her own house, although it was rather worn down. He's done so much for you, don't be ungrateful. You know how much his reputation means to him. Besides, do you want to live in this leaky shack forever? This is your chance to move up.

Ayame finished packing her belongings then locked up her house for the last time. She set the key on the ground in front for the landlord and headed towards the West Gate.

"Today the big day?" Sato, the old baker next door, asked.

Ayame turned to him with a smile. "Yes, Jii-san."

"Good luck to you! Oh, and if you see that Hirako rascal, give him hell for leaving you here alone, will ya?" he called.

"Seireitei is a large place, Jiisan. I doubt I'll run into him, and I doubt he'd remember me. That was two hundred years ago," Ayame said, her smile fading.

"Well, if you do."

"As you wish. Farewell, Sato-san! Thank you for all of your help." Ayame bowed before continuing to walk.

When she neared the gate, Aizen's reitsu began to overwhelm her senses.

"Boo."

Ayame turned around, less than startled. "Take this bag. I'm tired of carrying everything."

Aizen chuckled. "Hello to you, too." He grabbed the bag from her outstretched arm.

---

Ayame unrolled her futon and positioned it near Aizen's. She set her pillow and folded blanket on top.

"All moved in!" Aizen said, wrapping her in a hug from behind. "How does it feel?"

She took a deep breath, shifting the weight in her feet. This was her home now. "The energy is different from Rukongai."

"Better, right?" he asked with a cool tone.

Ayame turned to face her boyfriend and grabbed his hands. "Much better. I feel like I can breathe here."

Aizen's hardened expression softened as Ayame's green eyes looked up at him. He lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her gently.

"I'm glad you like it. Now that we're settled, I need to introduce you to the captain of my squad."

"The Blond Bastard, as you like to call him?" Ayame asked, stifling a smirk.

"Yeah, that's him," Aizen replied, sliding his door open.

"Does he have a real name?"

"Taicho. That's the only one that should matter to you," he said. He started walking to his Captain's quarters.

Ayame stepped out of the room and slid the door shut behind her before following after her boyfriend. They walked in silence.

"Ah, Aizen-kun. This must be the girlfriend your Captain was telling me about," a deep but friendly voice said.

The couple turned to face a man in a pink floral robe with a large straw hat. Aizen bowed.

"Kyoraku-taicho," he said. "This is Ayame."

Ayame bowed lightly, before smiling at the man.

"Very good to meet you. Always a pleasure to see another beautiful woman joining our ranks," Kyoraku grinned.

"Thank you, taicho," she replied, her cheeks flushing.

"You better hurry along and introduce her. You know how impatient he is," Kyoraku tipped his hat with a wink. "I'll be seeing you!"

"Taicho," Aizen said with a deep bow as the man walked away. He turned to face Ayame. "That was the captain of the eighth squad, Kyoraku Shunsui. We're almost at my Captain's quarters. His is the last door at the end of this hall."

The couple quickly made their way to the door. Jazz music could be heard from behind the wood.

"Taicho, may I enter?"

They heard a shuffle, something drop, and footsteps before the door slid open. Ayame could smell fragrant incense coming from the room as she bowed deeply.

"How many times do I have to tell ya, Sosuke-kun, ya can just call me Shinji," the blond captain said, scratching his head. "Oh! This must be yer girl-"

He stopped short and his eyes widened when he saw Ayame's face.

"Yes, this is my girlfriend, Aya-" Aizen started.

"I can't believe it," Ayame said, stepping closer to the door as she made eye contact with the blond captain. "Hirako?"

Shinji pushed past his lieutenant and grabbed the blue-haired girl's shoulders. "You?"

Ayame turned to her boyfriend. "You didn't tell me 'The Blond Bastard' was Shinji Hirako!"

Aizen glared at Ayame. "I didn't realize you knew each other."

Shinji shot a look that could kill at his lieutenant. "Back in the day, this 'blond bastard' lived in Rukongai."

"We grew up together," Ayame said bitterly.

"Come in, let me pour some tea," Shinji said, putting his hand on her back, guiding her into his room. Aizen trailed behind.

Shinji closed the door behind them and gestured to the futon. "Both of ya, make yerselves comfortable!"

Ayame sat down, cross-legged, and gestured for her boyfriend to do the same. Shinji picked up a candle that was on the ground, presumably the object that the couple heard fall, and turned down his record player.

Shinji filled a kettle with water and tea leaves and set it on the stove to boil. Ayame watched him in disbelief. He was a captain, just like he'd always dreamed of being. As children, they spent many hours in the woods fighting one another with sticks. Shinji talked ceaselessly about how he'd be the best captain in all of Seireitei, and here he was.

"You never told me you grew up with a Captain-class Shinigami," Aizen hissed in Ayame's ear.

"I never knew," she responded. "He left without a word."

"So, darlin', when'd ya dye yer hair blue? It's a nice touch, stands out more than the brown," Shinji asked, carrying three cups and the tea pot. He sat across from them on the floor. He reached and grabbed a strand in his hands. "I like the color. Very shiny."

"And you had brown hair?" Aizen asked, as he watched Shinji pouring the tea.

"Yes, I dyed it to set myself apart. I didn't like blending in with everyone in the district," Ayame shrugged, sipping the tea Shinji handed to her.

"I get the sentiment, but ya never blended in," Shinji laughed. "They were always scared of ya."

Aizen's brows furrowed. He took a sip.

"I was pretty rambunctious as a kid. Always beating up the bullies who'd pick on this blond bag of bones."

"Geez, first I'm a blond bastard and now I'm a bag of bones? Needa get better friends," Shinji whined, rubbing his shoulder.

"Or maybe you shouldn't abandon them," Ayame responded, crossing her arms.

"Darlin', it wasn't like that," Shinji said, his posture stiffening.

Aizen face remained unchanged at his Captain's use of the pet name.

"You could've come back, to see me, maybe when you finished the academy. But you didn't." Ayame stood and set her cup of tea on the desk next to the record player. "Sosuke-kun, let's go. I can't be here anymore."

"I agree." Aizen stood and opened the door, stepping out. "Thank you for tea, Taicho," he said with a bow."

Shinji stood and grabbed Ayame's wrist. "Ayame, wait."

Ayame turned to face him. "Yes?" she hissed.

"Come see me again, please. My door is always open to ya," Shinji said gently.

Ayame could see the sincerity and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe, Hirako." She tried to pull her wrist free from his grip. "Shinji?"

Shinji's eyes darkened and he spoke with a lowered tone. "If he doesn't treat ya well, he'll have hell to pay."

Ayame pulled her wrist free and nodded slightly. "Good bye, Shinji. Maybe I'll see you around."

fin

tell me what ya think in the comments below, dolls!

[enniewritesathing]

🗣️discussion post 🗣️

let's talk about what happened :D

underneath the read more bc of spoilers for the update (obviously) and length, me rambling, some behind the scenes things...

First off -- this is took so long for me to work on. It was what, a 4 month gap? Usually it's not more than a month but... Things happened and my brain being generally an asshole. We're working on that. What really spurned me to get make the update? I got new internet and holy shit, everything's so fast. Went from DSL to 5G internet (which me being in the sticks, being surrounded by 3 towers = all the speed). Which is great because I added gifs and I need that upload speed or else it would've taken forever.

I didn't get the idea of making gifs until about halfway through the update when @pink-chevalier suggested I make some/experiment with them. I can also combine 2 or more pics for transitions/actions so I'd have room for shots. Also making use of Photomosh Pro...

anyway let's get on with what happened (in no order):

Hey. Charles? He may be unhinged. Just a little bit.

Daniel's very interesting that he's trying to divorce himself from everything, much less the trial and Charles was right to call him out. Real pot = kettle energy. If you think about it, he's damn near the level of responsible that Charles has with handling needles/syringes, he's way less unhinged about it. It's more of a reluctant participant but not really.

I mean, he punched The Werewolf with one when he attacked Jordan.

Speaking of needles, for some reason I looked up how to do an injection and turns out there are different ways! In this case, the needle has to get into muscle (and the heart being a muscle itself), Daniel has to angle it 90 degrees. In the Incident, it was at a weird angle (and at the time I didn't know how to put accessories in stigmata.)

And ofc, it had to go down to the stopping point. Why no, that's not anything.

I made so many swatches of the vitals. There's like 50. They do look nice on the bigger screen. Truly enhances everything way better. Like I said previously, I did what I could with what I had.

The Werewolf dropping the fact that John was the one in control and not him during this segment of the trial. John's the one getting tortured.

The door is actually The Werewolf's door! This is the first time he's done it. To this day, he doesn't quite have a handle on summoning doors. It makes sense that it's simple, but because he wasn't in control per se, the knob was useless.

John's expression on seeing The Werewolf glaring down at him? The Werewolf's glare??

Mark's absence because he won Rock Paper Scissors. We'll get to him later.

John freaked out by the amount of blood in the lab. He's got a stronger stomach than I thought but I think it's because he's a bit used to blood when he fights. Not that much, but, an amount. It happens.

That said... you think The Werewolf might be holding back on that? Do you think it's actually messier than that?

First the hospital bed surrounded by flowers, and now the exam table (?)... what's with that?

And what's up with John...? Does he remember more than he lets on? Or is he hiding under the guise of medicinal amnesia? It's like he could be in denial or something. 🤔🤔🤔

The Werewolf says he'll talk about that later. I have a feeling that's not gonna be pretty.

The Werewolf admitting that everything was against him, that there was a chance of him dying. He didn't know if whatever he had in mind was going to work.

The shots during Charles' and Daniel's conversation?? Getting it together and working on it took like a month bc it's a Biggie/Important story post. That said, as much as I hate Charles, I enjoyed writing his dialogue and perhaps, in general. He's just really fascinating!

I actually have no idea what he sounds like. I think I've said it's reedy, but idk?

This mfer really did 🫵.

I love how John's hair has been touched twice in this update. It is pretty soft.

I would like to give a shoutout to the music genre Witch House.

The file name I gave John during the conversation was "go king, give us nothing.blend".

This isn't quite mentioned but ever since The Werewolf made his promise, it was made sure that he wouldn't move a millimeter. It's also why his healing ability has started to erode over time, it's that strong. His senses are shut out -- as well as not being able to see, he can't hear (mostly) and he can't smell so he can't sus out who's who.

...that and I thought the visual was neat when I put it together. Very experiment-y.

I would never fault John for being terrified of needles.

I wasn't able to do this visually right last time because I didn't have the CC for it (or the ceiling update), but I love how the shots of The Werewolf being in The Void came out. Lot of shots of him being far off and tiny... only used a few though. It really drives home what is isolation to him.

He was going to have his wrists chained (or chained in general) but I thought eh, that's a bit too much and it didn't really work with what I had in mind. (And I was lazy.)

I made the decision of changing John's/The Werewolf's eyes from 'blank' to white... they both do hit, but white's more of pointing out true unconsciousness, if you get my meaning. It's also more spookier... he'll go back and forth with it.

The gifs with John getting to the door, I messed around with in Photomosh. Specifically, it's Smear and I adjusted it to where it looks like he's breathing fast.

This is probably one of my fav shots in the story (so far). It's foreboding. Sinister even. I could go on.

Oh! Getting into the lab door was a bit of a pain in making it. I don't know how to uh edit objects, so what I had to do was have The Werewolf in the open pose while John walked in/out and I had to capture before the doors closed.

You may notice that there was a huge button on the side of it. The Werewolf wasn't exactly aware of it at the time. Not like he would've been able to get out. That shit is super secure, trouble getting in OR out.

questions? comments? concerns? speculation? anything?

if you made it all the way though, congrats! here's a WIP:

I'm sure nothing bad is happening there.

:)

[kazimakuwabara]

A Name (Part 9)

Previous chapter HERE

By the time Kuwabara was walking about, he was pretty sure he’d come to understand at least a little bit of the old Kuwabara and Yusuke’s relationship. They were rivals, and then friends; as thick as thieves and then brothers. And once Yusuke and Kuwabara were talking more, Kurama was around more, followed by Hiei.

It was as if Yusuke and Kuwabara clicked back together, had helped ease some of the tension between them all.

There was a nervous energy in the group, and few things that Kuwabara was sure he was doing wrong... or at least not how they expected him to behave.

There was some unknown tension behind Kuwabara’s former, and renewed friends when he did certain things. Kuwabara’s aversion to the cats seemed to shock people in silence. The mentioning of getting rid of his arm and his disinterest in resuming training seemed to also stir a pot of negative emotions, and would often make Hiei disappear again.

“Is that little one always so grumpy?” Kuwabara asked Kurama and Yusuke.

Their response was to look at each other and howl with laughter.

“What?” Kuwabara demanded.  He sagged against a post of the shrine, and waved his unhindered arm in the air, “The little guy buzzes off anytime something offends him I think! And I’ve no idea what offends him!”

“Who does!” Yusuke admitted with a snort, “He’s short tempered.”

“Pot calling the kettle,” Kurama muttered, and he and Kuwabara laughed.

Kuwabara had only been told stories, but Kuwabara could imagine it. Yusuke with his smart ass attitude, and his punkish air.

“Hiei is what I would call a Tsundere,” Kurama said with an air of great knowing.

Yusuke choked, and bent over so he could laugh, while Kuwabara could only squint at Kurama.

“A what?”

Kuwabara’s question made Yusuke fall to the ground, where he flopped on his back gasping, “No! No! I’ll die!”

Kurama grinning mischievously shrugged, “Let’s just say he acts like a temperamental cat. When you give him attention he leaves, but if you don’t give him attention he comes running back. He is a handful of a friend, but a good one to have.”

Kuwabara chuckled, and watched Kurama and Yusuke laughed. When they seemed to be settle down, Kuwabara cleared his throat, “By the way. The Path, and the Áine Sovereign Blade... where are they now?”

Kurama and Yusuke’s expressions soured a little, and they both sighed.

“You don’t need to worry about it,” Yusuke said a little snappishly.

“The mirror and sword are both returned to their rightful owners,” Kurama said, his smile also tight.

“So locked up with Koenma then?” Kuwabara asked.

“The Path is,” Yusuke sighed, “But the sword is returned to who we borrowed it from. Some...” Yusuke waved a hand around, “Some Irish baby Prince or what not in Ireland.”

“A Fae Prince,” Kurama said, “The one day ruler of a hidden part is Ireland. They are the owners of the sword. We borrowed it from them, and so we’ve returned it.”

“What’s a Fae?” Kuwabara asked.

“A fairy or somethin’ like it,” Yusuke answered, and then with a grin, “Like in a kid’s story.”

“To the human world a Fae is a magical creature,” Kurama spoke over Yusuke, shooting him a sardonic look, “But to demons, they are just a different type of demon, more in tuned to nature. With trickery, illusion... and games. They know how to have fun I assure you.”

“So, a fae is like a demon?” Kuwabara checked.

“Is a demon... just a different type,” Kurama said smiling. “I myself am a Fae. It’s just my class of demon, much like Yusuke is a Mazoku.”

“And Hiei is a Koorime?” Kuwabara asked.

Judging by Kurama going pale, and Yusuke’s mortification he’d misspoken.

“No, no... they are not that. He’s not. It’s different,” Kurama hurried to explain.

“So he’s not the same as Yukina?” Kuwabara further asked.

“Kuwabara,” Yusuke was on his feet, and he reached out to touch Kuwabara’s good arm, “Hiei and Yukina’s situation... it’s not our place to tell you. But the Koorime... they’re a bunch of fuckin’ douche bags. Monster assholes-”

“Who, Hiei would really not like to be associated with,” Kurama interrupted loudly. With kind eyes he muttered, “The Koorime hurt Hiei and Yukina in different but painful ways. But-”

“It’s not your business to share with me,” Kuwabara sighed grimly, “I’ll be careful not to say it again in front of him.” Kuwabara pursed his lips and the carefully asked, “...And asking would be bad right?”

“Right!” Kurama and Yusuke bother exploded.

Kuwabara chuckled, awkwardly cleared his throat, “So about the sword-”

“Why do you ask about it? You don’t ever have to worry about it again,” Kurama said firmly, Yusuke nodding his head in firm agreement.

Kuwabara titled his head, “...I’m not sure why I’m asking about it.  I just think I need a little more information it.”

“Really you don’t need to worry about it,” Kurama said, “Everything is returned and things will be as they should be.”

“Yeah. It’s not something you have to think about it, ever again.” Yusuke said firm and bitter, “Fucking sword and a stupid mirror. Causing all this...”

The air grew tense.

Yusuke looked away from Kuwabara, and Kuwabara felt even more awkward.

“Let’s just focus on getting you back up to snuff Kuwabara,” Yusuke said with a grin that was not an honest smile, “You promised six months ago you had a new technique that would knock me flat on my back at the Makai tournament--set three months from now. And I’d like to see you get better, and get this all resolved. I’d like you to keep that promise.”

