#she TRIED TO CONVINCE ME THAT CATHARTIC RELEASE IS BAD

[feralthembo]

i think waking up in a cold sweat thinking in circles about how terrified i am to go to therapy is a bad thing maybe

[blakescoven]

11 with Xavier 🥺 plz!

11. Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile 

A/N: cant believe I actually wrote something after MONTHS. This is trash I’m sorry :( and things got out of hand because it’s about 2k words oops, but thank you for the ask darling, I had fun🖤 (Despite my proofreading there might be grammar mistakes because of my italian illiterate ass, so please be nice)

Warnings: they’re ghosts here, but honestly just dumb jokes, fluff and a heated moment but if you blink you’ll miss it haha

It’s one of those mornings. One of those mornings when the sunlight peaks through the window waking you up. But why even bother sleeping when you’re dead? Well, call it a habit, call it boredom, call it not wanting to let go that crumb of routine which, as much as possible, allows you to keep holding on to whatever is the shred of humanity left within you; like a fading flame that, for some reason, is still burning. Or at least this is the only way to not dissociate from reality and preserve your sanity.

Based on the amount of light, it must be almost 9 am.

Before even opening your eyes, you already know that he isn’t there. It’s when you turn to the other side of the bed that you get the confirmation; he’s not beside you, just crumpled sheets cold to the touch.

It's one of those mornings you perfectly know where he went. As much as he may not want to admit it, Xavier is pretty predictable.

Halloween has just slipped by, and all of you however-reluctant-residents of Camp Redwood spent 24 hours of complete freedom from that hellmouth, that place which does nothing but constantly remind you of that life that none of the souls stuck there had the chance to live. 24 hours to do ‘whatever the hell you want’. On this occasion, you guys are used to split up and part from each other; it has become a sort of established practice not talking about what you did on those hours, a somewhat “private full-day experience” that you all have this silent agreement to not share.

But then there was Montana being Montana, who enthusiastically bragged about how many frat guys and girls she hooked up with and then mercilessly killed at those wild college gatherings, despite your well-known disappointment on killing innocent people in cold blood. But actually, you’re almost a hundred percent certain that she and Trevor annually spent that day together, doing crazy things and partying all night long. For the first few years, after becoming aware that all the trapped souls are somehow unbound from the invisible restraints and free to step outside the borders of the ‘slaughter camp’, acclimatizing to the evolution and changing of times has been particularly challenging.

You were the one of the gang that for years had used those 24 hours to find a way to set you spirits free from redwood, once and for all. You talked to mediums and psychics, charlatans, coming close to obsession; it has been Xavier who persuaded you to let go, begging to just give up.

“Xav, there must be a way out of this, a loophole…something that could release our souls and let us move on, I-”

“Babe stop, we tried hard enough, but that's just the way it is…and then at least there’s a bright side,” he claimed with a faint smile, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“And what on earth can that be?” you sighed.

“We've got all eternity to be together.”

He’s always been your rock. A hotshot and a dork too, but still. You wouldn’t want anybody else by your side for the rest of your non-life. 

So, from that moment, once a year, you and Xavier chose to make the most of your ‘day off’ going on dates, like normal couples do. For over three decades.

Then, as they say, the sun comes up and reality sets in.

And every time, without skipping a year, having to go back to the camp and dealing with that dreadful reality killed Xavier’s mood drastically. His aching heart led him to want to pass the day after in complete isolation, lost in his thoughts, grieving about what he has lost.

“I need to be alone for a while, Y/N” he used to mumble with a shrug, his usual confidence gone all at once, “This ‘let’s play humans’ thing was a mistake.” 

And every single year you let him walk away, respecting what has now become a sort of ritual, of cathartic moment. Year after year seeing all those people living their lives, achieving their dreams, having a purpose, or just solely breathing was too much for Xavier. Realizing that he won’t ever have anything of this. For this reason, you always gave him space. But not today. You’ve always felt powerless; all you want is finding a way to let your boyfriend know that, as he had said decades ago, ‘it’s time to move on and accept your new reality’. No more sorrow. If there’s something you know is how to cheer up your favorite aerobics instructor. 

On this November 1st of what should be 2020, Xavier is, as well as the last twenty years, sitting on the dock by the lake and staring off into space, surrounded by a disturbing silence.

“Boo” you seductively whispered in the shell of his ear, appearing out of nowhere kneeled behind him.

“Nice try,” he replies sarcastically, albeit his tone was rather emotionless, plain. “…but I can tell when you’re around.” He doesn’t even turn, totally unimpressed by your weak attempt of scaring him.

“Lame” you smirk, suddenly getting up, “Thought you could use some company, tough boy.”

You can’t see his face but you’re sure he is rolling his eyes now. He just sighs. Oh, and do you love his drama queen manners.

Without a real invitation to join him, you sit down again, this time right next to him, swinging your legs off the dock. You stare at the same direction he’s looking at, nervously tapping your fingers on the hard-wooden planks to the beat of an 80’s song.

“So,” you casually begin, though he seems pretty lost in his own thoughts, “Why don’t we skinny dip? I bet that could wash away that sad face.” you grin, biting your lip. 

You’ve never been this cheeky before, but what’s wrong in testing the waters?! Honestly, you’re not even sure he is actually paying attention to what you’re saying; you feel almost lucky he acknowledged your presence. You sure as hell won’t budge or back off this time, you won’t indulge his annual pity party. This time you are more than determined to make your boyfriend feel better, even unleashing your secret anti-sadness weapon.

Evidently caught off guard from this unusual boldness, Xavier lifts his head and turns to you with a surprised look on his face, but frowning at the same time.

Damn it, how can he be so attractive even when he furrows his brows like that?

Right now, the glare of sunlight on the water is perfectly reflecting off his sharp features, and, in this one moment, it’s like everything else falls away, and it’s just the two of you. Nothing else matters but him. Just a few seconds and you’re positive you’re going to forget the reason why you are there in the first place.

It’s the soft sound of his voice that brings you back to reality.

“I’m not sad.”

You shoot him a spare-me-that-bullshit-glance, that doesn’t go unnoticed, since he immediately emphasizes what he said in an attempt to make it sound more convincing, a few octaves higher.

“I’m not sad, Y/N!”

Very well Xav, time to bring out the big guns then.

With what you think is the most serious and straight expression your face can make in that moment, you tenderly place a hand on this cheek, which results in his brows furrowing even more, as if he’s silently questioning your sudden change of demeanor. He’s already preparing to get your lecture when instead you come up with:

“Do you know why ghosts are terrible liars?”

With a combo of a dramatic pause and a poker face, you bite the inside of your cheek noting his confused and puzzled look, “You can see right through them.”

Xavier’s blue eyes suddenly widen, shocked by your brainless joke that you’re certain he wasn’t expecting. You remain silent and he looks at you with his mouth slightly open, completely speechless.

“No way, no no no,” his eyebrows raised even further, “You didn’t say what you’ve just said.” and despite his apparent grimace, he lets out a loud laugh he really can’t hold back.

“Any chance to unhear this cringe-worthy joke?”

“Oh stop, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Are you kidding me?” he dramatically snorts. Theatrical might be the right word to describe the way your boyfriend always reacts when he’s at a loss of words.

“If you were searching for a non-physical way to kill me, you just found it.” he puts a hand on his forehead.

“Then why are you laughing, blondie?” you tease him.

“Because you’re the worst comedian ever, baby.”

Yeah? A bulb glows on your head.

“I disagree. Now tell me, what do you call a ghost-comedian?”

“Don’t you dare.” he warns

“DEAD-FUNNY” you scream back, then bursting into laughter.

It starts as a chuckle, but soon Xavier can’t help but mirror your reaction, cracking up himself.

It’s a laughter that fills his lungs, so hard that it takes his breath away, loud yet so warm and pleasant. The lack of oxygen doesn’t matter. All the distress of the past few days melts; as long as you two stay together, the tension is relieved.

“Jeez, you’re lucky you’re the love of my life,” he lightly shakes his head, “...otherwise I would run away from you as fast as I can.” he lies, lightly bumping your shoulder.

Fixing quite unconsciously his signature bleached hair, always perfectly styled, has been his tic for ages. The first time you noticed it was when he nervously tried to divert attention from his blushing, finally bent on making a move on you. You two were friends, but head over the heels for each other.

He smiles at himself; even the thought alone of spending the eternity in that purgatory without you is inconceivable.

“Why don’t you write a book with all these bad jokes?!” he mocks you.

“Only with you as a ghostwriter!” and proud of your quick-but-cheap pun, you put on a massive shit-eating grin on your face.

“Are you fucking with me, Y/N?” Xavier smiles at you lovingly, pinching your side that he knows is a ticklish-weak-spot. 

Your body twitches to escape his hold and push his hands away, but when you grab his wrists something shifts inside you. Are your eyes clouded with…is it lust? You’re not sure what it is, but you give him a little smirk, and, much to Xavier’s surprise, you straddle him placing your hands on his toned chest.

“Not yet, babe…unless it is what you want.”

“God Y/N, you suck at flirting” he claims but the groan that slips out means he can’t hide his arousal as much as he would.

“Teach me, then. Still got the moves?” you slightly shift, making sure to adjust your position with a slow grind against his half-boner. He hisses and lets out a little moan in response.

“Very well, but I think we should work on your flexibility first.”

What follows is a series of slow open-mouthed kisses on your jaw and love bites on his neck. You will never get tired of this, not even in a million years.

“Hey, Romeo and Ghouliet! Stop fucking your brains out and get over here…we have a sort of guest.” Chet screams from the lakeshore.

“We are not!” You both manage to say, reluctantly interrupting your heated kiss.

“I’m dead dears, not stupid.” the brunette winks.

Damn cockblocker.

“A guest?” Xavier questions, tilting his head and looking at you as if you know what Chet is talking about. You shrug and ask the athlete who this person is and what exactly they want.

“I think it’s about our…condition. Clairvoyance shit, I don’t know. Her name is Billie Dean Howard or something.” Chet explains, not sure either what all this is about.

Xavier is the first to get up, helping you do the same.

“Maybe she’s just a ghost-obsessed freak who wants to reopen the camp?!” you wonder out loud and tenderly link your hand with your boyfriend’s, ready to go.

“Yeah, maybe. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea, though.”

[crying-over-gay-dramas]

Okay here is my official rant post about My Engineer, specifically the finale. Spoiler: I literally have zero criticism for it so it’s just gonna be me gushing about how perfect it was, and analyzing some things. (I save the best analysis, RamKing, for last)

I’ve mentioned this before, but as a whole this series was so good I think for just how well put together it was. All the couples got pretty equal or at least well distributed screen time. And for couples who got less (Like TharaFrong) I assume they’re keeping it open for season two. You couldn't really get bored watching because it always flowed so well into the next scene, and all the couples were really great and special for their own reasons. Plus the character development was great and I know it’s gonna get even better in season two.

Now I want to go in and talk about all the couples:

BohnDuen

Throughout the airing of this series, I saw many people having doubts about BohnDuen. I saw many good points such as how they were reallly bad at communicating, Duen never tried to understand Bohn’s feelings, and Bohn was always too pushy about things. However as the series progressed we could see them slowly evolving and becoming better. Obviously even at the end, they still have problems but they’ve improved so much and I know that in Season two they will continue to progress. For Bohn, he started out super jealous. He was always really pushy towards Duen. Towards the middle he finally started to become better, keeping his jealousy more in check and pulling back a little. For Duen, who kept ignoring Duen’s feelings, he finally started trying to see things from Bohn’s point of view. He opened up a little more and even changed their relationship status on Facebook, something he knew would mean a lot to Bohn. For both of them, recognizing their flaws was hard but they wanted to be better for each other. Also in the finale, we got Duen finally telling Bohn he loves him. That was a really big deal for Duen who honestly is pretty shy. This is his first relationship. He’s not used to someone being jealous over him, someone thinking he’s cute. Physical affection was also something that came hard to Duen, but as seen by the finale (*sobs*) he’s evolving in that regard as well, even initiating a kiss himself. 

I really liked too, how before the second kiss when Duen put up his hand to block him, how Bohn kissed him through his hand (twiceeee). Bohn accepted that maybe Duen wasn’t ready for a second kiss yet, and let Duen make the choice. Even when Duen lowered his hand he let him make the choice, which he did and initiated that second kiss. <3 I think these two putting in so much effort for each other and developing so much as a couple, and as individuals indicates a really great future ahead for them. 

MekBoss

Okay I’ll be real, I may have doubted Boss for just a tiny second. I heard a rumor they were gonna have an unhappy ending so when Fon (Is that her name? I’m too lazy to look it up) showed up I got scared. But omg Bossss!!!! He handled it so well. He was so sweet to Fon, and that hug honestly made me cry a little. I was really happy that he told her she shouldn’t give up becoming an idol too. It wouldn’t have been right for her to have to give up her dream for Boss. (It was really sweet that she was willing though) And then when he went back to Mek and revealed their relationship with that megaphone? A cinematic masterpiece. For Mek, who had spent so long hiding his feelings for Boss, Boss clearly stating that they are together and that he loves him in front of everyone would have been such a cathartic release for Mek. For Boss too, who had also had feelings for him tucked away. 

In that moment Boss was choosing Mek 100% without a doubt. All the time they had spent together, the way Mek always helped and took care of Boss. He was fully realizing that he wanted Mek and only Mek. They spent so long being so close but so far from each other. That moment was a new start for them, a real start.  lmao and Ting’s reaction will never not be the funniest thing ever: “What the hell? Did I join a volunteer camp of a love camp here?!” 

TharaFrong

Agdhh poor Frong lmao. I had a feeling nothing major would happen with them in the finale since they were moving slower than the others. Frong, after getting over his feelings for Duen so quickly falling for someone else, Thara, would be really hard. After experiencing Duen’s rejection (sort of, Duen was so clueless during that smh) putting himself out there again would be really hard. But he started falling for Thara anyways, falling for the way he took care of his patients (specifically Frong’s mom), the kindness he so naturally gives to others (such as searching for Thara’s necklace, and the weirder aspects of his personality (such as a certain adorable lizard he can’t seem to stop talking about). 

I don’t really see Thara’s line as friend/brother zoning him. More as I feel that he hasn’t considered Frong in that way yet (although him taking pictures of him shirtless was a bit suspicious lmao) and I think in season two we’ll see him develop feelings as well. (I’m kinda hoping for them to be a lil angsty ngl)

Okay. Here it is. RAMKING.

They 100% had THE best buildup, and plot. The way they met, the slow transformation into friendship, people around them either shipping them or thinking they were a couple, it was all so !!! It was perfect too, because they had us so convinced that King was gay panicking, and pushing Ram away because he didn’t understand what he was felling BUT NO he knew EXACTLY how he felt, and he’d just been holding himself back this whole time. I can’t get over that. All those flashbacks they showed, King knew exactly what he was feeling and it was overwhelming that he finally couldn’t take it anymore. I think when Ram made him that crown, and their friends commented that they looked cute together, like a couple.. I think that’s when King really started to realize he couldn’t do it any more. While Ram was smiling, King had a different look. 

He seemed to be under the impression Ram didn’t feel the same, or maybe he was hesitating because of all the stress that Ram has been under with his dad. I think it was the former though. His face when Ram put his arm around him in episode 13 was so unsure. I originally took it to mean that he didn’t understand what he was feeling, but now I’m thinking it was because he couldn’t understand why Ram was doing that. It’s like he was torn between his feelings, and his uncertainty of Ram’s feelings. He had no way of knowing for sure if Ram had feelings (although at the point, the way Ram looked at him and took care of him it would have been hard to miss, but when your emotions for someone are so strong it’s hard to see things from a clear perspective. Does it seem like they feel the same because you want to? Or because they really do?) For King, who understands Ram so well, not being able to tell how he was feeling was terrifying, and having to hold himself back was painful (as he said himself *sobs*) As for Ram, I think he also knew full well what his feelings were, and also didn’t know how King felt. He was happy just staying by his side, as a friend taking care of him. King suddenly pulling away was confusing for Ram. It hurt him to be away from him, but he was patient and waited for King to tell him why he was acting the way he was. King had always been so understanding with Ram’s emotions, and Ram wanted to do the same. While they were apart, I noticed how during BohnDuen’s reunion and MekBoss’ confession they focused on King’s reaction. He was happy for his friends, but I saw another emotion in his expression. One that reflected the conflict and pain he was feeling over his emotions for Ram. 

The way he went from smiling, to that face was soo good. That one little moment was a big indicator of what was going on in King’s head and the pain he was currently feeling.

Then, finally (it might have helped that he was a little drunk) King admitted to everything he’d been feeling. That he was pushing him away because he feels good with him, and it was painful to hold back around him all the time. And we all know what happened next (*Sobbing noises*) They finally released all those emotions they’d been holding in, the pull they’d felt for each other since day one, the unexplainably deep understanding they have for each other. It all came together. Okay but that kiss was so !!!! Like the !!! the foreheads!!! The closed eyes!!! It was all passion, emotion it was so aHHH 

Then the way they were lying the next morning (also may or may not be my new computer wallpaper oops) was so !! They’re turned in towards each other, King’s arm lying against Ram’s chest, his head tucker into him. I thought that position did a great job of reflecting them as a couple. The way they kept being drawn to each other. Also, after King woke up and the way he so quickly believed that Ram had forgotten what had happened last night, made me even more certain that King is scared and uncertain of Ram’s feelings. They both obviously have feelings for each other, it’s now just a matter of figuring out how to express them to each other. (Although who knows what complications Season 2 could throw at them)

Okay So I lied, I do have a very small criticism: I didn’t like that Bohn pulled the “I don’t like men, I just like you” line. That always bugs me. In BL there’s always a fine between a series being genuinely good and romantic and a series being focused on mainly fan service. I’ve always seen that line as a sign that a series is gonna be kinda fan service-y. However, My Engineer was not at all like that. It was definitely one of the good ones (one of the best honestly) so in this case that line wasn’t a bad sign. Still, I wish that hadn’t been included. Also, we deserved more Cupcake content and we better get some in season two. I want to see Thara baby his lizard some more god dammnit. 

