#she’s moving me to the trench that they found a forge in and didn’t get to bedrock yet in and I wrote my thesis on tools so like fair

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Im going to have to learn new depths of emotional maturity to handle the field school this season tbh

[the-winter-spider]

Willow | 1/2

Pairings: 1940sBucky x Agent!Reader, Bucky x agent!reader

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Nothing really

A/N: This fic was inspired by @vibraniumqueen message sent to me!! Hope its sort of what you requested! I got carried away and now have to post this in 2 parts lol

Im not like the biggest fan of this buuuuut after writing over 15k words total for the whole fic i gotta post it lol ALSO i definitely did not edit this lmao oopsie

The door slid open, and in walked Nick Fury, his presence commanding the room as always. He didn’t bother with formalities; he never did.

“Agent,” Fury began, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got a mission. One that never happened, and one you’ll never speak of again.”

You nodded, your face impassive, though your mind was already racing. Missions like these were your specialty. You didn’t operate in the spotlight. You weren’t one of Fury’s public heroes or a celebrated Avenger. You were a shadow, a weapon honed in the dark, moving through the world unnoticed. A ghost.

Fury crossed the room, his trench coat brushing the floor as he moved. “We’ve identified a Nazi stronghold in 1941, deep in occupied Europe. They’re in possession of critical documents — plans and technology decades ahead of their time. We can’t let those files survive the war.”

You glanced at the map, your mind already calculating. “Time travel,” you said, your voice calm, though the weight of the mission began to settle on your shoulders.

Fury nodded. “You’ll be stationed as a nurse with the 107th Infantry. They’ll be arriving at a field camp near the stronghold in a few days. Your cover is simple: blend in, gain access to the target, retrieve the files, and get out. No deviations. No attachments.”

You resisted the urge to scoff. No attachments. That had been drilled into you since the beginning. You were trained to be invisible, to serve a mission and then disappear without a trace. Your past in the Red Room had taught you that much, and SHIELD had only refined it.

“I assume I’m working alone,” you said.

Fury’s expression didn’t change. “You always do.”

It was true. You were a ghost in every sense of the word. You’d spent your entire life operating on the fringes, never part of a team, never part of their world. You knew of the Avengers, of course—who didn’t? But they didn’t know you. You weren’t a part of their grand battles or their legendary victories.

Well, except for one. Natasha Romanoff. She’d been a fleeting presence in your life, a reminder of your shared origins in the Red Room. You’d trained in the same shadows, fought the same demons. But even then, you hadn’t truly known her. She’d been a specter of a different life, one that had moved on without you. While she got recruited there, Fury thought you were best suited in the shadows.

You refocused as Fury handed you a dossier. Inside were detailed maps, forged documents, and a small vial containing a glowing blue liquid. The device that would send you back in time.

“You know the drill,” Fury said, his tone as sharp as ever. “You’re not there to change history, only to secure our future. In and out. No one remembers you, and you don’t bring anything or anyone back.”

You nodded, flipping through the dossier. “And the 107th?”

“They don’t know who you are, and they never will. You’re a nurse. That’s it. But one name on that roster might ring a bell.” Fury tapped the folder, and you found it instantly. Barnes, James Buchanan.

The name didn’t spark recognition, but it did send a strange ripple through your thoughts. “Why him?” you asked.

Fury shrugged. “No reason. He’s just another soldier in the unit. But don’t let that distract you. This mission isn’t about making friends, and it damn sure isn’t about saving anyone who doesn’t need saving.”

You clenched your jaw. Fury’s words were a reminder of the line you couldn’t cross. You’d trained for this moment for years, honing your skills to perfection. You were designed to be unseen, unheard, and unfelt.

Fury’s voice snapped you back. “You’ve got your orders. Do your job, Agent. Leave no trace.”

You took the dossier and the vial, tucking them away with practiced efficiency. “Understood,” you said, your voice steady, devoid of hesitation. But as you turned to leave, the familiar mantra echoed in your mind: No attachments. No connections. You’re a ghost.

Later, when you finally opened the dossier, your eyes landed on a photograph. Barnes. The name was familiar, but it wasn’t until you stared at his face that something inside you stirred. A strange sense of recognition flickered in the back of your mind. You knew him—or at least, it felt like you did.

You flipped the page, your pulse quickening as more details came into view. And then, you saw it.

The Winter Soldier.

The words stared back at you, cold and unfeeling, but they sparked a storm of emotions you weren’t prepared for. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in this business did. The ghost story whispered in shadows, the assassin whose presence was felt long after he disappeared into the night. But what you didn’t know was the man behind it.

Your gaze drifted back to the photograph, and for a moment, everything else fell away. His eyes. Even through the grainy black-and-white image, they stood out—haunted, distant, yet somehow familiar. There was innocence there, a quiet humanity buried beneath the weight of the darkness he would come to bear.

You tightened your grip on the file, your knuckles whitening. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel, and yet here you were, shaken by a face from the past you couldn’t place but somehow couldn’t forget.

Flipping through the pages, you scanned his history—Brooklyn, 1941, the 107th Infantry. Your breath caught as more images filled the pages. Pictures of him before he became the Winter Soldier: laughing with other soldiers, standing beside a scrawny young man labeled Steve Rogers, of course you knew him as Captain America but no one would ever know you. Then, the darker photos followed. HYDRA. The experiments. The cold, dead stare of a man who had been stripped of everything.

The door to your quarters slid shut with a soft hiss, and for a moment, the silence was almost suffocating. You placed the dossier and the small vial of glowing blue liquid on the steel table in front of you. The mission parameters were clear, the risks higher than usual, but none of that was new. You’d done this before, moving through missions like a shadow, leaving no trace. Yet, something about this one felt… different. Heavier.

You sat down, the cold metal of the chair grounding you. Flicking open the dossier, you reviewed the details again, committing every piece of information to memory. Maps, personnel lists, cover identities. You’d be stationed as a nurse in a field hospital near the front lines. A perfect cover for blending in. Your forged papers were flawless, down to the tiniest detail.

Your name was different now. Your past erased, rewritten to fit the narrative of a 1940s nurse.

Ghosts didn’t get attached. Ghosts didn’t feel. You weren’t there to alter history or forge connections. Your mission was simple: retrieve the files, destroy them if necessary, and get out.

You pushed the dossier aside and picked up the vial, turning it over in your hands. The blue liquid shimmered faintly, a reminder of the power it held. Time travel was a delicate operation, one that required precision and absolute control. There was no room for error.

You placed the vial carefully into the injector and secured it around your wrist. The faint hum of the device powering up was the only sound in the room.

Your internal monologue began to surface, unbidden.

You weren’t supposed to be here, not in this timeline, not in their world. You’d been forged in the Red Room, molded into an instrument of precision and silence. SHIELD had found you, given you purpose beyond the shadows of your past, but you had never stepped into the light. You were designed to operate in the margins of history, invisible to the heroes who saved the world.

It hurt thinking of Natasha, her voice, her presence in the Red Room. She had been a beacon of strength. But she had walked away from that world, found a new family. You? You remained in the shadows, bound to missions that no one could know about, missions that didn’t exist on paper. You didn't exist on paper.

You stood and approached the small mirror on the wall. The face staring back at you was calm, unyielding. But behind your eyes, you could see the tension creeping in.

You’re not doing this for glory or recognition. You’re doing this because you’re the only one who can.

You reached for the pack of clothing and equipment laid out on the nearby table. The nurse’s uniform was meticulously crafted, down to the period-accurate buttons and insignia. As you slipped into the attire, you felt yourself becoming the role. The transformation was seamless, automatic, a ritual that pulled you deeper into the identity you were about to assume.

Finally, you secured the last piece: a silver locket around your neck. Inside was a tiny microchip, a piece of technology far beyond anything the 1940s could comprehend. It was your failsafe, your tether back to the present.

A soft chime from the injector reminded you it was time. You glanced around the room, taking in every detail, knowing this might be the last familiar sight you’d see for a while. Then, you pressed the button on your wrist.

The world around you began to shift, colors bleeding into one another as time folded in on itself. Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stoic. You’d trained for this, prepared for every contingency. You were ready.

As the light around you intensified, your final thought was simple, resolute: You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

And then, the world snapped into focus, and you were standing in a field hospital in 1941, the distant sound of artillery fire echoing through the air.

The mission had begun.

The salty breeze off the English Channel carried the smell of sea and steel, a sharp reminder of the battles waged across its waters. You stood at the edge of the field hospital camp, the makeshift tents and wooden crates around you blending into the mud-soaked earth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows as the air grew cooler.

From where you were stationed, you could see the transport ship docking at the pier. Its hulking frame loomed against the gray sky, the gangplank lowering with a heavy groan. One by one, soldiers began to disembark, their boots clanging against the metal as they descended.

You were trained to observe, to analyze every detail without drawing attention to yourself. These men were exhausted, their faces grim and hardened by the horrors they had faced. Their uniforms were wrinkled and stained, helmets tilted at weary angles. They moved like a unit, but each step spoke of personal battles, of stories carried in silence.

You stayed rooted in place, your nurse’s uniform a perfect blend of authority and anonymity. A clipboard in your hand gave you an excuse to linger, but no one paid you much mind. This was war. You were just another face in the chaos.

Your eyes scanned the line of soldiers disembarking, cataloging them with practiced precision. You were supposed to be looking for weaknesses, details that might help you blend in more effectively. But then, your gaze landed on one man.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his posture upright despite the weight of fatigue. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his steel-blue eyes scanned the camp with a soldier’s wariness. His face was sharp, shadowed by stubble, but it was his expression that caught you—equal parts focused and distant, as if he were both here and somewhere far away.

James Buchanan Barnes.

You knew his name, knew his story—or at least, the parts that history would remember… the parts in the folder. But standing here now, seeing him in the flesh, was something else entirely. He wasn’t just a name in a dossier or a ghost from the past. He was real, and the weight of that realisation hit you like a wave.

I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.

His arrival had stirred something deep within you, something you couldn’t explain.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way. Your mission was clear: stay invisible, complete the task, and leave. No deviations, no entanglements. But as you watched him, your chest tightened with an inexplicable pull. There was something about him, something magnetic.

Bucky paused near the base of the gangplank, helping another soldier with a crate of supplies. His voice was low, his words lost in the din of the camp, but the kindness in his gestures was unmistakable. He was a soldier, yes, but there was a warmth to him, a spark of humanity that hadn’t been extinguished by war.

You forced yourself to look away, focusing on the clipboard in your hand. Stay sharp. Stay focused. You couldn’t afford distractions, not here, not now.

And yet, your eyes betrayed you, flickering back to him as he moved through the camp, his presence impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity, a natural reaction to seeing someone you’d only read about.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to speak to him, to share even a fraction of the weight you carried. But the thought was fleeting, quickly buried beneath the weight of your training.

You are a ghost. Leave no trace.

The smell of antiseptic and damp canvas filled the air as you moved between the rows of cots in the makeshift medical tent. Their arrival—was what you’d been waiting for.

You were focused on checking supplies when a familiar commotion at the tent entrance caught your attention. A group of soldiers sauntered in, their uniforms caked in dirt and their faces shadowed with fatigue. Among them was a man who immediately stood out. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his blue eyes bright despite the grime smeared across his face. He carried himself with an easy confidence, even as he favoured one leg.

Your mission dossier hadn’t prepared you for the sheer presence of him.

As the soldiers dispersed to their assigned cots, he made a beeline for you. His limp was subtle but noticeable, and despite yourself, your training kicked in.

“Take a seat,” you said, your voice steady as you gestured to an empty cot. “I’ll take a look at that leg.”

Bucky flashed a crooked smile, his eyes sweeping over you with interest. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice smooth, tinged with the faintest Brooklyn accent. “And here I thought this camp was all bad news.”

You arched an eyebrow, setting down your clipboard. “Flattery won’t get you out of a medical exam, Sergeant Barnes.”

His grin widened as he sat down, wincing slightly. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do I call you, Nurse…?”

You hesitated for half a second, then gave him your cover name. “Nurse Johnson.”

“Well, Nurse Johnson,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “if I’d known there were nurses like you out here, I’d have gotten shot a long time ago.”

You gave him a pointed look, crouching in front of him to roll up the tattered leg of his uniform. “Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?”

Bucky’s laugh was soft but genuine, his gaze never leaving your face. “You’re all business, huh?”

You pressed lightly on his shin, watching for a reaction. “Someone has to be. Looks like you’ve got a nasty sprain, but nothing’s broken.”