Kuwabara smiled too, and it was as dishonest as Yusuke’s if not worse.

But he dropped the conversation of the sword, not really sure how to broach the subject with his old, but also new, friends... They were still missing the original Kazuma Kuwabara.

The person the current Kuwabara, wondered if he was. Ever could be.

Kuwabara kept these thought to himself, all the way until bed time. Other thoughts followed in natural order. How much did the others miss Kazuma Kuwabara? Would they always hope Kuwabara would get his memories back? Would be be able to? Did... he... want to? Want to be what they expected?

The cat Eikitchi, chirped in his lap.

Kuwabara blinked startled.

He hadn’t realized she’d gotten in his lip, and that his was running a hand down her warm body as if it was something he’d always known to do.

He stroked her again, and she chirped again, and then purred. Her arms reached for Kuwabara’s wrist, and she tugged his forearm to her. She ran a rough tongue over his thumb, and then purred very loudly.

“Oh... do you like me?”

She blinked slowly up at him.

“Even if I’m not him? You’re orgional owner? Even if I’m not...” Kuwabara sighed, “Even if I’m not the real Kuwabara?”

She purred so loud, Kuwabara’s arm was getting a gentle massage from her reverberating body.

“It means she liked you, and you’re still Kuwabara, you absolute moron!” Hiei’s harsh voice said over Kuwabara’s shoulder.

Kuwabara squawked in startled fright, and jerked around to see Hiei standing behind Kuwabara at his bedside, looking at Kuwabara impatiently.

Eikitchi made a sound like an annoyed hiss, and flicked a tail at Hiei. Stretched. And then hopped from the bed and Kuwabara’s back, and trotted from the room.

“H...Hiei?”

“It’s my understanding... you want to know more about the Áine Sovereign Blade,” Hiei said casually, not bothering to exaplin how or why he was in Kuwabara’s room. Or how he knew about the information Kuwabara had been trying to pry from his other two reluctant friend.

“You... you’ll tell me about it?” Kuwabara asked a little hopefully.

“I’ll take you to the blasted thing if you need,” Hiei answered shortly, and with an evil grin, “I’ll even steal it for you if you like.”

Kuwabara grinned wide.

Yes.

Hiei was a good friend.

[off-in-the-moors]

TRC rewrite: Never to be finished scene

Part 3 of my K analyses is slowly eating me out, not in the “Oh, I can’t deal with this~“ but more writing block. While looking through material, I found this scene to the rewrite stuff I was doing. Like “You’ll be fine“, this was a removed scene I was writing for fun. It’s noting big but it plays with character dynamics.

Context: It’s somewhat beginning of TDT and the gang (minus Blue) is trying to figure-out something about the Cabeswater problem, until someone is mentioned.

Ronan loved the idea of summer vacations. To stay all night and watch the stars, to races until the engine over heats, to live, to burn, to finally be. Not school to bug him, no Declan to nag him. Just him and his dreams.

But the last thing he wanted, was to stay late into the night and think about the Cabeswater problem.

They sat around their crooked table, covered in the chaotic mess of Gansey's research and plans. Crinkled maps and strings tied and knotted into a web of secrets yet to uncover, crumbling books and tapes holding up their whole world. Gansey's world. Everything was connected and yet, nothing was.

Lighted only by the few small lamps they had moved from their rooms, the only non-artificial glow in the Manufacturing, they seem almost ancient but real. Too real for Ronan’s taste.

Above the scratched wooden surface, Gansey in his old-man's pajamas, tried to draw on the map of Henrietta a straight line for the fourth time. One and erase, two and erase. His fingers banged on the table between each try, just to do something productive.

Ronan's eyes followed the previous attempts, now faint on pale colors from erasing, trying to understand Gansey's thinking. He slouched down in his chair, burying his head and arms inside his oversized sleep-hoodie. He looked up at Gansey, tired and barely standing from lack of sleep.

One more attempt. A smile spread on his friend's face.

- Here. - he finally said, he's voice almost a whisper.

They could talk louder but didn't. Any louder and Gansey's splitting headache would return.

- If my calculations are right- - They probably aren't. - Ronan cut in, leaning back in his chair. He felt Chainsaw moving in his hood. - The main line goes through here. - he continued like he didn't hear anything. - So we need more. - More what? - Power.

Ronan rolled his eyes.

- It has power. - he grunted. -  It flows like it should. - But the forest is in half. Literal half. Not enough to be whole. - And how you want to get more from already awaken line? - By fixing it. Fixing the flow. - How?

Gansey blinked. He looked around for something and finally found Adam walking through the room with a mug.

- Adam? - Call Blue. - he walked pass them. - Adam.

He stopped and sighed.

He put down his mug on a cupboard, their drinking station, and when back to them.

It was Saturday night, the eve of Adam Parrish's freedom day. Still in his dirty jumpsuit, half-open and tied around his waist, and his wash-out red shirt, there was the rare relaxation in his posture. Tomorrow, he'll sit in his room and finish one of his borrowed books, or disappear in the morning and return for dinner.

But it was still today.

He pulled himself a chair and sat down. Crossing his arms on his chest, he tilted his head back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

No one made any sound, only the distend clock made its quiet ticks.

His body was motionless, frozen in place, with only his chest rising and falling.

Ronan could feel the unease in the air, he moved his eyes from Adam to Gansey.

Dick watched Adam carefully, rolling pencil in his hands, he was as worried as Ronan. Neither of them liked the idea of Adam and Cabeswater being connected in anyway. They didn't know what the forest was and how Glendower fit into it, but it was the only chance they had to find him.

Ronan glanced back at Adam, feeling anxiety building up inside him, slowly over flowing. He breath in, weeks old dust and used books, blooming mint plants and dried coffee stains. All familiar, all safe. But under it, leaking into the room, was something making his heartbeat dangerously pick up. The smell of fresh moss, evergreens and oaks, mushrooms hidden under mulch. The living and the decaying.

He felt Chainsaw climbed up and cuddling into his neck. He gently stroked her beak, shushing her and himself.

Suddenly, Adam's face twisted. Violently straight up in his sit, he opened his eyes and covered his left ear.

- Okay, okay. - he massaged his deaf ear. - That's enough. Thank you. Thank you. I'll tell them. Thank you, now hush.

Chainsaw cawed, moving even closer to Ronan's neck. He covered her with his hand. "Shh" he told her.

- Adam? - Gansey asked, reaching out to him. Adam raised his hand. He stood up, he's legs were shaking, and went to the cupboard. - It's the flow problem mostly, not enough energy to fully manifest. - he turned on the electric kettle. - Correcting it should partly do the trick. - But how to fix it? - We already know this, Parrish. - Ronan rolled his eyes. - Thanks for being late to the party. - I'm only repeating what it, wants to say, I think. - he stressed, massaging his ear again. - Christ, - he muttered. - Nine years of normal life, and now it's full of sleeping welsh men, magic lines and "Dude, my friend is a ghost!". No offence, Noah. - he said to the air.

Noah wasn't there, or he wasn't visible, or he was wondering around Henrietta. It was never sure with him, the only certain thing was: He was here.

- And - Adam continued. He pour some coffee and sugar in the mug. - I'm now a secretary of a talking forest. - Only nine? - Ronan grinned. - You know, - he scratched his cheek, sounding like he didn’t wanted to answer him. - I once believed in Easter Bunny. - Of all things, - he chuckled. - Easter Bunny? - Don't. - he pointed a spoon at him. - Don't tell me you dreamed the Easter Bunny. - Jeez, Parrish, I don't waste my sleep on kid stuff. - Yes, Easter Bunny, - Gansey bugged in. - But did you caught how to fix the line? - Gansey, - Adam said in a tone only a parent would. - Maybe I'll get you on the line with Mr. Waters to talk it over some tea and try to decipher a hive of voices and rustling, I barely understand, yourself? - So, no? - No clue.

The kettle clicked.

Adam pour it into his mug and stir. Without thinking, he stuck his two fingers into a pot of one of the mint plants.

He sighed.

- Gansey, did you water the mints like I asked you?

He paused. Hovering over the maps, he thought for a long bit, just to answer:

- When was it?

Adam shook his head and grabbed a bottle of water.

- Dicky, - Ronan pretended to be offended. - Not even Richard Mentha Gansey IV? How can you treat your son like that? - Ronan. - At least, Sargent Pepper is getting better. - announced Adam. He rubbed a leaf between his finger. - No more sugar for you. - he whispered to it. - So, - Ronan turned to Gansey. - Back to square one? - No, no, we're not. - he protested, grabbing his journal and flipping pages rapidly. - There are still leads we didn't check, like if the type of shells mean anything or the lake- - For fucks sake, Dick, - he grunted. - We have time- - No, we don't. In few days, I'm off to my parent with Adam and you with Blue have your problems. Tomorrow we- - You, Dick, you. - he corrected him. - I'm going to church and to a family dinner. Blue has her family time. Adam- - I'm busy. - Adam admitted. - Adam has "me time". Maybe ask Noah but I'm doubting he wants to spend his time with you in a library. Chill, Glendower is not going anywhere.

Gansey looked him in the eyes, something inside him crashed and couldn't recover. Ronan knew, Glendower was his life work, to find him, to see the magic and mystery. Ever since they knew each other, he never cared about the wish, he wanted to know, why he survived.

He sat down and laid his head on his arms, sighing. Tired and defeated. His King was crumbling before his eyes.

Maybe... he could just dream him a new one?

- There is something else. - Adam interrupted them. - But I don't understand it. - What? - Gansey asked, looking up and grinning like a idiot. - Cabeswater was repeating something. - he continued. - But I don’t... It sounded something like... Ag draenáil? - Ag what? - Draining. - said Ronan. They both looked at him. - It's Irish. - And "se" or "ef". - HE. - Ronan and Gansey shot at once. - So, somebody is draining the power.

Adam and Gansey looked at Ronan. Chainsaw cawed, backing up in the hood.

- I don't know. - he moved his head to the sides. - Maybe. Who knows? It would make some sense, I'm sure it isn't coming from nowhere, but even if, I haven't dream anything in few days. - Ronan. - Adam's voice was flat but yet demanding. - I swear. - Lynch. - The last thing I dreamed was a made up Blink-182 album for Noah. - You never listen to them. - Gansey reminded him. - How did it turn out? - Well, it was a weird mash-up of Twenty One Pilots and Maroon 5. - Dear Lord. - he groan. - It wasn't that bad. - That's all? - Adam pushed. - Mostly yes.

He didn't want to talk about the nightmares, nor the car keys, or the dead bugs and papers. Patches of asphalt between moss and the feeling of burning. Of wanting to burn...

- So, it's not you. Mostly.

Gansey slapped his hands on the table. He and Adam flinched.

- He. - he pointed at a box, standing next to the front door.

Ronan swallowed. The box was full of fake IDs, leather bracelets and campaign badges announcing "They can't lick our Dick" and "We like Dick". Perfect forgeries. They weren't for him, well not in that sense, it was a warning for Gansey. Or rather a reminder, that he only understood a fraction of him and dreaming.

- Kavinsky? - Ronan asked like he didn't know. - And who else? He surely knows his stupid parties are effecting my- our quest. - he corrected himself. - He's doing everything to spite me. - He likes your reactions. - he tried not to smile. - He is a... - he bite his tongue. - Arrogant, doofus, thinking he's the King of Henrietta, like life is just a music video. The next thing I know, he'll be selling his stupid drugs to the police officers- - Gansey, - Adam scolded him flatly. Not even turning to face them, he continued. - Stop talking about Joseph, like he's the devil incarnated. The worst he does, is his parties. All he talks about is cars and races, races and cars, cocktails and surprisingly, classical literature. - he paused. - But anyways, he's not interested in Glendower, I would even argue, he doesn't even know who Owain Glyndŵr is.

Both Ronan and Gansey stayed silent, as their friend drank his coffee.

- You know Kavinsky? - Ronan shot. Something wasn't right. - Know him?

Adam turned to them, slowly sipping his drink. He looked tired, it wasn't something new but Ronan could swear there was something else in his gaze.

- Yes. - You're joking, - Gansey chuckled but smile quickly disappeared. - Right? - How? - Ronan couldn't comprehend it. - Didn't saw you and him be buddy-buddy at school- - Nor you. - Adam rolled his eyes. - Or you're not saying something, Parrish. - Ronan. - Gansey warned him.

Their eyes meet, blue and grey. The boiling water and the rain-clouds. Ronan didn't know why he was getting angry, there was nothing to get angry about. He felt Chainsaw pulling on his collar, trying to distracted him.

- If you’re so... curious, he always comes to the garage at the end of my shift. - he was calm. - His Mitsubishi beat up or missing some parts. Or just wanting to talk. - he shrugged, tacking a sip. - Quite an asshole. I get why you like him. - I don't! - Ronan. - Gansey whimpered, covering his head with his hands. - Please, don't yell. - Anyways, - Adam continued, unbothered. - He's fine. What, Lynch? Surprised, I know people?

He couldn't articulate his thought, they were racing each other.

A blur.

- Not him. Anyone, but him. He's dangerous and fucking reckless, Parrish, what if he gets you in trouble at school? You can already wave your scholarship bye-bye. Or shit, with police? You'll be weight-off all your jobs, have to sell Noah's Mustang to pay off everything and than get kick out of Aglionby. You can't be friends with him!

Adam flinched a bit but remained calm. He raised an eyebrow, glaring at him.

- What a hypocrite. - he slammed the mug down. Gansey groaned even louder. - Listen, Lynch. Let me decide, who I'm friends with. I know, what I'm doing, I know the risk. - But- - But what? - he cut in. - Pissed that Joseph isn't just yours little secret?

Ronan didn't response. Squeezing the table's edge, his knuckles when pale, he could barely sit in place. Chainsaw buried herself into his neck, cawing softly she was doing her best to keep him calm.

He hated that Adam's face didn't change, they could as well be talking about the weather with his melancholic expression. Understand, understand, he didn't understand a thing.

- You won't answer me? - Adam asked, tilting his head. - Fine. - he shrugged, crossing his arms. - As you wish. Don't worry, I won't replace you. - Oh, I don't fucking care! - he exploited, storming out of his sit. He stopped in front of Adam. - It isn't about me! I don't want him near you!

Adam flinched at his outburst. Angered flashed on his face.

- Is that so? - his voice was shaky, but he kept going. - Or do you don't want me near him? - Either way is fine! - Why does it matter? - Because your life matters!

Silence.

They all looked at each other, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Adam opened his mouth but quickly closed it, his eyes glossy. He sighed.

- You also matter.

They all jumped.

Noah appeared on the counter next to Adam, his face serious.

- And he. - he added, looking straight at Ronan. - Don't ever say otherwise.

Before Ronan could say anything, Adam grabbed his mug and ran to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Ronan cursed Niall in his mind. He and Gansey traded helpless stares. Gansey rapidly stood up and announced:

- I'm gonna talk with him. - Gansey. - Noah wanted to say more, but Gansey cut in, already halfway up the stairs. - I'm gonna talk with him. - Fine, but after that, go to sleep. - seeing Gansey wanting to say something, he added. - You had only four hours. - again. - I counted, with naps.

He just nodded and tripped over last steps.

When they heard him entering Adam's room, Noah turned to Ronan.

- Ronan, - he started. - What?!

He shook his head, slipping down with a strangely fluent motion. Ronan often forgot he was a ghost and even more that he was older than them. Now, it was almost like the time caught up to him, he looked and moved more mature, reminding him of his brother. He grabbed his arm, cold fingers biting him even through the sleeve, and sat him in a chair. He moved one for himself and sat in front of him.

- I know what's going on. - he said. - You know shit. - Really? - he snickered. - Ronan, I'm always here, I see and hear everything. I'm trying, trying not to be nosy, to let you guys live your lives as you wish. But, you hormonal dumb-asses. Just wow. Between Gansey's embracing handling of his crush on Blue and your "friendship" with Kavinsky...

Chainsaw picked up and flew through him. Cawing, she made few circles around the room, before she returned to Ronan, sitting on his lap. She puffed up her feathers.

- Tawsheh. - she cawed. - Olk.

"Taibhse olc" Ronan corrected her in his mind.

- Níl taibhse olc. - he scolded her. - Dona. Tá Noah cara.

She made a sad caw. Ronan patted her but still angry, at her and himself.

Noah looked faded, a mist in the air. Broken bones and blooded sweater and messy hair. His expression didn’t exist, like he didn’t exist.

Ronan scolded himself for thinking that. Noah was here. Czerny was real.

He went back to normal. Same kind and tired face.

- Adam's right. - he said. - About what? - But you're also right. - he finished. - Both of you just can't see the other side. Don't you think, him and Adam can be friends without, - he moved his hands close to his head and made "boom" motion.