Also this is random but I really hope they give Ting a man in S2. She deserves it. (Or a girlfriend in which case I volunteer I love her so much)

This was a really massive post and if you read this entire thing I would like to give you a virtual hug. Have a good day!! <3 I’m gonna go back to sobbing and replaying the episode now

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Possess Part 2 Chapter Seven: The King Boo Exorcist

Over the next few days, they settled into a sort of rhythm. The morning and midday hours belonged to Luigi which meant hanging out with Mario and sometimes Peach now that she knew what was up too. The evening and night hours were King Boo’s which meant wondering around town and/or the forest outside of Peach’s castle before spending some time with the castle boos. Or in one instance, King Boo managed to convince Luigi to let him drink the evening and part of the night away; it was hard to resist the urge to dull the mind and forgot everything for a bit.

King Boo’s turn always began as soon as they were on their way to E. Gadd’s lab. Mario always drove them while they napped in the backseat. The frequent trips to the lab allowed them to keep track of the progress E. Gadd made on the KBE. It was far slower than either of them was pleased with, given the stakes, but it was something.

A week into it E. Gadd had a bit of a different report after reading over the results of his scan. “It’s accelerating,” he said, frowning at his laptop.

Everyone in the room froze. It was King Boo who broke the silence. “What do you mean?” He had a good guess but he really wanted it to not be true, to me a misunderstanding instead. Luigi couldn’t agree more, so much so he couldn’t separate his feeling from King Boo’s.

“I mean, your souls are starting to merge faster because the more they merge, the easier it is for them to do so. I’ve suspected it from the very beginning but I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

Luigi gulped, turning his head to look at the KBE again. Neither he nor King Boo knew much about such things but even they could tell it was still a good way from being completed. … Meaning release from each other was still a few days away at least, probably more. … Assuming it happened at all.

King Boo growled. Of all the people for him to end up like this with, why’d it have to be someone so anxious and worried about everything because those feelings got to him too now. He was supposed to just be aware of them but instead they made him all worried and anxious that’d he’d be stuck in this meatsuit for forever.

You think you have it bad, what about me? I’m stuck with an evil asshole who tried to kill me and enjoys making me suffer. That was so much worse and so unfair. Luigi hadn’t asked for any of this. Right from the very start he’d just wanted to live his life and have nothing to do with ghosts of any sort. He wouldn’t ever have had any beef with King Boo in the first place if King Boo had never trapped Mario in a painting that first time. So, King Boo had no right complain when it was entirely his fault in every possible way.

‘If you’d just let me turn you into a painting at any of the times you were supposed to none of this would be happening either.’ Or Luigi could’ve just stayed the fuck out of it to begin with and let King Boo have Mario then…

No, I’d never let you take my bro. Fuck you for trying! Luigi wasn’t a hateful person, he’d never hated anyone before, but he was far beyond his limit as this point. If he could, he’d kill King Boo on the spot with no regrets, heck it’d probably feel really good.

King Boo scoffed. ‘Even if it was possible, you wouldn’t be able to do it. You’re too weak and pathetic.’

I beat you three times! I could do it. And oh how he wanted to, the only thing stopping him was the fact that it was impossible. I could mop the floor with…

“Luigi!” Mario stood in front of him, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with a concerned expression. “You okay?”

Feeding off each other’s rage in a loop, Luigi’s body was shaking with it, his hands balled up tight enough to hurt a little, his jaw clenched. Having realized this, he was filled with the urge to hit or smash something. How much of that urge was his, if any, and how much was King Boo’s he actually couldn’t tell. King Boo didn’t care, he wanted to punch Mario. He would’ve too if Luigi hadn’t stopped him.

“No, I’m not okay,” Luigi forced out. “I hate this.” The anger and the urge to damage or kill something with it was scary. He wanted it to stop and he wanted to go home.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Mario put on an encouraging smile. He was really good at those but it still didn’t help much. “E. Gadd’s doing his best to fix it though so it’ll be okay. I know it’s hard but just hang on a bit longer, you’ll make it through this, I promise.”

“What if he can’t fix it though? What happens then? What and… and who would we even be at that point?”

The question, not spoken aloud until now, brought silence from everyone, even King Boo. No one knew for sure what exactly would happen once their souls were fully merged, only that that there would be no going back from it.

“Don’t worry about it,” E. Gadd finally broke the silence. “I’m an expert in this stuff, I’m confident the KBE will work.”

He sounded so sincere and for him, caring. Luigi desperately wanted to believe him and would’ve without a doubt even just a few weeks ago. But after all King Boo had put him through on top of this soul merging thing, he couldn’t quite fully believe that things could take a turn for the better at this point. It was like the universe or god – if such a being existed – got some kind of cathartic enjoyment out of watching him suffer.

But he nodded anyway, forcing out a “Thanks,” to cover up the fact that he was still scared and angry that he was scared.

 -

After that, E. Gadd did need one more part for the KBE. They tagged along with Mario to pick it up from the fellow he’d ordered it from which resulted in a long car ride and not much more. King Boo had been hoping for an adventure in part for a little bit of excitement and change of pace but also because he’d heard of the other adventure Mario and Luigi had gone, they sounded like they could be fun.

You wouldn’t like them; they involve being a good guy and saving people. Luigi told him as they lay in the backseat of Mario’s car during the drive back.

‘We’d have joined the bad guys of course and helped them win and then we’d double cross them and turn them into a painting.’ That way the only people winning would be the two of them. Chaos for the sake of it was fun and King Boo was bored of playing nice with people he didn’t like.

Luigi could only sigh at that. An adventure might’ve been fun though, but with King Boo along for the ride it was best they didn’t have one.

 -

Soon, even without E. Gadd’s declaration about their souls starting to merge faster, they would’ve been able to guess it for themselves. Thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time, once a rare occurrence, began happening more often. Their emotions affected each other more and more, often bleeding together entirely until neither of them knew where theirs ended and the other’s began. And sometimes, very occasionally but it happening at all was worrying enough, neither of them were at all sure who a thought or emotion had even originated from.

“I’m scared,” Luigi admitted to Mario one morning after breakfast. He was extra miserable because he was still a little hungover; more and more did he give into his own desire to forget backed by King Boo’s. He held the line steady at nothing beyond alcohol though and in making sure Mario never found out.

King Boo scoffed at his admission but didn’t care enough to interject. … You’re scared too, you just don’t want to admit it. … King Boo could only growl in response because it was true. ‘It comes from you though.’ All of it for sure… maybe, King Boo wasn’t entirely sure anymore and he hated that that was the case.

Mario had of course replied with an encouraging smile like always. Luigi felt bad for not paying attention but it was hard to do when his mind was so busy with two people’s thoughts.

“You need anything?” Mario asked. If he knew Luigi hadn’t heard him, he showed no sign of it.

“I just want this to be over with.” More than anything, they both did.

“It will be soon.” It indeed should be because the KBE was almost done as they’d seen yesterday. If it didn’t work though, would E. Gadd have time to rework it to make it work? … Hopefully they wouldn’t have to worry about that.

 -

Two days later E. Gadd himself greeted them at the door instead of Gooigi and Polterpup. “It’s done,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement.

They’d of course expected this soon but it was still great news. “Finally,” King Boo said as they stepped inside. He fast-walked to enter the lab proper where Gooigi and Polterpup were. He ignored them and went straight to the KBE.

Painted red and taller than Luigi by several inches, it had as cylindrical shape. There were buttons, a keypad, and a screen on the side facing the rest of the lab. What seemed to be its front had a mechanical opening, currently closed, and a large red button next to it. Not knowing how it worked, neither of them dared to touch it yet.

Mario and E. Gadd took a bit longer to follow, only a few seconds but enough to make King Boo almost hiss with impatience. He wanted out of this body now. And Luigi wanted him out now.

“How do we begin?” they said together, looking at E. Gadd.

“Before we start,” he said, his voice much more somber now as he strode over to stand before them, “I must warn you that this might not work.”

“We already know that.” King Boo hissed, not liking the reminder. There was no way to know it would work until they tried it.

“Yes, I know but what you don’t know is that if it fails it’ll make it worse. Instead of pulling out King Boo and breaking the link between your souls, it could pull them closer together instead. I’m not sure what the chances of that are, I don’t know enough about this process to say, but I don’t think they’re too high. I do feel the need to warn you of the possibility though.”

Any chance at all wasn’t good given the consequence and honestly both of them would’ve preferred it if E. Gadd hadn’t told them about it at all. But they didn’t really have a choice; this was their only option and only hope to be free of each other so… “All right, how do we begin?” they said together again because they were perfectly united on this front even if it was now a little scarier.

“Wait!” Mario cut in before E. Gadd could answer. “Before you do…” He ran over and… hugged Luigi.

They were both taken aback by it but Luigi recovered first, returning the embrace before King Boo could try to escape it. … He hissed in disgust back thankfully it was over soon.

“You’re almost free,” Mario said. “Everything’s going to be all right again soon. So, don’t worry about that, okay? I know this’ll work.” He was saying it to be comforting but still seemed to truly believe it. And well… how often was he wrong about these things? A few times sure but not often so if he believed it would work then Luigi did too. Everything would finally go back to normal after this, he’d be free. … King Boo would be to and he was so looking forward to it.

‘I can’t believe I just let Mario of all people encourage me.’ It was gross but whatever, it wouldn’t matter soon anyway.

“Thanks,” Luigi said, giving Mario a smile. “You’re the best.”

“All right, now that that’s done,” E. Gadd said as Mario stepped back to stand by Gooigi again. “Let’s not waste any more time and get this show on the road.” He was back to being excited as he always was whenever he finished an invention.

Turning back to the KBE, he pressed the big red button by the closed opening, making it open with a slick mechanical noise that could’ve come right out of a science fiction movie. Inside was a plain white hollow space and a padded chair bolted to the floor. Attached to the chair were straps, quite a few: on the back, armrests and even legs. It looked like something one would see in a torturer’s chamber.

Despite that, E. Gadd gestured for them to enter. “Hop on in and sit down, I’ll strap you in.”

They didn’t like it but they’d do anything to be free of each other at this point. So, with little hesitation, King Boo sat down.

“This is going to be unpleasant by the way,” E. Gadd said as he began strapping them in, starting with the forehead strap that held their head to the back of the chair. “There’s really no way around it though and I’m sure both of you are you willing to put up with it at this point. But still, I’m sorry I have to put you through this Luigi. Not you though King Boo, you deserve it. Now,” he clapped as he stepped back, “test your bonds for me please. Are they too tight? Too loose?”

Luigi tested them and found that he could not move much at all anymore, really only his fingers and toes. It was disconcerting and already growing uncomfortable but it was without a doubt worth it. “They’re good,” King Boo said, eager to have this done.

“All right sonny,” E. Gadd said as he stepped back further, exiting the machine entirely. “See you on the other side then, hopefully sans King Boo.” He pressed the button again and the opening closed, cutting off Luigi’s view of the lab and its occupants nervously watching.

He took a deep breath as the KBE hummed to life around him a few seconds later. Just a little more awfulness and he’d be free at last, he could handle that.

[protectwoc]

The Problem with Mal (part 1/3)

Or, Framing and Why It’s Important

Let me get this out of the way right away: I love Descendants. I love DCOMs, I always have, and I love musical DCOMs even more. High School Musical and its sequels were my whole life growing up, and I can sing every word of every Camp Rock 2 song right now from memory (even though I didn’t like Camp Rock 1; don’t hate me.) But what I love even more than musical DCOMs is Disney Movies. Aladdin, Mulan, Hercules, these are some of my favorite movies from growing up, so combining Disney Movies with Disney Channel Original Movie/Musical? The most galaxy-brained idea imaginable from my point of view.

BUT.

I have a problem with the writing in Descendants. More specifically, I have a problem with Mal.

Quite frankly, I just don’t like Mal. I think she’s mean, and I think the movies would be better off if she wasn’t in them. If I completely turn my brain off and absorb the story the way I’m sure the writers want me to I could be fine with her, but the second I begin to think about any of her actions beyond the surface or the implications of those actions I remember why I don’t like her. I didn’t like her in the first movie, and that feeling has only grown exponentially with the release of every moment. All of that culminated in D3, where my Mal-hate has reached its peak. It has bubbled over, and I must release it somehow.

So what am I going to do with that? I’m going to write about it. Why? Mostly because my brother wouldn’t listen to me complain/rant about it and I had to put these emotions somewhere. Let’s do this.

DISCLAIMER(S)

1. This is literally a giant anti-Mal hate post. I’m going to try to keep this as even and fair as I can, but I’m not going to pretend like this is an unbiased assessment. If you are a Mal stan, this is the part when you click away.

2. I am by no means a literary or film analyst. I am technically a “writer”, but that’s about all the credentials I can provide. If you’re looking for actual academic discussion, you are going to be sorely disappointed.

3. This has nothing to do with Dove Cameron. I actually like Dove, I think she’s a talented actress and singer (rapping and dancing notwithstanding). I mean, I watched every single episode of Liv and Maddie when I was way past too old for that to be acceptable. Dove Cameron is probably a fine human being, I really appreciated what she said about the addition of politics into the Descendants universe, and I actually like her in the role, I just wish I liked the role itself. But I don’t want anyone to take this as an attack on her as a person or anything.

4. I read the Isle of the Lost when it first came out like a thousand years ago, and the Wikipedia synopsis for Rise of the Isle of the Lost. I also watched the first three or four episodes of Wicked World and I can’t remember a single thing that happened in them. With that said, this essay is ONLY about the movies. The movies should be (and are, I believe) able to stand on their own, and at this point, I’m not even sure if the tie-ins are considered canon anymore. With that said, there are some things from the tie-ins that are pretty much common knowledge among fandoms (Uma and Mal didn’t get along on the Isle because Mal was kind of a bully, the VKs’ parents were abusive, etc) that probably bled into this essay. If there’s something I wrote about that has been rendered noncanon by the movies please let me know. On the same track, please don’t comment saying that something from Wicked World explained/justified/whatever else a point that I make, because it’s not going to change my argument.

5. This is not, like, me passing judgment on Mal stans. I’m not saying that Mal stans are bad or dumb or whatever for liking her character. I don’t really expect this to change anyone’s mind about stanning Mal either. This is purely a cathartic exercise for myself that I decided to inflict on the world for some reason.

Okay, I think that’s about it. If you have any thoughts at all on this, please come talk to me about it! Agree, disagree, love it, hate it, I literally just want to talk to other descendants fans. Y’all ready to do this? I give you…

Part 1: Mal Alone

Let’s look at the series of actions and the motivations behind them for Mal’s character.

Descendants 1

Mal is chosen to go to Auradon; she is very reluctant.

Her mother demands that she steal the fairy godmother’s wand, Mal agrees.

Mal convinces the others to help her steal the wand; they break into the museum but fail to retrieve it.

Mal learns that positioning herself as Ben’s girlfriend will give her the best shot at retrieving the wand, she spells Ben into falling in love with her.

As all this is happening, Mal is gaining popularity at school for her ability to provide magically beautiful hairstyles.

On their first date, Mal begins to have actual feelings for Ben, she considers releasing him from the spell.

Audrey, her grandmother, and the other AKs bully Mal and the rest of the VKs, and Mal regains her faith in the plan. She also takes away Jane’s magical hair.

Mal concedes from the plan enough to decide to release Ben from the spell, but only after the coronation.

Mal considers stealing the wand; before she gets the chance, Jane does so and accidentally opens the barrier.

Mal takes the wand back from Jane to give to her mother, Ben convinces her not to.

Mal defeats her mother and remains by Ben’s side in Auradon.

Notice a theme here? Mal is characterized by two things, and essentially two things only: her ambition and her survivalist spirit. I should clarify that when I say ambition, I don’t necessarily mean in the traditional, politically power-hungry sense. Mal is an opportunist. Every decision she makes is done with the intention of securing a position for herself, and usually a high-ranking position.

She rules the island before coming to Auradon and is reluctant to leave that position of power when given the opportunity. When she arrives at Auradon, she becomes the school’s magically appointed hairstylist, first to seduce information out of Jane, and then because it gains her popularity within the school. Notice how as soon as this popularity is taken out of the equation, Mal disappears all of the beautiful hairstyles? Mal wasn’t sharing her magic for any kind, selfless reason, but because it could get her something, and as soon as she stopped being able to get something, she took them away.