“Guess I’ll live to fight another day,” he said, wincing slightly as you adjusted his leg.

“Barely,” you muttered, grabbing a bandage from your kit. As you wrapped his leg, you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention almost unnerving.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, his tone playful but curious.

"Thats the line you're gonna go with?" The corners of your lips slightly turned as you tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “Helping stubborn soldiers like you survive long enough to get home.”

Bucky chuckled, his head tilting slightly. “You got a smart mouth on you, Nurse Johnson. I like that.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms. “And you’ve got a sprained leg. Try not to make it worse.”

He grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a dance partner when this war’s over, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Despite yourself, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You better. A guy like me doesn’t make that offer twice.”

Shaking your head, you gathered your supplies and turned to leave. “Try to stay out of trouble, Sergeant.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice warm and teasing. “But I’ll do my best if it means seeing you again.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, finding him still watching you, his smile softer now. Your mission had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

The first few days at the field hospital were a blur of motion and noise. Soldiers came in with fresh wounds, some minor, others devastating. Your hands worked tirelessly, stitching cuts, setting broken bones, administering whatever pain relief was available. You moved through it all like a machine, your focus never wavering.

You’d trained for moments like this, where life and death were separated by a thread, but this mission wasn’t about saving lives—it was about staying hidden long enough to complete your objective. The files you needed were still buried somewhere in enemy hands, and every moment you spent here was one step closer to obtaining them.

Still, blending in was vital, and that meant interacting with the men around you. They were polite, for the most part, offering nods of gratitude when you patched them up. But one soldier in particular seemed to be making it his mission to capture your attention.

“Hey, Nurse,” a familiar voice called out one evening as you worked on organizing supplies. You turned to see Bucky Barnes leaning against the frame of the medical tent, a lopsided grin on his face. “Got a minute?”

You raised an eyebrow, but kept your expression neutral. “That depends. Are you here because you need actual medical attention, or are you just bored?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You sighed, setting down the bandages you were sorting. “Let me guess—another soldier got into a scuffle and you decided to play referee?”

Bucky stepped closer, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Something like that. You know how it is. Boys will be boys.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and despite yourself, you felt a flicker of amusement.

You crossed your arms, feigning exasperation. “Well, if you’re not bleeding, you’re wasting my time, Sergeant.”

“Ah, but see, you didn’t check.” He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Maybe I’ve got a battle wound you missed.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile threatening to break through. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Flirt? Me?” Bucky placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “I’m just trying to keep morale up. Can’t have our best nurse getting all serious on us.”

“Best nurse?” You arched an eyebrow. “You’ve known me for all of three days, Barnes.”

“Three days is all I need,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to send a small shiver down your spine. “I’ve got a good eye for people.”

You turned back to your supplies, determined to maintain your composure. “Well, maybe you should use that good eye to look out for your men instead of distracting me.”

Bucky chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I do that too. Multitasking, you know?”

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, another soldier poked his head into the tent, interrupting the moment. “Sarge, we’ve got a situation by the south perimeter.”

Bucky’s demeanour shifted instantly, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by sharp focus. He gave you a quick nod, then turned to follow the soldier out.

“Don’t work too hard, doll,” he called over his shoulder as he left. “Wouldn’t want you wearing yourself out.”

You shook your head, finally letting out a small laugh once he was gone. Bucky Barnes was trouble, that much was clear. He was charming, confident, and far too good at making you forget the rules you were supposed to live by.

But he was also a soldier, just like the rest of them. And you were here for a mission, not for him.

Stay focused, you reminded yourself, though it was getting harder with every interaction.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Bucky found every opportunity to stop by the medical tent, whether it was to check on his men or to toss a teasing remark your way. He seemed determined to pull you out of your shell, to coax a smile or a laugh from you no matter how busy or serious the day became.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a soldier with a shrapnel wound, Bucky appeared again, his presence filling the tent like sunlight cutting through a storm.

“Thought you might need some help,” he said, leaning casually against a supply crate.

You didn’t even look up. “Unless you’ve suddenly become a medic, I think I’m good.”

“Hey, I’m a fast learner,” he quipped, stepping closer. “Show me what to do, and I’ll be the best assistant you’ve ever had.”

You finally glanced up at him, your expression skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned, unflinching. “C’mon, Nurse. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sighed, gesturing toward the supplies. “Fine. Hand me the gauze.”

Bucky’s grin widened as he moved to your side, and for the next few minutes, he actually did as he was told, passing you tools and supplies with surprising care. But of course, it didn’t take long for him to start talking again.

“So,” he began, his tone light, “you always this serious, or is it just an act?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe I’m trying to keep certain soldiers in line.”

“Ah, so I’m a bad influence,” he teased, leaning a little closer. “Good to know.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, trying not to let his proximity affect you. “You’re definitely something.”

The playful banter continued, but beneath it all, you felt the weight of unspoken truths. Every moment with Bucky was a reminder of what you couldn’t have, of the life you were just passing through. But for now, in the fleeting quiet of the field hospital, you allowed yourself to enjoy his presence.

Just for a little while.

The sun was setting, painting the horizon in hues of gold and crimson. The camp had grown quieter, the hum of daily activity fading as the soldiers took what little rest they could before nightfall. You were sitting on a wooden crate just outside the medical tent, enjoying a rare moment of stillness. A cup of lukewarm coffee sat in your hands, its warmth a small comfort against the cool evening air.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence, and you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Mind if I join you?” Bucky’s voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

You glanced at him, your heart giving a small, inexplicable flutter. “It’s a free camp,” you said, gesturing to the crate beside you.

Bucky sat down with a tired sigh, his helmet resting on his lap. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet settling comfortably between you. He looked different in the fading light—less like the cocky sergeant who flirted with you during the day and more like the weary soldier you knew he was. His eyes were distant, reflecting the weight of battles fought and losses endured.

“You don’t talk much about yourself,” he said after a while, his voice thoughtful. “Most of the nurses here, they talk about home, family. You… you’re a mystery.”

You kept your gaze on the horizon, your grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Maybe I just don’t have much to tell.”

“Everyone’s got a story,” he countered, glancing at you. “Even ghosts.”

Your heart skipped at the word, but you kept your expression neutral. “Ghosts don’t have stories. They just… exist.”

Bucky frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Is that what you think you are? A ghost?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his insight. He was perceptive, more than you’d expected. Finally, you spoke, your voice low. “I’ve spent a long time learning how to disappear. It’s easier that way.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. “Easier, maybe. But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You swallowed hard. “Loneliness is part of the job.”

He shook his head, his expression gentle but firm. “Doesn’t have to be.”

You turned to look at him then, your eyes meeting his. There was no teasing now, no flirtation. Just quiet sincerity. It made your chest ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t really have anyone to talk about,” you admitted after a moment. “No family, not that I remember. My parents… I don’t even know their names.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his eyes filled with empathy. “Were you… a orphan?”

You hesitated, the term feeling both accurate and not. “Something like that. I was raised by people who didn’t care about who I was, only what I could do for them.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d intended, but Bucky didn’t shy away from them. His gaze softened further, and he nodded slowly. “That’s a hell of a way to grow up,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, trying to deflect the weight of the conversation. “It made me good at what I do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “But it doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

You looked away, unsure how to respond. Empathy wasn’t something you were used to, especially not from someone like him—someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, even in the middle of a war.

After a long pause, Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time. “You remind me of someone.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Who?”

“Steve,” he said with a small, fond smile. “He didn’t have much either. His mom passed not too long ago, and his dad when we were kids. But it's always been just him one way or another just fighting to survive in Brooklyn. Always getting picked on because he’s small, but he never gave up. He had this stubborn streak, always standing up for people, even when it got him into trouble.”

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You knew his story, but hearing Bucky talk about him like this—like he was just Steve, not a legend, because to this Bucky he wasn’t one yet—it painted a different picture.

“Must’ve been tough,” you said softly.

Bucky nodded. “It was. But he never let it break him. That’s just who he is.” He paused, his smile growing a little. “He can't throw a rock without wheezing but he never let that and will never let that stop him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the warmth in Bucky’s voice cutting through the weight of the conversation.

“He’s lucky to have you,” you said.

Bucky looked at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. “I’m lucky to have him too. He’s always been there, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The vulnerability in his words mirrored your own, and for a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared pasts hanging between you.

Bucky reached out then, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re not as invisible as you think,” he said softly. “Not to me…I see you Nurse, and the view is amazing”

The camp was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that preceded something terrible. The usual hum of activity had slowed, and even the soldiers seemed more on edge. You felt it too—the tension in the air, the weight of something approaching.

You were in the medical tent, organising supplies when the call came.

“Enemy movement spotted near the south perimeter!” a soldier shouted as he rushed past. “They’re coming!”

Your heart dropped. You knew this moment was inevitable. The enemy had been closing in for days, and now they were here. But it wasn’t just the impending battle that had your stomach in knots. It was the mission—the files.

You quickly grabbed your hidden satchel from beneath your cot. Inside were the tools you’d need to breach the Nazi stronghold, which was now dangerously close to enemy lines. You’d been waiting for this opportunity, but it was coming at the worst possible time. The camp was about to become a battlefield, and every second counted.

Before you could slip away, Bucky stormed into the tent, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his face set in a grim expression.

“There you are,” he said, his eyes scanning you quickly, as if ensuring you were unharmed. “They’ve called all hands. It’s gonna get rough out there.”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He frowned, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as you tightened the straps on your satchel. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion growing. “What’s in the bag?”

You froze for a split second, but it was enough for him to notice.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I can’t explain right now. I just… I have to go.”

His jaw tightened. “Go? Where? The perimeter’s crawling with enemy troops, and you’re talking about running off?”

You stepped past him, but he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not harsh. “Talk to me,” he pleaded. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the day you got here. Please, dont do this….What’s really going on?”

You hesitated, the weight of your mission crashing down on you. Bucky wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. But in this moment, with his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized you couldn’t just walk away without saying something.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said quietly. “I’m not just a nurse. I’m here on a mission.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed “A mission?” confusion and concern mixing in his expression. “What kind of mission?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I can’t tell you everything. But there’s something I need to retrieve from the enemy. It’s vital.”

His grip on your arm tightened slightly. “You’re planning to go out there alone?”

“I have to,” you said, your voice firm. “This is what I was sent here to do.”

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you even have backup?”

“No,” you admitted. “This mission is off the books.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he exhaled sharply. “That’s insane. You can’t go out there alone.”

“I’ve done it before,” you said, trying to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.”

But Bucky wasn’t convinced. “Not this time,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’m coming with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t going to let you go alone.

“Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You don’t get to push me away now. If this is as important as you say it is, then you’re gonna need someone watching your back.”

You hesitated, torn between the mission and the growing connection you felt with him. Bringing Bucky along wasn’t part of the plan, but the truth was, you knew he was right. The enemy would be everywhere, and the odds of surviving alone were slim.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But you follow my lead. No questions.”

He gave you a small, determined nod. “Deal.”

Together, you slipped out of the tent and into the night, the distant sound of gunfire growing louder with each step. The mission was about to reach its breaking point, and so was your fragile trust in Bucky.

But there was no turning back now.

The camp was already descending into chaos by the time you and Bucky slipped through the south perimeter. Gunfire echoed in the distance, mingling with the shouts of soldiers and the thunderous roar of artillery. The enemy was closing in fast, and every second felt like borrowed time.

You led the way, keeping low as you navigated the uneven terrain. Bucky followed close behind, his rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning for threats. The weight of your satchel bounced against your side, a constant reminder of the mission’s stakes.

“Where exactly are we going?” Bucky asked in a hushed voice as you reached a narrow trail leading toward the enemy-occupied forest.

“There’s a stronghold about a mile from here,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “That’s where they’re keeping the files.”

He gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. “And how do you know this?”

You hesitated. “Let’s just say I have access to intel most people don’t.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”

The tension between you was palpable, but there was no time to unpack it. You pressed on, the shadows of the trees swallowing you both as you moved deeper into enemy territory.

The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. It was an old stone fortress, fortified with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. You and Bucky crouched behind a cluster of bushes, observing the layout.

“Two guards at the main entrance,” Bucky whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “And a patrol circling every few minutes.”

You nodded, scanning the area. “There’s a side entrance near the east wall. It’s less guarded, but we’ll have to time it perfectly.”

Bucky smirked slightly. “You’ve done this before.”