He didn't answered, patting Chainsaw's back, he knew it wasn't all.

- I don't want Kavinsky to harm him. - he finally said. - Do you believe he can? - No, - he felt offended. - Adam wouldn't fucking let him.

Noah nodded.

- But still, what's the problem?

He didn't say anything.

- Because you like Kavinsky. - it sounded like a question but wasn't. - Because Joe understands. - he stood up, putting Chainsaw on the chair. He started wandering around the room, with the little raven hopping after him. - He gets the dreaming. He gets how I feel. He knows me.

Kavinsky knew him.

Not Niall, but Ronan.

- Didn't you think he might "get" Adam?

He didn't.

- Like what?

He knew the answer.

He looked back at Noah, he wasn't in the chair.

- Go talk with him.

He was on the stairs, faded and smudged.

- Noah? - I... just need time. - he sounded like echo. - Don't worry.

A shadow of a smile appeared on his blurry face.

***

- ... but it sucks, because it's gone and even museums started hunting them for display. Museums, Adam! Museums!

They were sitting on a bed. Gansey was leaning on Adam, head resting on the boy's shoulder, eyes fighting to stay open. Adam wrapped his arm around his sleepy friend, nodding to every word he said, his own eyes puffy and reddish. Ronan looked at them, feeling something he didn't in long time. He felt at home.

- What's he mumbling about? - he asked, leaning on the door-frame. - The Great Auk. - Adam answered, not looking at him. - They're gone, Ronan. - Gansey yawned. - Gone, the great bird of Scottish islands, of Kilda and Elday. No, - he murmured to himself. - Elday is Iceland's. - he frowned his eyebrows trying to remember something, suddenly he announced: - Pen gwyn. - Falcóg mhór. - Ronan nodded. - "He made no cry. I strangled him.", a cruel end. - Ronan. - Adam scolded him. - This is what one of them said. - he shrugged. - Cruel fate with no future. Gansey, go to sleep. I wanted to talk with Adam.

Gansey rubber his eyes.

- Sure, sure. But first, I said, Great Auk is the original penguin and- - You're going with me to church tomorrow. - he interrupted him. - After dinner, we gonna check whatever you want.

He looked at him, like he just show him a new thing from his dream.

- I'm not... - Matthew likes you. - No connection. - he insisted. - And Declan...

- He doesn’t own the church. You’ll just pretend you for a hour or so.

- I did. - Noah said, his voice hanging behind him. - My mother hated when I did.

Ronan turned his head and saw him in the same state. He moved through him and grabbed Gansey’s hand.

- Come on, - he made him stand up. - They need to talk.

- I never was...

- Gansey, - he pulled him in to the hall. - Tell me more about the gwin.

Ronan closed the door and looked at Adam. Heat rising inside him.

- I'm still standing what I said. - That makes two of us. - he didn’t look at him.

And that’s it.

If someone interested, just ask.

[soyforramen]

Kill Your Boyfriend

“A little girl wants revenge; a real woman moves on while karma does her dirty work for her,” Alice said primly as she set another bowl into the cabinet.

“Did you read that in Reader’s Digest?”  Gladys asked sourly and shifted the steak on her face.  A scowl be more apt, but it would only pull at the skin around her eye, and she’d had more than enough pain for the night.  

She lowered it only for Alice to swoop in and press it further against Gladys face.  This time Gladys did scowl, damn the pain.  With a smug smile, Alice returned to emptying her dishwasher (oh how far she’d come from hand washing dishes in the back of the Wyrm; and yet Gladys hadn’t moved an inch).  If it wasn’t for their shared history - intimate and professional - Gladys would have sucker punched Alice and taken the good silver on her way out.  

“Platitudes are all well and good, but I’d say now’s the time for a reminder as to why men shouldn’t hit women.”

“It’s also a good time for you to think for once,” Alice snapped.  The china dishes let out a scream as she slammed another plate onto the stack.  She reached for a large butcher’s knife and shoved it into the block.  (Eighty, ninety bucks easy for a slab of wood, Gladys thought.  Bougie wood for the bougie, upscale lifestyle Alice had been scheming her way into since kindergarten.)

“If you go after him now -“

Gladys leaned back as the steak knife in Alice’s hand came too close to her face.  She reached out and pushed Alice’s wrist down towards the kitchen island least this problem be solved by an inadvertent stabbing.

“-you're the only suspect,” Alice continued. “Keller will have you in handcuffs and behind bars -“

She held up a hand to keep Gladys quiet.  Instead of saying every dirty little thing she was thinking - about Keller, handcuffs, and Gladys’ past indiscretions with the blonde woman - she let her smirk say it all.

“-and who would look after your son?  His father in the ground, you in the pen.  He’d be in foster care in a day.”

Gladys mused on this, wondering if it was too late in life to start writing country songs.  She sucked on her teeth and winced.  One of the back ones was lose, probably courtesy of when she’d been thrown against the bathroom sink.  God damn FP and his alcoholic fits.  It was one thing for a man to hold his liquor; it was another for him to pour it out onto his wife.

The Cooper kettle screamed (robin’s egg blue, polished and shiny as if it had never been used; 45 easy from Box and Keg, with coupon).  Alice turned her attention towards it and began making the suburban equivalent of a shot of good whiskey.   Gladys would have killed for a shot of anything right now, but PTA, Home & Garden Alice frowned on fun like mixing valium and alcohol.  Serpent Alice would already have three prozac and a tequila sunrise ready for her.  

“So what would you suggest, since stabbing him through the heart is off the table,” Gladys said.  She turned the steak over and sighed at how cool the other side was.

Alice pursed her lips while she loaded the dishwasher full of pots and pans from the earlier family dinner.  The one Gladys had crashed by knocking on the backdoor, blood streaming from her face, her eyes red and clothes torn, a sleeping child cradled in her arms.  Before the in-laws could see, Alice had whisked her upstairs for a change of clothes and first aid.  Gladys didn’t know what had been said, but it wasn’t more than a few minutes before Jughead had been laid down in the crib next to Betty, and she’d been taken downstairs and seated at the island, a hearty slice of apple pie a la mode set in front of her.  

“Stay here a few days.  Let it be known you’re out of the house and you’re not going back.  Spread a few rumors about who F.P.’s been working with,” Alice said.  “Maybe pick up a night shift at Pop’s.”

Her focus was on the caked on grease that defiled her pristine life, but Gladys knew the gears were turning in her head.  Alice always was the schemer, the planner.  She’d had her entire life planned out when reality sunk in that the Smiths weren’t in the same zip code as the Cleavers, let alone the same country.  If one wanted a plan, one that wasn’t necessarily foolproof, but smart enough to fool ninety percent of the population, Alice Smith was that person.

There was one small hitch, though.

“Where am I going to stay in the meantime?  The trailer park’s out, and couch surfing with a two-year old tends to get old real quick.  Especially since most of my friends are more likely to have needles lying around than milk.”

Alice waved off her concerns. “Hal’s going on some retreat, Find Your Inner Masculine Self, or some other insecure ego trip for the next month, so the basement will be free,” Alice said.  She let the water drain out of the sink and picked up two cups of tea.  One she sat in front of Gladys; the other she took with her as she sat down at the island.  “And I could always use some help with the girls.”

It was tempting.  A stable roof over their head and three squares a day.  More than F.P. ever provided them.

“What’s the catch?”

Alice shook her head, a coy smile on her face.  “No catch.  Only …”

Gladys raised an eyebrow.  She set the steak down on the styrofoam container.  “Only?”

“You let me help make F.P. disappear.”

“There a history there I should know about?”

Alice blew on her tea and took a small sip.  Her eyes closed as she savored the flavor.  Gladys’ question hung in the air, unanswered.

xxxx

Dead tired, feet aching, Gladys punched out from her ten hour shift at Pop’s.  It hadn’t been terrible, pretending as if F.P. didn’t exist.  She’d been acting as a single mother for the last year and it was easier when she didn’t have to pick up after him as well.

It was actually quite nice. Or at least, playing house with Alice was.  While they’d both respected each others boundaries, there were plenty of times Gladys wanted to break them, and Alice didn’t make it easy.  Whether it was a rekindling of old flames, or whether it was Gladys’ own complex about people who treated her kindly, it didn’t matter in the end.  Alice was married (ten carrot ring, rose gold, priceless and worthless depending on who you asked), and disgustingly happy about it, and Gladys refused to take that from her.  

She bid Pop’s a good night and stepped out into the humid night air.  Right on time, Alice pulled up to the diner in her eyesore of a wood paneled station wagon (not even worth casing, it was so ugly).  Gladys sunk into the faux leather seats and let her eyes shut, the smell of grease and burnt coffee staying with her even after they’d crossed the railroad tracks.  Tonight, though, Alice took a left instead of a right.

Gladys cracked an eye open and watched the quaint brick work turn into tall, dark pines.  She turned to Alice whose expression never wavered.  

“Al?”

“Do you still want to go through with this?”

Gladys sat up in her chair and stared at Alice.  She didn’t need to ask what she meant.  “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“Alright then.”

Alice pulled off the road just outside of Greendale, the road lit by the light of a hole-in-the-wall bar.  Rows of motorcycles lined the parking lot.  The drunks had spilled out of the double wide building and were lounging around the porch, loud enough to wake the dead.  While they waited for the party to die down, Gladys wondered how much time Alice had spent tracking his movements, how much energy she’d expended on this side project of hers.

Country rock whispered around them, punctuated with the hoots and hollers of men all too eager to spend their meager paychecks on booze and women.

“Why do you care so much?” Gladys asked.  She didn’t expect an answer.

“About him?  Or you?”

Gladys chuckled.  Of course Alice would see right through her.  She always had been able to.

“Both.  Neither.  It’s not like we parted on good terms.  And I didn’t exactly keep up with the Christmas cards.”

Alice pursed her lips, her gaze still laser focused on the horde of people, escaping their own problems.  These were the people they’d been raised with.  In other parts of the country they’d be white-trash, rednecks; here they were blue-collar workers who’d been left behind as corporations moved overseas at the behest of ever growing profits.  They’d been left to fend for themselves among the corpses of dying towns, unwilling to leave behind the lives their father’s had left them.

“There he is,” Alice said.  

She shifted the car into gear and let it idle as F.P. swayed down the ramp and greeted everyone he passed.  Gladys always said he’d be good in politics, if he wasn’t so easily swayed by a shot and an easy fix.  Five minutes later and he was at his bike.  It took him three tries to start it up, and she knew he was at least ten beers in.  He roared out of the parking lot and the station wagon quietly followed behind.

“Now what?” Gladys asked as the darkness enveloped them again.  

Alice was quiet, focused on her prey.  The dashboard light illuminated the cab, casting eerie blue shadows around them.  

“All right, surprise party it is,” Gladys said.  

Bored, she put her shoes up on the dash.  Alice swatted them down.  

“I just had it detailed.”  

Alice took a sharp breath in as the motorcycle came to a slow stop off the road.  The station wagon passed it, and Gladys turned to watch as F.P. staggered to his feet.  They turned right onto an off road, and Alice pulled over to the side.  Calmly, she turned the engine off and stepped out of the vehicle.

The gravel crunched beneath Gladys’ plain white sneakers, loaned to her from Alice’s full closet, as she followed Alice around the car to the trunk.  Gladys let out a low whistle at the sight.  Everything from a crowbar to a battery operated jump starter to an emergency blizzard kit.  Hal Cooper made sure to take care of his wife’s every on-road need.  

Alice reached in, her grey cardigan riding up as she reached for the shovel tucked neatly in the back.  Gladys took it from her and watched as Alice surveyed her options.  After a moment, she picked up a tarp and an axe, the sharp edge gleaming in the brake lights.   It lay naturally in Alice’s hands, another well worn tool in her arsenal of getting what she wanted out of life.

In the red brake lights, Alice looked like a macabre angel of vengeance.  Grey cardigan, black cigarette pants, pearl drop earrings.  She was dressed for a potluck.

It was that moment that Alice’s plan revealed itself, and Gladys couldn’t help but chuckle at its perfection.

Alice Cooper, helicopter mother of the year, had selflessly takin in a childhood friend after she’d been battered.  Caring, kind Alice, who spent two Sundays a month volunteering at the homeless shelter, trying to get her friend back on her feet.  Vicious enforcer of her HOA and PTA rules, Alice would turn in her own mother-in-law for rolling through a stop-sign, had picked up Gladys from work and driven off, presumably to take her back to the picture perfect lifestyle on Elm Street.

How on earth could anyone imagine that she’d let a dangerous person near her family, let alone aid and abet in a murder?

With a smirk reminiscent of the old Alice, the one Gladys would eagerly kill for, they stepped into the woods where F.P. was last seen.

“Let’s go kill your boyfriend.”

[void-knights]

Hygge : Chapter One

Pairing: Loki / Original Character,

Chapter Rating: Teen

Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, LGBT Themes, Oc has ADHD, injury mention, Standard Tragic past, Mentions of Loki's past toture, Mentions of past child abuse (OC), Sickness, Near Death, Body Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, Prosthesis, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extremis 616, Starboost Armour, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Loki cooks, Loki teaches,

A/N: Right hello! I need to WARN YOU.

This fiction deals with an OFC that eventually realises that they is Genderfluid, using all the pronouns, but is assigned female at birth (AFAB). There will be mentions of body AND gender dysphoria due to a tragic childhood™  under the care of her biological mother/grandparents that occurred before she was in the care of Tony Stark. I do not go into graphic detail with the abuse, but it is mentioned.

This is a slow burn fic planned out to be a LONG story so the OC and Loki will not get together until a little into the story. Instead, I wanted to focus on building their friendship at first. Eventually (if all goes to plan) I intend to have the OC identify as Genderfluid, but unlike Loki the OC won't have magic and therefore will always be female in terms of physical sex.

While this might seem like a bit of a spoiler I like to forewarn people about these things as they can be potential triggers!

Anyway I got the idea of a character in Iron-Man style armour, and then I thought it would be fun to just have a Stark OC. I've got the timeline lined up so the ages to allign with canon. Masterlist | AO3 Link |

The avengers weren’t sure what they should do with Loki, Odin in his infinite wisdom had ‘bestowed’ his younger son upon them in a long-winded speech that left Barton spacing out, Tony disinterested and distracted and Bruce trying to work out how such an old man seemed so strong.

Only Natasha and Steve were paying attention by the end, the TL; DR was that Odin didn’t want to deal with Loki, so now he was the avenger's problem.

Nick Fury suggested locking him up, only to retract the idea a few minutes later, Loki was dammed persuasive, he could seduce any guard sent to keep him under lock and key. They did not know the full extent of his magical abilities and while he was bound (somehow, Odin didn’t bother explaining what they had done to Loki and merely assumed the Avengers wouldn’t care to know the finer points) they didn’t know the limits of the binding.

Thor claimed his brother could shapeshift, so a prison would need to be airtight otherwise a snake or spider could happily slip out. Then there was the issue that he was a god with god strength and probably the second smartest person in the room, or maybe the smartest, but Tony wasn’t about to admit that to the god.

All in all Odin had left them with a mess and the only support came in the form of a confused, angry and betrayed Thor. Which was never good.

This was compounded by the inescapable feeling that they only had half the story, why did Loki invade Earth? Tony had theories, theories that would make Clint punch him, but he couldn’t shake a feeling that something was off about the god of mischief.

Thor would agree, or not. Their relationship was never explained, it turned out communication was not a gift the gods of Asgard possessed much to the chagrin of the Avengers.

So this was the plan, Loki was to stay locked up in the tower, well only on certain floors. He would share a floor with Thor, where he would have his own bedroom with en-suite bathroom, but Fury was rather insistent that Loki shouldn’t be made too comfortable.

Tony was starting to wish he had never gotten involved he would make a poor jailer. He wasn’t responsible enough, Jarvis as amazing as he was would be worse, Loki had tricks, he could trick Jarvis.

It was a fucking mess, made much worse by not having the facts nor support to keep Loki. What were they supposed to do with the god? He was going to outlive them all, did Odin expect them to pass Loki off to other people? To keep him locked away for the rest of his life?

He would rather face the Chitauri again, or Vanko and Hammer or even Stane. Loki was more dangerous than all of them combined and what made it worse was the fact that Soleil was also living in the tower now.

He shouldn’t have suggested she live here, Fuck, he needed a drink or a whole bottle. The billionaire found Natasha and Bruce already at the bar, her with Vodka and Bruce with something fruity looking.

Tony settled for whisky and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do now.

Loki was still chained up when Soleil walked onto the floor, the god recognised the human mortal from his research leading up to the invasion. He had gathered information on mortals who may pose a threat to his plans and worked to see them brought together (in brief moments of clarity before once again the mind stone seized control of him), Stark’s life was short as it was (by Asgardian standards) was quite fascinating.