Mal also finesses her way into the already-occupied spot of the second most powerful person in the kingdom. From there every decision she makes is an attempt to keep that spot. It could be argued that Mal displayed some selfless impulse when she decided to free Ben from her love spell, but even this comes second to herself. She tells him explicitly that the cupcake is for “later”, as in, after the coronation and after she and her mother have already taken over, and when he eats a bit anyway, she yells “No!” at him. Maybe she does feel something for Ben, but he still clearly comes second to herself.

Then in the finale, she chooses good, not because it’s the right thing to do, but because it “makes her happy”. Although this movie was marketed as “villain kids learning to be good,” among other things, Mal never actually learned this lesson. She is okay playing second fiddle to her mother for a little bit, but her pivotal moment of growth is ultimately her deciding that she’d rather be Ben’s number two, and there she remains.

Don’t believe me? Let’s look at the second movie.

Mal opens the movie trying to fit herself into the perfect princess/girlfriend role, which makes her unhappy.

On a date with Ben, she gets caught using magic and attempts to spell him into forgetting their argument.

Mal runs off from her date and away to the Isle. Once there, she immediately reverts to her villain self, even going so far as to dye her hair in a stunning bit of Disney subtlety.

While there, Uma, her old rival, kidnaps her boyfriend. She works to get him back but maintains that she will be staying on the Isle after he is safe.

Mal and Evie sing a beautiful song about how much they mean to each other, but it does not change her mind.

During the battle, Mal (apparently) changes her mind. She returns to the Isle with Ben and her friends but seems unhappy about it.

At the coronation, Mal again slips into her “perfect” persona, shown by her wearing Auradon’s colors.

Uma arrives at the coronation, having spelled Ben into falling in love with her. Mal is heartbroken and tries to leave.

She is stopped by Jane revealing Ben’s coronation gift to her, a stained-glass picture of her in her Isle colors.

Mal true-love’s-kisses Ben awake. She turns into a dragon and fights Uma. When she turns back, she is dressed in the gown depicted in the picture.

In this movie, too, Mal makes every decision with the intention of securing her personal standing. She dislikes being forced to play a part at the beginning of the movie, but she is willing to put up with it if it means getting to stay Ben’s girlfriend, even to the point of spelling her boyfriend who she claims to love. When she believes for a second that that option could be lost to her, she immediately retreats to the Isle, where she is guaranteed some measure of power.

When she arrives, however, she finds that someone has usurped her position on the Isle, and it is Uma, her old rival. When she discovers that Uma has kidnapped Ben, she tries everything to get him back. This, it could be said is an altruistic act, done out of love for another person, but even this is tarnished because she clearly does not love Ben enough to be with him. She makes that very clear over and over again. She even sings a whole song about how much she loves Evie but again, not enough to leave her position of power.

So if it’s not love, why else would she go through so much trouble to rescue Ben? Simple: she cannot allow her rival to get a leg up on her. Mal spends the rest of the movie after she discovers Uma is involved working to publicly undermine her. Why else would she agree to an arm-wrestling match of all things in front of Uma’s entire crew? When they leave the isle after rescuing Ben, Mal doesn’t end up with them because she changes her mind about Ben or Evie, but to prevent Uma from escaping after her. For two straight movies now, Mal has refused to make even a single unselfish decision.

Let’s move on to Descendants 3, arguably the worst offender.

Mal opens the movie helping the other four VKs announce the new arrivals into Auradon.

She is next shown keeping an eye out for Uma, the only other person who poses a threat to her.

Ben proposes to her, securing her position as Queen of Auradon.

Mal, Ben, and the other VKs return to the Isle to pick up the chosen children, but as they are leaving, Hades almost escapes.

When Hades, her estranged father, and Uma, her bitter rival, both appear to pose a threat, Mal suggests that they close the barrier permanently and prevent any other VKs from crossing over.

She lies to Evie about her role in the closing of the barrier to preserve their friendship.

When Mal discovers that Audrey, her original bully, poses a danger to Auradon, and herself specifically, she returns to the Isle to beg her father for help in the form of a magical ember.

On the way back, they are stopped by the Sea Three, who steal the ember from her. In exchange for the ember and their help with Audrey, Mal agrees to release all the children from the Isle, a promise she does not intend to keep.

Back in Auradon, Mal and Uma butt heads over leadership of their uneasy alliance. When Uma suggests they split up and go check Audrey’s cottage, Mal scoffs at this idea.

When they ultimately end up going with Uma’s plan and finding Audrey’s diary as a result, Mal thanks her for her contribution.

Evie is anxious about whether true love’s kiss will work on Doug. She sings a song about it, and Mal and Uma are seen behind her, encouraging her and providing backup vocals.

Audrey attempts to trap them inside the cottage, and Mal and Uma are forced to work together to free themselves.

At the Fairy Cottage, Mal admits that it was her idea to close the barrier permanently and that she still intends to go along with this plan.

Mal’s group implodes, and she sings a song about how she intends to get her happy ending.

Mal finds Audrey and attempts to battle her as a dragon. Uma, on the ground, forgives her for some reason. They combine magic and defeat Audrey, who goes into a coma.

Mal has her father temporarily escorted from the Isle so that he can wake Audrey. They reconcile.

Mal’s friends forgive her for the closing of the barrier, even the Sea Three, who apparently have no problem with returning to the Isle.

Before an audience of Auradon citizens, Mal announces her plan to close the barrier permanently. She finishes by saying that she cannot be the Queen of Auradon, she has to be Queen of both (the Isle and Auradon).

They take down the barrier and Mal is reunited with her father. At the end of the movie, the four original VKs return to the Isle to visit their parents.

Descendants 3 is interesting because it combines some of Mal’s most self-serving actions with her only three altruistic ones. Halfway through the movie, Uma makes a suggestion about how to find Audrey. Although Mal initially ignores her, the idea proves to be a good one, and Mal thanks her for her idea. This was Mal’s first entirely selfless action in three movies, which I underlined above because it is so significant.

A short while later, Evie is shown angsting about whether she and Doug are really True Love through song. In the background, Mal and Uma support her, both emotionally and through backup vocal “do-waps.” This is notable because it is the first time Mal is ever seen supporting one of her so-called friends, but we’ll get to that later.

The third and final act, also underlined above, is even more significant. Mal calls her estranged and neglectful father from the Isle to wake Audrey from her coma. This is where I must truly give Mal credit. Coming face to face with her abusive (yes, neglect is a form of abuse) father in order to help a person who bullied her and became a villain to hurt her specifically is a truly selfless action. It must have been hard for her to face him again so soon after he told her “You’re stronger with those daddy issues” (yuck). Furthermore, it would have been easy for her to leave Audrey in her coma, as Audrey had never been kind to her. This action required actual sacrifice and was done for no personal gain on Mal’s part, which makes it basically the best thing she’s ever done. Unfortunately, this scene arrives on the tail of a movie dedicated to showcasing Mal’s worst impulses at increasingly higher levels.

For the rest of the movie, Mal’s modus operandi of doing everything possible to secure her own position is in full effect. It is no coincidence that the moment she has the most to lose (Her position as Queen of Auradon at the hands of her father and her biggest rival) is the moment she makes her most callous and self-serving decision yet: to close the barrier permanently, essentially dooming all of the children still on the Island to a lifetime of poverty and oppression. Even within a small, unstable group of the original VKs + the Sea Three (and Celia I guess), Mal cannot bear not being the one in charge, arguing with Uma at every turn. And when her supposed best friends and her fiance are turned to stone, does she show any sadness for them at all? Of course not. She sings a Broadway song about how determined she is to find her own happy ending.

This, of course, culminates at the end of the movie, when Mal decides they should bring down the barrier. As an aside, bringing down the barrier is a terrible idea, because releasing all of the actual villains on the families of the heroes whose lives they attempted to ruin is… unwise, but I digress. On paper, this should also be considered a selfless act, but of course, Mal undermines it by claiming that she cannot be Queen of Auradon, she “must be the queen of the Isle too.” Her final act is synonymous with her biggest bid for power yet, and unbelievably, it works. Thus, Mal ends the third movie the same way she started the first, vying for power at the expense of Auradon (and basically everyone else.)

Mal is an incredibly selfish character. She makes three total noble decisions over three movies, and they all happen in the final installment. Amazingly, I don’t think this makes her a bad character, nor do I think this is bad writing on the part of the screenwriters. What makes this bad is the way her actions and “arc” are framed.

Self-serving protagonists can work. Look at Kuzco from The Emperor’s New Groove, or Rebecca in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, or even Bojack of Bojack Horseman (disclaimer, I have not seen CxGF or Bojack Horseman, these comparisons are based on my surface-level understanding of these shows and a cursory skim of Tvtropes. Y’all are welcome to tell me why I’m wrong about this.) The difference is, if you want your audience to root for these self-serving main characters, you have to show them going through some sort of growth or arc to become more selfless, particularly if you are writing a DCOM about the merits of being good. But unfortunately, this is only the beginning of the problems with Mal’s character.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 19

Read along on AO3 Here

<< Previous Chapter <<     >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Ezra tries to navigate the fallout.

Next time: Un’hee recognizes something from her past.

-/

One step forward, two steps back.

The Chiss didn’t have a literal translation for this phrase, but that didn’t exactly matter. It still counted. Ivant had taught Un’hee the meaning of this phrase some time ago, when she’d heard him mutter it under his breath and not understood what the strange sounds were that made up his peoples’ Basic.

Un’hee had known something was wrong the moment Eli had called her into his office. She’d also known that her being called upon had nothing to do with the first part. Though, she had to give it to him. He played it well. She wouldn’t have known anything had happened, if she hadn’t crossed Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo on her way to see him. Vah’nya eyed her strangely from the corner of the room.

“You did well, Un’hee. Better than the rest of the Navigators,” Ivant informed her.

“Even better than Vah’nya?”

Vah’nya smiled into the mug of tea she cradled between her hands. “Yes, Un’hee,” She said. “And Bridger, too, though we can hardly consider a first-timer decent competition.”

Ivant was quick to defend his fellow human. “He fell within the limits. He also did a damn good job of getting us back considering he’d never had to navigate a ship this way before.”

“I didn’t have to take the reins, not even once,” Vah’nya considered. "I was surprised."

“So why am I here?” Un’hee asked. “And why is Thrawn-”

“Ah,” Ivant scratched the back of his head. “You ran into him, didn’t you?”

“He was projecting again, Eli,” Un’hee frowned, accusing, “You’re hurting him.”

“Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo is hurting himself,” Vah’nya defended, instead. “He makes his own choices.”

When both girls fixed each other with glares, Vanto held his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Both of you need to stop,” He said gravely. “Whatever is happening between me and Thrawn is our business.”

“Right,” Un’hee said, displeased. “No offense,” She continued, playing with the end of her singular braid, “But I know there’s all sorts of ‘need to know’ things happening around here, and this is going to become one of them quicker than you think.”

Vah’nya and Eli shared a look, both showing some array of worry and panic. “Un’hee,” The Senior Navigator began patiently, “Why do you say that?”

The girl shrugged, leaving them in suspense for a moment. Then, “I talked to Ezra last night,” She admitted. “He told me that Thrawn is worried because of what happened on the bridge yesterday.”

“He told you? You haven’t been near him,” Ivant said pointedly.

“I have a datapad,” Un’hee rolled her eyes. “And we’re friends. And,” She emphasized, “Vah’nya wasn’t around to talk to. Ezra actually messaged me because he couldn’t get a hold of you,” She pointed at Vah’nya. “He was worried.”

Vah’nya tilted her head. “I was occupied,” She answered.

“Yeah, I know.” She crossed her arms. “We all know what happened. You had a vision.”

“You all?”

“We’re not stupid,” Un’hee rolled her eyes. “You didn’t cut our numbers back because we’re the weakest of the bunch. I noticed it first, but I wasn’t the only one.”

“You’re getting awful mouthy, Navigator,” Ivant said, his tone not quite stern, but the undercut of a warning lingered all the same. He evaluated her silently, and she squirmed under the scrutiny.

“I just don’t think that pushing him away is smart,” The younger navigator admitted. “I feel like that’s a bad idea.”

Ivant sighed, rubbing at his temples before speaking. The first bit sounded almost like an admission. “I don’t like it either, Un’hee, but it’s not about what I like or don’t like. Those orders came from Admiral Ar’alani. And, regardless of how I feel, it’s the smartest choice. The more he knows about the project, the more danger he’s in, and by extension, you and your sisters.”

She looked down and away, halfway between disappointed and ashamed. “We aren’t going to let the Grysk have him, or any of us,” She urged, looking to him for confirmation. “Right?”

“Not if we can help it,” Ivant assured her. “But I won’t lie to you, Un’hee. I can’t tell you it would never happen.”

Nodding the girl rose to her feet, pressing both hands down on his desk. “I know. I’m just worried,” She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as she reigned in the sharpness of her feelings.

“I’m worried too,” He said. She didn’t need him to tell her that, she could see it in the crinkling lines on his forehead, the way he pursed his lips. “I wish there was another way.”

Un’hee wanted to tell him there was, that surely Thrawn could help them, and they could figure it all out together, but she didn’t know what the Grysks were planning. She didn’t want to know. But something told her she’d be finding it out regardless. She turned to look at Vah’nya, but Vah’nya looked down into her mug with blank, expressionless eyes.

Un’hee resisted the urge to shudder. Something bad was coming, and she was pretty sure Vah’nya had already seen it.

-/

Ezra usually gave Thrawn a wide berth when he was like this. The man was not above the occasional bout of cathartic destruction to release energy, but after about an hour of miscellaneous growling and banging and muttering, the Jedi very carefully knocked on his roommate's door and stepped back, waiting.

"What." Thrawn looked put together, but then again, he always did. His eyes were definitely scary though. Very Grand Admiral Thrawn of him, Ezra thought. And it made sense now, looking back. After all, at the end, the Grand Admiral had been out of control. He pushed the thought away, along with all of his thoughts about how if Thrawn snapped, he'd be in big trouble.

"Firing sims." Ezra indicated the weapons belt slung over his shoulder. He didn't waste words, already aware he was poking the beast on this one. "Wanna join?"

Thrawn eyed him, and Ezra saw the faintest indication of a snarl on his lips that came and went almost imperceptibly. "I do not want your pity."

"Pity?" Ezra shook his head. "Look, I don't know what happened, I-" Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew something had happened, he just didn't know the details. Except that Thrawn was clearly reeling from some emotional blow Ivant had dealt him, and everything he'd been talking to Vah'nya about had unironically come true.

"And there it is," The Chiss hissed, reading Ezra's face. "I wish to be alone," He snapped, already toggling the door controls.

Ezra caught it with a hand, reversing the hydraulic mechanism with the Force before Thrawn could turn away.

"Look, I don't pity you,” The Jedi began sharply. “I'm your friend, and I care." He sighed. "If you want to continue slamming things around alone, fine. But you could go shoot something in the sim rooms and that's got to be way more satisfying with a lot less consequence."

"Is that what you do when you are distressed about this sort of thing?"

Ezra's eyebrows went up. "Listen, my teenage years were one big 'ol nightmare, in case you forgot. The girl I liked had just discovered she wasn't into guys." He finished with an innocent shrug.

"Sabine Wren," Thrawn said.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ezra waved Thrawn's words away like they were a bad joke. "It was obvious to everybody but me. You probably saw it in her art."

"The colors she used in her later pieces were more indicative of self discovery," Thrawn mused, but the human didn't take offense.

Ezra laughed. "Well, if you ever want to hear a hilarious story about your ex-enemy's colossal failure at romance, you let me know." He stepped back, and angled his hands down, indicative that he wouldn't try to stop Thrawn this time if that's what he chose.

Thrawn eyed him carefully for a brief moment, considering. Then, his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. Ezra considered it a victory. "The sims on the lower levels will be unoccupied at this part of the shift."

"Sounds good to me," Ezra said. He didn't look over Thrawn's shoulder at the chaos that had befallen his belongings, politely ignoring the wreckage the Chiss would have to set to rights later on. He couldn’t, however, help but notice the cracked screen of the datapad on the ground in the doorway, beside Thrawn's left foot. "Do we need to stop at the quartermaster on the way back?"

"My datapad is fine, Bridger."

"Right." He seemed less than convinced, but didn't argue. "Well, if it's not, I think I have an extra one."

Before he took a step, Thrawn glanced down at it. With a nudge of his foot, it skittered to the side. The screen flickered pitifully. "Perhaps,” He relented, “We should visit the quartermaster afterall."

Ezra cracked a smile. "Probably wouldn't hurt."

-/

It had been a moment of miscalculation. At least, that's what Thrawn told himself. After all, what else could it be? It was as if he had been speaking Galactic Basic and Vanto had been speaking Sy Bisti. The translations were similar, but not equal, not entirely. Each language had its own nuances, own minute, tiny discrepancies. Undercurrents. Hidden meanings.

And, most importantly, to his shame, they had been on the bridge, of all places. Otherwise devoid of crew or not, the entire situation had been so vastly inappropriate. If a subordinate had approached him in this manner, he wouldn't have been half as kind. Or kind at all, really. The thought of it brought a rare heat to his cheeks.

Thankfully, his only company at the present was one very overprotective human Jedi who could not see the subtle glow in infrared, and was too distracted by his current simulation to note the mildest purple tint to Thrawn's cheeks, to see the evidence of his shame manifest.

What had come over him? It was not as though he were a fool. He understood desire, though he had not felt it in a long, long time. He would not have acted, he knows, if he did not think his feelings - feelings he was only just understanding the depths of, himself - were reciprocated.