“More times than I care to admit,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the patrols. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Together, you moved swiftly and silently, sticking to the shadows. When the patrol passed, you darted toward the east wall, Bucky covering your six. The side entrance was a narrow metal door, rusted and worn. You pulled a small device from your satchel, a compact tool designed to pick even the most secure locks. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

“Impressive,” Bucky murmured as you slipped inside.

You gave him a quick look. “Focus.”

Inside, the stronghold was cold and dimly lit, the corridors eerily quiet. You navigated the labyrinthine hallways with precision, your memory of the layout guiding you. Bucky stayed close, his rifle raised and ready.

Finally, you reached a secured room at the end of a long hallway. A heavy steel door stood between you and your objective.

“This is it,” you whispered, pulling out another device from your satchel. It was a miniature explosive, designed to breach the door without causing a large-scale alert.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You really came prepared.”

“Like I said,” you replied, placing the explosive, “I’ve done this before.”

The device beeped softly as you set the timer. “Stand back.”

The explosion was quick and precise, the door blasting inward with minimal noise. You and Bucky rushed inside, your eyes immediately scanning the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and stacks of documents, the enemy’s plans meticulously organized.

You went to work, quickly locating the files you needed. As you stuffed them into your satchel, Bucky kept watch by the door.

“So this is what all the secrecy was about?” he asked, his voice low but tense.

“These files could change everything,” you said, your hands moving quickly. “If they fall into the wrong hands, it could shift the balance of power for decades.”

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. “Then we make sure they don’t.”

Just as you secured the last of the files, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Time to go,” Bucky said, his grip tightening on his rifle.

You nodded, and together you slipped out of the room, moving quickly and quietly through the stronghold. But as you reached the exit, the footsteps grew louder, closer. The guards were on high alert now.

“We’re not gonna make it out the way we came,” Bucky muttered, his eyes scanning for another escape route.

You pointed to a nearby staircase. “There’s a secondary exit through the upper level. It leads to the roof.”

Bucky nodded, and the two of you raced up the stairs, your boots barely making a sound on the worn stone steps. At the top, you found the door to the roof. It was locked, but Bucky didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open with a grunt.

The night air hit you like a wall as you stepped onto the roof. Below, the camp was in chaos, enemy soldiers scrambling in response to the breach.

“There,” Bucky said, pointing to a nearby tree line. “We jump, head for cover.”

You hesitated, the drop from the roof to the ground far from ideal. But there was no time to argue. With a nod, you followed Bucky as he leapt, landing with a roll in the soft dirt below. You hit the ground a moment later, pain shooting through your legs as you landed hard but kept moving.

Together, you sprinted toward the trees, gunfire erupting behind you. Bullets whizzed past, but you didn’t stop, adrenaline driving you forward. Finally, you reached the cover of the forest, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter.

Once you were safely concealed among the trees, you collapsed against a trunk, your breath coming in heavy gasps. Bucky crouched beside you, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of pursuit.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, clutching the satchel tightly. “Mission accomplished.”

Bucky gave a small, breathless laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You met his gaze, the tension of the moment fading slightly as his familiar smirk returned. “So are you, Sergeant.”

Despite the danger, despite everything, you felt a flicker of warmth between you. The mission had tested both your resolve and your connection, but you’d made it out together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The firelight flickered across the camp, casting long shadows as the remnants of the battle settled into an uneasy calm. You and Bucky sat on the edge of the forest, just beyond the perimeter, hidden from sight. The distant sound of gunfire and shouting had finally faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the night.

The stolen Nazi files were secure in your satchel, now buried beneath layers of medical supplies. You’d succeeded in your mission, but the cost weighed heavily on your shoulders.

Bucky sat beside you, silent for a long time. His rifle was propped against a tree, his hands resting on his knees. The tension between you had shifted—no longer marked by suspicion but by a shared understanding.

“You really weren’t kidding about being a ghost,” he said eventually, his voice low and thoughtful.

You glanced at him, the flickering firelight catching the sharp angles of his face. “I told you it was important.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me everything.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling over you. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of frustration. “Because you didn’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust,” you said quietly, your fingers tightening around the satchel. “It’s about the mission. It’s about keeping things safe.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze searching your face. “Safe from what?”

You hesitated, carefully choosing your words. “From things that could change everything if they’re not handled right.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, the soldier in him catching on to the weight behind your statement. “Sounds like more than just some stolen files.”

“It is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky was silent for a moment, processing your words. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with awe and concern. “And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“It’s what I was trained for,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “No attachments, no distractions. Just the mission.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “That’s no way to live.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “It’s the only way I know.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “You’re more than just a mission, you know. You’ve got a life, a soul. You can’t keep shutting people out.”

Your chest tightened at his words. For so long, you’d lived in the shadows, carrying the burden of your missions alone. But now, sitting here with Bucky, you felt the cracks in your armor growing wider.

“I’m not supposed to get attached,” you said quietly. “It makes things complicated.”

Bucky gave a small, rueful smile. “Too late for that….”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a surge of emotion, a mix of fear and longing. You’d spent years building walls, but Bucky Barnes was breaking through them with every shared glance, every quiet moment.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand stayed on yours, steady and grounding. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t used to.

“You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, you know?” his voice soft but resolute. “I’m in this.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the firelight reflecting off his metal fingers. It felt like he was holding more than just your hand—like he was holding the weight of everything you’d been carrying for so long.

“I’ve never had this before,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what it’s like to lean on someone, to let someone in.”

Bucky’s thumb traced small, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the vulnerability of the moment making your chest ache. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I mess this up?”

Bucky leaned closer, his voice low and steady. “You won’t. And even if you stumble, I’ll be right here. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words broke through the last of your defenses, and a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky’s other hand came up, his thumb gently wiping it away. His touch was so tender, it made your heart ache even more.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “Bucky…”

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered. “Just let me be here for you.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly in the background. The world outside the camp seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his presence and the quiet comfort of the moment.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice barely audible. “You’ve made me feel something I didn’t think I could feel.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “What’s that?”

“Hope,” you said, the word feeling both fragile and powerful.

His lips curved into a soft, bittersweet smile. “Then we’ve got something to hold on to.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and tentative, a promise of something deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were shining, and you could see the depth of his feelings mirrored in them.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. “Together.”

Bucky squeezed your hand, his warmth chasing away the chill of the night. “Together,” he echoed.

And in that moment, with the firelight flickering around you and the weight of your shared pasts slowly lifting, you believed him.

In the days following the mission, the dynamic between you and Bucky began to change. There was a newfound understanding between you, a quiet bond forged in the heat of battle and the weight of shared secrets.

Bucky became more protective, often finding excuses to check in on you, whether it was during your rounds at the medical tent or when you were working alone. His teasing remarks were still there, but they were softer now, laced with genuine care.

You found yourself leaning on him more, allowing him into the parts of your life you’d always kept hidden. And despite the danger, despite the mission’s stakes, you had the files you could go back now and have exiled beating your initial time, but you stayed you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

But in the back of your mind, you knew the clock was ticking. The mission was complete, and soon, you’d have to leave this time, this world—and Bucky—behind.

The glow of the fire illuminated the night, the crackle the only sound cutting through. Most of the camp had settled in for the evening, but you and Bucky remained near the fire, sitting side by side on a fallen log. The warm glow danced across his face, softening the sharp angles and making his eyes shimmer like the stars above.

Bucky leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the log behind you. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked with a playful smirk, his voice low and smooth.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with….again?”

He grinned, his teeth catching the firelight. “What can I say? I’m trying to impress the mysterious nurse who keeps patching me up .”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get on my good side.”

“Is it working?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Maybe.”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more sincere. His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the weight of the war, the mission, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, suspended in this fleeting moment of peace.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

You felt your breath catch, your pulse quickening. “Bucky…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re strong, smart, brave… and you’ve got this way of making me forget everything else, even when the world’s falling apart.”

His words broke through the walls you’d spent years building. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. His lips were warm and soft against yours, the kiss tender but filled with a quiet intensity. Time seemed to stop as the world melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were wet with tears. Bucky frowned, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Bucky’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his own tears on his waterline threatening to spill. “Stay. Please stay, for me.”

Your heart shattered at his plea. The sincerity in his eyes, the quiet desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to bear. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew the mission, the weight of your responsibilities, and the secrets you carried. You’d always been a ghost, moving through life without leaving traces behind. How could you let yourself stay, knowing the danger you brought with you?

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed, his hands dropping slightly. “Why not? What’s stopping you?”

You looked away, tears streaming down your face. “Because… I don’t get to have this,” you said quietly. “People like me… we don’t get happy endings.”

Bucky stared at you, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You deserve this just as much as anyone else.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling. “You don’t understand—if I stay, things could fall apart. I’m not meant to… to put down roots. To belong.”

Bucky reached for your hand, holding it tightly. “If that’s what you’ve been told, they’re wrong. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Whatever’s weighing on you… let me help.”

You squeezed his hand, your tears falling freely now. “I wish I could. But this isn’t goodbye, Bucky. Not really.”

His grip tightened, his eyes filled with pain. “How do you know?”

You gave him a shaky smile, your heart aching. “Because feeling this… it’s the kind of thing that changes everything. No matter where life takes us, I’ll find you again. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away. His breath was warm against your hair, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the impossible. In a different world, maybe you could stay. Maybe you could let yourself love him the way you wanted to.

But for now, you clung to him, memorising the feel of his embrace, the sound of his heartbeat. This wasn’t the end. You wouldn’t let it be.

The fire burned low, its warmth fading, but neither of you moved. Instead, you lay back together on a blanket you’d pulled from the medical tent. The stars stretched endlessly above, their light soft and comforting.

Bucky shifted, his arm wrapping protectively around you as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding you in the moment. He let out a soft sigh, his voice breaking the silence.

“When I was a kid, Steve and I used to sneak up onto the roof of our building,” he said quietly. “We’d lie there, looking at the stars, talking about all the things we were gonna do someday.”

You smiled faintly, imagining a pre-serum Steve beside him, small but full of fight. “What did you talk about?”

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and fond. “Steve always had big dreams. He wanted to do something that mattered. Join the army, help people, change the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “Didn’t care that he was too small, too sick. He just wanted to be better, to do better.”

You closed your eyes, the image of Steve Rogers—Captain America—so different now. But to Bucky, he was still that skinny kid with more heart than anyone.

“And what about you?” you asked gently.

Bucky hesitated, his hand absently tracing small circles on your shoulder. “Me? I just wanted to keep him safe. Steve’s always been the brave one. I just… I wanted to make sure he didn’t get himself killed chasing those dreams.”

His words were filled with so much quiet love, it made your heart ache. You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky smiled, his hand brushing over your hair. “Maybe. But I think you’re the brave one here.”

You rested your head against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “We both are.”

The silence stretched once more, comfortable and grounding. The crackle of the fire and the distant sounds of the camp blended with the soft rustle of the trees.

Bucky’s voice broke the stillness. “Did you have someone like that?” he asked, his tone thoughtful. “A sibling? A close friend?”

You paused, your mind drifting back. “I didn’t have siblings,” you said slowly. “But I had a friend. Her name’s Natasha.” You smiled softly at the memory, though a hint of sadness crept into your voice. “She was like a sister to me. Strong, stubborn, always looking out for me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened. “She sounds like someone you could count on.”

“She was,” you said, your voice tinged with regret. “We went through a lot together, but… I haven’t seen her in years.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Think you’ll see her again?”

You stared up at the stars, your heart heavy with longing. “I hope so. But with the way things are… who knows?”

Bucky nodded, his thumb brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “If she’s anything like you, she’s still out there, fighting her own battles. And when the time’s right, you’ll find your way back to each other.”

You swallowed hard, his words offering a comfort you didn’t realize you needed. “I hope you’re right.”

The two of you fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. The weight of your shared stories, your losses and hopes, filled the space between you.

As the night deepened, you knew this moment wouldn’t last forever. But for now, you let yourself have it, holding onto Bucky like he was your anchor in a storm you couldn’t escape. Beneath the stars, in the quiet of the night, the war and the mission felt distant, like a different world entirely.

You stood near the edge of the camp, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers of the 107th were regrouping, preparing to move out. You spotted Bucky in the distance, his silhouette unmistakable as he spoke with his men. His voice was calm, commanding, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was ready for the next fight, even if his heart wasn’t.

And so were you.