Naturally Loki looked into every aspect of the potential avengers lives seeking weaknesses that would bring the avengers to him. The easiest targets were family, friends, loved ones who could be exploited as they had few or no protections. Soleil quite literally was the weakest link in the Stark equation.

Though he had come to realise she could have been a great asset to him should he have had need of an engineer with a deep and vested interest in space. Rather odd that SHIELD would have such detailed files on Soleil, almost as if they had been considering her as an alternative to her father and Iron-Man. Though what use such a fragile human would be was beyond the god.

She hadn’t noticed him, to busy tapping away on a screen and wrinkling her brow at something that vexed her. He watched her as she grabbed herself a bottle of water, she was halfway back to the elevator when she finally paused and turned to him.

“You look like shit,” she said after a moments pause looking him up and down as he remained trapped and bound.

He’d be offended if he had the energy, he felt like shit, months, years? Trapped in the clutches of Thanos and his black order, leading the invasion, not resting or sleeping in weeks, months, his meals just enough to keep him alive but never satisfied, he could not even recall if the paste he had been given (and reluctantly eaten after too long starving) had even had a taste to it.

“As you mortals say, that is pot calling the kettle black,” he attempted to sound above her, casual to the point of nonchalance.

“Yeah but I have an excuse for looking like shit, what’s your excuse?” she asked him sipping her water, he tried not to look hopeful that she might share something with him. Even lukewarm tap water would be bliss compared to whatever liquids the Black Order had supplied him with.

“The beast you call Hulk,” Which was partly true.

“Ooo, that explains the hole in the floor,” she cringed, “How the fuck are you still in one piece?”

“I am a god,” he reminded her.

“I had just assumed that was all a lie, you know psychological tactics?” She paused thinking it over, “Make us believe the gods are real, and you’re one of them, so you can claim dominion over us.”

“That would be a fair assumption to make,” he said leaning his forearms on his knees, “But I can assure you that I am in fact one of your gods.”

“Well you’re not my god, I don’t worship you or any gods,” she shrugged.

“We had noticed the loss of faith from mortals,” Loki nodded.

“Blame the Abrahamic religions, as soon as they went mainstream you pagan lot were more or less kicked to the curb,” she answered, before he could ask what she meant she asked, “So are you hungry? You look like you’re hungry.”

“I am in no risk of starving Stark,” he insisted.

“How’d you know I was a Stark?” she asked him suspicion finally creeping in, for someone who was supposed to be one of Midgard’s greatest minds she was rather stupid.

“SHIELD have files on you,” he said her lack of surprise told him all he needed to know, “That and you resemble your father.”

She brought a gloved hand to her jaw, “It’s the chin isn’t it?” she asked taking a couple of steps towards him, a glass and metal table separated them as she set her glass bottle down upon his surface.

“The general area yes, and you share his eyes,” he confirmed now that he could see her up close he could see the partial heterochromia, showing chocolate-brown flecks in each soft brown eye. She shared his jaw, lip and chin shape and brow colour, her hair was tucked up inside a hat, and he thought that her ears might resemble her father as well.

“But that doesn’t answer my question, never mind I’ll assume you’re hungry, what do gods eat?” she asked.

“You would feed your enemy?” he asked surprised by this, Asgard had a policy of giving their prisoners food, but basic food, food that would keep their enemies alive and nothing more. He was able to empathise with those trapped forever in those dungeons now.

“Yes because I have basic human decency,” she said shifting her weight mostly onto her left leg, “So food, what do you eat? Can you eat earth food being an alien and all that?”

“Of course I can,” now that she had brought the matter up he wondered if he could, there were some things that an Asgardian was told to avoid eating on Vanaheim and Alfheim, not that he was biologically Asgardian.

“Well if you die of an allergic reaction please don’t haunt me,” she said pulling out another device, a phone, a smartphone he recalled one of the scientists under his command using a similar device.

While she typed out whatever it was she needed Loki observed her. She was atypical in her physical body, her clothes hung from her, not because they were ill-fitting but because of sudden loss of weight. They were designed for a woman larger than what she was now, despite her rather cheerful demeanour she looked quite exhausted. She looked how he felt.

The leather right sleeve to her jacket shifted in a most bizarre manner, he watched as a small(ish) serpent poked its head out resting contently on the back of her hand. It flicked it’s slick tongue out at the air scenting Loki, she could taste him, she knew he was there.

“I think it’s safe to just get a range of food,” She said slipping her phone back into her pocket she rose her fist to her eye level, “You doin’ okay?” she asked the snake who slid back into the sleeve. “She’s shy,” she said to Loki who had not asked.

“You carry a snake on your person?” he asked curios, he could not imagine anyone in Asgard doing that. Snakes were dangerous creatures, not pets. Humans however seemed to ignore that rule quite often.

“Yeah she’s my ESA, but I make sure she’s some place warm, otherwise she’ll get ill,” Soleil explained.

“ESA?” he asked.

“Emotional support animal,” Soleil said which did not really answer Loki’s question, she needed the support of an animal for her emotional state? “They are animals to help calm and relax people. I wanted a cat, but dad says a dog would have required to much training and looking after, so he got me Macbeth.”

“How does a snake provide emotional support?” he had to ask, the concept baffled him.

“She’s a reassuring presence when the world is overwhelming,” Soleil answered.

To the god it was still a strange concept, but his curiosity got the better of him, “May I see her then?” he asked.

“Um, sure?” Soleil gently shook her arm, Macbeth got the message, as loathed as she was to leave the warmth of the jacket she was all too happy to slither her way around Soleil’s shoulders until she was hanging lazily.

Gently lifting the snake off her shoulders she set the snake down on the sofa, wise to keep a distance from the god of mischief who remained shackled and bound. Macbeth lifted herself up fascinated by this new thing, this god in her home, she stared at Loki curious to know why he was here.

⸢You are not human⸥ said the snake curios to know what he was, he smelled familiar, like kin yet was clearly more than that, more human, more than human.

⸢No I am not⸥ he answered utterly amused when the snake did a double take, stunned that the god would be capable of speaking her language. He detected the barest hint of offence on her next words.

⸢Then you are a lie, a false thing, I do not like false things⸥ the snake replied studying him closely, ⸢You are a danger to my human⸥

⸢I am a great danger to many a human, yours however has done nothing to earn my anger⸥ Loki replied, the smart little snake thought on this for a while.

⸢You claim that now. But my human has a way of frustrating the surrounding humans, they are so easily brought to anger⸥ came the serpent's response as she finally slithered her way over to him.

⸢There are many creatures brought to anger easily⸥ Loki responded lifting the snake up into the air to prove his point the snake hissed angrily.

⸢Unhand me liar, I shall not be handled by the likes of you!⸥ the snake protested with a rather loud hiss.

Up close, she was a rather pretty thing a mixture of soft pastel colours with the blackest eyes he had seen on a snake. A thick uneven stripe of orange and lavender ran the length of her spine and top of her head. Her belly was an off-white, her most dominate colour a rather fetching shade of yellow. She was indeed a strange patterned creature but lovely to look at.

⸢But you are so pretty, I think I may keep you⸥ he teased the snake who managed to throw him such a filthy look that it took him by surprise.

⸢You, are unworthy of me liar⸥ she snapped back.

⸢I am a good little serpent, far beyond your mortal caregiver⸥ he pointed out.

⸢Indeed? You must be the god of pomposity to say such things⸥ the snake complained turning her head away from Loki, ⸢My human is good and kind even as the sickness weakness her, you cannot compare to such a charitable and loving being⸥

⸢For something so small you certainly have a rather inflated sense of ego⸥ he said lifting her up to eye level, she turned her head away from him.

⸢Says the creature that wreaks of despair, I might be small, god of pomposity but at least I know happiness⸥ he’d never been tempted to toss a snake out of a window before tonight.

Soleil shifted on her feet confused, “Are you talking to her?”

“Of course, I am a god,” he answered petting the snake who recoiled deeply offended by his touch.

⸢How dare you touch me!!⸥ she hissed in discontent before slipping herself free from Loki’s hands and slithering back to Soleil who collected her up into her arms. ⸢You are unworthy pomposity, be gone!⸥

“That is a rather charming pet you have mortal,” Loki answered deigning to ignore the snake and her uppity attitude, “Though she might be pretty she has a rather terrible attitude.”

Soleil looked at Macbeth who looked at her, “Riiight she has the terrible attitude,” smugly the snake turned back to him beaming brightly.

⸢See my mortal understands, she shall not be easily swayed by a false serpent⸥ the snake happily slithered her way back up Soleil's sleeve.

“I have never before laid my eyes on a serpent with such markings and colours, is that typical of Midgardian serpents?” Loki asked leaning back on the sofa which had become uncomfortable thanks to being pinned down in one fixed spot.

“Uh, well ball pythons are kinda common I suppose, they are docile in nature,” Loki did not believe that for a second, “So they’ve been bred as pets for a while, some breeders try to create unique colour and pattern styles. Morphs. Macbeth is a Banana Cinnamon Blade Clown Ball Python for instance.”

Loki knew what each of those words meant individually but strung together like that they may as well have been pure nonsense.

His disbelief or confusion must have been evident on his face because she instantly launched into the details of snake breeding, how morphs came about, what each word meant and the genetic factors that went into selecting the right snakes to breed together to create the perfect offspring.

Trust humans to meddle in things that needed no intervention, he thought as she went into detail to explain a subject he had long since lost any interest in. She was passionate about her pet, about snakes in general, and so she babbled making her obsession quite evident.

It was no wonder her dammed pet was so smug, she probably praised it at every opportunity, it’s inflated sense of self coming from an overindulgence of love and flattery.

“Bee,” Jarvis cut her off saving Loki the indignity of having to amuse her babbling for longer, “The food has been placed in the elevator, do you require assistance in moving it?”

“I’m not that weak, Jarv,” she grumbled half stomping her way across the floor towards the elevator. Loki could feel the AI’s eye roll somehow.

It took her some time to set out the food given the ridiculous quantity that she had purchased. He did not recognise half of what was laid out but to Loki none of that mattered, all he could do was feel his mouth water at the prospect of finally having food that did not taste of grit and nothing.

“So we got Korean, Indian, Italian, Greek, American, Japanese, Ethiopian, Thai, Arabic, Mexican, Balkan, Caribbean, Chinese and Jamaican,”

“Bee,” Jarvis said.

“Yeah I over ordered,” she grumbled slipping her phone back into her pocket, but she hadn’t known what a god might like to eat.

It didn’t seem to matter, Loki was already tucking into a container of whatever was nearest to him.

He almost wept in pure bliss as he devoured the Tokushima ramen without haste, even the strangeness of a raw egg in a soup alongside pork belly and noodles (which he had never had in life) did not slow him down. The god did not slow down even as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Thor walked onto the floor slightly confused.

Jarvis had alerted them there would be food and that Soleil was apparently friendly with Loki. Jarvis had been somewhat right, Soleil was keeping a great distance between herself and the god, but she had ordered him a lot of food. Enough food to feed an army in fact.

“I don’t know what gods eat,” she immediately said as defence before her dad could ask, she did the same thing whenever he caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. “So I got whatever, if he dies of an allergic reaction you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“You’d be doing us a favour Bee,” her dad joked, she grinned a little unsure while Loki finally slowed down. That was good, just watching him devour container after container was giving her indigestion.

“We do not suffer the aliments of mortals little Stark-”

“Little stark?” Soleil whispered at Steve and Tony both of them grinned sympathetically.

“-This is quite the feast,” Thor beamed at her and all of a sudden she could see what Jane Foster might see in the glorious blonde bastard, though if she had to go for a blonde she’d still choose Captain America.

The avengers and Soleil watched as Thor easily sat himself down beside Loki acting as though nothing was wrong, even Loki was a little on edge about that, Steve and Tony shared a look™ one that suggested they were in on something. Something Soleil was not allowed to be part of.

Thor without hesitation (must be a god thing) dug into the food complimenting Soleil as though she had laboured over the meals, she hadn’t.

“What is this?” Thor asked as the others finally settled, Tony made sure Soleil was one super solider and a father apart from the god of mischief.

“Curried goat,” Soleil answered taking the carton of Tom Kha soup for herself.

The look of betrayal startled her as he was torn between heaving his stomach into the nearest container or eating what was a delicious meal. Loki being the sympathetic brother he was grinned from ear to ear watching Thor have an internal meltdown.

They did not eat goats on Asgard due to Thor’s love of them, they were scared in some strange way. Loki suspected interest in eating them was already so minimal that Odin had no issue outlawing their slaughter and consumption.

“Are you okay Thor?” Steve had to ask as Thor gingerly put the container down.

“Yes Captain, I… find I cannot in good conscience eat a goat,” Thor said picking up another container and studying it.

“That’s chicken,” Tony reassured him passing a box that contained a triple cheeseburger with plenty of onions, “Try this it might suit you.” Thor immediately approved of the burger, it wasn’t easy to go wrong with a good burger.

Though the company was unwanted Loki found a sense of comfort in the noise and activity, listening in as Thor and Steve asked questions about the food for the Starks to answer. If the Starks did not know then Jarvis would provide information, Loki cared not about the province of food or what it contained, food was food and this was the best food he had tasted in a dreadfully long time.

He listened into the varying conversations, Soleil debated baseball with Steve, apparently he took offence at the LA Dodgers, none of this made sense to Loki, what made even less sense was Hockey, even the Captain did not seem to understand her love of Hockey.

The older Stark chimed in once in a while or talked at length to Thor about various things, places the god should see since he would be spending time on Midgard and perhaps the acquisition of a phone – communication device. Loki knew how that would end, Thor had never been great at keeping in touch.

The four talked at length about everything and anything, Loki was more fascinated by the Korean barbecue than what was considered the best dessert.

According to Steve Rogers you could not beat a good apple pie with a dollop of thick cream or ice cream. The older Stark insisted on Tiramisu which combined alcohol and coffee. Whereas the younger Stark insisted that New York style cheesecake was the best dessert, though ice cream (of any type) was a close second.

He noticed that Rogers was rather experimental with his choice of food, wishing to try everything at least once. Thor ate whatever had the most meat, Stark knew what he liked and stuck to that while his daughter seemed filled by the small tub of soup she had half-eaten.

“Jane has mentioned you little Stark,” Soleil did not appreciate Thor’s new nickname for her.

“Okay?”

“You are an engineer?” Thor asked.

“Yup, my main focus is space, aerospace engineering if you will, but I am not confined to one area of study,” She said setting her half-eaten carton down.

“Jane had mentioned that you are attempting to colonise your moon?”

“Me personally no, but I wanna find a way to make the moon liveable, so we can continue our research,” she said taking a long sip of water.

The floodgates were opened up and Thor could only sit uncomfortably as she prattled on about her designs on space, how they might once again reach the moon and this time stay there. She had ideas with regard to terraforming, to establishing a liveable base, not just on the moon but Mars as well. They would be the first destinations in this new space race she dreamt up.

Loki recognised the blank look on Thor’s face, he had long since lost interest and Soleil quickly realised. Twiddling her fingers she fell silent, ashamed even, this made Loki frown. Her father wrapped an arm around her whispering something, she perked up a little.

Thor turned to Steve to start an entirely new conversation, which made Soleil wince. Tony reassured her all was well and rubbed her arm, only to annoy Macbeth who popped her head out to see who it was that was rubbing her.

“Sorry my scaly grandbaby,” Tony grinned at the indignant snake.

⸢Oh another one, what is this one the god of the farm?⸥ the snake complained looking a surprised Thor over.

⸢I am the god of thunder, serpent⸥

⸢I stand corrected oh great and powerful goat fucker⸥

“I do not recommend getting into an argument with it, it thinks anything other than the younger Stark is beneath it,” Loki said trying a slice of pizza, he found the combination sweeter than expected.

“So they’re both Dolittle’s?” Tony asked Soleil who shrugged she didn’t get it either, but apparently they could understand Macbeth in some way. She certainly reacted to whatever they said back to her.

“I don’t get it either,” she admitted.

“So she doesn't like me?” Tony asked Loki while Thor continued to glare at Macbeth, the snake in return glared back at Thor (somehow).

⸢You may tell him that I enjoy his company, the red machine is most comfortable for resting on and he is a delight for a human being!⸥

“She thinks your armour makes the perfect place to rest,” Loki translated.

“Well it’s good to know I’m useful for something,” Tony grinned rubbing the snakes chin as she leaned up to him.

⸢You did not tell him that I enjoy his company nor that he is a delight tell him, tell him!⸥ Macbeth snapped at Loki

⸢It must have slipped my mind dull scales⸥ Loki grinned.

⸢Pompous false serpent⸥ she complained slithering her way onto Tony’s shoulder, Steve wasn’t as sure about the snake, but Tony was used to her by now.