But they were not.

Frankly, he should not feel as surprised as he did to find it so. It was one thing to be forgiven for his transgressions. Returning his feelings was something… other. Something more than Thrawn deserved. After all, Eli might be grateful for the end results of his manipulation, but it was manipulation all the same. As such, Thrawn could hardly blame the younger man for not being similarly interested in him, considering.

But he had cared for Vanto for a long time. Perhaps loved him for nearly as long, too. Hindsight was a valuable tool, but feelings were intricate, crystalline and fragile. And now, in his position, Vanto had to put his command, his duty first. Thrawn understood that as well.

He raised his weapon and unloaded an obscene amount of plasma upon the targets as they appeared. The smell of ozone, the smoky aftertaste of violent discharge did help.

It didn't change the way his chest felt heavy, or the way his mind seemed to cycle through possibilities, producing increasingly infuriating irrationalities, though, and after a third, flawless run of the console's most difficult offering he growled, holstering his weapon.

At this, Ezra stopped. He stepped back, then turned to look at Thrawn. "The Jedi part of me is supposed to give you some sage life advice, I'm sure," He said carefully. "But I've gotta be honest with you. There's nothing I can say to make it better. It just karking sucks."

"I have never-" Thrawn shook his head, as if surprised to find himself in this moment, as if waking up from a dream. Of all the individuals to have this conversation with, he thought sardonically. At least the Jedi was well-intending. Having this conversation with his brother, for instance, would have been far more mortifying. "I do not make these sort of… miscalculations," He said, scathingly.

"You're not perfect, Thrawn. I know that might be surprising to you, but you're not. And that's not a bad thing."

The Chiss looked away from the Jedi's clear blue gaze and ignored his comments entirely. "You clearly got over your previous… infatuation," He said, uncomfortably. "How?"

Ezra looked more uncomfortable than gloating. "Have you never-"

"Of course I have," Thrawn snapped. This entire situation was absurd. And yet, this was the only human for… well, aside from Eli, he might be one of fewer than a hundred in the Unknown Regions, not to mention the only other one within the Ascendancy's ranks of (reasonable trustworthiness), at that. He was a resource, as loathe as Thrawn was to admit he needed the assistance. "But not," He sighed. "Nothing like this."

"Okay. Well, I don't know how Chiss do it, but I kind of let it out…” As if realizing exactly what kind of admission he’s about to lay before Thrawn, he flushes. “I, uh, I don't think - if you'd want me to explain to you now teenage humans do things-"

"I get the idea," Thrawn gestured, leaning back towards the side of absurdity. He could be this brat's parent, he thought, swearing mentally. Jedi wisdom be damned.

"W-well, okay. Look. It sucks. I'm guessing it's worse since you're always right and this time you weren't-" He ducked his head at Thrawn's very displeased glare. "I'm also guessing anyone else you ever saw was either some military fling to blow off steam, no strings attached, or someone who liked you and you got bored quickly." Ezra looked expectant.

"The Force told you that?"

"Nah. We're both warm blooded. Besides, you can't be that old."

Thrawn's eyebrows went up in a sinister arch. "Remind me again how we've gone this long without killing each other?"

Ezra's shrug was over the top. "I'd say it's because we needed each other to survive, but you keep me around for the comedy."

"Right," Thrawn growled, not willing to argue that ridiculous point. "Your point, Bridger?"

"My point is that it sucks for now, sure, but it'll fade. Sabine and I worked through it. Now she's like a sister to me. Maybe Vanto could be like a brother to you."

Thrawn clenched his fists.

"Or," Ezra said carefully, recognizing the sharp snap of the Chiss’s frustration, his miserable anger, "He could come around. I mean, you were on the bridge."

"While I realize you're trying to soften the blow, I do not believe either outcome to be remotely achievable."

"Well," The Jedi shrugged. "If you want, I can talk to my sources and see what they think."

"Absolutely not," Thrawn said. "If it does not happen of his own volition, I'll not have it happen at all. Perhaps in this instance it is best I come to terms with swift and utter defeat."

Ezra tried to argue, but it was clear that Thrawn was finished listening.

[kiruuuuu]

Oneshot in which Conrad deals with the aftermaths of surviving the Ourang Medan. ...more or less successfully. (Rating T, angsty rambling, ~2.3k words) - written for @wintergirlsoilder2​! You requested a Conrad-centric piece and I hope you enjoy it :)

.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea”, says Julia with this expression on her face she gets whenever she’s about to rain on his parade.

“Are you kidding?” He’s about to scoff but stops himself – she’s worried, he can tell, and he knows better than to make light of any part of their relationship. Julia’s accompanied him his entire life. “Halloween is my favourite holiday, I’m not gonna let some lame ghost ship – which we survived, by the way, hello – ruin it for me.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Connie, your birthday is your favourite holiday. It’s the Fourth of July, so you can double-drink yourself into a coma.”

Well. She’s not wrong. She never is where he’s concerned, and it’s one of the reasons he wants to get away from her, just for an evening. Just for a night, he wants to be whatever he chooses to be instead of being Julia’s brother. “It’s gonna be great, Jules. Keep worrying like that and it’ll show on your face.”

She’s silent. She could bring up the times he’s woken up screaming, his tic of brushing over his ear with his thumb, the one really bad day when he stopped breathing for a long while and then puked his heart out. She doesn’t. And the fact that she doesn’t explains why they’re still rooming together, despite all.

“I don’t think Alex wants to marry a worry-wart”, he keeps going, unprompted, just can’t stop running his mouth, “he wants to live together with the free-spirited, reckless, adventurous Julia who doesn’t mind her brother attending a Halloween party without her playing chaperone.”

It hits the mark. Like having touched open fire, she recoils and drops the subject and he almost, almost feels bad. They’re going through a rough patch right now, following the time during which they were attached at the hip right after coming home. It’s nothing they won’t overcome, Conrad can tell they’re too committed to each other, but it’s a sore spot nonetheless. And he just twisted the knife. So to speak.

.

He wouldn’t say he’s friends with the guy organising the party, but he knows a few people here and there – not enough to have earned a reputation, enough to feel invited. Bringing booze is an automatic ticket to being welcome anyway, and the greeting at the door seems heartfelt. After a few semi-awkward moments (and those have been common lately, he sometimes doesn’t notice the morbidity of his own jokes until shocked expressions drag him back to the real world), he’s found his social legs again and strikes up casual conversations here and there, drops one-liners which are met either with eyerolls and groans or half-hidden giggles and hearty laughs, and if he’s honest he doesn’t mind either. He’s always preferred being memorable over being modest.

Some people are in costume, most aren’t, but the home décor screams tackiness: spray-on cobwebs, badly carved pumpkins with half the candles out already, a mat under the carpet which lets out a witch’s cackle when anyone steps on it. Apart from that, the house is gorgeous, a large pool, a sunroom and even a tiny home cinema stuffed into the three-storey family home – family not included, apparently, all of them gone except for the son taking advantage of their absence.

Somewhere between the second and third beer, he considers texting Fliss. Asking her whether she celebrates Halloween, maybe, though it’d set her off again. Thinking of her causes his stomach to drop with the guilt of dragging her into the whole thing, the guilt of never again bringing up that investment he genuinely considered back then. She told them to never contact her again and keep their mouths shut. They have, for the most part.

The most part meaning everyone but Conrad.

“Do you want to know how I lost part of my ear?”, he addresses a small group of cute freshmen who were struggling to un-stack some chairs until he arrived and gallantly lent his aid. “It’s a long one, though, I must warn you. And not for the faint of heart – but you ladies look like you can take it.” He wiggles his eyebrows and they’re captivated, expecting a ghost story and a ghost story they shall get.

He fucking loves recounting the whole thing.

When Julia caught him the first time, she was livid for days, had a few one-sided screaming matches and tried to get Alex to talk sense into him, but Conrad laughed it off. No one’s gonna believe me, he said cheerfully. What, they’re gonna fly over and check? Launch an investigation? Tell their lawyer daddies?

Brad says it’s his way of coping with the trauma: by turning it into a spiel, he diminishes its significance, reduces its impact on him. Or tries to anyway. Brad also says it’s not a very effective coping mechanism. But Brad says a lot and Conrad doesn’t listen most of the time.

He’s too busy being the hero of his own story.

This night, he embellishes, dramatises, acts out what he usually glosses over, sugarcoats nothing. It’s Halloween and they expect a thrilling, gory tale, so he allows them the full experience – several times, he has to interrupt himself and give a brief thus far because of all the newcomers gathering around him like a bloodthirsty audience at an execution. God, it feels fucking good.

How their eyes go wide the moment he mentions the pirates. How their lips part subconsciously when he ditches escaping on the boat, alone, in favour of saving his friends. How none of them dares moving as he describes the military ship in great detail. In this moment, they’re living through it by his side; they’ve been transported to the ship themselves, feeling the clammy air, the cold, unforgiving metal under their bare soles. Wrapped around his little finger, he builds and builds and builds for them until they almost forget to breathe, and finally, inevitably, he releases them with a happy ending. It looks like a cathartic experience, and slowly, they return to the present, shaking their heads a little like a dog getting rid of raindrops, glancing at each other to gauge whether they were the only ones so tightly in Conrad’s grip. He’s convinced them all he’s a hero, a martyr, a protagonist.

All of them except for himself.

“That’s a fantastic story”, someone says appreciatively. “Do you have any others?”

And this is where his carefully erected self-importance crumbles. Because he lived it. He fucking lived it, you asshole, he’s got the scars to prove it and the memories so he’ll never forget, and still this dimwit beams at him like he’s the new Spielberg or King, fudging narratives out of thin air to please the crowd. “Sorry, dude”, he replies with as much venom as he can muster, “I only had the one horribly traumatic experience in my life. I understand that might not be enough for you, so my apologies. Maybe I can set out to almost get murdered next time – oh wait, that already happened.”

The atmosphere tilts together with him. People seem confused – is he method acting? Getting pissed because they’re not giving his well-spun yarn the credit it deserves? He should stop. He really should.

“If you want more thrill in your life, why not come and fight a guy who’s got nothing to lose, huh? Certainly beats doing the same meaningless shit over and over and over again.”

“Dude, chill, I didn’t mean to -”

“Yeah fuck you. Fuck off.” He’s washed into the kitchen by a wave of concerned partygoers and appeased with a few sips of the badly-hidden whiskey belonging to the head of the family, and after no time at all he’s back to his good-natured self.

Largely. He feels sharper ever since he survived that stupid ship, more cutting. Less forgiving. As if the world owed him after what he’s gone through, and he lets those around him feel it. Remarks hit where it hurts and he realises with increasing worry that he doesn’t care. They will never experience the same gut-clenching terror he did, so what’s a snide comment here or there?

There are moments in which he resents Julia. They frighten him, yet staving them off is impossible. It’s not her fault she’s found her happy ever after, he can’t blame her for having Alex anchor her. Alex is perfect and he should share their happiness, at the very least leech off it so his empty everyday life isn’t as bleak anymore, but instead he watches them with jealousy he frantically conceals from everyone.

He knows he’s spoiled. But he can’t help the pangs of contempt whenever they laugh about something, or Alex plucks something out of her hair, or she falls asleep in his arms during a muted commercial break. She always got over things more quickly, even if it never seemed that way. Conrad carries a lot around with him, most of which he refuses to acknowledge.

And then someone suggests going to a haunted house.

“Sure, man.” He laughs, and it sounds as easy as he intended. “Nothing can be scarier than what I’ve been through.”

.

The door’s locked.

He fucking knows the door’s locked.

In between deep breaths, he turns around and checks again, slides the deadbolt shut two more times, rattles the handle, turns the key as far as it will go. It’s locked. It’s secured tightly, and no one will be able to get in.

He has to force himself to walk away and though his legs carry him, he’s unsure where to go. He could go shower, that way no one will hear his quiet sobs, or he can be a fucking man and not cry like a baby over something that wasn’t even fucking real.

Having once read that eating counteracts anxiety as it tricks the body into thinking it’s not in danger, he sneaks to the kitchen and stuffs himself on fruits until he’s vaguely nauseous.

He’s such a fucking idiot. An idiot and a failure, a good-for-nothing, someone who can’t even figure out what he wants to do later in life. Who he wants to be. Certainly not Conrad the crybaby, Conrad the expert storyteller who nearly pissed his pants in a shitty haunted house.

He double checks the shutters, then turns to leave. Checks them again.

God, he’s pathetic.

For the first time in his entire life, he sends a u up? text to a guy. It doesn’t make him feel any less sorry for himself, but he couldn’t stomach Julia’s concern right now. The worst thing would be the compassion in her eyes instead of the triumphant I-told-you-so attitude. He’d welcome a smug grin more than a hug right now.

I am now, comes Brad’s response. Yikes.

sry, Conrad writes back, and then he’s stumped. Why did he contact him in the first place?

A few half-typed and then deleted additions later, Brad apparently gets impatient and sends another message: How’s your Halloween been?

Alright, he can work with that. apropriately spooky, he replies, went to a haunted house. disapointing tho, no beer anywere

Brad is silent for so long Conrad considers whether he’s fallen asleep. Are you trying to prove to yourself that you’re over it?

He can practically hear Brad utter the question in his head – no irony anywhere, no intent to attack or accuse. Mere curiosity. Maybe this is why he texted him, because he certainly approaches most everything analytically, whereas Julia can’t help but make it personal. wat do u mean?

We’re all suffering from significant trauma, yet none of us are seeking thrills the way you are.

Conrad stares at the words for a long time. It’s been barely a week since Julia begged him not to pick any more fights.

A haunted house does not sound like an advisable place to go in your condition. Are you alright?

He deflates, sinks onto his bed and kicks off his shoes onto the pile of clothes in the corner. He doesn’t bother to switch off the light. He sleeps with it on anyway. yeah, he claims, and then: not realy actualy. i was more afected than i thought i would be. Flashbacks are a bitch. It didn’t help that some guy thought his distress hilarious, given his chilling story before – as if he’d be immune from any scares, forever. It turned out to be the opposite. Conrad used to love haunted houses.

Don’t dwell on it. Finding the right way to cope is difficult.

No judgement. Somehow, speaking to Brad is soothing his frazzled nerves. wat do u do?

I research. Mostly real accounts of people who have gone through comparable experiences, but also on the history surrounding the ship.

To Conrad, that doesn’t scream ‘moving on’. doesnt sound that helpful ether tbh

It helps rationalise and normalise what happened. Knowing what others went through, I feel less isolated now. This will not define who we are in the future, even if it might right now.

He re-reads the last sentence a few times. Thinks of the night terrors which rarely let him sleep. Of how he considered getting a dog despite none of them having the time to care for a pet, just so there’d be an additional line of defence, in a way.

He wants so bad to move past all this.

alright, profesor, lets hear it, he types and gets more comfortable on the bed. hit me with the sob stories.

It’s not like he’d be sleeping any time soon anyway.

[readandlisten]

Military AU Part 4

Author’s Note: this is the longest one yet guys! I’ve been working on it for a couple of days! As always follow me if you like it, comment and reblog to fuel my self esteem and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. You can find my other fics on my Masterlist and you can read the previous part Here.

Read Part 5

Aelin was struggling to keep her mouth shut. Everyday the same Valg soldier came into her cell, tortured her in one or more horrifying ways and asked four words, “Where is your base?”

She thought she was going to crack, but somehow she was able to cement her lips closed whenever he asked the question. Tears ran down her face and she clenched her eyes shut when she felt someone touch her shoulder, she flinched but the touch remained. She braced herself for the pain that was sure to follow, but they were gently shaking her. She opened her eyes, confused and jumped when she saw the hospital room. Then she flinched at the shock of pain she felt through her body at the sudden movement.

“Hey, it’s Rowan. Everything’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in Doranelle, remember?” he said quietly. It was dark in the room, it must have been night time.

Aelin nodded, her throat still felt swollen from her dream.

“Okay, your cousin is on the phone, I told him you weren’t unconscious anymore but you were resting. He asked to speak with you. Do you feel up to talking to him?”

“Of course,” she started to try to sit up but Rowan just pushed her back to the pillow and pushed a button on the side of the bed that raised her to a higher reclining position.

“Okay, I’ll be out in the hallway, I’ll be back in a little while to get the phone and change the dressing on your back,” Rowan handed her a slim phone with a restricted number on the screen. He left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Aelin took a shaking breath, unmuted the phone and lifted it to her ear, “Aedion?”

“Aelin? Aelin, your awake! Oh my god, it is so good to hear your voice,” he sounded choked.

Tears were running down her face, “I’m okay,” she whispered, it was to hard to get words out through the tightening in her throat. “Thanks to you,” she said.

“You remember what happened?”

“Some of it, yeah.”

“It’s probably better that you don’t remember all of it. How are you doing? How are you healing?” Aedion asked.

“I’m not sure, I hurt, but I’m medicated, so it’s not too bad right now. I’m exhausted. I am completely dependent, I can’t even sit up by myself. But, I am very grateful to be alive,” she told him.

“I am just so glad to hear your voice, I was a wreak, Aelin. I still am in some ways.”

“I heard Darrow was leading a mission, are you still on the team?”

“Yes, but he undermined me. He made me seem as though I wasn’t able to take lead. Maybe I wasn’t,” Aedion sounded so broken.

“You’ll get better, Aedion. It’s going to take me a long time too,” she tried to reassure him.