You adjusted the strap of your satchel, your fingers brushing over the hidden compartment containing the files. This would be your last night here. By dawn, you’d be gone, pulled back to the time you belonged. Everything you’d built here—every connection, every moment—would be left behind.

But Bucky.

He made his way toward you, each step heavy with the knowledge of what was about to happen. When he stopped in front of you, the space between you felt impossibly small yet vast, like an ocean you were both struggling to cross.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, not a question but a statement, tinged with quiet resignation.

You nodded, your throat tight. “I have to.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with emotions he wasn’t voicing. He looked down for a moment, then slowly reached up, pulling something from around his neck. His dog tags caught the fading light as they dangled from his fingers, the metal clinking softly.

He held them out to you, his hand steady even as his voice wavered. “Take these.”

You stared at the tags, your heart twisting. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours. “I want you to have them, please”

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over you. These weren’t just tags. They were a piece of him, a symbol of his identity, of the man he was here and now. Taking them felt like crossing a line you weren’t sure you could bear.

But when you looked into his eyes, the quiet plea there shattered any resistance you had. Slowly, you reached out and took the tags, the cool metal pressing into your palm. Your fingers curled around them tightly, as if holding onto them would somehow keep him closer.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky gave a small, sad smile, his hand brushing against yours briefly before he let it fall. “Just… promise me you won’t forget.”

Your chest tightened, tears welling in your eyes. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with everything you couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much he meant to you, how this short time together had changed something inside you. But the words stuck in your throat, buried under the weight of your mission and the future you knew awaited him.

Bucky reached up, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “You’ve been trained to disappear,” he said softly, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But not from me.”

You choked back a sob, your hands gripping the dog tags like a lifeline. “I’ve never had this before,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

His hand slipped down, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Then don’t,” he whispered, begging one last time. “Stay. Please. Stay for me.”

Your heart broke at his words, the sincerity in his voice cutting through every defense you had left. But you knew you couldn’t. Staying here would risk everything—the mission, the future, his life.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice cracking. “I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on your hand, his eyes searching yours for something, anything to hold onto. “Why?” he asked, his voice raw. “Why does it have to be like this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Because this isn’t my time, this isn’t our time” you said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes glistened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to beg you to stay again. But instead, he nodded slowly, his hand lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer.

“Then I’ll wait,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter how long it takes.”

Tears streamed down your face as you gave him a shaky smile. “You won’t have to wait forever.”

With one last, lingering glance, Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips, the steady presence of his touch, imprinted itself in your memory, a moment you knew you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.

When he pulled back, he let his hand fall, his eyes never leaving yours. “Take care of yourself doll,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

“You too,” you whispered, clutching the dog tags close to your heart.

And then, with every ounce of strength you had left, you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might never be able to leave. But with every step, the weight of his dog tags in your hand was a promise—a tether that would guide you back to him.

I could feel you sneaking in, As if you were a mythical thing

[priteva-blog]

Investing in Deception: How Friendship, Love, and Ambition Fueled a $150,000 Scam

This is a story I find deeply triggering, one that I’ve struggled to tell. But in reliving it, there are lessons to be learned about the perils of misplaced trust and the high cost of blind loyalty. It’s a story of deception, ambition, and heartbreak — a cautionary tale about the dark side of supporting friends in their entrepreneurial dreams. For the sake of privacy, names have been changed to protect the innocent.

It was the spring of 2019 when my long-time friend, *Lauryn, came to me with a business opportunity. Lauryn and I had been close for over 15 years, our bond forged in the trenches of grad school and solidified by shared life experiences. When she pitched her idea to me, I didn’t hesitate to listen. She was more than a friend — she was my sister, and I was eager to see her succeed.

Lauryn had been through a lot. Two years earlier, she lost her husband, becoming a single mother to two young children at just 39. As a widow, she faced challenges that would have broken many, but Lauryn was resilient. She was rebuilding her life, and I was invested in her success. That’s why, when she approached me about reviving her wellness business, I was all in.

Lauryn was no novice in the health and wellness industry. She had owned a natural body care line, taught fitness classes, and dreamed of opening her own wellness center. She was knowledgeable, passionate, and ready to take her business to the next level. So, when she met Zacharia Ali — a financier, businessman, and investor — at our local LA Fitness, she believed it was a divine connection.

All Smoke and Mirrors

Zac was everything Lauryn needed at that moment — a businessman with a wealth of experience, or so it seemed. He offered her intimacy, mentorship, and guidance. Lauryn fell for him, both as a romantic partner and mentor. Zac carried himself with an air of authority, his words laced with the promise of success and prosperity. He spoke of his business accolades and widespread connections. He informed her that he was divorced, had sadly lost a child in a car accident, and had moved to the area for a fresh start. He was a practicing Muslim from a prominent family in Philadelphia. He was well-connected and had successfully launched many companies, and now he wanted to do the same for Lauryn.

The First Red Flag: Trust, but Verify

When Lauryn introduced me to Zac, I was initially impressed. He spoke with authority about entrepreneurship, investing, and the importance of ownership in the Black community. He even attended my birthday party, where we discussed his ventures in South America, the Middle East, and the African diaspora. Over time, Zac and I exchanged messages about business opportunities, and he seemed genuinely invested in our shared goals.

Zac became more than just Lauryn’s romantic partner and mentor; he became a central figure in our budding business venture. He offered to use his extensive network to help Lauryn relaunch her brand, promising to turn it into an international success. The plan was ambitious but enticing: we would create a line of CBD-infused skincare products, tapping into the booming wellness market. I was hesitant but hopeful. Lauryn’s trust in him reassured me. In hindsight, I should have let Lauryn and Zac work together without getting involved.

Despite my initial reservations, I convinced myself that Zac’s impressive background and Lauryn’s enthusiasm were enough to move forward. I researched Zac’s company, Zar Capital, and found nothing alarming — just websites and social media endorsements that aligned with his stories. But I ignored the small voice inside that urged caution.

The Second Red Flag: If It Sounds Too Good to Be True, It Probably Is

Despite my initial excitement, a nagging voice in the back of my mind urged caution. I researched Zac and his company, Zar Capital. His online presence seemed legitimate — impressive even. His website detailed his supposed business ventures in South America, the Middle East, and across the African diaspora. But beyond the polished surface, something felt off.

Still, Lauryn was convinced. Zac had become her rock, helping her navigate the complexities of business and life after loss. She believed in him, and because I believed in her, I put my doubts aside. Under Zac’s guidance, we formed a business partnership: Lauryn would hold 50% of the company, Zac 30%, and I would take a 20% stake. It seemed like a fair arrangement, and over the next few months, Lauryn and I made substantial investments via wire transfer, totaling $110,000. We were instructed to send the money to a Navy Federal account for GC Worldwide under the umbrella of Zac’s businesses, CBD Switch Holding Corp and Zar Capital.

Another Red Flag: All New Opportunities Are Not Good Opportunities — The Moringa Mirage

As if the CBD venture wasn’t enough, Zac presented me with another investment opportunity: a business centered around the Moringa plant in Ethiopia. He pitched it as low-risk, with the potential for high returns and the added appeal of supporting Black businesses in Africa. He presented me with diagrams, mocks, financials, a business plan, and extensive research. I invested $40,000, and we formed a company called the Moringa Cartel. Through documented email presentations, Zac promised to establish operations in Ghana, help with the business plan, and set up the website. I was excited about the prospects, but the excitement was short-lived.

Trust Your Gut

Once the money was sent and the paperwork signed, unease set in. I noticed discrepancies, like the fact that our business was registered in Nevada, even though we were all based in the Mid-Atlantic region. I decided to dig deeper, using the state of Nevada’s business portal, Silver Flume. What I found left me reeling: only the company formed between Lauryn, Zac, and me existed as a domestic corporation. My name wasn’t listed anywhere, and neither was Zac’s. Lauryn was the sole officer of the company. As for the Moringa Cartel, it was nothing more than a name reservation that had expired three months after its formation. On paper, my $100,000 investment had vanished into thin air.

“All Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk”

The pandemic hit, bringing unforeseen challenges. Despite this, I consistently reached out to Zac for updates. I pleaded with Lauryn to help, assuming her closer relationship with Zac might yield answers. But her relationship with Zac had soured, and she informed me that her new venture with a national television show prevented her from pursuing any legal action for at least a year. I was on my own.

I demanded that Zac dissolve my participation in the business and return my funds. His response was vague, promising to return the money once his partner returned from overseas. But days turned into weeks, and I received nothing but silence. Then, instead of the money, I received a cease-and-desist letter — a blatant attempt to intimidate me. My attorney dismissed it as legally invalid, but the damage was done. I realized too late that I should have involved legal counsel from the start.

Desperate, I contacted the Prince George’s County Financial Crimes Division and met with a detective. Lauryn accompanied me, providing proof of her own financial losses. The detective initially suspected she and Zac were working together to scam me, but her evidence showed otherwise. Still, the State’s Attorney’s office couldn’t help; our losses, though significant to us, didn’t meet the threshold for prosecution.

The Aftermath

The full scope of Zac’s betrayal came to light when I discovered another woman who had fallen victim to his schemes. Through social media, I connected with a young lady on Facebook who had also been scammed by Zac. Her story mirrored Lauryn’s — she, too, had trusted him, invested in his ventures, and been left with nothing but broken promises. She had been physically and romantically involved. The end result was a broken heart and $60,000 poorer. Her story was both devastating and validating. We were not alone, but that did little to ease the pain.

In total, I had invested $100,000 — $60,000 in the CBD skincare line and $40,000 in the Moringa Cartel. But the financial loss was just one part of the devastation. The betrayal cut deeper. Lauryn, the sister I had trusted implicitly, had unknowingly led me into the arms of a predator. Zac had exploited her vulnerability, using our friendship as a tool to manipulate and deceive.

I was left with nothing — no money, no business, and no means of contacting Zac. Emails bounced back, texts went unread, and calls went straight to voicemail. I had been swindled out of $100,000, and there was no way to recover it. Heartbroken, Lauryn had lost $50,000 and wanted nothing more to do with the situation.

Lessons Learned

Looking back, the signs were there. But I ignored them, blinded by the desire to support a friend in need and the allure of a promising business opportunity. I’ve since learned the hard way that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. In the end, I had to come to terms with the trauma of losing everything because I let my desire to help a friend cloud my judgment. I was emotionally invested in Lauryn’s well-being, but I failed to do my due diligence on Zac. I trusted blindly and paid a heavy price.

Conclusion

In the end, the story isn’t just about a lost investment or a failed business venture. It’s about the importance of critical thinking, the danger of blind loyalty, and the painful reality that not everyone who enters your life has good intentions. I was betrayed by a man I barely knew, but also by my own willingness to believe in the impossible.

Let this be a reminder: Protect your dreams but protect your heart and your wallet even more. This experience has left me scarred, but it has also made me wiser. I share this story not to shame myself or Lauryn, but to warn others. In the world of business, and in life, there are those who will prey on your goodwill and ambition. The best defense is vigilance — ask questions, trust your instincts, and never let excitement cloud your judgment.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 24

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

June 1999

The air smells wet and woody, birdsongs trilling in the early morning sun that trickles through a sky light. She stretches, then disentangles her legs from the sheets and stands, walking to the window.

There is a giant soaking tub in the corner of the room, flanked by two windowed walls that afford a sweeping view of the Cascade mountains, green carpeted hillsides meeting with a baby-blue sky.

She can still recall her mother’s face when they told her the wedding would be in Washington State. “But...we don’t even know anyone in Washington, Dana,” she’d said with a bemused expression, lamenting the length of their flights with a nine-month-old in tow.

Her mother’s reaction paled in comparison to Mulder’s excitement when she’d suggested the idea; she would spend their honeymoon relaxing with a book in the tub, and he could spend it traipsing through the woods looking for Sasquatch, or ‘squatchin’ as he called it. They would reunite in the afternoon, hiking, making love, catching up on all the conversations they’d missed while in the trenches of parenting a new baby. Mom would stay at the same resort with Molly so they could see her every day, while having precious nights to themselves; something they haven’t done since she was born.

She turns the tap on the bath, a blast of water thundering into the empty basin. When it’s full nearly to the brim, she disrobes and eases in, breathing deeply to inhale the juniper-scented steam, courtesy of the resort-provided bath salts. Closing her eyes, she thinks back over it all; their chance meeting, how she was drawn to him by a force that seemed to be bigger than them both, the anguish of wanting him but feeling like she owed it to Ethan to stay together. Her eyes snap open, a memory long-buried in the recesses of her mind springing forth like a trebuchet.