“She’s tame and a pest if you let her loose in a workshop but tame,” Tony assured Steve who still wasn’t sure meanwhile Macbeth curled herself up on top of Tony’s head, she liked to feel tall.

“She’s inquisitive not a pest,” Soleil insisted gently cooing at Macbeth wondering how it was that the gods communicated with her.

“She likes to nap in places she shouldn’t,” Macbeth was not pleased by this, it wasn’t her fault she found nice warm places to rest in his workshop. She slithered her way back to Soleil deeply offended, Tony rolled his eyes.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t leave your workshop unlocked,” Soleil argued as the serpent coiled herself around her right arm once again.

“Dum-E likes to roam the house, you know this Bee,” Tony argued, yes she did know, she had spent a childhood learning to know when Dum-E was out and about. She loved him, she really did but Dum-E was not built to handle fragile things, especially fragile children.

“Yes but should he be trusted to roam the house?” Soleil asked grinning when he failed to find a suitable answer. Everyone knew it wasn’t a good idea, Dum-E lived up to his name and while he was adorable he vastly overestimated his own skill and abilities.

Tony blinked several times, nope a reasonable argument still failed him, there was no good reason why Dum-E should be unleashed within the house, “So Point Break, what’s this about coffee and pop tarts?”

Thor lit up with a glorious and adorable smile, “My lady Jane introduced me to such wonderful refreshments.”

“And you were worried about feeding them actual food,” Tony whispered to Soleil who grinned to herself, “Well Point Break we do have coffee-”

“-Dad you can’t feed Thor your coffee,” Soleil protested as her dad made his way over to the coffee machine.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Tony joked.

“It comes with a health warning!”

“It’s not that bad,”

“By buying it you accept all the dangers that coffee presents, you have to sign legally binding documents on the website, you can’t give it to an alien!” Tony wasn’t seeing the issue, those aliens were gods, “It literally killed three people last year.”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Loki muttered at the exact same time Thor lit up, “Let me test this coffee!”

Soleil buried her face in her hands, Steve offered her a spring roll in consolation, she took it, to exhausted to care that she was full up. Trust her dad to find the one alien that would enable his terrible habits. Fuck this was going to be a long year.

The avengers (well Tony, Steve and Thor) discussed what they should do with Loki, the god of mischief had no say and Odin had decided to leave it in their hands. The obvious answer would be to lock him up, lock him away where he could cause no harm.

There was no place suitable on Midgard that the avengers were aware of, Loki knew of several places but would rather not assist any further attempts at incarceration. He watched them struggle amongst themselves to come up with the ideal solution.

“I can’t keep him here,” Tony protested to Thor who insisted this was the best place, “I have staff and my kid to consider.”

“You have a goat here?” Thor asked.

“Soo, allspeak translates things literally?” Tony asked perplexed, Loki rolled his eyes, no it didn’t, Thor had simply mistaken the context of the word which would have supplied the answer.

“Kid is slang for child, he’s talking about his daughter Soleil,” Steve told Thor who stood there just realising what Soleil was to Tony, “You didn’t know?”

“The big fella showed up in the middle of this mess, I don’t think he got the briefings,” Tony reasoned, “Sol’s my kid, child, offspring whatever you wanna say, point is while Bumblebee’s here I’m not hosting Loki.”

“Loki shall not harm your daughter Stark,” Thor half lied, in truth he might harm Soleil, Loki had done a lot worse in his past though usually that was for the sake of Asgard or the protection of his family.

“Look all you have to do is sneeze at my kid and boom, in hospital,” Tony argued.

“Your daughter is that fragile?” Thor wondered if it were an age thing, Darcy looked to be of a similar age and seemed hale.

“Yep kid’s a medical wonder, impossibility even, so unless I have proof that Loki can’t hurt my kid you’ll have to have him live somewhere else,”

“Why not call SHIELD?” Steve offered, Thor considered this, but Tony had the most peculiar expression one that made Loki take note.

Tony shuffled on his feet, “I’m not saying that… look Loki took out quite a few SHIELD agents, Phil included, everyone loved Phil. I’m not sayin’ he’d approve out loud, but I’m sure Fury would be willing to turn a blind eye if anyone… took advantage of Loki’s situation.”

To Tony’s surprise Steve agreed, “What other options do we have? Thor are there any other territories, realms or worlds that would take Loki?”

“The majority of the nine realms are overseen by Asgard, they would not be willing to risk Odin’s ire by inviting Loki – even as a captive – amongst their numbers,” Thor reasoned.

“Why do I get the feeling when you say overseen what you really mean is-” Steve elbowed Tony in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“Can’t you build a containment around a single floor in the tower?” Steve proposed.

“Yeah and then what happens, he tricks Jarvis or someone else to let him out. Hell Bee would let him out if meant she could learn some weird alien shit, or fuck, she’d let him out to… you said Puente Antiguo?” he turned to Thor.

“Yes?” the god of thunder blinked confused. “I landed there, it so happened that Jane Foster and Agent Phil were also there.”

“Riiiight, well fuck,” Tony ran a hand through his hair, “If he stays here… how much do you two know about engineering?”

“The sciences were Loki’s subjects not mine,” Thor answered.

“We can’t keep him here,” Tony insisted to Steve who was just as confused as everyone else.

“Tony the tower is the best option-” Steve was about to argue, but Tony was adamant against the idea.

“-No it’s not because if Bee finds out-”

“-If Bee finds out what?” Soleil asked, Tony jumped curing Natasha (back when she was Natalie) for teaching Soleil how to be sneaky.

“I do not see why Puente Antiguo is so important to my brothers confinement,” Thor frowned not understanding what was going on at all.

“Did you say Puente Antiguo?” Soleil rounded on a surprised Thor, he did not understand.

“Is this some mythical town I should visit?” Steve asked it had been mentioned a lot in five minuted.

“No, no Bee he didn’t, he said-” Tony tried to correct not realising Thor did not like to be called a liar.

“-Do not make me a liar Stark,” Thor threatened.

“Yeah Dad how dare you make the most venerable god of thunder out to be a liar, honestly have you no shame?” Soleil said placing her hands on her hips, Thor nodded in complete agreement.

Loki rolled his eyes at how quickly Thor soaked up the praise and attention, it was honestly embarrassing how easily the fool could be manipulated and it had taken a mortal one afternoon to discover this weakness.

“Puente Antiguo was where I met my Lady Jane, Darcy, Selvig and your beloved Agent Son of Coul,”

“You mean Coulson, he’s American, we don’t use Patronymic or Matronymic surnames. At least not in the way you’re probably thinking of them,” Soleil corrected, “He was just Coulson, His father was probably not named Coul. Like how I am Stark and not Anthonysdóttir.”

“I see,” Thor muttered, “That explains the oddity of Jane’s family name.”

“Yep so if you and Jane married on Earth, and she decided to take your name, just as an example off the top of my head-” Tony and Steve finally caught on, she was buttering up the god of Thunder, and he was eating it up, “-She would be Jane Odinson, which I suppose would be awkward in Asgard but normal here.”

“That does seem odd?” Thor admitted hating how it sounded, it made her sound his like his sister.

“So you met in Puente Antiguo, I once read it’s romantic to get married where you met your love, but a desert town seems… inappropriate for a wedding to a god, especially with it still in need of repair.”

“Yes, the destroyer created so much damage when it walked through the town,” Thor turned to Loki who sat back utterly amused that Thor had so easily fallen into Soleil’s trap, of course Thor read his amusement wrong.

“The destroyer?” Soleil asked.

“Yes, The Destroyer Automaton is a weapon and guardian of Asgard, it was sent by Loki to kill me,” Thor glared at Loki again, “I wonder if it is still where we left it?”

“You really think SHIELD would have left something called the destroyer alone after what we saw with the tesseract?” Steve asked not understanding Soleil’s interest.

“How dangerous is this thing?” Tony asked.

“It levelled a town Tony, it’s dangerous,” Steve reasoned.

“Hush that’s not important, so the destroyer was sent by Loki to what attack you? Did you defeat it battle then?” She asked.

“Yes, with my godhood and power restored I used my strength and lightning to best the destroyer in combat,” Thor proudly announced.

“That’s sooo amazing,” Loki rolled his eyes the falseness wet unnoticed by Thor, “So like, it’s no longer functioning?”

“No, I knew I could not best it if I attacked the body, so I attacked it’s core it’s power source, rendering it inoperable,” Thor answered.

“Amazing,” Soleil continued, “So, any random idiot can command it?”

Thor laughed at the jab at Loki, Loki just sat deeply disappointed in his brother who allowed his ego to be bolstered like this, “No, it can only be commanded by the king of Asgard.”

“Loki was king?” Tony asked.

“What Asgard’s never had a queen?” Soleil asked.

“How do you go from being King to invader?” Steve asked.

“Expansion of the empire?” Tony proposed, “One land beneath the Asgardian sun and all that.”

“So what, you get named ruler of Asgard, and you’re in automatic control of its weapons? How does that work?”

“Through the Odinforce, Gungier acts as a tool to harness this power and through the Odinforce any ruler can command the destroyer,” Thor answered wondering why she was asking this, “Why do you ask little stark?”

“But I imagine Steel or iron would easily break under the strength of Mjölnir right? So how did the destroyer withstand your combined might?”

It was hilarious how quickly Thor turned from suspicious to eager to explain just how incredible he was.

“The metal from which the destroyer and my Mjölnir is forged is known as Uru, it can only be forged in the megastructure that surrounds Nidavellir. The dwarves harness the power of their sun Nidavellir to forge Uru, they are the only race capable of such a feat,”

“Only because they guard their secrets like paranoid dragons,” Loki muttered.

“Dwarves?” Steve asked.

“Did he say megastructure surrounding a sun?” Tony asked

Soleil vibrated, actually vibrated.

“Soo how does someone get into Nidavellir?” Soleil asked.

“With charm and plenty of gold,” Loki answered

“I can get gold,” Soleil whispered loudly, “How much gold do you-”

“-Bumblebee I know all this is very exciting,” Her dad began to steer her away from the gods, “But this can wait until tomorrow when you’ve had your ten hours now go, sleep.”

“Ugh fine, oh,” She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and read out loud, “Pepper says pick up the fucking phone, or she’s leaving you for a man called Seamus.”

“Shit,” he’d forgotten to call Pepper to reassure her he wasn’t dead, he still made sure to push Soleil out toward the Elevator, “Stick him on your floor for now Point Break.”

“My Floor?” Thor asked.

“Oh, oh right, you all have your own floor Jarvis will send you to the correct ones,” that was that. The Starks were gone.

“Why do I feel manipulated?” Thor asked.

“You are catching on much faster these days' brother,” Loki grinned.

Steve sighed, he wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with this bullshit.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 162

August 20

Had a checkup for the kiddo first thing this morning and found out that he will not be able to take his ADHD medicine for the next little while, a while that will probably encompass the beginning of the remote school year. Having taught the kiddo via virtual learning methods at times when he has not been on his meds, I think it is safe to say that this is not going to be fun for any of us. At least with the old virtual schooling, I had control of the schedule and could schedule five extra recesses and class until bedtime if we really needed to. Virtual school, with real-time classes, that's going to be a whole other kettle of fish. We're going to have to figure out some strategies. 

We have also decided that we need to figure out some good things to do each day, because we are deep in the slough of "everything is the same and what are we even looking forward to?" So we're going to do a Power Hour, one hour a day where he picks a fun activity off a list and we do it. Most of these activities are either physical or creative in some way, most do not involve electronics. Hopefully it gives us both a boost in mood and energy, because uuuuuuugh. I think it's something about the beginning of the school year that makes things seem worse. The summer is always sort of an interregnum, and if you stay indoors all day and don't do much, you've just got the summer lazies. But with September barrelling down on us, the fact that no much is really even going to change is suddenly upsetting, even frightening. What are we doing with ourselves if nothing in our world ever changes? He had a hard time getting to sleep tonight, consumed with these ideas. We're going to have to come up with some strategies for that, too. 

Kittens are doing a bit better today, better enough that I got decent sleep and didn't feel like boiled ass all day long. The poop situation is still a problem, but they are eating and not soiling themselves as much, so it's a step in the right direction. I was even able to put Menolly and Sebell together in the big carrier when I realized neither of them was prone to suckling. They wrestle and cuddle and play fight, but no sucking, thank god. I tried the same with Robinton and Audiva and they didn't even last thirty seconds before going for the north-south position like a pair of shouty, angry magnets (both kittens want to suckle, neither wants to be sucked.) So they are still isolated for the time being. With any luck, another ten days will bring us to weaning, and few kittens continue harmful suckling through weaning. Ten days is an awfully long time from here, but it'll pass quickly. We've also been spending lots of cuddle time with the Gaang as they prepare to head out on their big kitten journey in just a few more days.

To celebrate feeling better today, I went ahead and finally gave the kitchen a good cleaning. I got on hands and knees and organized all the pots and pans and baking dishes, so now all the cupboards will close and everything. So productive! That took most of my productive energy for the day, but at least I spent it well. Tonight will probably involve mostly solitaire and an early bedtime. I've had worse ideas. 

[fernwehbookworm]

Haunted- Chapter 4

The night was nearly sleepless as Kara tosses and turns. The few snatches she manages to catch are filled with shadowy hands and bright lights. Sometimes, she could swear she could hear Lena calling to her. Kara gives up around 4am and does the only thing she can think of, diving back into research. She has to actually begin to decipher the scientific terminology in the report.

“You look like shit.” Alex mumbles as she trudges into the room to start coffee.

“Pot calling the Kettle.”

“And under your eyes is just as black. I think your bags have bags.”

“And I think I almost have this figured out. I think… I think Lena was working on a matter transporter.”

Alex grabs three mugs from her cupboard and begins to get out sugar and creamer. “What? Like ‘Beam me up Scotty?’ Teleporting?”

“No, nothing that complicated. It seems the goal was to be able to send things like fruits and vegetables or medicines to third world countries. From what I can figure out, they were close, but Lena pushed the experiment by herself that night and used an apple which is much more complex than the small sample of pure iron they had been trying. From what the research team was able to decipher, an energy surge from the machine vaporized all the organic material near it, the apple, Lena, and some granola bars at a different workstation.”

“Wow, that is intense. I guess it's lucky that the explosion didn’t expand past the lab then. It could have been a catastrophe.”

“Yes, I believe they are scraping the project soon. Which will be a shame, it feels like they should finish it to honor Lena.”

“Or they shouldn’t so no one else gets hurt.”

“Very true. Got any pancake mix?”

Alex laughs and begins routing through her cupboards to make breakfast. Kara continues to reread everything, hoping to absorb more. Kelly appears, dressed in a sharp pant suit, and kisses Alex on the cheek. Kara feels a faint ache in her chest. It had been so long since she had this domesticity, even though it all had been a sham. It took a whole year for Kara to figure out she was the other woman, while Mike went home to his wife and two kids in the suburbs and left Kara waiting for him at his rented apartment in the city. She was completely unaware of his double life, Mike had told her he was on business trips. Until she figured it out, it was the happiest Kara had been. Then she was crushed. Last she heard, Mike and his wife were still together.

Kara pushes the loneliness away and refocuses on her computer, twirling the pen between her fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, Kara can now see Lena sitting in the chair to her right. Instead of focusing on the phantom, Kara just smiles and keeps working. When Alex and Kelly enter with pancakes, the image evaporates.

Slightly disappointed, Kara grabs a plate and a small stack of pancakes to douse in syrup. Nothing is better then Alex’s pancakes. Maybe sex, but sometimes the pancakes top that. They are made with the love of a sister and that’s all Kara needs right now.

“We have to leave in ten, I can drive you to work afterwards.” Kelly says eventually.

“Shounds mood,” Kara mumbles through a mouthful of fluffy goodness.

Kara swears she hears a giggle from behind her but fights the urge to turn around, she can’t be crazy. Not in front of the therapist. The last thing Kara needs is to be committed before this article is done.

><><><><>

“Okay, just try and relax. This is a full dive virtual reality. Physically you won’t move, but your mind will feel like it is. The program will read your thought patterns and try to take you to a happy place.”

Kara removes her glasses and takes the little black case from Kelly. With a deep  breath, Kara pops the contact lenses into her eyes and Kara lays down on a very stereotypical leather couch and tries to do as Kelly says.

“Now, to activate the deep dive the key phrase to think is ‘Obsidian Pineapple Boots.’”

“Obsidian Pineapple Boo—” Kara gasps in surprise before she finishes her question.

Her vision goes black and then descends into a tunnel of colors before she finds herself in the snow. It’s shin deep but her boots protect her. The warm fur coat is soft and smells of home. Kara slowly turns as she takes in the landscape. SHe is home. Her childhood home. Before the fire. Trees are shrouded in snow and the full moon reflects off the ground, creating a false sense of daylight. The house is lit up with colorful lights and Stars of David. A menorah is burning in the front bay window. Everything is just as she remembers from when she was a child. Even the bite of the wind on her nose brings tears to her eyes, both from the cold and emotion.