“I can’t believe your the one trying to convince me that everything will be okay,” he scoffed. “How’s Doranelle? What’s Whitethorn like? I heard so many stories about him before he became a doctor from fellow grunts in the barracks.”

“You’ve heard of Rowan, huh?”

“Heard of Rowan? Yes I’ve heard of Rowan Whitethorn, you didn’t hear about him?”

“I know nothing about him except that he’s arrogant, a know it all, and presumes things he has no business presuming,” Aelin started ranting.

“Careful Aelin, I know you like to shit talk the boys you have a crush on. I remember when you and Chaol started hooking up,” Aedion was chuckling.

“Shut up, I don’t want to talk about Chaol and I definitely don’t have a crush on Major-Doctor-Buzzard,” Aelin argued, but her chest felt lighter than it had since before she had been taken hostage.

“I have to go A. I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Love you Aedion, good morning,” she replied.

“Oh Aelin, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so proud of you. You are so strong. You didn’t break, in case you couldn’t remember.”

Her throat started to constrict again when she said, “Thanks, Aedion. Love you. Stay safe.” Then she hung up the phone and started to cry. It was the first real cry she’d had in a while. One with shuddering sobs that hurt her healing lungs and ribs. It pulled at the healing wounds on her back and made her shoulder ache, but it felt cathartic. She needed to release the tension that had been growing in her chest.

Her sobs eased to sniffles and Rowan appeared in the doorway, opening it just a crack before widening it and stepping inside the room. “All good?” He asked, clearly noting the tear stains on her cheeks.

Aelin nodded, “Got any tissues in this hospital?”

Rowan chuckled and handed her a box, she gave him back the phone.

“How’s you cousin?”

“Trouble as usual.”

He smiled at her, a softer kind of smile than she’d seen him use in past interactions. It confused her.

“I’m going to help you lean forward and you are going to lean your chest against this table so I can get a look at your back. Do you need another dose of pain medication before we start?” He was gesturing to a raised table with an angled pillow on it.

She shook her head “no” to the pain medicine, she was tired of sleeping so much. She needed to stay awake for a bit, sort out the jumble of things in her head. “Doesn’t a nurse normally do dressing changes?”

“Yes, but I wanted to check out the stitches and see if I need to prescribe an antibiotic ointment on top of the one your getting in your I.V., now I’m going to help you sit up and swing your legs around. Go slowly and if you feel dizzy just hold on to something and take a break.”

Rowan helped her into a sitting position and helped her to start to move her legs, when she gripped his arm and choked out, “I need a sec.”

“Alright, just take your time, there is no rush.”

Aelin started to move again, finally getting her leg without a knee injury to dangle over the side of the bed, while her injured one was propped on a chair with a pillow. Rowan rolled the table over and locked it into place, adjusting the height so she was comfortable. He even added an extra pillow underneath her injured shoulder.

“All settled? Feel like your going to tip anywhere?”

“No, I think I’m fine,” she told him as he walked around the bed to her back.

“I’m just going to take the dressing off, it shouldn’t hurt but if the tape pulls and it hurts to bad, tell me and I’ll stop to give you a break.”

She just nodded her agreement and he began pulling the tape holding the bandage to her back. His hands were gentle while he worked, and his voice was soft, soothing when he asked if she was okay with what he was doing. She told him yes and a few moments later she felt air lick up her spine.

She felt exposed, having him stare at her back. She knew he had seen it when he first treated it and applied the bandage, but she hadn’t been awake then. She started trembling at the thought of someone behind her with her back exposed.

“Hey, hey, hey. Are you alright? Are you in pain?” Rowan was concerned. He wheeled his chair around to look at her face.

“No,” she gasped. “I’m not in pain.”

“Alright. I’ll give you a moment. Big, deep breaths, remember? Even if it hurts.”

She inhaled deeply and released, feeling better. Rowan stayed in front of her though. He seemed to know what was triggering her.

“I’m going to go back again. I won’t touch your back without talking to you about it. Alright?”

“Yes,” she grabbed his forearm before he could roll away. He looked to her eyes and she said, “Thank you.”

He just nodded and rolled back to her back. He was quiet for a few moments when he murmured, “It have been excruciating.”

All she said back was, “It was.”

“I’m going to add some antibiotic ointment to the dressings I put on it just to be safe,” he said, back to business. “It will feel a bit cold and moist but it won’t hurt. I won’t touch your wounds directly either. Just the bandage.” She heard him behind her preparing the dressing. “I’ll leave the stitches in for another day.”

“I’m applying the bandage now,” he warned.

She felt it, but the cool, wetness of the bandage felt good on her aching back. She sighed in relief once he secured the bandage with tape and walked back to the table she was leaning on. “Ready to lay back down?”

She nodded and started to lean back up. She was a bit dizzy and reached the bar on the bed to help steady herself. He put a hand on her shoulder and helped lift her legs back into bed. Once she was comfortably reclining he said, “I’d also like to take a look at the incision from your surgery. Those stitches are most likely ready to come out.”

“Alright.”

He reached to the shoulder of her gown and undid the clasp and pulled the side open, exposing a small bandage over her ribs on her left side. He helped her maneuver her injured shoulder out of the way so he could have easier access to the bandage. He the removed the gauze to expose 7 little stitches nearly tied at her side.

“Want to see?” He asked her, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but how many are there?” She asked, curious.

“Just seven,” he told her as he began carefully removing the stitches

“Just seven? Why so few?”

“Were you hoping to have fifty?” He chuckled. “We used a scope to do the repair.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittal.

When he finished he buttoned back up her gown and adjusted her blankets and pillows once more.

“Look at you, all fussy over my blankets,” Aelin decided to tease him.

“Humph,” he chuckled. “I’m going to get some sleep. Do you need anything before I go. I’ll be back tomorrow morning for rounds.”

“Actually, I could use some food, I feel pretty hungry.”

“That’s good. You can start with some broth and jello. I’ll send someone to bring it to you. Anything else?”

She shook her head and he turned for the door.

“Hey Rowan?”

He turned back, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you.”

He just made a sound in his throat, nodded and turned for the door.

Tag List: @chaoticskyy @poisonous00

[mccartneysguitar]

Spilled Drinks

I tried to do something different for this one, I’m on the fence about it but i’m posting it anyways

You know me and my soulmates. After someone thought a fic was about Paul Prenter I got the idea for this! proof reading? never heard of her.

word count: 1.4k

pairing: roger taylor x reader ; paul prenter x sibling!reader

131,400 hours : 6 minutes : 32 seconds

Y/N stared at her counter, wondering how something that was supposed to bring happiness only created anger and frustration in her family. Your brother had tried to convince you that soulmates were the reason why your family broke apart and to some degree it was true but you never gave into his thinking; only pretending to agree with his views in order to not deal with his anger.

Your dad was the only other person you knew who had one. Your mother didn’t and neither did your brother.

You wondered if it was a mistake that you had one.

78,840 hours : 43 minutes : 53 seconds

You realized that your brother was partly right. But your brother was a real piece of work, he was manipulative and did not stop at anything to get what he wanted. You recognized the wrongs that he did but at the same time, he was your brother.

Soulmates were rare, not everyone had one. Your parents were not soulmates but when your father had suddenly decided to leave the family for his soulmate, it changed Paul. He was thrust into the responsibility of caring for his sister and his mother. The bitterness in him only grew.

35,040 hours : 27 minutes : 18 seconds

The thought of your soulmate brought you comfort in the darkest times when you felt alone. You were able to go to University nearby while working at an advertisement agency. Your brother was working at music studio and managed to pull some strings in order to get you a part time job. Today was a rare day when you could enjoy it with your friends and go out to bars, forgetting about everything.

Originally the plan was to go check out a new band called Smile but one of your friends decided that the night would be better spent hosting a small party with your friend group.

That was the night you met one of your neighbors when he came over to ask you to be quiet.

“I’m John your next door neighbor. Would you mind keeping it quiet? I am trying to study for my upcoming exams.” You could tell he was trying to hide how intensely frustrated he really was behind the veil of politeness.

You apologized and promised to keep it down. The next day you dropped off an apology gift consisting of some baked goods you spent the morning making. John was a bit flustered that you would go out of your way, he became one of your best friends. Both of you would hang out and do school work well mostly when he didn’t complain about his bandmates. 

8,760 hours : 13 minutes : 9 seconds

John had invited you several times to meet his band but you were either too busy with work or something had come up delaying your plans. You were attended one of their performances and had loved their energy, they were able to control the energy of the room. It was something you had never seen before.

You thought their drummer was handsome. You made a mental note to ask John about him, to see if he was single or not. You had an early morning the next day and were unable to meet up with John after the show, but you were able to make eye contact during the show letting him know that you were there to support your friend. 

You made sure you told your brother about the band, hoping that he would be able to help them out in a way or another. He flippantly ignored you.

4,433 hours : 59 minutes : 21 seconds

Months later the company your brother worked for signed them on. When you mentioned it to him he got annoyed and started ranting about how you should just take over his job if you were that great. All the pent up anger and frustration you held towards him spilled out, leaving you with angry hot tears and him with a red face huffing.

Meeting up with your brother either ended up with both of you enjoying each others presence or going at each other's throats. There was rarely ever an in-between, his superiority complex annoyed you to no end. You had decided to risk dropping by his apartment in the morning to see if he would want to grab breakfast and see if you could smooth things over, even though it was not your fault. It had been a couple weeks since the argument and you felt it was enough time for both of you to

You didn’t expect for Paul to have company over so early. The man for his part looked entirely confused as well.

“Well, just who might you be darling?” He drawled out.

“Oh, I didn’t know Paul would have a guest over. I’m Y/N Prenter. I’m his sister.”  

“Another Prenter. You sure are pretty, are you sure you are related?”

Freddie stared at her for what felt like hours trying to remember where he heard her name from. He knew he didn’t hear it from Paul, he never mentioned his family by name, hell he never mentioned his family. Shrugging it off, he continued chatting with Paul’s sister. Freddie was surprised how completely different she was.

He had taken a quick liking to her, finding out that they both loved cats and she even gave him some store recommendations to check out.

Paul eventually came down, he was annoyed at the sight of you animatedly chatting away with Freddie.

13 hours :38 minutes: 58 seconds

Freddie and John had invited you over to a party later tonight to celebrate the release of their latest album. While you rarely went to parties you knew you figured that you would more likely meet your soulmate at the party instead of just staying in and watching bad television shows.

00 : 00: 58 seconds

You were weaving your way through your crowd when you were pushed into someone spilling your drink all over the front of their shirt.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re go— ” they started before they realized that their counter had struck zero.

You were speechless the drummer for John and Freddie’s band was your soulmate. You couldn’t help but stare at him. His blonde hair framed his face perfectly, it was like looking at a piece of art. For so long you had thought about what your soulmate would look like and you never thought you would be so lucky.

“I am so sorry I was trying to escape the crowd but—” he cut off your rambling with his hand on your waist, pulling you in closer.

“I think I need some help getting my shirt off, its rather sticky” he started, giving you a look you that made you realize he was used to getting all the girls. It was a cheesy line and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at it, although it was working.

“Y/N, darling that’s where you have been. Roger, would you please stop corrupting Y/N?” You could hear Freddie yell out over the music.

“Oi, I’ll have you know I am not corrupting anyone. I’m on my best behavior. Besides she’s my soulmate, Fred.”

Freddie swept up in his emotions hugged both of you before yelling out for John, “Deaky! Brian! I have the best news!”

__

Bonus:

Y/N had told Roger about the complicated relationship she had with her brother. Roger already hated him, he sounded like a prick.

Roger confused when they arrived at the cafe where they were supposed to meet Y/N’s brother and met with the sight of Paul. The asshole who was undermining the band and manipulating Freddie.

When Y/N greeted Paul, he could feel his confusion melting away into anger. He was going to be related to that. No, this was surely a prank. This was Brian or Freddie messing with him.

“Y/N, love. Please tell me this is a prank. That you are just messing around,” he pleaded.

“This is my brother Paul, I told you about him remember?”

“You think I’m happy about this revelation, Taylor? I would have rather she had no soulmate at all.”

Roger who was already hostile towards Paul didn’t hesitate in throwing a punch. It hit Paul right in the nose. There was something cathartic seeing Paul getting punched in the face, leaving him a mess.

Rushing over to Roger’s side to see if his hand was alright you fussed over him. He smiled at you, letting you look over his reddening hand, “You don’t know how long I have been waiting to do that.”

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Opposites Attract Colson Baker X Reader PT 1

Requested By @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Word Count: 1,838

A/N: Really playing with this concept so a part 2 is coming possibly doing multiple thoughts hmu and let me know guys! Hope you like it 😊

Song Lyrics: Young & Beautiful Lana Del Rey

People say opposites attract, that’s not only true for friends but also lovers. Colson can attest to that, he calls Y/N his lover his soul mate. One man and one woman, polar opposites but always at each other sides, through the good times and the bad.

Colson has been dating you for about 2 years they met at the record release party when his album Bloom came out. Y/N's  aesthetic flies in the face of modern sensibilities and embraces the carefree, the relaxed, and the unusual. With him no denying that he was handsome. His blonde hair, strong jaw and crystal blue eyes that seemed to make every girl melt right under his stare. Not to mention the fact that he always walked around in the latest designer clothes, all perfectly styled. He has the sex appeal of a god the tattoos adding to the bad boy mystique.

When they went public with their relationship surprisingly the fans took it well and have been very supportive. The comments on his IG posts showed so much love it is honestly sweet.

@Mystical Dimples: what a perfect couple @machinegunkelly & @YN

@FloatingHeart: Born to love each other!

@GirlOfNeptune: you two are so in love! Congratulations @machinegunkelly & @YN

Casie and you got along great she absolutely loved and adored you. And the two of you often had a girls day out lunch, shopping, it brought a smile to Colson's face knowing that Casie thought the word of you just like he did. The guys they thought of you like family and they were glad to see him so happy finally "It's about damn time!" Slim cheered out when you both broke the news to them. So many whoops of support, high fives, pats on the back and hugs it sort of felt like an episode of Full House. Y/N of course though may have a sweet quiet demeanor but don't let it fool you she loves smoking with Colson and the guys heck sometimes you could out smoke him like the best of them.

"Daddy are you going to ask Y/N to marry you?" Casie asking watching Colson look down at the elegant 7 carat diamond and gold engagement ring. "Yes special girl I am, I honestly believe we are meant to be together and I want to spend the rest of my life with her." Casie clapped and giggled jumping down off the bed bouncing out of the bedroom. "Daddy and Y/N sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g…" Colson couldn't suppress a giggle hearing the phrase echo down the hallway. You were beginning to awaken as you turned to face Colson wrapping and arm around him your other free hand rubbing his bare chest. "My babygirl stirs." He murmured kissing your head. Your eyes opened staring straight into his icy blue ones, it might be first thing in the morning but god he looked sexy. "Morning baby." Colson was going to wait till tonight and pop the big question but he couldn't take it he was to anxious to hold off any longer.

He grabbed your hand in his the ring clasped tightly in his other. "Y/N you have managed to do something I had't thought possible, love again." Placing the delicate engagement ring on your finger he asks "I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N will you marry me?" Smiling you kiss him "Yes" you whispered a few tears of happiness sliding down your cheek. Pulling you tightly to him Colson broke out into a huge smile, "besides I need your sexy ass to keep my wild one in line." Colson couldn't imagine you not in his life, you balanced him out kept him anchored. The sex was absolutely incredible it managed to break out a side of you that drove him wild. There was no doubt in his mind that he had managed to snag the perfect woman and he wouldn't trade that for the world.

**********************************************

The party inside the club was going strong, you, Colson, Slim, Rook and others were in the VIP section. You had this planned in the back of your mind all day, you slipped away undetected by Colson and headed to the stage whispering something to the MC he nodded as he pressed a few buttons as you grabbed a mic.

//I've seen the world, lit it up, as my stage now. Channelling angels in a new age now. Hot summer days, rock and roll and all the way I got to know, your pretty face and electric soul...//

Colson recognized the first few bars of music instantly.

Somehow, as he watched your fingers curl around the mic, he knew you were thinking of him. From how your lips curled into that sly sexy smirk, to the rose of your cheeks, he knew. Colson felt like a voyeur now but found himself loving the buzzing and heavy feeling.

A mind hush took over the once-rowdy crowd as the tune and timbre of your voice matched and melted into the cords perfectly. The ballad poured from you with such emotion and flourish, as though singing in front of a hundred people was the easiest thing in the world for you to do. You clearly didn't need the prompter to know the words, so with your eyes closed you hit every single syllable and carried each note effortlessly. The gentle sway of your hips along with the music was magnetic and memorizing, not only to him but to nearly every other person in the club too.

//Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful? Will you still love me when I've got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will, I know you will, I know that you will...//

With a final smirk, Y/N ended her song and the crowd burst out into a boisterous ovation. Their whole table stood and cheered loudly, joining with the other patrons in their own enthusiastic applause.

You bowed graciously, grabbed your drink from the barstool next to the mic and exited stage right. You then walked towards their table, towards Colson, with a subtle purpose and a sultry look in your eye.

Your gaze landed on Colson's lean frame, sunk casually into the bend of the booth, his  leather jacket off, his white button down shirt his tattooed chest on full display. You contemplated jumping him right then and there but realized that no one really needed to see that.