The day she met Mulder, she’d been planning to take the day off to go to a book signing for an author she admires. The signing was cancelled due to a scheduling conflict and she almost took the day off anyway, but had a last minute pang of guilt knowing that the workload that week was already heavy and Trudy would struggle to manage it all on her own. So she’d gone in, she’d performed that autopsy that should have been on Trudy’s docket, and she’d filled out the paperwork, and she’d met Mulder. How delicate the balance of the universe that such an insignificant choice completely changed the course of her life.

She suddenly misses him acutely, and a bundle of nerves and excitement flutters in her belly thinking about when she’ll see him next. She’d scoffed at the idea of them spending last night apart; they live together and have a child so the performative chastity seemed to be a bit much. He said it was like a fast, that a little time apart would make it even more special when they saw each other at the ceremony, and she ultimately acquiesced.

“Meet me on a mountain top at 4 o’clock tomorrow?” he’d asked as he backed out of her room, pulling away from the desperate kisses she was planting all over his face.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied with a smile, and they said goodnight.

She smiles again, sinking down until the water slips into her ears. She can’t wait to marry him.

———

He sits up and arches his back, his spine protesting the cramped accommodations. Looking over at Byers and Missy curled up in the king size bed, he regrets his decision to crash on the couch here instead of staying with Scully in their room. Not only because he slept like shit with his legs hanging over the end, but also because work takes him away from his girls so often, he’s an idiot to add another day to it if he doesn’t have to.

He stands, hands on his hips as he twists to stretch his angry muscles, and walks to the window, taking in the dense green hills and valleys that surround them. He smiles, because she could have asked to go to Mexico, or France, or anywhere on the entire Earth and he would have given her what she wanted, but she chose the place she knew he wanted to go. Selfless and giving to a fault, his Scully. Soon to be his wife.

He quietly slips on his running shoes and sneaks out of the room, hitting the hard-packed dirt trail the concierge had told him about. The quiet forest is the perfect place to be alone with his thoughts, nothing but the thud of his feet striking the ground and the twitter of waking birds to distract him. He thinks about his life, about being a child who was lonely and alone, with parents who provided food and shelter but not much more. He thinks about Molly, and how she will never know that kind of pain, that there will never be a day of her life that she is not told how much she is loved. He wonders if his dad ever felt about his mom the way he feels about Scully, and he knows it’s not possible that he did, because if so they would still be together.

He comes to a break in the trees and pauses, breath heaving and lungs burning as he watches a hawk gliding through the valley below, hunting for breakfast. How easily he could have missed this moment, he thinks. Even one small change to the trajectory of his life, and he never would have walked into the autopsy bay that day. If the courier hadn’t been sick, if he hadn’t stopped by Kirkbride’s office when he did. Even further back, if he hadn’t stayed with the bureau with the X files were closed, if Valerie hadn’t been there to encourage him, or if he hadn’t met Valerie one random Tuesday at a record store. The path was long and winding, and it led to her. It led to him on this mountaintop in a sweat-soaked T-shirt, smiling at the thought of his baby daughter, his almost-wife.

He picks up running again, the smile staying on his lips. He’s always felt like he was running away; from his painful past, his regrets, his bad decisions. Now he realizes he’s running towards; his future, a thousand opportunities yet unseen, a kind of happiness he never thought he’d know. He can’t wait for the rest of his life to start.

———

He stands in a clearing near the edge of a cliff, the lush green landscape toeing up against the horizon looking like crooked teeth. Frohike stands beside him in khaki pants and a white linen shirt, a leather folio clasped in his hands. Mulder is also dressed fairly casually, in slacks and a blue Oxford shirt, the sleeves cuffed and the top button undone.

Scully wanted this to be as non-traditional as possible, to make it their own. There is no wedding party, no tuxedo, no flower girl or garter toss. No one will walk her down the aisle, as no one but herself has the ownership to give her away. The guests are small in number; immediate family only, plus the gunmen. Monica and Dahlia are house-sitting back in DC, minding Priscilla as well as the dog, King, that joined the family after the purchase of their house in March. Bucking the idea of arranging guests by whose “side” they are on, they all sit in a small cluster, and Scully will enter from the side.

He looks out and waves at Molly, who is standing on Missy’s lap, holding her hands and bouncing up and down forcefully. She squeals and shouts “dah, dah, dah!” which he chooses to interpret as “Daddy” even though Scully told him it’s just a nonsense syllable and doesn’t mean anything.

Langly gets the signal from Frohike and hits play on a small boom box, piping an instrumental version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” up into the branches of the towering evergreen trees. He expected to feel nervous at this moment, but all he feels is excitement as Maggie scurries out from behind a line of trees and takes her place beside Bill, giving him a smile and a wink.

Scully appears from around the same group of trees and he grins broadly. He’s seen the dress, they picked it out together, but the full effect is stunning. Her hair, now grown well past her shoulder blades, is curled softly and pinned half up, brilliant red tendrils shimmering in the midday sun against her porcelain shoulders. Her dress is full length pearl satin, a slim sheath cut with off the shoulder straps. She is holding a small bouquet of pink peonies in her hands, and holding his eye with a playful smirk.

She arrives beside him and before the music stops, before Frohike has a chance to begin, he steps forward and takes her by the waist, kissing her fully. The guests laugh and he pulls away to see a confused smile on her face.

“I couldn’t wait,” he says simply.

They move through the ceremony, exchanging rings and vowing to love each other forever; promises they’ve already made to each other a hundred times. As they near the part that Scully understands to be the end, Frohike goes off script.

“Mulder has prepared some words of his own, he’ll read them now,” he says, nodding toward his friend.

Scully’s eyebrows lift in a surprised and confused expression.

“Mulder, we didn’t talk about writing our own vows,” she whispers, afraid she’s failed to complete the assignment.

“It’s okay, these are for both of us,” he whispers, and then, taking her hands in his, he reads a passage from her favorite book from memory.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love; I have found you. You are my sympathy, my better self, my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely. A fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

The tear that slips down her cheek is borne only of happiness. She looks into his green eyes and sees contentment and love, and desire. It’s not a spark, what they have, nor an ember. It’s a wildfire, a white-hot torch, an eternal flame that binds them together inseparably. They were forged in fire the moment he laid eyes on her in that autopsy bay, maybe even before.

Frohike concludes, “by the power invested in me by the State of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride…again.”

He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up as he kisses her deeply, a gust of warm summer wind picking up pine needles and tossing them in a mini-tornado that surrounds them both. Molly squeals “dah dah dah!” and claps for her parents.

———

She stands at the mirror, brushing her teeth. Her hair is combed out, her makeup removed, the white dress hanging in the corner of the room with the hem now tinged brown from the dirt that served as their dance floor.

Mulder appears behind her, an arm snaking around the waist of her satin nightgown. She smiles at the sight of his newly ring-adorned hand pressed flat against her belly, then leans forward to rinse.

“Ready for bed?” he asks softly, and she nods.

They slip beneath the cool sheets, curling around one another face-to-face; her leg threaded between his, his arms around her back, foreheads touching. She draws in a big breath and lets it out slowly, contentment settling deep in her bones.

“Do you ever think about all the things that had to happen in exactly the way they did to lead us here?” he asks, and she pulls back a little to look at his face.

“Yes, I was actually just thinking about that earlier,” she says with a curious lilt.

“Makes you wonder, huh, what lives we’d be leading if even just one detail were changed,” he says, tracing his finger along her shoulder blade.

“I don’t think it would have mattered, actually,” she says, and he gives her a quizzical look, silently asking her to elaborate. “I know this will sound a little far-fetched coming from me,” she begins with a self-conscious smile, “but I think it was always going to end up this way. Even if we hadn’t met when we did, we would have crossed paths some other way. Looking back over everything, it just seems like this was meant to be the outcome, even if the path to get here could have gone in a lot of different directions.”

He ponders this, remembering a conversation they had over coffee when, against all odds, she reappeared in his life.

“Like there was only one choice, and signs along the way to pay attention to,” he says contemplatively, lifting his hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Exactly,” she replies, pressing her lips to his briefly, “it was always going to be you.”

END

[eternalstrigoii]

For Posterity

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

                 “Isn’t it morbid?” you wondered aloud as you sauntered into Ulstead palace’s great hall. “Even for you?”

Borra followed you, the quiet pad of your bare feet on marble floors accentuated by the soft brush of your dark pinfeathers. “Do you not want to?”

You pretended to consider it. He was intense. Always had been. It was an attractive quality even when it meant watching him clutch iron until he broke out in a sweat, pitting the expectation that he would be severely wounded in battle against his desire not to falter even if he was.

There were two chairs at the end of otherwise lightly furnished room. The larger was made of solid wood, slightly gilded, and well-cushioned, but it was the one beside it that held  your interest. There was almost no chance that its glimmering plating wasn’t iron, though it had been done in ornamental dragon-scale. It was smaller, less well padded, though you imagined someone your size might be able to climb on it comfortably if you didn’t try to turn around after.

You lifted your hands to the leather buckle at the back of your neck. Even parted your hair over your shoulders to let him watch you undo it.

“I always want you, Borra.” You dropped your hands to the other leather fasten at your side, both part of the same beast that forged your chest-plate. And, before the approach of his feathers upon the stone reminded you too much of a sashaying ball gown, you dropped the top half of your armor to the floor.

Now you were on even ground, in your trousers and gauntlets and nothing else.

Well, nothing else but the bandage mortal healers wove around his arm and the one wrapped around your mid-back where someone’s bolt had broken skin. You were lucky it hadn’t clipped a wing.

Your back collided with his chest, his warm, rough palms settling at your hips. He pushed your hair back from the leaf of your ear with his lips and whispered, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

His touch trailed up your sides. Talons brushed your ribs. You were molten before he even reached your chest, and the place he found on your shoulder was one of his favorites – always exposed in the overlap of your armor, so every mark he left there was for all the world to see.

You purred your approval.

“Is this how you want me?” you whispered, letting your voice drop another octave. “Bared for you, on my knees?” You almost asked if he wanted you to pretend to be one of them so he could rut his aggression out, but you had the sense not to (and it wasn’t just because he’d gathered your hair in one of his hands to expose your newly-bared throat).

He growled, the low rumble in his chest making your hips shift against his. “You’re not on your knees yet.”

You knew what he wanted. If you agreed, it was to be of your own volition, not because he’d asked you to.

You turned your head. Brushed your lips over his. The summer heat of his breath caught between you, and you nearly purred again at the sight of his lowered eyelids – how readily both of you responded to the other.

You undid your trousers. Shucked them off even as the brush of his talons teased your sides. And, without missing a beat, you fanned out your large, dark wings and climbed onto the now-goat queen’s gilded throne.

Iron bit your flesh, even through the wrapping of your gauntlets. It stung the worst at your knees, which you settled on the edge. You made a pretty offering of yourself, your back deliberately arched so he could see the power of your muscles while you braced your weight on the arms of the ornamental chair.

He had no business letting his eyes linger on you. You thought they must’ve, even as you heard the rush of fabric collapsing to the floor.

He wrapped your hair around his hand, the other coming to rest on the iron throne in front of yours.

“I do like you like this,” he whispered, and the sudden snap of his hips joined you with him. You gasped with pleasure despite the burning of your skin.

There was no teasing preface. Not this time. You were not his conquest, but conquest was the objective all the same – no kingdom had fallen, though both sides knew loss. Your victory had come at a stalemate, and you hadn’t even been able to vanquish your enemy properly – dispatch her like the rabid animal she was. So he fucked you on her throne, laid claim to a symbol of your enemy’s power after she’d fallen since you could get satisfaction in no way else.

Not yet, anyhow. But that was a concern for another time.

The way he moved inside you made your claws screech against the iron scaling. You were both panting, the heat and the pain cropping up like afterthoughts, making your legs buck when one of the curved edges pressed into your calf and making him grip you tighter as you shifted to clutch the curved back, your nails digging trenches that made several iron scales chip away. They dropped to the floor with a musical sound, one after the other.

You made no effort to quiet yourself. Quiet growls became sharp, half-human cries when he hit that spot inside you, peeling your burning thighs off the rounded junction of the arms. “Ah, stars, come closer.”

He obliged, settling his weight between them. He boosted you better onto the cushions, as though that did much but help peel layers of your flesh off. You could’ve laughed, though you were more intent upon working your hips against his as the chair protested your collective weight. He settled his knee between yours, giving you the option to climb over him and make the bulk of the iron his problem.