"It's beautiful." Kelly says softly from beside her, dressed in her own winter clothing.

"It is." Kara steps up on the porch to look in the window.

Bathed in yellow light, Kara sees something she can't explain. The interior seems to be a mix of the Danvers beach home with her parents more rustic home from the outskirts of Moscow. Inside is her parents, and Jeremiah, Eliza, and Alex. A Christmas tree stands in a corner with stockings hanging from the mantle. On the mantle is a menorah. Its a perfect mix of both of her lives. One before the fire and one after.

"It seems you must equally think of your childhood home and the Danvers home as safe. The program pulled them together for you."

Kara only nods, unable to speak. A tear escapes her eye as she pulls off a glove to touch her fingertips to the cold glass. Instead of going in, Kara sits on the porch swing, hearing the familiar squeak as her momentum carries her back. Kelly eases herself into it with her.

"I didn't think I would ever see their faces again. If it wasn't for the couple of scorched pictures, I don't think I would remember them." Kara whispers into the cold night air. Music can be heard playing through the walls of the house and Kara closes her eyes to soak it in.

"That's part of why we are trying to launch this therapy program. So people can see loved ones again. Process emotions and maybe get closure. Our studies so far have yielded mostly positive results."

"Mostly?"

"There are a few people who, when confronted with past abusers and victims, were actually worse off. They require more traditional therapy. But it has helped build a screening program for who will be benefited by the virtual program and who won't be."

The conversation has helped Kara reign in some of her emotions and she takes a deep breath. "So what do we do now?"

"Now, we go back to where it started. Can you picture it? The lab that you first learned of Lena Luthor."

“Yeah. Easily. It's been a frequent place in my—" Suddenly instead of a swing, Kara is sitting in a lab stool with Kelly on one next to her. "---dreams." Kara finishes softly.

"You've been dreaming of the lab?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I just sit here and talk to Lena. Not about anything important to remember when I wake up. Sometimes I see her but it's like she can't see me."

Lena seems to fade into focus, already mid stride as she walks towards the matter transporter and begins to pull a panel off.

"And this?" Kelly asks.

"One time, she was pulling it apart. Trying to figure out what went wrong. Mumbling to herself that she didn't understand what could have happened."

In a blink, Lena was back at the computer. The room went dark. It was exactly Kara's nightmare from the night before. Kara's breathing picks up as she realizes what is happening.

"What is happening?" Kelly asks.

“This was my nightmare last night. I saw the accident happen. But I don't think it was an accident. Watch." Kara points to the man shaped blur of darkness as Lena is drawn closer to the machine.

"You mean how you think it happened?"

"Huh?" Kara is only half listening as she  watches the light getting brighter. She can only see Lena's silhouette. Then that is gone. The whole lab is. Kelly and Kara are sitting at her kitchen table with Kelly on her right and Lena is sitting on her left. It's just like the first time that she and Lena talked.

"You mean how.you think it happened? You weren't actually there." Kelly points out.

"I know. But it just feels so real. Like I'm not watching my memories. I'm seeing hers." Kara gestures to Lena. *But then sometimes we just sit and talk and I've learned a lot about her. Like things I don't think I could make up. Like this. This was the first dream I had of her. I feel asleep after researching and then she appeared. We talked. She said she had been following me all day. She even called me Ponytail like Snapper did. Then when I asked about her life, she told me she hadn't really been living. She just worked herself to the bone. She was lonely and sad and found little joy in things outside of her lab."

"That is all details your subconscious could fill in with all the research you have been doing. You could feel like you know her. You saw the amount of projects and technological advancements L-Corp was involved in. And with how little she was in tabloids, she probably lived in her office half the time."

"Yeah she did. She even got a pull out sofa for nights she worked too late to go home."

"Did she tell you that?"

Kara watches Lena. She seems like she is laughing and carrying on a conversation with Kara, but Kara can't hear the laughter. But that smile, it could make Kara swoon. The way she shows almost too many teeth and scrunches her nose up. It's beautiful.

"Yeah, she did tell me that. But then I asked Jess, the acting CEO now, and she said it was true."

"You have good instincts then. Reporting is definitely the profession for you."

"There's been other things too. Stuff I haven't found online but I would email Jess and she would tell me it was true. And be pretty surprised that I would know."

"Like what?"

Lena gets up and goes to get a glass of water, moving around Kara's apartment like she had been there a hundred times.

"Like, she had a horse as a kid. It was the only pet she was allowed. He's name was Comet. Beautiful white stallion. Or that Lena was actually born in Ireland. That's not anywhere. Her adoption records were sealed. But it's all true."

"So Lena was an orphan from a different country?"

"As far as she knows. She saw her mother drown one morning, there is still no evidence whether it was suicide or and accident, and her father was never in the picture. Then the Luthors adopted her and brought her home." Kara smiles as she watches Lena in her pretend conversation. "She even still curses in Gaelic when she is angry, or slips into an accent when she is drunk."

"All confirmed by Jess?"

Kara sighs and finally looks back to Kelly. "Yeah. They were just too specific for me to ignore. I had to ask. At least Jess knows I'm trying to do an article on her or it would just sound stalkerish."

Kelly opens her mouth to respond but then it's like lag in a video game. She gets all jerky, disappears and reappears two feet to the left. Then she stands, sits, disappears and is gone.

"Oh god, finally." Kara jumps as Lena actually speaks next to her. "It took forever to figure out how to get into this program and to speak. Sorry I think I kicked your therapist out."

"Lena!" Kara gasps.

"The one and only." Lena smirks.

"This is real right? You are really here? I'm not crazy?"

"Yes jeez. Quite. I don't know how much time I have. I figured out what went wrong with the matter transporter. I'm somehow stuck in between planes of existence. That pen you stole, yes stole." Lena pauses to acknowledge Kara's sheepish expression. "I think that is my anchor in this plane. Well, the actual plane. But this virtual reality is making it easier to talk to you. Okay so if you hold that pen, it's easier for me to communicate. But I need you to help me."

An error message starts flashing above Kara's kitchen table. Then an override starts to be plugged in underneath it.

"Crap. She's terminating the program. Look, I need you to turn the machine back on. But reverse it so I can get back. I'm not dead. But I might be soon. It's getting harder. I feel like I'm fading. But not. Like it's getting harder to hold all my molecules together.  They are trying to scatter and transfer my energy back into the universe."

"But—"

"Just hurry Kara! And remember the Pe—"

Kara snaps up right as her apartment disappears and she is suddenly back in Kelly's office.  “Kara!” Kelly yells out.

“No! Wait! Why did you pull me out?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I suddenly got kicked out of my own therapy program. I’m the admin. That should not have happened. It's still an experimental program. I was worried.”

“She was there! I’m not going crazy. And she needs my help.” Kara hastily removes the lenses and grabs her purse.

“Kara! Wait! It was a glitch. Lena wasn’t actually there. I think your subconscious took over a bit.”

“No! She was there! I know it. I can feel it. I have to go.”

“Kara! Wai—” the office door slams shut behind Kara and she is practically sprinting through the hallway and to the elevator.

Kara doesn’t go to work. She hails a cab and heads straight to Alex’s. She uses her spare key to get inside and immediately starts packing up all her stuff. Kara scoops Streaky off the back of the couch and tucks him under an arm. This is the first place Kelly will look for her. Kara had asked the cab to wait for her and she climbs back in, immediately heading to her apartment. Once she is safely home, Kara locks her door and takes a deep breath. Streaky wiggles from her grasp with a meow of protest and disappears under the couch.

“The Pen!” Kara exclaims and digs in her computer bag. Kara cries out in victory as she snatches it from the depths and pulls it out. Then… Nothing happens. Kara slides down the front door and sits with her knees tucked into her chest.

“Come on… Come on….” Kara grips the pen, eyes roving the apartment, looking for any indication of Lena.

“Geez, relax. I’m like anchored to you or that pen. I've been here the whole time. You’re the one who couldn’t see me.” Lena materializes next to Kara, causing her to jump.

“Holy crap! Don’t do that.” Kara glares at Lena.

Lena just laughs and begins to wander around Kara’s apartment. She occasionally tries to touch things, successfully brushing a sheet of paper to the floor and rattling a glass. Her hand passes through the counter and the handle of the fridge.

“Wow. Okay. This is real. And I am not actually being haunted.”

“I mean I guess you kind of are. I’m a loose collection of energy that is somehow tied to either you or that pen or both, and I have been doing everything in my limited power to get your attention.”

“Okay, I may be even crazier than I thought. What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Ooo… That may be the first time I’ve heard you cuss. Very attractive. You should do that more often.” Lena strides back towards Kara. It’s a weird experience because there is no sound to accompany her footsteps. Kara glares at her ghost.

“Look, what I have been able to figure out is that something went wrong with my transmatter portal and I am now trapped in a void between places. It’s very hard to describe and I have no scientific terms on it. All I know is it feels like every molecule in my body is trying to separate and scatter and I am using every ounce of my will to keep it together.” Lena sits next to Kara on the floor.

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“I need you to turn the machine back on and reverse it. I think I can coach you through the settings.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. Just turn the machine back on. In a high-security lab. Easy.” Kara rests her elbows on her knees and runs both hands through her hair.

“It's fine. I can get you in through my private entrance.”

“I am sooo getting arrested for this. And then thrown in the looney bin.”

“Not if we succeed. I promise you, I will literally buy you a penthouse of your choice if you do this.”

“I don’t want a penthouse.”

“Car?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, everyone wants something.”

“How about a date?” “A what?”

“You know, a date. Go out for food, maybe some sort of entertainment, maybe some hand-holding.”

Lena looks puzzled still. “You don’t want money or a penthouse? You want to take me ,” Lena points to Kara and then to herself, “on a date.”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I want to take a beautiful woman who has given all of herself to the world to dinner?”

“Because I am a total stranger who is basically haunting you and we don’t know each other.”

“Well I have done a deep dive into your personal life, which is strange and stalker-y but, in my defense, you were dead, and I like what I have seen. You have also basically been following me for the past couple days so I hope you have seen enough to give me a yes or no answer. Full disclosure, I will still help you even if you say no, but I re—” Kara freezes when she feels something cold brush across her hand. Kara looks down to see Lena’s hand resting on top of hers.

“You are rambling.” Lena smiles and Kara swears she has goosebumps. “Yes, I would love to go on a date with you. But first, I need a body to do it.”

“Right! Yes! Of course. How do we start?”

Lena removes her hand from Kara’s and places it under her chin to think. “Well, I think we will have to wait until tomorrow night. Security will be tighter but there will be fewer people. And alarms won't be an issue since I can take you through my personal doors. It would just be the people. Hopefully, Jess has actually left the office during all this.”

“She barely has. She would answer my emails at any time of the night. She might actually be sleeping there.”

“Her husband is not going to be happy with me then. I’ll have to make sure to send them on a trip as soon as possible.”

“That will give me time to finish this article.”

“Finish it? But I’m not dead.”

“But no one else knows that. My editor still wants the story by tomorrow morning to be edited and put to print. Look, you can read it. It will just be good press and then I can start on your miracle return.”

“Ah, so you're just in it for the story.” Lena accuses but there is a playful glint in her eye that tells Kara she knows it's not the full truth.

“That’s the only reason I am helping the most beautiful ghost to ever exist. For a story.

Lena doesn't respond with a witty comeback, she just grins ear to ear and ducks her head to avoid Kara’s gaze.

“Let me show you the article, it would be great to get your opinion. I’ve mostly just been using Jess for fact-checking.”

“Well, Jess does know most of my life. She’s one of the only friends I have.”

“Good to know you consider her a friend. She didn’t seem so sure. But I can tell she loves you.” Kara makes her way to the kitchen table and opens her laptop.

[ottelis]

“I gave you my life, Eliott,” Lucas’s voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, “And I gave you mine.”

“No,” Lucas says, low and dark. “No, you didn’t.”

.

.

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii.

tw: mentions of minor character death, mentions and brief descriptions of electroconvulsive therapy

june 22nd, 1968

11:01

caen, france

~

Eliott wakes up the next morning with a headache and a hollow chest. Memories from the day before reenter his mind slowly, as if the pain had fallen asleep and was waking up with him. He’d cried for hours, and his mother held him until his tears ran dry. Eliott was left with that exhausted, gutted-out feeling. He’d spent all his energy mourning. Mourning the loss of Lucas, his father, the town and the world he once knew, everything he once knew. Even when his eyes had become dry, he still had so much mourning inside of him, but it had lost all of its escape routes. It hid inside him, tucked itself away in the marrow of his bones, the back of his skull, the tips of his fingers and toes. It disguised itself and traveled within his blood, coursing through him until it had touched every part of him. And as Eliott stares up at his ceiling, hours and hours later, he realizes far too quickly that it still hasn’t run its course.

The waking pain yawns, almost swallowing him whole. He wonders if this could send him into some pit, some black hole that he’s visited once before. He wonders if it could send him back to that awful, awful place he swears lies nowhere on the earth’s gentle, scarred surface. The waking pain stretches, and Eliott feels it wearing on his soul. He feels it pulling, tugging, and he feels his soul trembling and moaning and wailing. It calls for his father, his mother, Lucas, anyone. Anyone who can take the waking pain away, put it back to sleep before its cold, dark eyes fully open, before it bares its claws and roars rumble from its throat.

But Papa is dead. Maman loves him, but she doesn’t understand what he’s going through. Lucas hates him, and he won’t understand what he’s been through. And there’s no one else who can heal him like Papa, Maman, and Lucas could. The moment Eliott started getting sick, he lost any sort of love and care anyone could give him. Every time Papa clapped his hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, every time Maman kissed his forehead and brushed his hair out of his eyes, every time Lucas kissed him until he was dizzy and touched him until he melted, it was useless, a waste of time, energy, love. And he kept demanding more, draining them until they ran dry. He was never satisfied, not truly. It was like a thunderstorm. It soaked him, wetting his hair and chilling his bones and skin. It was cold, shocking him into living, but not quite into thriving. But the clouds would stop crying, lose their voices, and the droplets resting on his skin would dry, die, fade away.

Was he selfish? Is he selfish?

And where is the healing his mother talked about? He can’t feel it holding his hand. He can’t feel it guiding him through the hurt. Has the healing abandoned him? Has it grown so tired from Eliott’s mind turning against him over and over and over and over again that it’s given up on him? Can the healing only reach certain people? Does the healing abandon those who are beyond saving? Has it abandoned him already?

His thoughts, his spiral, are cut off by the shrill whistle of a kettle. It startles him a bit, but the thought of his mother making tea made everything just a little brighter, like the flame of a candle. He exhales slowly, telling his mind to slow down, to quiet. Just for a moment, he reasons with it. Please.

He sits up, his body suddenly feeling weightless, thin and translucent like smoke. He takes another deep breath, letting the air fill him as much as it could.

Breathe, a thousand voices tell him. His parents, Lucas, his doctors, himself. Breathe. It will pass.

He climbs out of his bed, his feet meeting fabric when they touch the floor. He looks down and sees his father’s coat lying in a pile on the floor. He doesn’t remember taking it off. He picks it up and shrugs it on, the fabric still warm and smooth. It’s heavy, too, weighing on his shoulders, his back. Another deep breath: in, then out.

He walks across his room to his door, opening it slowly so it doesn’t creak. The kettle is louder now, and he hears pots and pans clanging against each other. He’ll eat a meal with his mother again for the first time in two years. They’ll sit at the dining table, and Maman will set it, laying down the placemats she sewed and embroidered herself before he was born. She’ll set Papa’s place, too, and tears will fill her eyes and her lips will wobble into a frown, but she’ll take a deep breath and make herself smile. The room will be laced with a sudden, subtle chill, as if Papa was there with them, cold and silent and looming. He’ll feel sick to his stomach, but he forces the nausea down. His mother will say grace, and thank God for their home, their family, their health, the food that they are about to eat. He’ll listen, his eyes closed, but hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind. Papa used to say grace at every meal. But then Papa died on a bright, clear, spring morning. The sun had risen early that day, and he wonders if Papa saw it before his lungs shriveled up and his eyes glazed over. There was never a day more beautiful, and there was never a day more terrible. His mother will say at least one time today how he looks just like Papa. She’ll sound tired, but soft; sad, but fond. He’ll smile and say that he knows, and he’ll wish Lucas’s parallel universes were real and that he could reach out and touch one, live in one, even if just for a day. One where everything is normal again. One where he isn’t sick. One where his father is still alive and laughing. One where his mother smiles widely and sings everywhere she goes. One where Lucas doesn’t hate him. One where maybe he loves him. And this will happen—this wishing, this longing—every single day, for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, he walks down the stairs that don’t creak anymore. He takes a step closer to a new normalcy, stagnancy.