Besides, you could keep your hands to yourself for one night, surely...

A drunk fleeting thought dared question how deliciously torturous it would be to spend all night next to him and not touch or kiss him. You imagined how cathartic it would be when you finally allowed yourself the pleasure. It was almost a challenge made silently unto one's self.

'How long could I really go?'

Because, God, he just looked so goddamn sexy. Colson's cool laid-back demeanour added to his enticing aesthetic, and you wondered, idly, how many others  in the club had noticed his effortless allure and charisma.

Pleasantly, his posture straightened as he saw you approach and that wicked side smirk tugged at his knowingly soft lips, making your knees weak.

'I won't last the night.' You thought to yourself.

Your beaming smile was sloppy and your limbs seemed extra loose as you approached, but judging by the empty champagne, shot and highball glasses that scattered the table your swagger was just.

Y/N then slipped into the booth next to Colson, settling in close, really close, a heavy hand falling on to his thigh under the table. She planted a firm kiss to his cheek with a wide grin.

'See? I can't even last 5 seconds...I won't last the night…

As the group chatted loudly about the day's activities, Colson found himself lost within warmth radiating off her, the smell of her perfume and sweet sweat invading his senses. His eyes drifted over her exposed neck, shoulders and ample cleavage. You looked like sin personified in that dress, the fit and cut leaving nothing but filthy desires to cloud his brain as he subtly adjusted himself in his seat.

You were amazing up there, by the way." Colson said.

You spin around to face him fully, the thin strap of your dress shifting down your shoulder with the movement, "Thanks, baby."

Without thought he reached up to put the fabric back in place, cool fingertips gliding over your warm skin. The action warmed you but you tried your best to recover quickly.

'...Girl... Focus up.'

"You had them hook, line and sinker,"

"I'm just a pretty H/C  up there in hot pink." You said with a flip of your wrist.

"Yea, you are, with the voice of a fucking angel."

A warm blush crept over your cheeks and chest, "Colson..."

"What? I'm serious."

"They reacted the same to Ashleigh,"

"I doubt that."

"And Kali."

"I doubt that even more."

"It's true!"

"Prove it." He challenged.

"What would you have me sing?" You asked sweetly.

Colson smirked, "Literally anything."

His lowered tone had his desired effect and as the words fell off his tongue a visible shiver rolled over you. You smirked back and sipped at your drink again, your eyes on his through thick blonde lashes.

After singing a few favourites including a cover of 'Chandelier ', then a duet with him to 'Bad Things', followed by a ballad rendition of 'Crazy', nearly consecutively, Y/N flopped back into their booth with a heavy sigh.

"Entertaining is hard work!"

"Yet another amazing performance," Colson topped up your water glass as you settled in, "-You wowed the crowd,"

A realization, if anything, it was a green light to engage in some sort of unspoken game of seducing you,

The thought alone drove him wild.

So, he kept up the silent charade, the rouse serving as an effective aphrodisiac, and was also, clearly, convincing.

"I'm not flirting." He offered gently.

"I know. You're just being your polite and charming shelf." You cooed at him.

A small smile pulled at his lips now, "What should I do?" He asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Turning to face him more, you smirked again and cocked an eyebrow, "Well, that's not true."

As you spoke the hairs on the back of his neck stood up for the second time that night, "Oh?"

"You could find us an excuse to leave, and take me back home." You said with such a deadpan seriousness that he nearly choked on his beer.

"Bail on our engagement party?"

Y/N nodded, eyes dark and suggestive, "Just let me use the ladies room first,"

Colson didn't need to be told twice and agreed quickly as you slid out of the booth. He then stood just as you came out of the bathroom moments to grab your jacket and small purse.

"Ready?" He asked, sweeping his arm out in front of you and towards the doors.

"Very."

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Ch.13

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampires…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it!  It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of…however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7+8, 9, 10+11, and 12.

AAAAAAAA FUCK IT HERE GOES!

Chapter 13

You know? The only tolerable parts of this story are the plot and action.  I’m sorry to say that this chapter is like all action and plot but it’s still a clusterfuck made out of dogshit.

HERE GOES!

Doctor Deathbreath is happy Alexia’s power works.  He uses the zombie to rip the two apart.  Before he’s able to Lord Maccon stabs it with the glass she hid in her titties but it does nothing. With the two apart Lord Maccon starts changing back into a werewolf.

They’re all SURPRISED it happened so fast. The author is like “She told them it’d take an hour to transform him out so they must have assumed it would take that long to untransform.”

But like…excuse you book. All these scientists may be too dumb to lie, but after telling a woman they’re planning on killing her, they don’t think she’d lie to give herself an advantage?

So Genocidal Gary just sics a bunch of dudes on the werewolf and marches out of there with Alexia. Alexia has the brilliant idea to stab herself with the glass shard in the zombie, to leave a blood trail for Lord Maccon to follow.  She doesn’t YANNO try to stab the zombie some more, or cut a piece of him open and try to get at the gears in him, or even HANG ON TO THE GLASS SHARD. She just stabs herself.

(Alexia shrugging with the tagline “Guess I’ll die”)

She’s taken to a SCIENCE room.  In this room they have a bunch of scientist with Lord Akeldama hooked up to a machine that’s pumping his blood out into some rando in hopes it’ll make rando an extra good vampire cause Akeldama is extra old.

How could this experiment illuminate how to kill Vampires easier?

SHHH SHHH STOP THINKING SHHHHH SHHH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

She SO BRAVELY calls them philistines for torturing her friend.

FUCKING PHILISTINES?

1.)   It’s impossible to use the insult without sounding like a pretentious toff.

2.)   It means someone who doesn’t appreciate culture and art.  So that’s the worse fucking thing you could think of? NOW REALLY? AUTHOR, USING THIS WORD ONLY MAKES YOU SEEM SMART TO OTHER DUMMIES! MY LOCAL SCHOOL DISTRICT CURRICULUM TEACHES THIS WORD TO FUCKIN’ 12 YEAR OLDS YOU’RE NOT FUCKING SMART!

They talk some nonsense science and then Alexia really has her MOMENT! YANNO! SUCH A GOOD MOMENT!

She says it isn’t the vampires and werewolves that are the monsters, REAL MONSTERS ARE THE SCIENTISTS!

(Hugh Laurie(?) sighing, rolling his eyes, and tilting his head bag in an exaggerated UGH fashion.)

So Prejudiced Pete slaps her, and I TELL YOU WHAT, I THINK I WOULD TOO!  YOU SPEND ALL EVENING COMING UP WITH THAT ONE, HUH ALEXIA? GOOD FUCKING JOB!

Also you didn’t fucking earn this! The entire last chapter you just played grab ass.  In fact, you basically played grab ass this entire book. The last thing you were going to do to stop this genocide was consult with a guy YOU ALREADY CONSULTED with but you got derailed to TALK ABOUT HOW YOU’RE TRYING TO GRAB THAT ASS!

Now you wanna come in here with almost no work to discover/fight these fucking dimwits with a big self-righteous speech about how these painfully evil scientists turn out are painfully evil scientists?

GO FUCK YOURSELF!

So they shock the body full of vampire blood, and it starts to move. Okay sure. Sir. DumDum Stupidbega asks if the vampire has any blood left, and the other scientist is like

IDK

I don’t think these are fucking scientists, I think all these people are those fucking zombies.  I know they’re supposed to be so evil they kill on a whim, but they take all these great resources and just fucking piss them away.  

BUT LET ME GIVE YOU A WRITING FUCKING HOT TIP HERE:

VILLAINS ARE BEST AND SCARIEST IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY GOOD AT THE EVIL SHIT THEY DO!

Alexia is SURPRISINGLY still alive, so they strap her to a machine to drain all her blood, which is umm probably going to kill her.  They took an antidote and it poured down the drain, but it has miraculously spat back out the drain but also now it’s in a cute mug, and it’s warm, and it tastes like quality Earl Grey Tea.  So they take that mug of warm, revitalizing antidote and throw it against the wall.

EVERYONE IS THIS STORY IS SO FUCKING STUPID AND I’M DONE READY TO DIE!

Before they can start the machine a couple of dudes come in with a wrapped up body, and turns out one of those dudes is MacDougall.  MacDougall is again AGHAST at how they’re treating Alexia and tries to convince BloodHappy Moroniwitiz to try actual science but of course that’s poo-poo’d. They’re about to drain her blood, and MacDougall looks away.

SUDDENLY Alexia starts using a lot of words to describe him as fat and has the line, “Poor thing, … It must be hard to be so weak all the time.”

I know I have a wet spot for MacDougall but…I’m not sure why she wasn’t this upset when he let her get literally thrown to a wolf, or what she’s exactly expecting him to do?  Punch the bad guy and try to undo her restraints just for the 3 other scientists and zombie to drag him away?

I mean I can see her acting out in anger cause she’s frightened, that’s understandable. But like the text clearly wants us to paint this dude as bad for not first getting the shit kicked out of himself for it to not help at all.

Like author? Can we maybe paint this dude as bad because he’s sympathetic toward nazi stand-ins?  

I was hoping he was just a yandere, or kicked puppies. I can forgive myself for fucking one of those? But a centrist!? Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh.  

However just as they’re about to suck that sweet blood the door starts a pounding and it’s obviously Macaronawolf.

Scabby Prick Jizzums says the doors will hold even though it starts splintering right away. My boy, apparently the steel door meant for werewolves couldn’t hold him? BUT OK!

He bursts in, horribly maims the no-name scientists and begins to fight the zombie. NOW THAT’S A REAL MAN! I’M DEFINITELY WET AT THE IDEA OF MY FELLA RIPPING OPEN THE GUTS OF DICKISH BUT DEFENSELESS SCIENTISTS AND SMEARING THEIR HOT ENTRAILS ALL OVER THE FLOOR!

I don’t know about you folks out there but if I was given the choice between a man who lets you die, and a man who will kill you. I’d rather him puss out than fear AT ANY POINT that he may be violent toward me.

But perhaps….

(Natalie Wyn, perfection herself, saying in a mythical fashion, “I’m not like other girls.”)

Alexia shouts at MacDougall to free her during this, and it takes her saying it twice before he does so. So he’s a total coward, and not yanno briefly paralyzed with fear watching a wolf monster disembowel 3 people.

The fight is getting intense the body pumped full of Akeldama’s blood wakes up and attacks MacDougall.

I love how they strap down the vampire with no blood left but don’t strap down the newly born vampire. That seems good and smart and good.

Buttstank Demondip uses Alexia as a shield to escape and the zombie is about to choke out Maccon.  

All this action is not written well.

Lord Akeldama wakes up just in time in order to tell Alexia to wipe at the numbers on the zombie’s head. She’s able to get one of the Roman numerals so it STILL functions but barely, thus freeing Maczoom to eat Alexia. However she’s able to hug his neck and bring him back to his human state.

The two of them dramatically make-out for a bit.  Which like, is fine, but I can’t help feeling as if they didn’t earn this either.  I feel like this is much more cathartic when the two haven’t seen each other in a long-while and we’re both fighting and working a lot and FINALLY they get to see each other again and WOWZERS what a relief that is.  However they were making out just like what a half an hour ago?

Whatever.

Meanwhile MacDougall is fighting for his life against a vampire but yanno that’s fine.  He deserves it because he was paralyzed with fear for a moment.  So he can wait a moment while his crush makes out with a man who graphically murdered a bunch of people and it’s only luck that he didn’t do the same to him and her.

Eventually Lord Smackaroon punches the vampire out, and releases Akeldama from his restraints.  Akeldama makes a remark about how lucky Alexia is cause Maccon’s got that big old ding dong.  And honestly? With how lame this story is they should have just gone with the dumb as hell reference of, “MY! What a big Willy you have!”

Maccon offers for Akeldama to bite him since he needs his strength back….but like there’s literally 3 dead bodies on the floor, and the vampire that has HIS blood is flopped right over there.  But before we can come to an agreement, the zombie suddenly starts working again and starts to strangle Maccon.

The author even writes, “the automaton…was trying to fulfill the last order given to it: to kill Lord Maccon. This time, with the earl in human form, it stood a fairly good chance of succeeding.”

I’m sorry but this is really pathetic.  This is essential the author saying, “Okay I did wrap up most of this action and it’s very low stakes at this point BUT TENSION? HUH? YOU SHOULD FEEL TENSE!”

She really should have ended this chapter sooner on a better cliff-hanger. But WELP! 

Say something Nice Faps:

Fuck man I don’t have a lot to say here, this just sucks a big one.  I mean, it is a dramatic climax?

[lostinfic]

I would love to read an Alec Hardy fic that involved him recieving oral. I think about that a lot. 😳

Anonymous said to lostinfic: 31/38 hardyxhannah

#31 Spanking

#38 Ownership/claiming/marking  → already written

A/N: I tried to write this as in character as possible, so… yeah, it’s interesting

➜ Kink flashfiction

Ao3

It wasn’t planned. Far from it. But she supposed it had always been on her mind, ever since her failed foray into domination. She didn’t have it in herself to flog another human being, but she had envied the blissed out look on these men’s face as they submitted completely. But at that point, there was no one she trusted enough to even try this particular fetish.

It first happened two years into their friendship. A sporadic relationship that admittedly didn’t make any sense, yet somehow they just “got” one another.

She’d lost a boyfriend and had a big row with Ben. Her clients annoyed her to no end, and the men she hooked up with at night failed to make her come.

She felt scattered.

She couldn’t stand herself, yet felt very far from her own body.

So she went to Hardy.

Tess had taken Daisy out of town to see her parents. He was busy tearing rotten planks out of the patio behind the house.

The midday sun beat down over them, lending a hazy glow to the air. Mirage heat.

Hannah pulled the hem of her t-shirt through the collar and sat in the sun.

With a hand over her eyes, she watched him push on a crowbar until the plank cracked then pull it off with his bare hands.

“Don’t you ever stop working?” she asked.

“It’s cathartic.”

He threw the plank away.

“Maybe I should try that.”

“You’re more than welcome to help,” he said, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“Nah.”

“Why are you here anyway?”

She tried to explain what had happened with Ben and her boyfriend, and how she felt. It was a stream of consciousness more than a conversation.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Dunno what you want me to say, Han.”

“Could you give me a hug?”

After a moment of hesitation, he ditched the crowbar and wiped his hands on his worn out jeans. He tried to avoid touching her bare skin, but Hannah wrapped her arms around his neck so he had no choice but to hug her waist.

His skin smelled like salt and wood chips. His hands were rough.

“Better?” he asked.

It wasn’t enough. Like a spider web to tether a zeppelin, she might drift off any second.

“Tighter,” she asked.

His fingers reached for her ribs. Their chests expanded for breath alternately. In and out. From one to the other.

He rested his cheek atop her head. Closed his eyes. Allowed himself 10 seconds of respite.

“It’s only guilt you’re feeling,” he said.

She pushed him off.

“Just because you’re feeling guilty all the time doesn’t mean I am.”

Hardy reeled from the sudden backlash.

“I can live with my sins. I can live with who I am,” she insisted.

“You sure about that?”

“You think you’ve got me all figured out.”

“What d’you want from me?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you here then?”

She should leave. But she couldn’t go. She stayed there, breathing raggedly, teeth and fists clenched. Her nails bit into her palms. She pressed them harder.

“Han?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

“I need a spanking,” she blurted out.

Hitting another person went against everything he believe in, but she convinced him. There was something about Hardy, he was a policeman and strived to do the right thing, from the beginning of their friendship he had been her rock. No one else would do.

Whereas she needed to give up control, he needed to regain some— especially when he was with Hannah.

It was bond to be awkward at first. The smacks were too light, and even though she'd asked for it she fought him. But when they both gave in, the relief was instantaneous. The pain grounded her, and made her feel absolved.

They didn’t talk about it afterwards. Not until she found herself feeling all out of sorts again the following year. Although she was reluctant to ask, this time she knew what the solution was.

After that, with each spanking session, it became easier to submit. It reset things between them, reaffirmed their trust and care for each other,

It became more pleasurable too. The proximity, the intimacy. If Hardy noticed her arousal, he never mentioned it.

It didn’t happen often, only a handful of times across the years, but he recognized the signs now. She would get restless and moody, snarkier than usual. A behaviour designed to push him away, not because she disliked him but because, sometimes, she disliked herself. He knew that now.

Like today. He'd spent the weekend in London with her and was about to leave for Broadchurch. She'd been acting strange since his divorce.

“Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care,” Hannah shouted.

“I will.”

“Fine. Piss off!”

As she left the room, Hardy instinctively grabbed her arm. She looked at his hand, then at his face with a frown. He had never initiated it before. For the first time, he knew what she needed before she did herself.

“You’ve been bad,” he said.

Hannah swallowed thickly.

He gave her time to think, to voice her objection if need be. She hung her head.

“Over my knees. Now.”  

Hardy let go of her arm and sat down on the couch. He patted his lap. He kept his voice steady and level, he never raised it, never threatened or tried to scare her.

Hannah shuffled over. Everything in her rebelled against this, even if she wanted it.

She knew he was right. Ever since he'd left Tess, she'd hoped for things she didn't dare admit even to herself. And when this weekend with him didn't turn out the way she'd dreamed, she took her frustration out on him.

“C’mon,” he said with a hint of impatience in his voice; it was part of his role.