You took it, paused just long enough to push him down onto the biting iron beneath so you could climb onto his lap.

He hissed in pleasure-pain.

“Is this what you wanted of your victory?” You gripped his chin. His eyes were ablaze as you moved, sinking onto him, grinding, withdrawing only to be pulled back down.

“Harder,” he growled.

You obliged. He moved with you like you were truly joined by your shared epicenter, his hips as fluid as yours even without the grip of your knees. His hands palmed the new burns on your legs, and you gripped him there, shielding only those parts of you while you rode him.

He arched off the back of it, pulling you down to work your hips in tighter circles. His wings flared, and yours beat once, unnecessarily hard.

“That’s it,” he coaxed. “So beautiful. I feel you nearing. Go on. Scream for me.”

Your talons bit trenches into the leather around his wrist. You did, and you let him rise to meet you when he reached his peak so the flutter of tension in his stomach made your body melt.

You stung. Actually, you hurt, and the wounds on your calves were only getting worse. You’d never be able to explain them, but there would be a few on the backs of his thighs that couldn’t be accounted for either.

Neither of you lingered. Not there. You gripped his shoulder and he, your back, and you let him lift you to rest on the cool, stone floor.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Glad to have tried it, probably won’t do it again.”

He laughed. His body folded over yours, fingers laced in your hair. You got a generous amount of kissing for your trouble, not that it would magically erase the new round of bandages you’d both need, but you smiled into it anyway.

At least, until you heard footsteps. Then you grinned, and he caught the wickedness in your eyes and moved to gather the pile of your forgotten clothes.

“Why should we run off?” you whispered, grinning as he tossed you your clothes.

“Shrike is coming.” He flashed you a grin that you knew came with trouble, and you stifled your laughter long enough to pull on your trousers and make a swift departure with him at your back.

You heard the clamor of armor getting tossed into the royal throne, and then a long and painful silence.

“Suren!” she was angry. “Borra!”

Early birds and worms and all that, you thought, cackling as you took off into the night with the decoration of your well-earned scorch marks on display.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                    Don’t Let the Bats Bite

Summary: After decades spent together in England, Agatha, now vampire and wife to Dracula, has maintained a distance from her family members. Even though secretly she has wondered about them. It isn’t until she hears a report that an accident has taken the lives of her great nephew and niece-in-law and left their two year old daughter, Zoe, an orphan that she steps in and, against the Count’s wishes, brings the toddler into their unusual life. Will their vampiric ways conflict too much with parenthood, or is Zoe Van Helsing their missing link to perfection?

Ship: Agatha/Dracula

Rating: T

Chapters: 1/2 (or 1/3) 

Read on AO3

A/N: Originally, this was just going to be a one shot, but I felt like doing it in parts because I felt weird just being one long thing. So a few parts it shall be. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                                         Part One

“Up!” Dracula stared down incredulously at the demanding two year old. Her name, according to what they could dig up in documents, was Zoe. Zoe Van Helsing. His however many grands niece by marriage to Agatha. During their near century in England, his vampiric bride silently withheld her desires to learn of her family’s presence. For their sake and safety. 

But like with many unplanned events, everything changed that fateful day when it was broadcasted over the news that a fatal car accident had taken the lives of Richard and Delilah Van Helsing, leaving their now orphaned toddler in its wake. Her decision was made right then and there. Even before the reporter finished his segment. And Dracula found himself caught between a rock and a hard place. 

“We cannot care for this thing, Agatha.” The vampire frowned as the little girl tried to claw her way up his pant’s leg. “We are vampires. We simply aren’t equipped to deal with...this.” Zoe let out a grunt of protest when the man peeled her off of him. “We should return her to Child Protection. Perhaps a social worker can figure something out.” 

“Zoe isn’t a thing. She’s a child. Need I remind you that she is family?” Agatha frowned, going over to the child and scooping her up. “Your family nonetheless. She has no one, Dracula. Just us.”

“Well perhaps she should be placed with a human family!” The Count argued with exasperation. “You didn’t even discuss this with me. You went about forging documents and somehow, despite the system, we’ve been granted custody of a practically helpless being!” He began to massage his temples. “Manipulating Frank Renfield to do our bidding is supposed to be my job, not yours.” 

It was almost unnerving that, even at her young age, the girl resembled her distant aunt so much. The blues of her eyes. The rich brown locks of her hair. If anyone didn’t know any better, perhaps she could easily be passed off as their biological offspring. How truly odd genetics were. Zoe watched Dracula with a curious expression, one that was slightly more appealing than Agatha’s glare of animosity.

“She stays with us.” The former nun declared firmly, glowering at her lover. “End of discussion.”

Agatha’s frown faded away into a warm smile as her attention turned to the toddler. Gingerly, she tucked a few stray strands of hair that had fallen from one of Zoe’s pigtails behind her ear. The child had only been with them for a few hours and already the vampire’s maternal instincts had blossomed. It was evident how much she adored the child, something her husband had yet to understand. 

“I took the liberty of making a list of things we need for the house.” Agatha said, adjusting Zoe in her arms. “I was hoping you’d be willing to go out and buy them.” 

“And you thought this why?” Dracula inquired, folding his arms. 

“Because I assumed you’d rather do that than stay at home watching her.” His wife replied, throwing him a look. “Zoe’s been through a lot. I don’t want to drag her around to various shops. I promise it isn’t too much. Just a crib, some child locks, baby gates, a high chair, more nappies, a few outfits--I have her size listed, and a few other things. It shouldn’t be hard.” She ignored the stare of disbelief Dracula was giving her. “Once we’ve had some time to settle down, we can really go about setting a nursery up.” 

A nursery. The infamous Count didn’t want to question as to which room they’d be turning that into. He knew. And even if he argued against it, Agatha would win. She always did. His prized artwork and treasured statues would be moved else---god forbid the closet. This was why he had never desired children even as a human. They were needy. Required things. Like his study. 

“Nothing should require this much work.” He muttered under his breath, knowing full well that Agatha could still very much hear every word. Begrudgingly retrieving his long trench coat, a gift from his wife no less, Dracula briefly glanced over his shoulder. “And where might I find this list of yours?” 

“The counter.” She replied curtly, nodding her head in the direction. “It’s getting late so try to be quick about it if you can. Stores close earlier on Sundays, you know.” 

“I’m well aware.” The vampire responded, snatching the note from its spot. “I’ll retrieve what I can.” 

“Thank you.” Agatha said with a small smile. “We will be waiting with bated breath.” To which she received a grunt in return. Rolling her eyes, Agatha’s attention returned to her niece once her husband had vacated the premises. “Uncle Dracula can be rather grumpy.” She chuckled, kissing the girl’s forehead. “Don’t worry, you’ll win him over. Just wait and see.” 

                                                        XXX

1897 had been a monumental year for Dracula for many reasons. Most importantly, it was when he met Agatha--though the circumstances were far from favorable. After the massacre of St. Mary’s Convent, he had decided to spare the nun for his own curiosity. A new bride of his own demise. Agatha, of course, had other plans. And after a failed attempt of killing him, she came up with the brilliant idea to end herself. Not a stake. No, lesson learned from Jonathan Harker, but the Sun. Second momentous memory--well, discovery--apparently that bright, burning star in the sky wasn’t so deadly after all. 

Something changed between them after that. The toxicity that had once embedded itself in their relationship began to drain away and soon new feelings surfaced. Happy, warmer feelings. Brighter than the Sun itself. And within a few years, hatred became love. And with that romance, became a partnership. Marriage. A life far from Transyvania and into Whitby, England. 

Though they could go out during the day, the two still seemed to prefer the nightlife. It was peaceful. Quiet. And watching the sunrise together before tucking away to sleep for a few hours did them both good. But now all of that was going to change. Or so he felt was implied by the list gripped between his clawed fingers. 

“First one?”

A friendly voice pulled Dracula from his thoughts and away from the crib he’d been mindlessly staring at. Turning, he saw a rather young man, red hair and equally warm green eyes behind wood framed glasses. Part of him considered the idea of dragging the innocent bystander out into the back alleyway and feasting upon him. But he knew well enough Agatha would somehow figure out he’d killed someone. She always did. Oh how he despised this humane sourcing of blood system they had going on with Frank Renfield’s connections. It took the fun, the rush out of it all. 

“If you would call it that.” He replied tonelessly. “Unplanned.” 

“Ah, so many of them are. But isn’t that the excitement of it all?!” The stranger grinned, clearly not picking up that his company was unwelcomed. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“A girl.” The vampire replied curtly. “She’s two.” 

“Oh, adoption!” The man sounded somewhat confused. “Were you not expecting it to happen so soon or…” He shook his head and smiled. “Well, way to go, mate! It takes a special kind of person to do something like that. Why--”

Dracula’s jaw set in frustration. “Look,” he began. “You seem nice. But I simply do not have time, nor do I wish to, discuss things with you such as babies and the happiness of parenthood. I’m here by request of my wife. I’d like to be in and out of here as quickly as I can. My best wishes to you and your partner. May your rugrat be tolerable.” 

It was the best sort of well wishes he could give. Lifting up a crate of cradle parts as if they weighed as much as a mere feather, he set them roughly in his cart before striding off. The faster he could get out of the damned place, the better. The cheerfulness of it almost made his stomach churn. Pink, spill-less sippy cups. Various stuffed plushies with big, beady black eyes. And a few large packs of nappies--though his eyes stared fixated at a purple potty chair. He didn’t want to think about training a child to use that. That, he decided, would be Agatha’s doing. 

“All set?”

Unlike the overexcited customer he had just run into, the cashier looked tired. Disinterested in all that was around her. Dracula didn’t mind her lack of emotion as he loaded the contents of his cart onto the conveyor belt. She didn’t share her excitement at the fact he possibly had a new kid, or bombarded him with questions on the subject. Instead, she quietly scanned everything and placed it back into the basket. 

“Have a nice night.” The woman said through a wide yawn, handing the vampire his receipt. “Come back to see us soon.” 

The wheels of the cart whined as he rolled his cargo across the pavement and to his cart. It took a bit of maneuvering, but by some stroke of luck, he managed to squeeze everything inside. Hopefully Agatha would deem the ride fit enough for a child to be in. It did have a back seat after all. That had to be good enough, shouldn’t it?

Agatha wasn’t there to greet him at the door when he arrived home. Nor did she help him unload the very stuff she had asked for. Instead he found her lying comfortably in their bed, the toddler fast asleep curled up at her side. She held a finger to her lips as he entered their room somewhat perturbed by the stranger in his spot. Surely he wasn’t secretly jealous of a two year old. He wasn’t that juvenile. 

“We’ll sit her up in her own room tomorrow.” The former nun whispered as not to wake the toddler. “For now, I see no reason for her not to sleep here. Poor thing is exhausted after all. Went right down not too long after you left.” 

“I got everything you asked for.” Dracula replied, leaning against the wall. “You wouldn’t believe how much it cost.” 

“We have the money, Dracula.” Agatha countered softly. “Much more than anyone in Whitby, perhaps even most in England. I proved to be quite the accountant when it came to managing our money--not to mention Frank Renfield’s services are rather useful. We will be fine with just one more.” She smiled down at Zoe. “You and I have had many adventures, my love. This is simply another one.” 

“A different kind of permanent one.” Her husband muttered quietly. “I’m going to the fridge. How opposed are you to me having the dentist tonight? It’s AB Positive.” 

“Take it.” She said with a wave of her hand. “I prefer O anyway. If you could heat up either some of the ethics professor or the banker--if we still have some left, I’d much appreciate it. And it doesn’t have to be the perfect temperature, just nothing below lukewarm.” 

Her husband nodded in understanding before turning on his heels and exiting the room. Agatha’s eyes followed him until he disappeared from sight. Apparently, this was all going to take a lot more getting used to that she thought. 

                                                      XXX

After a few days, the nightmares started and Zoe often woke up screaming for her parents. It didn’t matter what they were doing--whether it be having a nice, quiet moment to themselves or in the thralls of passion, Agatha would tear herself away from her husband and rush into their adopted child’s room. Dracula sighed as his wife brought the tear streaked face toddler into their sitting room right in the middle of their game of chess. 

“Want Mummy and Daddy!” The little girl wailed. “Want Mummy and Daddy!” 

“I know, I know…” Agatha attempted to soothe, rubbing the girl’s back. She looked to Dracula in almost desperation as if maybe he had a solution to all of this. “Aunt Agatha and Uncle Dracula promise to make all of the bad dreams go away.” 