He pauses at the last stair, silencing memories of his mother singing from the kitchen, listening. But all he hears is something sizzling, something being poured. He hears his mother sigh, long and tired and weary. He feels a pang of guilt, and he’s too exhausted to fight it—a new normalcy, stagnancy. He descends the last stair, approaching the kitchen silently. The dining table is already set with three placemats: his, his mother’s, and his father’s. There are teacups beside each one, steam curling from their edges. His mother is standing over the stove, scrambling eggs. She’s dressed, her hair pulled back in a bun, her apron tied round her waist. Gray hangs beneath her eyes, and fatigue pulls down on the corners of her mouth. He feels the pang again, stronger, deeper. Had she been up all night worrying about him? Was she disappointed because her son was supposed to come back normal, the same, happy boy she loved so much, but he came back just as damaged as he was before?

“Oh, hi, honey,” she greets, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Did you sleep well? Do you feel any better?”

There’s a softness, a genuineness in her voice. She puts down her spatula, wipes her hands on her apron, and walks towards him. She gives him all of her attention. She listens to his every word, is watchful of his every move, every shift in his face. She loves him.

But he doesn’t know how to answer her. He shrugs. “I feel… Drained.”

She frowns, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Eliott sighs. She doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t either. “It’s okay, Maman,” he mumbles. “I’ll be okay. I’ll get better.”

I’ll be okay. I’ll get better.

She smiles, then, and softly envelops him in her arms. He feels her heart beating against his, feels her inhale slowly, feels her tighten her grip on him. He closes his eyes, feeling a little closer to his old life, even if only by a step.

“I love you so much, my boy,” she says. “I want you to get better.”

“I will, Maman,” he promises her, his voice firmer, stronger than it has been before. “I will. I love you, too.”

The smell of smoke shatters the moment, pulls them apart.

“The eggs!” his mother groans, rushing over to the skillet. She stirs them furiously, the smoke thickening.

Eliott stifles a chuckle, walking over to her. “Are they okay?”

He looks inside, and the eggs are much darker than he’s sure his mother wanted them to be. They’re not burnt, but they’ll definitely be tough when they eat them.

“They’ve been better,” his mother sighs, turning down the heat.

“I think they’ll still taste good, Maman,” Eliott replies, still trying to hold back his laughter.

“I hope so,” she laughs, too. “Are you ready to eat, dear?”

Eliott isn’t all that hungry, but he smiles and nods. The small breaths of laughter leave his lungs, and he’s left with dread filling his stomach. He so desperately hates how much he needs everything to be normal again.

They never will be, he reminds himself. Never again. Move on. I’ll be okay. I’ll get better.

He fills his plate with as much food as he thinks he can stomach, setting it down at his place on the table. He always sat to the left of his father, who sat at the head of the table. His mother sat to his father’s right. Her and Eliott always looked at him as he talked about his day, as he asked about theirs. Eliott’s mother always told him how his father was never quite the same after he came home from the war, but Eliott always thought his father was the best man in the world. He was kind, caring, and he always listened. Eliott always wanted to be just like him when he was growing up. He was his hero. Now he’s just an empty chair, an empty placemat, a chill in the air.

He stares at his father’s place, his fork cold in his hand. He bites his lip, wills his mind to stop thinking.

“How did you stand it, Maman?” he blurts out, the question lingering dark and thin in the air between them. “Eating at our table, alone?”

His mother looks up at him, her eyes shining with tears. But she smiles, shrugs. “I had a lot of people over for dinner. The Lallemants, the Broussards, the Savarys, the Cazases. Anyone who needed a nice, home-cooked meal. And when I didn’t have anyone over, I would eat, and remind myself that both of you were still with me. You were a train ride away in Paris, and I knew I would see you again soon. And your father has always lived in my heart, dear. He still does. And he lives in yours, too. I would try to remember that we were all still together, in a way.”

“In some other universe,” Eliott mutters, Lucas’s voice lingering in the back of his mind.

His mother smiles. “I thought you didn’t believe in that.”

“Not in the way Lucas does,” Eliott replies, Lucas’s name bitter on his tongue.

Her smile falters. She puts her fork down, reaching her hand across the table and taking Eliott’s. “Maybe he just needs time, dear.”

“He’s had two years, Maman,” he sighs, every emotion he felt yesterday beginning to flood back. “Two years to remember everything I did to him. Two years to try and forget about me because I’m not the Eliott he knew anymore. He knows that. I know that. He’s had nothing but time to make up his mind about me. And you know him. He doesn’t change his mind very often. He’s angry at me, he hates me, and I’m beginning to think he always will.”

She doesn’t reply at first. And when she does, it’s quiet, pitiful, “Eliott…”

“Can we not talk about him, Maman?” Eliott pleads. “It… It hurts too much.”

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing his hand.

But Eliott is still thinking about him. His handsome, still familiar face twisting in anger, his silvery voice splintering and shattering, the oceans in his eyes spilling over onto his cheeks. The picture of agony, of devastation. And Eliott did that to him.

“He’s my best friend,” he whispers, his voice not strong enough to declare it.

“Eliott, honey,” she sighs, sympathetic.

“We were gonna be best friends forever,” he continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. “But I…”

His mother rises from her seat and hurries over to him, wrapping him in her arms. She holds him tight, kisses his hair, his forehead. “Tell me how to take the pain away, dear,” she whispers, her voice thin with tears.

His answer is quiet, hopeless: “I don’t know, Maman.”

june 24th, 1968

16:00

caen, france

~

The next couple of days are long, but they blur together, like an ink smudge, or the trees through the window when you’re riding in the car. Eliott feels numb. He sleeps to escape the pain of being awake. He takes small bites of food. He watches the television and lets the noise lull him into another world, one he can get lost in, one where he can remember and the memories are softer, brighter. Sometimes he sits outside and tries to count the stars. Sometimes he listens for the moon’s song, wonders if she’s the only thing that can help him now. But she’s silent, still. He misses the moon’s songs. He misses his mother’s songs, too. He misses everything.

Today, he decides he’s going to visit his father’s grave. He asked if his mother if she wanted to come with him during lunch, and she smiled sadly and said yes. But a little later, she said, too. Eliott agreed.

They’re sitting in the car now, driving into town. Eliott isn’t sure what he’s feeling. He hasn’t been to the cemetery in almost two years. He didn’t go there much, even before he had to go to the institution. The scars were still too fresh. The thought of his father being dead still hadn’t sunk in fully. And, if he’s honest with himself, it still hasn’t. Whenever his mother wrote to him and told him she was gonna go up and visit him, he had a hope in the back of his mind that his father was coming, too, to surprise him. But, of course, he never did.

They pass Saint-Saveur, with its tall, pockmarked exterior and all its memories. The bells begin to peal, warm and brassy, echoing throughout the city. Eliott tries to push away memories of the funeral service they held within its walls. How his mother held onto him in her grief, and how as soon as she found someone else to lean on, he fell, exhausted, bereaved, into Lucas’s arms. And Lucas held him, patiently, gently. He looks away from the church and across the street at the little shops and houses. The town carries on, long after the bombs have detonated, long after the ashes and dust have settled, and not long after the best man to ever live on this earth was violently ripped from it far too soon. Then, his mother turns a corner, and the church is just a trembling image in the rearview mirror.

Eliott closes his eyes, focusing on the music on the radio. He waits for the music to cut off into silence, waits for the car to turn off, waits for his mother’s heavy, weary sigh. He waits.

The waiting ends a little too quickly for his taste.

He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is the sea of headstones. The grass around them is a rich green, but the overcast sky colors them even darker. Everything is in grayscale, almost. He can’t quite remember exactly where his father’s grave is. He remembers it being further back, closer to the trees. He remembers it being up to his right. Hopefully his mother knows where he is.

Eliott hears his mother’s seatbelt unbuckle, and his heart nearly drops to his stomach. He takes a deep breath.

“Ready, dear?” his mother asks him gently, carefully.

He lets his body take over, guide him. He unbuckles, too, nodding. “I’m ready.”

“Don’t forget his flowers,” she reminds him.

He shakes his head weakly. They’re sitting in his lap. “I won’t, Maman.”

They get out of the car, their feet meeting cracked pavement, and they take each other’s hands. They walk.

The world around them is eerily quiet. Despite the humidity clinging to everything it can touch, cool breezes break through it, sweeping over the land. Papa really is here, Eliott thinks to himself. He tries not to think about how the ground he’s walking on is full of caskets holding bones, the decaying, the newly dead. He tries not to think about how, somewhere here, his father is lying, sleeping, for eternity. He tries not to think about when they buried him—dust to dust, ashes to ashes; he was a good man; you poor boy, having to grow up without your father; what a pity; what a shame—and the flowers he held then, the flowers he’s holding now. He tries not to think. After all, it’s all he’s done the past two years. Try and fail to turn his mind off, try and fail to soothe it, try and fail to coax it, lead it down a different path. He’s surprised he still has the strength to try, knowing that all he’s ever done is fail.

His mother squeezes his hands, and he comes back down to earth.

“We’re almost there,” she tells him, her voice soothing.

They nearly reach the corner of the cemetery when his mother stops, letting out a shaky breath.

Eliott looks down, and he sees his father’s grave. Tears almost immediately fill his eyes. It’s worn now, faded. Battered and weathered. Has it really been that long since his father passed away? He studies the writing.

Eduard Demaury

décembre 2, 1923-mai 29, 1966

Un vaillant soldat, un mari dévoué et un père aimant

He squeezes his mother’s hand so hard he’s afraid he’s hurting her. He mutters an apology, his voice strangled through his tears. His feels his chest splitting open, his throat getting sore from holding back his sobs. He lets go of his mother’s hand, using it to wipe the tears that were flowing down his cheeks in rapids. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to gather himself again.

Breathe, the thousand voices tell him again. His father’s is the loudest. It’s how he’s always remembered it. It’s kind. It’s patient. It’s soothing, cooling, like a balm. It’s healing. It’s been two years since he heard his father’s voice, but he’ll never hear it again within the walls of their house, or in the salty air crashing up from the waves. His voice will only live within the confines of his mind. It’s stuck in a maze. A maze of memories, of emotions, of impulses and despairings, and yet it navigates it in the moments Eliott needs it most, and it’s there. It’s here!

Eliott begins to cry harder, his breaths coming out in short hiccups. He misses his father, but he’s here! He’s here, speaking to him! He tries to breathe more slowly, deeply, remind himself that he’s here!

Breathe, his father’s voice says again. Eliott’s heart swells.

“Do we need to leave, dear?” his mother asks, her voice kind but anxious.

Eliott takes another deep breath, then shakes his head. “I just miss him.”

He feels his mother drape her arm across his shoulders, pulling him close. She doesn’t say anything. She kisses his temple and ruffles his hair. She lets him cry.

He keeps hearing his father’s voice in his mind. Somehow, it dries his eyes. Somehow, the chill dissipates, the wind quiets, his mind quiets.

He lets the last of his tears roll slowly down his cheeks, lets the last of the breaths lodged in his throat escape violently, sweetly.

Then there’s a calm.

“I miss him, too,” his mother finally says, squeezing him tighter. “But you and I are together again. And he’s watching over us. I know it.”

Eliott nods. “I know it, too.”

“Do you want to put the flowers down?” his mother asks, the anxiety disappearing from her voice.

Eliott nods again, stepping closer to the headstone. He places the flowers down carefully, their petals of rich red, brilliant blue, and pure white brightening the whole world around them. Eliott smiles.

“I’m home now, Papa,” he says, his voice bright and clear. “I love you. Thank you.”

Eliott and his mother linger for a moment, holding each other. The clouds darken above them, but Eliott feels nothing but light.

june 26th, 1967

13:30

paris, france

~

Yesterday was Eliott’s first (and hopefully last) birthday at the institution, and he hasn’t heard a word from Lucas. He asked his mother when she visited if she knew of Lucas mentioning anything about his birthday, and his heart sank slowly when she said she didn’t know. She talked him through every irrational thought that crossed his mind and escaped through his tongue. They grew up together, they’re best friends, how could Lucas ever forget Eliott’s birthday?  If Lucas sent him a letter, it’s probably just late going through the mail. Today’s still his birthday. If he gets something tomorrow, it would only be a day late. Lucas has time, and so does Eliott. Then, she tried to take his mind off of it by giving him his presents. A new shirt, soft and white and warm. A dozen of his favorite cookies that she made herself. A book, or a play, really: Waiting for Gadot, by Samuel Beckett. A pair of socks that were navy blue and warm. It worked, for a moment.

Today, he’s wearing his new shirt and his new socks, and he’s already finished reading the play. The cookies are lying on his bedside table, completely untouched (they would stay this way for another day or two, and Eliott would feel the weight of years and years of guilt for it). Today, his mother isn’t there to talk him through his doubts. Today, he still hasn’t heard from Lucas. Today, he’s afraid he’ll spiral downward again, because then the doctors will use the more extreme treatments to fix him. He wishes he could say they don’t work, the electric shocks, but they do. They don’t make him feel better, they just make him feel nothing. And, for the doctors, that means he isn’t depressed anymore. Today, he sits on his bed and studies the picture of Lucas he keeps in his room, hoping it’ll give him the strength he needs to get better, to avoid another excruciating round of the shocks.

Today, one of the nurses knocks on his door then slides a letter underneath it.

Eliott jumps up from his bed, picking up the letter with fumbling fingers. His eyes fill with tears the moment he sees his name written in Lucas’s handwriting. He tears the envelope open, unfolding the paper inside. His heart is racing in his chest, his lips are spreading into an aching grin, and his tears are escaping. He never knew he could miss Lucas’s jagged cursive so much. He reads it, drinking in every word as if it were life-giving water.

My dearest Eliott,

My love, I pray night and day that you won’t have to be in Paris a mere moment longer than you need to. I pray that you’ll be in my arms the very second I’m there to open them up to you. My prayers bleed into my dreams, where our reunion is woven with gold and the sound of the waves and moonsong. And my dreams leak into my every waking moment, Eliott. Not a moment goes by where I’m not missing you, thinking of you, dreaming of you. My heart absolutely aches that I can’t see you today, darling. I can only imagine what you’re feeling. I pray you’re not hurting. I pray that if you are, that my words will be of even the slightest bit of healing, of medicine. If only I could heal you. If only my love was enough to do so. I was born to love you, Eliott. I know it. There are moments, hours, days, where that’s the only thing I truly know.

My heart beats faster, harder, stronger because it’s reaching for you, darling. Is your heart reaching for me? I think I feel it. It comes to me at night, through the stars. It burns behind my eyelids and forces them open. It tilts my chin skyward and I remember you with a new strength, a new fondness. You were the one who first told me about them, the stars, pointed each one out so I could see them. I loved the way your hand moved across the sky. You seemed to cup the galaxy gently in the palm of your hand, cradling it. You seemed to rule it, and it seemed to love you. Who knew billions of burning, little flames could all love something so much they would all surrender to it, mold and stretch at the flick of its hand? I’m not sure if you know that, my love. You must be made of stars.

What are the stars like in Paris? They must be timid, anxious. They’re only brave enough to share the smallest shred of their light. Do they still love you? Do you still cradle them as gently as you would cradle a child? Do you give them pieces of your heart and do they promise to deliver them to me? Do they keep their promise? Do millennia of explosions, creation, hold them aloft until they reach the speck of dust that I am? Do they see the things you do to me? Do they see my heart ramming into my rib cage until it’s bruised, until it aches? Do they see your eyes when they meet mine, how they soften and brighten like the horizon every time the sun touches it? Do they love me, too?

Neither this pen, my mind, nor my tongue could ever express how much I miss you, mon amour. Truly. You were always so much better with words than I was. I know numbers, straight lines, rigid shapes. You know words, curves, fluidity. I always envied you for that. But, whenever I think of you, whenever I look at the stars, my emotions, my love comes flowing out in a rush, in a surge. Unless I let them escape, they froth and broil within me, scorching me, scarring me. Is that how you always feel? Like you’re on the verge of exploding, of bursting into rich, blue flames? Like, if your heart isn’t stitched to your sleeve it’ll shiver, shrivel up in the darkness of your chest? How do you bear it? How do you bear living, darling, when the world around you is so gilded? You see the beauty in every single thing you see. A grain of sand, a blade of grass, the smallest wisp of a cloud. Yet, they all could be a weapon. They could turn on you at any moment. They have. Yet they never lose their beauty in your eyes. How do you manage it? [Scratched out].

Please tell me you’re well. Or, at least, that you’re improving. And if you’re not, I’ll tell the stars to come to you and stay with you. I’ll tell them to never leave your side, not even for a moment. I’ll tell them to do anything they can to make you better, to ensure that you’ll come back home, come back to me. Tell me if that’s what you want, darling. I’ll do it. I swear. I love with you everything I am, everything I have been, and everything I ever will be. Happy birthday, darling.