Hannah placed herself across his knees, her cheek on the velvet couch and her feet dangling on the other side. He crossed her wrists behind her back and held them in one hand. An uncomfortable and unsteady position, completely at his mercy, but secured by his firm grasp.

As he’d learned to do, he squeezed her butt cheeks over her shorts to increase the blood flow and prevent bruises. She tried to squirm out of his hold, but this too was part of their roles.

“Why do I need to spank you today?” he asked.

She didn’t answer so he landed the first slap over her bum. She jolted in his lap with a fake cry of pain.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

He tugged down her shorts and knickers, then rained little slaps all across her bum and the back of her thighs. Tension started leaving her body. Her fists unclenched as her cheeks reddened.

“Because I’m being a brat.”

“Aye.” He spanker her again. “And?”

This was the hardest for her to admit. It took three more spanks.

“Hannah?”

“Because I don’t really want you to go,” she mumbled.

He slapped both cheeks hard.

“Properly,” he demanded.

“Because I don’t really want you to go,” she said louder.

“Well done.”

He stroked her hair gently.

He had mixed feelings about seeing her like that, he loved his strong, confident Hannah, he’d rather she didn’t drive herself to these extremes, but felt privileged that she let herself be vulnerable with him.

She turned her head and nuzzled his palm. She was already in a sort of daze, the world around her forgotten.

“Make it hurt,” she asked in a soft voice.

When his hand left her face, she braced herself for the spanks to come. He had her count them out loud, to keep her in the moment, otherwise she forgot her limits.

All her nerves were on fire. She was panting and moaning, trying to avoid yet asking for more. Harsh slaps alternated with soothing caresses in an unpredictable pattern. The vibrations echoed between her legs. Each one kindled the fire in the pit of her stomach.  

She widened her legs.

Did she even realize she was doing it? He tried not to look, but the glistening shades of pink were too alluring. He shifted under her— she was writhing too close to his groin. This was for her, not for him.

He slapped her inner thighs, and she clamped them shut.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“No you’re not.”

She whimpered and tried to stay still. In this state, it didn’t even occur to her to shift position and seek the release she needed.

“Almost done. Can you take two more?”

“Yes, please.”

He spanked her twice, the hardest ones that echoed through the living room.

He released her wrists but kept a firm grip on her or else she would slump to the floor.

Hannah was high on whatever chemicals her brain released in these moments. The fact that he’d initiated the spanking had made the session even more intense for her. But she needed more.

She spread her legs again.

His breath hitch.

She canted her hips, pressing her pubic bone against his knee.

“Please.”

When he didn’t speak, she looked up at him and he remembered his role.

“Do you think you deserve it after acting like a brat?”

She surprised him by sliding to the floor between his legs. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed over.

“I want to be good for you,” she said.

She ran her hands up this thighs, looking up at him with wide doe eyes. Her mouth followed the same path as her hands, and he hardened at the feel of her hot breath through his trousers.

“You don’t have to…” he said weakly.

“I want to. You're always there when I need you and you never asked for anything in return.”

This wasn't entirely true, but any rational though exited his brain when she unfastened his belt and unzipped his fly. She stroked him over the cotton of his pants.

He wasn’t fully hard, he’d been too focused on her, but it all came rushing to his groin the moment she touched him.

She grinned when he twitched under her palm. She looked more like herself now with a challenging twinkle in her eyes. Her fingertips slipped through the opening and grazed his length.

Shocked, he didn’t move and held his breath.

“Hardy?”

“Hm?”

“What should I do?”

Right, he was still in control.

“I don’t think you want to be good, you’re being a tease.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then use your mouth.”

She nodded.

There was a single-minded determination to the way she licked and kissed him to full hardness. A sort of adoration he’d never been on the receiving end of.

When she wrapped her lips fully around the tip, he threw his head back and groaned.  She focused on the head, swirling her tongue around and pressing it to the sensitive underside. She slipped her hands under his shirt, caressing his taut stomach. He fisted the couch cushions.

“Keep going.”

She took him, gagging deep.

“Careful. Slow down, love.”

He twisted her long blond hair around his fist and guided her rhythm. She hummed and closed her eyes, giving herself entirely to the task. Her warm tongue swirled around on the way up, her lips squeezed on the way down. His engorged glistened with saliva and lip gloss. She rubbed her thighs together.

It came as no surprise that she was extremely good at this. He chased away the nagging doubt that it was all an act, that she did it that way for clients too.

“Han,” he whispered like a prayer.

He caressed her cheek, and she released him with a pop just long enough to kiss his palm and offer a brilliant smile.

His pleasure escalated too quickly. He tapped her head to warn her, but she kept on sucking. He burst in her mouth with a grunt.

She continued to suckle as he softened, and he had to stop her when he became too sensitive.

She rested her head on his knee as he recovered.

He could have professed his love right then.

“Come here.”

He helped her to her feet, and she sat on his lap. He traced light patterns on her inner thigh, inching higher. He gave her time to change her mind, but even there her skin was slick.

“Kiss me,” he said. It was more a question than a command.

Any doubt that he’d overstepped the boundaries vanished when she cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply. With a hand on the back of her neck, he didn’t let her break the kiss when he grazed her slit.

He moved slowly in and out, then added a second finger, keeping up the pace, then pressed the heel of his hand. The kiss turned messy and savage. Her juices coated his hand. Wet noises echoed in the room. His fingers moved quickly. He wanted her to see stars.

She clung to him, her nails left red crescents on his freckled skin.

She came fast and hard, her whole body quivering in his arms.

As she came down from her high, he rubbed her back in broad, soothing strokes.

Normally, she was happy and bubbly after a session, released from her anxieties, today she was unusually quiet.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“It was… different.”

“Yeah.”

“Talk to me, Han.”

She searched his face for a moment, then placed her hand upon his chest.

“I'm just realizing that... you’re the only one for me.”

“Good.”

And he kissed her.

[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: Disney Princess Series Part 6 (Decisions)

If you hated Josh in the last one weeelllllll hopefully Lisa makes up for it in this!

*** PR recommended a complete radio silence about the whole situation. To address the reports would be to stir up more speculation, whereas the less that was mentioned about it, the less fuel added to the fire, the quicker it would all slide away.

So that’s what you did and, it seemed, it was what Chris was doing as well. You’d had a few pap opportunities set up for you, so you could be seen out and about alone, attending meetings or going to the gym and pretty soon, the story fell out of the tabloids. You had sneakily Googled Chris a couple of times, a queasy feeling in your stomach, and he’d done similar things: out walking Dodger, meeting friends at a bar downtown, gym sessions, all alone, all perfectly staged.

You just went about your business as you always had. You needed to focus on your career and what your next move would be off the back of the film you’d done with Chris. The momentum was there, now that the relationship gossip had gone away, and you just needed to act on it. A stack of scripts had been steadily piling up, ones that had been sent to and seen by your agent and then thought to be of interest and passed to you. You weren’t sure what you were looking for in your next project but these scripts seemed to be a good place to start.

All you truly knew was that you needed to get out of your head and focus on what was important. You’d had no problem with that before Chris Evans had waltzed into your life, and you should have no problem getting back there. Nothing had actually happened after all, there was nothing to be upset about. You hadn’t even kissed for Christ’s sake! But that didn’t stop you imagining that one moment every time you stood in the kitchen, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his mouth a mere two inches from yours as he was about to tell you… well, it didn’t matter now, did it? It was over before it had begun and there was nothing you could do about it. The trip to Disney would always hold a special place in your heart but that was all. So, taking a deep breath, you resolved to move on, starting now. You pulled the first script from the coffee table and opened it up.

But when, ten minutes later, you found your gaze once again wandering over to the spot in the kitchen where you’d stood against him, waiting for him to just kiss you already, you huffed out a frustrated sigh, flinging the script down on to the seat next to you.

Wiggling your toes into your flip flops, you located your sunglasses, tossed the scripts and your phone into a satchel bag and headed out into the LA sunshine, locking your door behind you. You needed a neutral place where you could just get him out of your head and your favourite coffee shop might just be the answer.

A coffee, maybe a muffin, and a dark corner were all you needed and soon you were lost in the story being told by one of the scripts. You were really pleasantly surprised by one of the narratives. Given that your resume was various tv spots in the main, plus your break out role in Sleeping Beauty and now your more action-based role in the ensemble drama you’d done with Chris, you’d been sent a whole variety of genres and styles. You hadn’t been type cast so far, and that could be nothing but good news.

The one that piqued your interest was an emotional drama about a couple who had married young and were now, a decade down the line, experiencing problems in their marriage: the husband purposefully choosing to work away more and more while the wife contemplated an affair with a co-worker. But then they find themselves having to take on the care of the husband’s father, suffering with dementia, and move him into their house. Through caring for him, he teaches them a lot about life, love and themselves and they slowly rediscover what they loved about each other and how to make their marriage work, ten years down the line.

It was desperately bittersweet at the end. You were silently crying by the time you read the last line, tears running tracks down your cheeks as the script came to its conclusion. You’d told yourself that it was just the emotion of the story that brought on the waterworks but you knew deep inside that it had simply tipped you over the edge of an overflowing glass. All of the feelings of frustration, grief, hopelessness, and plain sadness of the last couple of weeks came pouring out of you in the hidden corner of the coffee shop.

You allowed yourself a couple of minutes to wallow before shaking your head and pulling yourself back together. Quickly flipping the document to the front page, you double checked the post it note your agent had left, just to make sure it was the female lead you were being considered for and not the best friend or the sister, when a name caught your eye under the ‘Director’ subtitle and you knew instantly that as much as you loved the story and the complexity of the wife’s character, there was no way you would ever get the role.

There it was, in clear black ink: Chris Evans.

You knew he had a movie lined up and he’d spoken about it occasionally during the Disney trip but you hadn’t put two and two together as you’d opened the first page, only giving the title a cursory glance.

You pulled your phone up to type out a message - he deserved to know how amazing this script was and what a brilliant job you knew he’d do with it - before cancelling and darkening the screen. You didn’t have that kind of relationship anymore. You had no relationship at all, all because he’d decided that he wasn’t worth the risk to your reputation and your career.

But as you sat there, post-cathartic release, and really analysed everything that had happened, everything that had been said in his last visit to you, you realised you’d been duped. You’d been conned out of choosing for yourself, and you might be reserved, you might not let your feelings show very easily or very often, you might avoid things that could hurt you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t capable of making your own decisions just because those decisions involved some risk.

You couldn’t have the role, not because you didn’t have the talent, but because if you wanted both Chris and some semblance of career, you couldn’t pick up roles on projects he was involved in. If you were going to do this, business needed to be completely separate from pleasure. But you could, you were confident, make it work if you just tried hard enough.

You blinked, feeling positive and empowered for the first time in two weeks. You couldn’t have the role, but it didn’t stop you from going to the audition.

***

‘Son, I know you’re feeling a bit lost and down but you’ve both made your decisions, right? You’re just going to have to live with it,’ Lisa told him gently.

Not even two weeks after arriving back in LA, Chris was in Boston again, moping around his mom’s house. He’d done what he needed to do regarding being ‘seen’, alone around LA and after four or five 'appearances’ to make sure he had his photo taken, he was straight on a plane back to Boston. He’d expected to feel lighter when he arrived but no such luck. He knew he was being pathetic but he just couldn’t shake the resentment he held towards… everything.

'I know, I know. I’m just… it’s not like she’s just a girl that I’ve met a couple of times, you know? I’ve had time to get attached and I… like her. And I think she likes me. But it’s a hopeless situation. What if this is it? What if she’s it for me?’

He was sat at the kitchen table, leaning his head against one hand. Lisa placed a steaming mug of peppermint tea in front of him before ruffling his hair with her fingertips. She hated seeing her son, normally so positive and energetic, so despondent.

'Oh sweetheart, I don’t know what to tell you. What did she say when you told her what Josh said?’

'Just 'oh I see,’ and then I left pretty much. Didn’t seem much point in drawing it out any more.’

'Chris, baby, did you even ask her what she wanted? I know Josh gave you the advice he thought best from his perspective but it seems like between the two of you, you’d decided the fate of that poor girl before she’d even had a chance to think about she wanted,’ the reality of his conversation with you dawned on Lisa suddenly. Her eldest son always was convinced he knew what was best for others, even if it made him feel miserable. He was self-sacrificing to a fault but needed to understand that it wasn’t always his call.

'Well… I… she didn’t counter with anything. And when I said we could still text and talk and stuff she told me not to insult her like that.’

Lisa could hardly believe her ears, 'Chris! She’s a grown woman! Of course she doesn’t want to keep up some teenager-like phone relationship. And you wouldn’t want that either so why would you even-’

'I know, it was dumb!’ Chris cut her off with his own irritation at himself and brought his other hand up to cradle his head between his palms, breathing in the steam from his tea on the table and hoping it would help soothe him, 'I just - I was desperate.’

His mom sighed, pulling out the chair next to him and sitting down, rubbing one hand comfortingly across his back.

'Listen, I know the press was bad but it was one time. You know as well as I do that the longer a relationship goes on, the more they just have to accept that you’re in it for the right reasons. It means you have to both be strong and probably take some knocks at the beginning, but if she’s worth it, and if she thinks you’re worth it, and there’s a real possibility you could make this work in the long term, shouldn’t you give it a chance?’

'She’s only just starting out though, mom. Those knocks at the beginning, her career might never recover from them.’

'Then that’s a risk for her to take, not a decision you get to make for her. I know I’m biased, but I have a hard time believing that anyone would think my baby boy isn’t worth taking a chance on,’ Lisa playfully pinched his cheek and a half smile tugged at Chris’ lips.

'Mooommmm,’ Chris whined bashfully.

'You’re never too old to have some sappy comments from your mother. Now drink your tea, get your head straight and think about what you’re going to say when you see her next,’ Lisa rose from her seat with a final pat on his back to busy herself with the chores that needed doing.

'Yes ma'am,’ he replied with a grin.

'That’s what I like to hear,’ Lisa nodded definitively, 'When are you going back to LA?’

'Well, the auditions for the movie are being held on Thursday, the scripts have been out for a week with the prospectives now, so I’ve got a flight Wednesday afternoon.’

'So I get you for another three days then,’ Lisa did the math, 'Are you going to talk to her before then?’

Chris shook his head, 'No, I think I want to talk face to face. When I go back.’

'Good choice. Just own up to how you feel and let her come to her own decision. You’ve got nothing to lose, given the current state of things.’

'I know, thanks mom,’ Chris could always count on his mother to help him straighten his thoughts out.

That gave him three days to prepare for both the auditions he was holding for the wife character in his latest film project and for seeing you again. His mom was right, if you turned around and told him to leave you alone forever, he’d be no worse off than he was now. He’d call you Thursday evening, after the auditions were over, and arrange something for the Friday or the Saturday.

And then, he’d lay it all on the line.

[fantasypreferred]

So, this one has come out mostly because I needed to rant but didn’t want to actually rant. It isn’t particularly good and it’s a little disjointed but it was cathartic to write, which was the point. I’m not going to make anyone suffer through the original version, which ended up very angry.

Trigger Warnings: Emotional abuse, physical abuse, talk of cancer

Death x Reader

Y/N was sitting at her kitchen table, mug of tea cooling in still hands and staring, unseeingly, at a wall. Beneath the calm exterior, thought and emotion waged war in her mind. Y/N couldn’t decide whether to feel frustrated, furious or hurt and nothing she’d done to soothe the mental whirlwind had worked. Not pacing, not yelling, not crying. Y/N couldn’t focus enough to play a videogame, meditation had been a fruitless endeavour, even her go-to trick of blaring rock music too loud and going for a run hadn’t been enough to drown out the angry buzz of thoughts.

A hand clamped down on Y/N’s shoulder, causing a yelp and spilling tea across the table. The woman whirled to face her attacker, hands rushing upward in defense. An indignant screech died in Y/N’s throat as she came eyes-to-stomach with a very familiar figure. Her gaze roved upward, seeking out the glowing, orange eyes of her companion as she sagged backward to lean against the table. “Death.” Y/N breathed. “You startled me.” The horseman regarded his mate coolly before his attention was diverted to the mess of liquid behind them. Y/N turned to see what Death had spotted and let out a quiet curse as she darted into the kitchen for paper towels.

After the initial buzz of activity, the pair had settled into the couch. Steaming mugs of tea and hot chocolate cooled on the coffee table as Y/N curled into Death’s side. Despite the domesticity of the scene, a stubborn silence gripped the apartment. Death seemed tense but Y/N was still trapped in her own mind and didn’t notice. Though, the longer the two of them sat there, the more relaxed the horseman became. The human scratched absently at Dust’s neck as her cat peered over jealously, from her hiding spot in the beanbag.

“Y/N.” Death spoke finally. Y/N startled again, earning a grumpy caw from the crow for jostling him. She turned her face toward her companion, “Yeah?” Y/N watched as Death’s eyes scanned over her, assessing, like he always did when he returned. The horseman had removed his mask while Y/N brewed their drinks, so Y/N could see the subtle shift of emotions and thoughts play across his face. Possessive hands held her to him as his thumb stroked gently against her hip. “If there is something bothering you, I’d have you speak it.” Y/N lips twitched into the slightest of smiles at Death’s usual brusque manner. He couldn’t help himself, even when he was trying to be gentle, the rider always came across gruff.