Zoe sniffled and looked towards the Count. “Bye bye, dark!”

The man’s brows furrowed. “What does she mean?” 

“Bye bye, dark!” The girl insisted, her volume rising. “Bye bye, dark!” 

“Perhaps she’s afraid of the dark?” Agatha inquired, eyeing her niece curiously. “We should consider installing night lights around the house.”

“Agatha, we are creatures of the night!” Dracula groaned. “Certainly she can learn to adjust to the nighttime as we did. She sleeps through most of it!” But the look on his wife’s face told him everything. “Fine.” He said, tone almost cold. “But I get to decide what they look like and where they go.”

A decision, he came to, that involved the famous superhero “Batman”. It seemed only fitting to fix the well known symbol of a black bat surrounded by a halo of yellow within the various sockets in their home. He’d never been a fan of the comic, but he took humor where he could get it. 

“Funny!” Zoe informed him one day pointing at the light. She tilted her small head to the side and smiled. “Bird!”

“Bat.” He corrected, grabbing her hand. “As we’ve gone over before. Come now, your supper’s getting cold.” 

“Bird.” The toddler insisted, shaking her head as she followed her uncle. “Bird, Daccy, bird!” 

“Dracula.” The vampire exhaled, lifting the child into her high chair. “How is it you can say other things but my name gives you a great deal of trouble?”

“I find it rather adorable.” Agatha smirked as she set a plate of peas and macaroni in front of her niece. “Aunt Aggie and Uncle Daccy, has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” 

“As tasteful as the blood of a leper.” Her husband said, throwing her a look. “Agatha, I honestly do not think this setting is working out.” And as if on cue, a single pea flew past his head and tumbled onto the floor by his feet. Zoe giggled from her seat, quite pleased with herself. “To further prove my point.” He continued, motioning to the abandoned vegetable. “I’m a cold blooded killer, not a loving guardian.” 

“We all have flaws.” His wife replied simply, going to wipe the toddler’s mouth. “But that doesn’t mean we cannot fix them.” She pressed a kiss on the toddler’s forehead before turning back to her husband. “And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and have come to the conclusion that there is perhaps one way we can do that.” 

“And that would be…” The Count ventured. 

“An uncle and niece day!” Agatha chuckled, noting the stunned expression on her lover’s face. “It’ll be good for the three of us. I get some time to myself and you get to know Zoe more.” 

“In the past several centuries of my life, I have never heard of a more ridiculous idea!” Dracula retorted, eyes following Agatha as she moved about the kitchen. “Agatha, you can’t possibly expect me to…” 

“You’ve dealt with entire armies.” The former nun interrupted. “Surely a toddler cannot be that much harder.” 

Another pea flew through the air, this time hitting Dracula straight in the face. The man frowned deeply as the toddler gave him a toothy grin. When he had taken Agatha as his bride, he hadn’t expected a vegetable wielding toddler in tow decades later. Exhaling, he leaned against the counter. This was going to be one hell of a war. 

[shianhygge-imagines]

{R} [DMC Reactions] S/O Sacrifice Scramble

AN: No, thank you! For supporting my angsty ass during my days of procrastination and getting my life together, lmao! That is an interesting idea! So... let’s take the same scenarios from the original reaction post... and just replace the s/o with another character’s s/o! :3

Let’s be honest... it’s not gonna be a happy affair! And given how the DMC universe is... it’s highly likely something like this would happen.

|Link to Original S/O Sacrifice|

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante

Gets saved by Vergil’s S/O

He’d needed an expert with him on a job when it happened. His usual carelessness had gotten a loved one killed. 

Dante cried in agony as your head rolled away, remembering how he’d promised his older brother that he’d bring you back safe and sound. 

How Vergil had promised Dante a slow painful death if anything happened to you. How Dante had agreed that if anything happened, he would let Vergil kill him. 

He didn’t know what to do, going into a full blown demonic rage and butchering the demon that killed you. 

All he could think to do after was to bring your body back to Vergil. 

The moment Dante returned, the roar of his motorcycle the telltale sign of his return, Vergil had practically flown through the shop front doors. His face didn’t show it, but his heart leapt in joy at your return, longing to hold you in his arms after a time apart.  

Upon seeing only Dante standing in the dark, tears in his eyes and a white bundle in his arms, Vergil paused, his mind quickly connecting two and two together. “Y/N?” Vergil asked for you, his lips twitching to fight a frown. When Dante only met his twin’s eyes and tearfully looked away, Vergil took a step back. “No.” He denied, eyes shifting to stare at the human sized bundle in Dante’s arms, “She can’t have…” 

“I’m sorry, Vergil.” Dante tried to apologize, but his brother practically snarled in denial. 

But little by little, Vergil’s mask crumbled when a hand fell out of the bundle. Your hand. Your wedding ring. You. Unmoving.

A sob escaped Vergil’s lips before he could stop it, and his legs suddenly gave way as he could only stare in despair. You’d loved him during his darkest time, and gotten him through it. And you were dead. 

Was this karma for all the harm that he’d done in the past? Was this the world taking its revenge against him for nearly bringing the end of humanity two times?You were supposed to be his redemption. His salvation. That you were gone… did that mean he was damned for all eternity? That he was destined to stand alone forever.

He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, but now that was a distant dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vergil

Get’s saved by Dante’s S/O

“Gah! Fecking hell, Vergil!” You screamed, practically diving into the swarm that your brother-in-law had sprinted into. From behind, you could hear Dante calling for you to let Vergil do his thing. But from his position on the cliff below, he couldn’t see the number of demons that awaited his twin.

They’d finally started to have some semblance of a non-toxic relationship again, and you were damned if you would just let Vergil get himself killed.

Dante had only just gotten his brother back, and it made you happy that the brothers had started to mend their relationship. If anything were to happen to either brother, you were sure that their relationship would have been set back by a great deal. And with how much you loved Dante, you couldn’t allow anything to happen to the only surviving member of his family.

That was why you threw yourself in front of a fireball, suffering through burns in order to protect a man that was usually frigid in demeanor despite his turning over a new leaf. And the pain was unbearable, your skin melting and clothes burning. You were only able to verify that Vergil was unharmed before you collapsed into his arms unconscious.

Vergil knew that he was a class A jerk to you, so he was surprised that you, someone who only held a small fraction of demonic blood, would throw yourself in the way of an attack that might have left him incapacitated, but not too severely injured.

He caught your falling body as it fell in front of him, surprise flickering on his face for a brief moment before he schooled his expression.

The demon that had burned you so badly shook in fear at the icy malice on Vergil’s face after he’d laid you on the ground and covered your damaged body with his coat.

“Y/N is precious to someone important to me. I hope you’re ready to suffer through a slow and painful death.” Vergil hissed, unsheathing the Yamato with a deadly ring of metal.

After the demon had been dealt with, Vergil calmly picked your body up from the ground, noting that you were still alive. With the still unsheathed Yamato, Vergil quickly opened a portal back to Devil May Cry, where he gave Dante the scare of his life by immediately barking out instructions on how to treat your wounds.

After you had been treated and left to rest, Vergil would break the news to Dante like ripping off a band aid. “She saved me from an attack.” Vergil saw the punch coming at him, but didn’t move, letting his younger twin land a strike to his face.

“Next time, you better be the one looking after her.” Dante growled, clenching and unclenching his fist, beyond furious that Vergil had been so negligent as to let you get hurt.

Knowing that there would be a next time because of your stubbornness, Vergil nodded. “Next time, I’ll look after her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nero

Get’s saved by V’s S/O

As loathe as Nero was to have to take you along on a hunt, he didn’t quite have the balls to defy you when it was your fiance’s life on the line

A few days prior, several demons had appeared to attack V, vowing revenge on the Sons of Sparda, blah blah blah, like you hadn’t heard that reason half a million times.

Due to having been a part of Vergil, V’s continued existence was sustained through absorbing demonic energy, much to your surprise and confusion on how that would work in the first place.

During the attack, V had been alone except for his demon contracts, Shadow, Griffon, and Nightmare. Normally, this wouldn’t have been much of a challenge for the four of them, but V had been severely weakened after Vergil ‘resurrected.’

Not only did the attacking demons manage to severely wound V, they had also taken it upon themselves to steal V’s demonic power. The only thing sustaining V was his contracts with Shadow and Nightmare. Griffon had decided to forge a contract with you in order to help. Now, you and Nero were racing against the clock to kill the demon that housed V’s power.

Despite not having an upraising involving combat, you held your own whenever demons appeared, brandishing V’s cane and a rifle borrowed from Lady.

“A Bride on a Mission” Griffon had called you after you struck down a demon with no mercy.

Despite being able to hold your own, you were under no illusion that you could kill the demon that had assaulted your fiance and left him for dead. So, when you saw Nero getting backed into a corner, still reluctant to use his Devil Trigger, you commanded Griffon to give you a boost, sending you soaring towards Nero.

Though you stuck the landing wrong, earning you a twisted ankle, you’d managed to blast through part of the horde. You didn’t get to celebrate your victory much, when you felt the painful end of a horn dig into your stomach and send you tumbling backwards.

“Y/N!” Nero cried out in alarm.

Now, normally, you tried not to curse... but laying on your back with a hole in your abdomen, you couldn’t help but let out a swear, “Fuck!”

The demon that had stolen your fiance’s power had come out to play, and you were pretty much down for the count. Nevertheless, you propped yourself up on an elbow and aimed with your rifle. “Heh, I’m not dead yet, you fucker.”

Nero, meanwhile, had finally started to take the fight seriously, blasting through the rest of the demon horde before advancing on the bastardization of a bull demon that had attacked you when he wasn’t looking. “Hey! Do you know how much trouble I’m in now that you’ve poked a hole into my friend’s fiance?!”

The banter was a front. Nero was scared shitless that he’d have to bury another friend and break the news to V... who might just find a way to kill him for not looking after you.

Activating his Devil Trigger for the sake of killing the beast, Nero followed the battle up with picking up the crystallized demonic energy embedded in the bull demon’s horn before using his Devil Trigger to get you to a hospital.

Somehow, between getting checked into the hospital, and waking up from surgery, Griffon had left you to return to V, who found out about what had happened and immediately brought himself to the hospital to yell at Nero and look after you.

When you woke up, V sat in a chair beside your bed, one hand holding yours and another holding a book. Seeing you awake, V set the book down and gently chided you after making sure you were okay. “Please, Y/N... Don’t do that again. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

V

Get’s saved by Nero’s S/O

For the sake of this request, we’ll say that Nero’s S/O is different from Kyrie (even if it’s the canon pairing >.>, The reason why I have to clarify... well, that’s a story for another time)

V had long since retired from hunting demons, instead, investing his newly mortal life in learning about the world with the help of you, Nero, and Kyrie.

He was only a month old when he’d assisted in defeating Urizen, and had barely grasps the basic human mannerisms and fundamentals. Like the use of money, or the fact that a bullet to the head would kill him, or your personal favorite, that he had to consume food for survival. Truly, when Nero first introduced you to V, you thought him to be a child.

Though, the first thing you did after meeting him had been to take him clothes shopping. Sure, it was summer, but once the colder seasons rolled in, you were sure that V would need proper shirts instead of... the trench coat corset thing? You’re amazed the thing didn’t come apart during his battles.

There were a few times that V was forced to fight demons, either to absorb their demonic energy in order to extend his life, or to beat off random assaults from demons that swear revenge upon the Sons of Sparda. These times were increasingly annoying for the young man, as he’d long since separated himself from Vergil.

Most of the times that he’d get attacked were during his walks in the streets of Fortuna. It was a beautiful town with old architecture, so V often found himself observing the towering structures.

One day, you decided to accompany V on one of his strolls, taking a sketchbook along just in case you found another spot to stop and sketch while V took his time looking at the building designs.

It is unfortunate, then, that while the two of you were doing just that, Shadow popped out of the ground beneath you, growling in warning as several demons decided to claw out of the ground around you.

Despite having V, Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare with you, your group was quickly overwhelmed by attacks from all sides. You’d never had to fight in your life, and by not having a weapon on you, you were just a burdening presence. That didn’t stop you from calling out enemy presence in the street and slapping bitches with your sketchbook, mind you. You were unprepared and untrained, but damn it you weren’t going to be a useless damsel.