Forever and sincerely yours, Lucas

Eliott wipes the tears from his face, overjoyed, breathless laughter making his body tremble. He clutches Lucas’s letter to his chest, letting his words wash over him over and over like waves of sweet, warm water. He sighs happily, reading over it again.

He studies the part of the letter that’s scratched out for a moment, noticing a few lines of letters through the scratches of ink. He looks at it more closely, wanting to read every single word Lucas wrote to him, scratched out or not. His heart nearly stops once the letters become clear, legible.

You almost couldn’t.

june 25th, 1968

10:00

caen, france

~

“Eliott,” his mother’s voice coos. “Wake up, honey.”

He jolts a bit, his eyes opening slowly. He sees his mother kneeling by his bedside, smiling at him softly.

“Happy birthday, Eliott!” she grins, tousling his hair. “How are you feeling?”

He smiles back at her tiredly. “Ask me in a few minutes when I’m awake.”

“Well, I just got back from the bakery,” she tells him, rising to her feet. “And they had plenty of pain au chocolat and baguettes ready to go for us.”

Eliott sits up, his attention grabbed. He swears he can already smell, taste the food waiting for him at the dining table. He gets out of bed, hugging his mother tightly. “Thank you, Maman.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she returns, rubbing his back soothingly. “Ready for breakfast?”

Eliott nods eagerly. “I’m always ready for pain au chocolat.”

He takes her hand and they walk downstairs. The house is quiet, but light streams carefully through the windows, touching the walls, the floor softly; maybe it’s afraid of burning the world it shines upon. The house is warm, thick with the smell of the bread, the pastries. The last few stairs creak beneath their weight, the groan familiar and deep. The house is beginning to feel like it used to feel, before Eliott’s world ended. His heart, his fingers and toes, become warm. They tingle. Is this what happiness feels like? He thinks he remembers it feeling like this. He forces back his tears and squeezes his mother’s hand.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Eliott can just barely see the dining table. His heart leaps even more when it fully comes into his view. There’s a basket full of baguettes, the crust golden and shining. Next to it, there’s a large plate with pain au chocolat stacked on top of each other, the chocolate half-melted and the pastry just as golden as the baguettes. There’s a bowl filled with apples, oranges, bananas. Then, there’s two pots of coffee at the center of the table, ribbons of steam curling gracefully and blending with the sunlight. But Eliott’s brow furrows.

“This is a lot of food just for the two of us, Maman,” he says. “Do you think we can eat all of this?”

His mother smiles slyly, clearly holding back excitement. “It won’t just be the two of us, honey.”

“What?” he asks, but he’s cut off by a chorus of voices.

“Joyeux anniversaire!”

Eliott whirls around, nearly jumping out of his skin. But he melts into giggles and joyful tears when he sees Arthur, Basile, Yann, Daphné, Alexia, Imane, Emma, Manon, and Lu—

His face falls, just for a moment, when he realizes Lucas isn’t there. Of course he isn’t here, he thinks, disappointed. Why would he be?

But he smiles again and runs towards his friends, letting them all envelop him in a big, warm, tight hug. He hears them shower him with more “happy birthday"s, and "we missed you"s and "we love you"s. He thinks Basile is crying. He’s close to crying himself. He’s been so caught up in readjusting to life at home, worrying about his relationship with Lucas, and simply feeling too tired, too despondent to even get out of bed he hasn’t had the time nor the energy to reconnect with all his friends. But he didn’t need to. He’s sure his mother had something to do with this, too, but they reached out to him. They surprised him for his birthday. He’ll eat breakfast with them and they’ll all talk and he’ll know what everyone has done, what they’re planning on doing. He’ll have his friend group back. He’ll have his life back.

They all pull away, everyone wiping away happy tears.

"Thank you so much,” Eliott says, grinning. “This is gonna be a good birthday.”

Everyone grins back at him, and his heart feels full, close to bursting.

“Is everyone ready to eat?” Eliott’s mother asks, tearful herself.

Everyone cheers in response, flocking to the dining table. Eliott makes sure he gets in his usual seat. His stomach turns just a little when he sees Basile sit in his father’s seat, but he pushes it aside. Basile doesn’t know that that’s Papa’s chair. But he notices his mother looks uneasy about it, too.

“Are you okay, Eliott?” Basile asks suddenly. He must’ve noticed Eliott’s unease.

Eliott blinks, smiles. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” Basile replies, relieved. “We’ve really missed you, you know. When Lucas told us you were home, we—”

“Wait, Lucas told you?” Eliott asks, his heart, his chest tightening.

“Yeah,” Basile nods, as if it were obvious. “He said you’d just come by your house and you two talked for a bit. He’s really sorry he couldn’t come, by the way. He wanted us to tell you. He said he had something to do with Chloé today. Did he tell you they’re engaged?”

Eliott sighs, but nods. “Yeah, he did. I sort of remember her from school. I’m happy for them.”

“They’re a good match,” Basile agrees. “He was devastated after you had to leave. Then he started dating Chloé and he was smiling again. You can tell he really loves her.”

His every word was a lash, a strike for Eliott. He tries to keep himself together, tries to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m glad. He’s been through so much.”

“We need to find you a nice girl, Eliott,” Basile says, punching him playfully on the shoulder. “Get a smile back on your face.”

Eliott forces a chuckle. “I’ve been smiling all morning, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but your maman told us that you’ve been really sad lately,” Basile replies. “She told us this would make you really happy. And it worked! You just need a nice, pretty girl who can keep that smile on your face.”

Eliott smiles, but he feels his lips wobble.

Basile smiles, too, his eyes shining like they always do, and Eliott feels a deep twinge in his chest. He smiles back, making it wider, trying to make it more genuine.

“Okay,” Eliott’s mother announces. “The last piece of our breakfast is ready.”

She pulls something out of the oven, a tarte aux fruits that draws an awed gasp from their guests. She somehow finds room for it on the table, grinning proudly. “Shall we sing?”

They all shout their agreements, beginning to clap and sing.

Joyeux anniversaire, joyeux anniversaire!

Joyeux anniversaire, Eliott!

Joyeux anniversaire!

Eliott thanks them all, trying to hide all the hurt sitting in his chest. He starts taking a little bit of food, the others filling up their plates once he’s done. He tries to eat as much as he can, tries to listen to everyone that’s talking to him and tries to respond to them. He tries to smile and laugh. He tries. He really, really does. And as he watches his friends smile and laugh and carry on as if everything was normal, he realizes that the trying, the acting, is working.

He wishes Lucas was here. Even if he hates him. Even if he’ll never love him again. He thinks he can look into Lucas’s eyes only once, only for a moment, and things wouldn’t hurt as badly as they do.

When the food is almost gone, Yann stands up and taps his glass dramatically. He clears his throat, then speaks. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for attending the celebration of the 19th birthday of Eliott Demaury.”

Everyone joins in the act, clapping respectfully with silly, somber expressions.

“Eliott, you’re home now,” Yann continues, suddenly a bit more serious. “You’ve been dearly missed and you are dearly loved by everyone in this room. As always, but especially this year, we wish you health and happiness. We’re here to help in any way that we can, okay?”

Eliott doesn’t fight back his tears this time, but they don’t fall quite yet. He nods. “I know.”

“Good,” Yann replies, genuine and warm. “We also promise to get you a better gift next year, since this year it was a pretty short notice. Nevertheless… My fine sir, this year, we have a birthday card for you.”

Yann takes an envelope from Imane, then hands it to Eliott. He opens it at the chanting urging of his friends. It’s a basic card with a blue background and a cute, simple drawing of a birthday cake on the front. The inside is full of handwritten messages.

Happy birthday, Eliott! Here’s to so many more, mon cherie! -Arthur

Happy birthday!! We love you so so much!!!! -Alexia

Eliott! Happy birthday! I love you, mec. -Basile

The messages go on, then he sees familiar, jagged cursive at the bottom of the card.

Happy birthday, Eliott! I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, but we’ll celebrate some other time. I promise. -Lucas

“Lucas signed it?” Eliott asks, his voice frail.

“He really felt bad about not being able to come,” Imane says. “So, we let him sign the card. He is your best friend, Eliott. We wanted at least a piece of him here.”

Eliott manages a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Eliott,” Manon cuts in, reaching across the table to take his hand. “We know how much you’ve been through.”

Not everything, his heart says, his tongue wants to say. But he just nods, forces the words back down his throat.

“To Eliott!” Yann announces.

A repeated chorus ripples around the table, and the dread sitting in Eliott’s stomach opens its mouth, threatening to swallow him whole.

june 25th, 1968

15:14

caen, france

~

No one left until well after lunchtime. They all hugged him, too, as they left, wishing him happy birthday once again. As much as he hates to admit, he felt a little weight roll off his shoulders each time he watched someone walk out the front door. The tightness in his chest eased a bit, he could breathe a little easier. His mind began to clear; clear of worry, of thoughts of Lucas, his father, his life before his hospitalization, his diagnosis. He could feel himself drawing closer to blessed solitude, to a quiet house with his mother. But he kept wondering again and again if he was being selfish, if he was pushing his friends away for his own gain, his own pleasure and sanity. How did everything turn so sour so quickly? Was it Lucas, and his mere absence, his mere distance? Was it Eliott’s own head, and the demon that seems to live within it?

“Are you okay, honey?” his mother asks after the last guest—Basile, of course—walked out the front door. “Did you not like the party?”

Eliott has the smallest smile on his face as he shakes his head. “I did. It’s just that everything went downhill when I realized Lucas wouldn’t be here. And things went even more downhill when I read his note on my birthday card.”

“What did he say?” she responds kindly, hanging onto his every word.

“Lies,” Eliott chokes out, defeated. “He’s a liar, like I am.”

“You’re not a liar, Ellie,” she cuts in, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

He remembers every time false words slipped from his tongue. False, yet sweet words. He told Lucas that he was okay. He told Lucas that he was coping. He told Lucas that he was getting better. He told Lucas that they were getting better.

“I lied to him so many times, Maman,” Eliott shakes his head. “It’s only fair that he gets to lie to me now.”

Her hand drifts down to cradle his face, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t say that. Please, darling.”

Eliott tears his eyes away. He can’t watch his mother cry again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Do…” she starts, her tears stopping her voice. “Do we need to go see someone at that new office?”

Eliott feels his whole body tense, feels echoes of the shocks whipping and slashing through his synapses. He hears his own voice, somewhere in the distance, in the past, begging them not to do it, to let him go. He hears his own screams, muffled by the bit in his mouth. He feels ghosts of tears on his face, the aches in his muscles as he fought against the restraints. Not again, not again, not again.

“It’s not an institution, is it?” he asks, his voice stumbling over itself. “Please tell me it’s not, Maman.”

“It’s not,” she replies immediately, turning his head to look at him. “It’s not, darling. They have doctors there that can help you, and you can leave after an hour or so. You don’t have to stay there.”

Eliott watches a tear roll down his mother’s cheek, then he feels a tear, not a ghost, on his own. He holds back a sob, taking as deep of a breath as he could. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, Maman? Please?”

She pulls him close, kissing his forehead. She lingers for a moment, her body trembling with her sobs. “Of course, my boy,” she finally says.

Tears roll down Eliott’s cheeks, but he doesn’t tremble. He manages a smile. “Thank you.”

june 26th, 1968

02:27

caen, france

~

Eliott can’t sleep.

He has his father’s coat on, but its weight is suffocating, smothering. He tries to count his breaths, but each one only reminds him of how empty his body feels, as if everything inside him is just a black hole.

He can’t sleep.

He gets out of bed, carefully tiptoeing out of his room and down the stairs. It’s eerily quiet, eerily soft. The blue, knit socks his mother gave him last year don’t breathe against the floor, the wood. His clothes float just above his skin; whispers, ghosts. The slow, small breaths snaking from his mouth are silent as currents as they mingle with the air around him. If he was younger, if he wasn’t sick, this would be sacred, cherished. The lull in the waves, the smallest stillness between heartbeats, the single moment when you blink and your eyes are peacefully, briefly shut. But Eliott has learned the danger of open spaces, of possibility, of hope. It will always be interrupted, it will always be overtaken by people, by darkness, by storms and tempests and changing tides. Nothing lasts forever, because everything sets fire to love and silence and every contented sigh.

The stair could creak, Eliott thinks. Maman could hear me and come out of her room and ask me if I’m okay again. The water outside could rush closer to the house, calling my name like it’s done for years. Lucas could wake from a bad dream and think of Chloé instead of me, another thought chipping me away from his mind. The stars could try to move, groan against the fabric of the universe but we don’t notice, we don’t hear it. Papa died while I was sleeping, flirting with darkness, the edge of consciousness, while in the room next to me, he sank into it, drowned in it. I almost died while Lucas was sleeping, but he woke up in time to save me, to call my name and pull me back into the light. Lucas almost died when the water, still and whispering, suddenly roared and swallowed him whole. The smallest moments can be so wide.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs, the silence still looming, and he exhales.

He wanders warily into the kitchen, deciding absentmindedly to make a cup of tea. He can boil a small pot of water for it instead of using the kettle, so he doesn’t wake his mother with its shrill shriek.

He watches the water slowly come to a boil. He watches the bubbles tremble at the bottom, drift erratically to the top before they let go, gliding across the surface before slamming into the sides of the pot, sliding back to the bottom, bleeding, exploding. He watches this cycle roll and froth, steam and mumble. He turns the burner off when the bubbles are moving too quickly for him to keep track of. He pours the water slowly into his cup, the color and flavor leaching into it. He watches the teabag relax, float to the top. He drags it by the string across the surface of the water, twirls it around until it leaves a small cyclone behind it. He pulls it out, dangles it over the water, watches moisture drip from its curled edges. And once he thinks it’s steeped to his liking, he throws the teabag away. Somehow, he feels more and more valuable with every breath, with every small movement. He takes his first sip, and the once comforting warmth just feels like heat, a mass burning in his belly. He exhales.

He looks out the window, and he sees the silver, sparkling sand and the rippling, sighing waves. Perhaps they’ll sing, tonight. Perhaps the moon will join them again.

Eliott carefully opens the back door, sitting on the grass, his hands wrapped round his cup of tea, his nerves frayed, his mind on edge. He takes another sip, but the burning in his stomach only worsens.

He sets his tea down, off to the side, listening and watching for a moment. He hears the sand whisper out its love when the water touched it, hears it sigh and bid the water farewell as it recedes. He hears the wind with its same, old secrets, and it doesn’t send a chill down his spine anymore. He looks up at the sky, at the moon, listening carefully for her song. He thinks he can hear her humming, her voice quiet and weak. She hums the melody of an old song his mother sang all the time when he was younger, a melody familiar and simple and sweeping and aching. The words come to his mind, but the moon doesn’t sing them. She continues with the melody, the music stretching softly over the darkness, over the people sleeping below her. Eliott exhales.

He studies the stars around the moon, and he can’t help but remember Lucas’s words.

Who knew billions of burning, little flames could all love something so much they would all surrender to it, mold and stretch at the flick of its hand? I’m not sure if you know that, my love. You must be made of stars.

He must’ve memorized every word of that letter, every curve and every line of every letter. He was in love. Hopelessly, recklessly, joyously.

How do I forget about him? he asks the moon, the stars, the wind, the waves, the shore. How do I forget about his voice, his eyes, his lips? How do I forget my entire life? How do I stop loving him?

When they don’t answer, Eliott closes his eyes, focuses even more on his hearing.

How do I stop loving him? he asks again, sending out every bit of his soul upward, onward.

There’s still no answer.

He opens his eyes, blinks away a film of tears. He sees a star shoot across the sky, its trailing ashes stark white against the black sky. Like any dying thing, it’s brighter than it was before, stronger. It soars above Lucas’s house, shooting farther and farther off into the horizon and sizzling out.

The light in Lucas’s room is on. Eliott can see him sitting on his windowsill, gazing out on the water, just like he is.

A part of Eliott, almost all of him, wants to walk over and knock on Lucas’s window, just like they promised they could all those years ago. They could talk. They could argue. They could make up. They could be best friends again. They could go back to normal, or as normal as their current circumstances could allow them. They could be Lucas and Eliott again. Couldn’t they?

Maybe tonight, Lucas will let Eliott explain everything that happened that fateful, devastating night. And maybe he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll remember the life that they’ve spent together, and maybe he’ll decide he’s not ready to give that up yet. If he hasn’t decided already.

He turns his face back to the sky, closing his eyes again. He asks, do I have to stop loving him?

There’s no answer.

“I don’t want to stop loving him,” he says aloud, but so quietly he could barely hear himself.

He looks back over at Lucas’s house, and his heart sinks as he watches the light turn off.