A scowl from Death was enough to bring Y/N’s attention back to his words and she heaved a sigh, stalling until she could figure out where to start. The human turned her gaze back to the crow, perched on her knee. “I’ve been in contact with my mother,” her words came out sullen and Death tensed against her side. He knew that always meant trouble. “What did she want?”, he asked carefully as he trailed a hand up his lover’s arm. He pressed Y/N closer to his side and felt the ragged intake of breath as she prepared to spill everything. “She sent me a message about what song she wants played at her funeral.” Death quirked an eyebrow. “Is she ill?” Y/n scoffed. “She’s spent a couple of months convinced she has lung cancer but it’s nothing major. She’ll be fine.”

Y/N leaned over to take a pull from the cooling hot chocolate. After a minute she continued, “the message made me angry. She knows I already know all her preference for her funeral. We wrote it all down and tucked it away years ago. I left it for a night so I wouldn’t react rashly to the message. I was still angry about it this morning, so I went over to see her. To have a chat and try to make her understand that I don’t want her sending me stuff like that. It didn’t go well. She accused me of not caring about her. Then decided that what I meant was I don’t want her to contact me at all. Ever. She called me selfish for that, even though that wasn’t what I was saying. That was when she told me that she doesn’t have cancer, she has a very mild case of pneumonia and will be fine in a couple of weeks. To end it all off, she wants to do something stupid with her money again and asked me to open a bank account in my name for her to use because the program she’s trying to get involved in rejected her. Her credit rating is awful so she wants me to risk mine. I said no and she yelled at me some more for being selfish.”

Y/N huffed as she tried to articulate the next part. “I’m angry and frustrated and hurt and I just don’t want to be dragged into my mother’s drama all the time. It was bad enough when she was falsely accusing my dad of physically abusing her. I’m exhausted. I can’t deal with her mind games and manipulation any more. She was a great mum when I was a kid and I love her but I don’t like her.” By the time Y/N had finished ranting, she was pressed tight to Death’s chest, her head tucked under his jaw. She could feel the vibrations of his throat against her nose as he growled.

The pair had spoke of Y/N parents plenty of times. This latest encounter was just one of many. He’d identified his mate’s mother as emotionally abusive very early on and had tried to put as much distance as he could between mother and child, stopping just short of denying Y/N seeing the woman. He planned his words carefully, tracing patterns on Y/n’s back as he thought. “Y/N, I know your family means a lot to you but you are not your mother’s keeper. Her problems are not your problems. You are not selfish for putting your well being and your needs above hers. You are not wrong for being angry about her manipulative behavior.”

Y/N nodded mutely at Death’s words. After several quiet minutes she piped up. “So, get everything sorted in Hell?”. Death released a long suffering sigh and nodded. “Fury has taken over liaising with the Demon Lords and Strife is now somewhere in the Forge Lands, causing trouble for the makers.” Y/N chuckled at the disdain with which Death referred to his brother. “The angels have stopped hindering War, then?” The last of the tension in Death’s shoulders melted away. “Yes. A deal was struck. One concerning you, actually.” The woman leaned back, head tilted curiously at the rider who seemed far less perturbed than she’d expect, regarding her involvement in such a matter. Amusement shone in Death’s eyes. “War would be left to go about his business if he ensured that a message reach you.” He paused for dramatic effect, though if Y/N were to accuse him of being dramatic, he’d deny it vehemently. She tucked herself back into place on her partner’s chest and waited for him to continue. “Azrael wishes to see you.” Y/N grinned. She enjoyed spending time with the angel.

The pair lapsed into silence once more. Though this time, the atmosphere in the apartment was one of contentment, not stress. Death’s presence and ministrations on Y/N’s back was soothing and coaxing sleep to the forefront of her mind. Death shifted carefully to lie back on the couch and the last thing Y/N heard before succumbing to the peace of sleep were the words ‘I’ve got you’ muttered into her hair.

[latestnews2018-blog]

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than 20-Year-Old Ronald Acuña's Majestic Homers

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/there-were-zero-things-better-this-week-than-20-year-old-ronald-acunas-majestic-homers/

There Were Zero Things Better This Week Than 20-Year-Old Ronald Acuña's Majestic Homers

Welcome to Good Stuff, HuffPost’s weekly recommendation series devoted to the least bad things on and off the internet.  

To try to enjoy baseball today is to face a constant barrage of reminders ― from baseball’s brass, from baseball’s press, from baseball fans and people who very much want you to know that they are not baseball fans ― that there is something existentially wrong with America’s pastime. It is boring and dated and not worth watching. But every now and then, someone like Ronald Acuña comes along to remind you that baseball is, in fact, good.

Acuña, a 20-year-old Atlanta Braves rookie, has been one of the most exciting young players in baseball this year. But his true breakthrough came only this week, when Acuña opened each of Atlanta’s first three games against the Miami Marlins with home runs. Two of them came Monday, when Acuña opened both games of a doubleheader with home runs. Then he woke up Tuesday and decided to do it again.

They were majestic shots, all of them, each leaving the yard faster, higher and harder than the one before it, and it was a record-breaking streak: The Venezuelan is the youngest player to hit leadoff bombs in three straight games, the youngest to hit homers in five straight games since 1908, the youngest this and the youngest that in all sorts of categories now. Tuesday night, he added another one, a three-run shot that sealed another Braves win.

He’s the new face of the franchise in Atlanta, but, along with players like Washington’s Juan Soto, he’s also one of the new, fresh faces of baseball as a whole. And he plays the game with the sort of electric exuberance sports should elicit from all of us, even if we aren’t all blessed with the talent that allows us to express that joy through towering home runs, diving catches and stolen bases.

Baseball being baseball, that meant someone was going to take exception to his skill or his sheer funness or something. On Wednesday night, Marlins pitcher José Ureña decided there was no longer any point in trying to get Acuña out (a feat the Marlins had mostly failed to accomplish all week) and instead launched a 97 mile-per-hour fastball at the kid’s elbow. It was a cowardly play that drove Acuña from the game and could have ended his (and Atlanta’s) season, and Ureña was roundly criticized for the pitch. Still, his decision was also baseball’s most easily fixable problem illustrated. This game has, for whatever reason, a deep-rooted tendency for someone in or adjacent to it ― a pitcher, a columnist, even the commissioner ― to spend their time trying to convince everyone that the thing they like is actually bad.

Acuña, at least, won’t stand for it. On Thursday, he texted Atlanta’s manager to say he was ready to play, because even when baseball tries its hardest to be bad, people like Ronald Acuña are here to remind us that it’s not. ― Travis Waldron

“On the Road… In Trump Country”

Why are Americans so polarized? What really happened in the 2016 election? I’m leaving my liberal bubble to get some answers. pic.twitter.com/OClhEqRseC

— Jesse Brenneman (@Jesse_Brenneman) August 8, 2018

There was nothing better than radio producer Jesse Brenneman — formerly of WNYC — tweeting a video series about reaching across political and socioeconomic lines, “On the Road… In Trump Country.”

It’s a hilarious series of tweets in which Brenneman pokes fun at all the reporters who parachuted into “Trump Country” after the president was elected. There are a lot of garbage news reports that treat any locale outside of a metropolitan city as a peculiarity to be investigated for a few days and then left behind. Brenneman does exactly that, mostly without leaving his car, and the results are amazing. Read the entire thread. ― Andy Campbell

The First Movie In 25 Years To Feature An All-Asian Cast

This one may be obvious, but it has to be said: “Crazy Rich Asians” is a goddamn delight. This movie has it all: Really hot people! Stunning locales! Delicious-looking food porn! Red-carpet-worthy costumes! Extravagance that would be nauseating in real life but is super fun on screen! A biting joke about JFK airport! Awkwafina!

Also, it’s the first movie in 25 years (since “The Joy Luck Club”) that features an all-Asian cast and puts an Asian-American story at its center. So, seriously, go fill those theaters. ― Emma Gray

“Drowning” by A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie, Orchestral Version

🔥🔥🔥🔥 RT @soscrub_: A Boogie performing Drowning w/ a live orchestra 😳 pic.twitter.com/mxD17oAK3l

— Rory (@thisisrory) August 15, 2018

Bruh, this is majestic as fuck. The original song — “Drowning” by A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie — is amazing in its own right, but hearing it slowed down, without the Auto-Tune, without Kodak Black and with an accompanying orchestra??? Biiiiiiiitch. I wanna shout. I wanna nod my head. I wanna crump. I wanna get active.

There’s something cathartic about hearing a trap beat glide over the graceful medley of cellos, pianos and violins. The song feels fleshed out, as if the more classical instruments have lifted it to be all it can be, all it was meant to be.

And to hear A Boogie rap “Bust down, bust down, bust down, bust down, bust down, bitch I’m drownin’” while that violin whines in the back??? This rendition of the song deserves a Grammy, OK? ― Julia Craven

A Bubble Man

I love New York so much. pic.twitter.com/Qb4TSnknpR

— Alexander Kaufman (@AlexCKaufman) August 15, 2018

Union Square is an egalitarian island in a sea of opulence, corporate chains and pied-à-terres owned by ultrarich foreigners and trust-fund schmucks who think Brooklyn is “too far.” The 6½-acre park, plaza and subway hub of Lower Manhattan serves as the venue for an affordable farmers market four days a week. On the other days, it’s a draw for street performers. Which brings me to the Bubble Man.

I don’t know the Bubble Man’s name, but he’s been a fixture in Union Square for over a decade. He shows up, usually on the west side of the park, with buckets of soapy water and a wand made of two broom-length sticks. Then he just produces bubbles endlessly while kids squeal and chase after them, trying to pop the shimmering little orbs before they float down and burst on the concrete.

When I left work Tuesday, I was exhausted. For some unclear reason, I woke up with my insecurities and feelings of inadequacy on full blast. To boot, my checking account suffered a stinging blow that morning when a handful of different travel and life expenses unexpectedly hit all at once. All I wanted was to go home to my apartment in Queens and curl up until I mustered the appetite to eat leftovers.

As I walked through the park to catch the N train home, the glint of bubbles caught my eye. I noticed a crowd gathered, so I walked over before descending into the subway. The kids were ecstatic, exhaling a chorus of “whoas,” “wows,” and “awesomes” as they scurried around in pursuit of bubbles. Parents and onlookers from all different backgrounds watched, phones out, capturing videos and photos. It was such a raw, uplifting moment, and a wonderful reminder that this city’s real wealth is in its public spaces.  ― Alexander Kaufman

The Great Mayonnaise Debate

Last weekend, Sandy Hingston published a piece in Philadelphia magazine titled “How Millennials Killed Mayonnaise,” a 2,300-word diatribe apparently inspired by a few people not eating her potato salad at Fourth of July barbecues anymore.

The slightly tongue-in-cheek piece offered no real evidence that millennials had actually killed America’s most popular condiment (at least as of 2014), save for her wicked young daughter, a women’s and gender studies major who “naturally” “loathes mayonnaise” (by comparison, Jake, the “practical” and “good son,” loves Sandy’s macaroni salad, thank you very much).

And so it was that Hingston set off a predictably fierce and inarguably trivial internet debate about (A) if mayonnaise is good and (B) whether millennials killed it. The entire situation was wholly idiotic. It lasted way too long, and I loved every second of it. The episode reminded me of a simpler time on the internet, when my days and nights weren’t filled with thoughts of Nazis, incels, Russian bots and Roger Stone. And so I say: Bring back the asinine internet debates of yesteryear! I’ll watch people debate literally anything dumb. Ketchup? Sure. Avocados? Fine, whatever. You want to debate laundry detergent. I’ll debate laundry detergent. Please, I need this. I need this so bad. Help me. Please. And for the record, mayonnaise is bad. ― Maxwell Strachan

Pop’s New Pansexual Anthem

British-Japanese pop princess Rina Sawayama released her new single, “Cherry,” this week, a bubbly pop bop in which she gushes over a new crush who is… dun dun dun… a girl!

“Down the subway, you looked my way / With your girl gaze, with your girl gaze / That was the day everything changed / Now it’s something else.”

Sawayama, who identifies as pansexual, explores the electric experience of desiring a woman and letting the feeling fully flood the body ― even though she’s dating a dude. The song uproots the “girl meets boy” pop music standard, navigating Sawayama’s unfixed sexual preferences with nuance and playful levity. In “Cherry,” Sawayama confronts the contradictions that accompany fluid sexuality: can she authentically identify as queer while being in a heterosexual relationship? (Yes.) The question probes far deeper than Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl.”

Like the 2017 album “RINA,” “Cherry” invokes sounds popularized in the late ’90s and early 2000s pop by femme-forward artists like Willa Ford and Danity Kane. Sawayama, however, sharpens their sugary recipes by granting the genre a gravitas long denied to it. As a result, her jams feel both nostalgic and cutting edge, combining the sweetness of Mandy Moore’s “Candy” with the visionary mastery of Janelle Monae.

Along with possessing me to dance with a force best described as supernatural, Sawayama’s music illuminates potential for a future in which mainstream music can encapsulate experiences as niche and complex as any other “highbrow” art form. As Sawayama told Broadly: “I think it’s possible to queer the world with pop music.” ― Priscilla Frank

This Book Has Everything: Spore-Infected Zombies, A Mediocre Photo Blog, Critique Of Capitalism

Amazon

Spore-infected zombies, a mediocre New York photography blog, critiques of capitalism, a residential shopping mall and a spot of doomed romance: Ling Ma’s debut novel, Severance, has everything I want in a work of fiction.

Severance follows Candace Chen, an aimless twentysomething who has an uninspiring office job in New York, overseeing the production of Bibles. She has vague artistic aspirations and a dreamy writer boyfriend of five years. As the book begins, her boyfriend decides to leave New York for the cheaper and more artistically inspiring pastures of, well, anywhere else. Meanwhile, a fungal infection has erupted in China, and it soon spreads throughout the world. There’s no treatment; the infection kills those it affects, but often after a long spell of zombie-like existence.

Candace, left behind by her boyfriend and alone in the world (her parents, who immigrated from China when she was a young girl, are dead), stays in New York City as it empties of living residents, documenting its decay on her blog. Finally, she flees the city with a small band of survivors who make their way to a shelter owned by the group’s de facto leader.

Interwoven are flashbacks exploring Candace’s childhood, her immigrant experience, her family and her early years in New York, piecing together a novel that’s zombie apocalypse meets immigrant narrative meets office satire.

This book is hauntingly beautiful, it’s thrillingly plotted and it offered me a bit of escapism, the comforting thought that American civilization could be brought to an end by something I’ve completely forgotten to worry about since November 2016: a massive pandemic. ― Claire Fallon

‘Spotlight,’ Which Deserves A Spot In The Pantheon Of Classic Journalism Movies

This week’s shocking grand jury report detailing sexual abuse by hundreds of Catholic priests in Pennsylvania credited the Boston Globe Spotlight team’s 2002 investigation, which first exposed the institutional cover-up of serial sexual abuse involving Boston priests. The reporters’ work was later dramatized in the brilliant movie “Spotlight” — which, luckily, is available on Netflix. Nearly three years after its release, I can confidently say that it’s just as good as (and maybe even better than) “All the President’s Men,” and it deserves a spot in the pantheon of classic journalism movies.

While it miraculously won the Oscar for best picture in 2015, it also should have won awards for its meticulous craft, from its seamless editing to subtle camera work. The technical elements in understated movies rarely get the recognition that they deserve, precisely because they are so understated (i.e. no explosions and car chases). Journalism is not an inherently cinematic profession: It’s mostly people staring at computers, talking on the phone, reading through documents, etc. But “Spotlight” manages to make these mundane, procedural tasks look riveting. Case in point: One of its most suspenseful scenes involves an Excel spreadsheet. An Excel spreadsheet! ― Marina Fang

Aretha, Remembered

As we remember the one and only Aretha Franklin, so many iconic performances come to mind. “Divas Live.” Obama’s inauguration. That Carole King tribute at the 2015 Kennedy Center Honors. But one TV appearance of hers needs to be watched again and again, if only to stare at Cissy Houston providing backup vocals in the background.

That’s right: In 2014, Aretha sang a cover of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” blended with a rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” on “The Late Show With David Letterman,” and Cissy, an accomplished performer herself, appeared to forget all the words as one of the backup singers. It’s so entertaining and funny, and it will bring you some joy as we face the sad loss of the Queen of Soul. ― Leigh Blickley

Glenn Close In “The Wife”

Graeme Hunter Pictures, Sunnybank Cottages

If you want to see an actor at work — really at work — look for the moments without any dialogue. For the most gifted performers, that’s when the magic happens. Nicole Kidman at the opera house in “Birth.” Jodie Foster darting through Buffalo Bill’s house in “The Silence of the Lambs.” And, now, Glenn Close standing idly by her husband (Jonathan Pryce) as fans extol his fraudulent career in “The Wife,” a Meg Wolitzer adaptation opening this weekend.

In one of the best performances of her career, Close plays the spouse of a novelist who’s just been feted with the Nobel Prize — for the books she ghostwrote. Over the course of 100 minutes, she finds it increasingly tough to quiet the resentment that’s finally bubbling up inside of her. The movie springs to life not in the couple’s verbal tiffs but in the subtle character work Close does when the camera is stationed on her face, telegraphing the conflict she’s long masked. It’s an actress at her finest. ― Matthew Jacobs

A Nice Memory

Read last week’s Good Stuff.

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