This was foolhardy of you, taking on demons despite the fact that V probably had it all handled... especially the fact that V had asked you to stay back from the demons. You didn’t listen to your fiance’s friend, and so when you’d taken a shot at one of the downed demons, raising an arm up to slap the mofo, you suddenly felt pain, and heard a thump to the floor. The blood that trickled down your arm brought your attention to the fact that you were now missing your non dominant hand.

“Fucking hell!” you screamed, wanting to panic and flail around as V quickly took care of the remaining demons before hobbling on unsteady feat towards you, unbuckling his belt to tie it around your bleeding arm.

“Y/N...” V called your name as he applied the make shift tourniquet, “Y/N, which way is the hospital? We need to get you to the hospital soon, or you really will lose your arm.”

The two of you sprinted with as much haste as possible to the hospital, you trying not to scream in panic, and V, trying not to imagine your fiance’s ire as he held your severed arm.

The minute you entered the surgery room, Nero arrived on scene at the hospital, and practically accosted V, “What the hell, V! Y/N’s not a demon hunter! You’re supposed to protect them!”

V, already feeling guilty for being unable to protect you, winced and responded with a calm voice, “I should have had Shadow escort them away, that was my mistake. But your fiance is as stubborn as you, Nero. They wanted to help... and now they may lose their arm... or not. You did regrow your arm after all.”

Brain running a mile a minute and having already decided that he should now at the very least teach you some basic defense, Nero growled, “That’s not a normal thing humans can do, V. I know you’re still getting used to being a real boy and all, but...” Nero simply sighed tiredly. “Just... make sure you watch their back when you’re with them, okay? We were lucky that they’re not half dead.”

Hours later, your arm was reattached, but you made stump jokes that made Nero simultaneously want to kiss you and slam his face in the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[awhiskeyriver]

PSST AMELIA (i have hit the level of comfort where i feel i can scream at you, oop) TELL ME UR BETTY THOUGHTS.... also me too, i really wanna write stories based of Taylor's songs all the time. there's a whole subset of tumblr ask game called like, taylor universes, where we personify songs and on God it's my favorite (i wish i had more swifties in my ranks or i'd host one)

LOL, you can always scream at me! Oh man, that sounds seriously so fun! I would love to personify one of her (or all of her, lol) songs and turn them into stories. She has such a vivid way of writing music it begs to be seen in story form, lol.

Okay so....you may regret asking me for my Folklore thoughts, LOL. This is long and it might make absolutely no sense to anyone other than me but I hope that’s not the case!

Obviously **I know this isn’t true and wasn’t Taylor’s point at all** I’m just a writer and things spin out of control in my head and...yeah...basically this is how I’ve managed to link (almost) all of the songs in Folklore together into one story line of James/Betty/August.

The story begins with in the song Betty, towards the end of Junior year, at the prom.

//I know where it all went wrong, your favorite song was playing from the far side of the gym. I was nowhere to be found, I hate the crowds, you know that. Plus, I saw you dance with him.//

I think James has anxiety of some sort [more to come on that later] and in my mind, Betty is more charismatic, maybe even casually popular not in the core group of popular girls but very well-liked and known around the school. Editor of the school paper, ran for student president, etc. Meanwhile James is more low-key, out of the limelight, and the idea of being in such a large crowd dancing gave him anxiety which is why he said no. Seeing her dancing with someone else (even innocently), made him feel worse about himself and his insecurities as well as a little mad at her for not standing with him, but choosing to go dance with friends [‘him’] instead. 

So, he left the dance early [walking home on broken cobblestones] when August sees him [when she pulled up like a figment of my worst intention. She said, James get in let’s drive. Those days turned into nights. Slept next to her but I dreamt of you all summer long.]

Personally, I think James only officially cheated on Betty once. The night of the dance with August. August is a more overtly popular; more obvious beauty that is noticed by many boys, maybe a cheerleader, etc. Many people think this popularity instantly equates with happiness, but she’s not happy, actually suffers from self esteem issues and the pressure to conform [Mirrorball: I can change everything about me to fit in]. But James doesn’t ‘oogle’ her or treat her the way typical guys she dates or fucks do, so she’s attracted to him. They kind of bring out this excitement in each other that Betty and the other guys in August’s life don’t. [Mirrorball: I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight. I’ll get you out on the floor- August can pull James out of his shell in ways that Betty can’t]. This is maybe a more “obvious” song link to make, but also how in Mirrorball it’s talked about “spinning in my highest heels love, shining just for you.” And in Cardigan, when Betty is describing August “high heels on cobblestones.” 

ANYWAYS. James feels mad guilty about what happened between August and him, swears her to secrecy, but the weight of the secret weighs on him. At the end of the year, he tells Betty he thinks they should take a break over the summer, so they do. August and James continue to talk, first through platforms like Instagram, commenting on a photo or story, then it turns into constant talking, to texting, to hanging out and inevitably having more sex. For James, it’s a vice of sorts. He feels guilty, he wants to forget that feeling meanwhile August is starting to develop Feelings™. [entire song of August, obviously, but lines like “you were never mine.// your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it. ] To her, James is also developing feelings for her and wants to be with her. [I remember thinking I had you. Wanting was enough, for me it was enough.] But as the summer starts to end, things become more squirrely between the two of them, and the feeling of being James’ side piece starts to sink in more, and the more she begins to lose him, the more desperate she is to hold onto him. [August: cancel plans just in case you call and say meet me behind the mall. Illicit Affairs: Leave the perfume on the shelf that you picked out just for him so you leave no trace behind, like you don’t even exist.// A drug that only worked the first few hundred times.// what started in beautiful rooms ends in meeting in parking lots.]

It comes to a head at the end of (the month of) August, as summer is ending and the new school year is approaching when James tells August he wants to get back together with Betty and what happened between them meant nothing to him. [Betty: Slept next to her but I dreamt of you all summer long.] August is rightfully hurt, embarrassed and angry [Illicit Affairs: Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby look at this godforsaken mess that you made me. You showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else. Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby look at this idiotic fool that you made me. You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else.// And you know damn well, for you I would ruin myself a million little times. Peace: All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret. Mirrorball: When I break it’s in a million pieces.]

So, senior year begins. Betty and James gets back together. August goes back to the way she was previous to her summer with James, but truly she is broken. Can’t even look at him. The guilt and stress of August is still eating at James, but he’s trying to forge ahead with Betty and the two of them grow stronger and closer throughout the first part of the school year. August’s friend, Inez, obviously notices her downfall, but August continues to allude to “the guy she met over the summer” without saying names. One drunken night, she slips and says James, and Inez being the gossip she is is like w h a t. [Peace: Your integrity makes me seem small.// I talk with shit with my friends, it’s like I’m wasting your honor.// And you know that I’d swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches. Give you my wild, give you a child.// Give you my sunshine, give you my best. But the rain is always gonna come if you’re standing with me.] August forgets about the conversation [she was drunk], but Inez doesn’t and can’t help herself but go to Betty and tell the rumor she heard about James fucking August. Betty, being a newspaper editor, doesn’t believe her without gathering up facts. But as she’s piecing things together, Inez’s story begins to make sense. She confronts James about it, who reluctantly admits to everything.

Betty, of course is devastated and heartbroken. The boy she trusted the most, her first love, wasn’t at all who she thought he was. [Cardigan: you drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding.] And the fact that he didn’t just come clean and tell her after the first time, but continued to cover it up (and keep seeing August) is unforgivable. [Cardigan: tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy--Betty is ready to grow up, think about college, think about life, meanwhile James is clinging to the excuse that he is ‘only seventeen’ [(Betty) Would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?], refusing to grow up and own his mistakes. 

Betty breaks things off with James. James hates August thinking she did it on purpose. Betty hates them both. August kind of does too.

[August- Mad Woman: Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy and when you say I get angry, I get more angry.]

[Betty- Cardigan: A friend to all is a friend to none, chase two girls lose the one.//When you are young they assume you know nothing.] 

After months of being broken up, James is still not over Betty and tries one last time to win her back at her graduation party before she leaves for college. [Betty, I’m here on your doorstep and I planned it out for weeks now but it’s finally sinking in. Betty right now is the last time I can dream about what happens when I see your face again. The only thing I want to do is make it up to you. So I showed up at your party]. The end of the song, where he’s talking about kissing in her car again, etc is him building their makeup up in his mind, psyching himself up for confronting her because he thinks it will all pay off.

Betty is shocked to see him, as is everyone else at the party, they’d become something of a spectacle, she brings him outside in the garden to talk in privacy without everyone interjecting or staring. Jame’s apology comes in ‘This is me trying’ where he’s trying to explain his actions more logically than placing blame on everyone and everything else, from Betty. [I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m here in your doorway. // They told me all of my cages were mental (the fact that he has anxiety, etc) so I got wasted like all my potential//pouring my heart out to a stranger, but I didn’t pour the whiskey (his and August’s first encounter/cheating incident after Prom). But “this is him trying, at least he’s trying...it’s hard to be at a party when [he] feels like an open wound” and quite honestly, “it’s hard [for him] to be anything these days when all [he] wants is [Betty]. It’s a great apology, he wears his heart on his sleeve, but Betty doesn’t want to fix things between him, she wants to move on. It was too difficult for her to get over him once, she can’t open herself up to trusting him again. [Cardigan: I knew you’d linger like a tattooed kiss, I knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs.// I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired, and you’d be standing in my front porch light.] 

Betty leaves for college.

A few years away in college has caused some healing for Betty and some insight into life outside of her small town and high school boyfriend [The One: If you never bleed you’re never going to grow, but it’s alright now]. But when she’s talking with her mom and something comes up about James, thoughts and feeling she hasn’t felt in years come racing back. She can’t help but wonder how things might’ve turned out if things didn’t end how they did because as much as she hates to admit it, she’ll always love James in some way. [We were something, don’t you think so?// if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.// it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the one.// I persist and resist the temptation to ask you if one thing had been different (if he hadn’t slept with August) would everything be different today?.// You know the greatest films of all time were never made.] [My Tears Ricochet: And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home. And you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones.] 

***Now, things get a little more dicey here not as tight, lol but bear with me***

Betty comes home after graduation from college and runs into James. They’re cordial and nice and when James asks if they can get dinner and catch up, Betty agrees. They have a good evening, reconnect a little, but when they go riding and drive to some familiar places from their childhood, past hard conversations re-arise. It brings a lot of unwelcomed emotions back up in Betty, and she realizes it’s harder than she thought it would be to forgive James. [The One: the greatest films of all time were never made. Exile: I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.] Meanwhile, James just wants to forgive and forget the past, after all, they were kids, only seventeen. His hurt comes from the fact that after he tried to patch things up after graduation, not only did Betty dismiss him and leave, but she never reached out or spoke to him again. [Exile: It took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it. Holding all this love out here in the hall.] He came to the front porch/door to try and fix things with her, and she “left out the side door.” 

Betty [My Tears Ricochet: Even on my worst day, did I deserve babe, all the hell you gave me? Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you, til my dying day. // And I still talk to you (while I’m screaming at the sky) and when you can’t sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)// Hoax: My twisted knife, my sleepless night, my winless fight this has frozen my ground.] 

Hoax is where things come to a head with Betty and James. [Stood on the cliffside screaming, “Give me a reason. Your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in. // You knew it still hurts underneath my scars, from when they pulled me apart. But what you did was just dark.]

Mad Woman continues as August finds out that Betty and James get back together, and cannot get over it. She never got over James either. Only her sadness turns to anger. [Now I breathe flames each time I talk. // They say “move on” but you know I won’t.// It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.] 

Invisible String comes when Betty and James are in a stable, happy place in their relationship again. Possibly engaged for marriage. [Time, mystical time, cutting me open then healing me fine.// Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you.// Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven.]

And, I like to think that August did eventually move on and found someone who appreciates her and truly loves her, isn’t just using her for revenge, or because she’s hot, or because they’re trying to forget their own problems. But someone who actually values her for herself. (Invisible String: Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart. Now I send their babies presents.)

AGAIN, this is obviously just my own theory/fun. Not meant to be taken seriously. Hope you enjoyed!

[retvenkos]

three times // theseus scamander x leta lestrange

Harry Potter: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald - Theseus Scamander x Leta Lestrange, slight fluff and angst

requested, few changes

A/N: am i writing all the requests that involve kissing scenes to try and (hopefully) figure out how they work? maybe. also, mentions of the holidays (i tried to keep it vague!) because anon asked! i know it’s july, don’t come for me.

Summary: “I know,” Leta whispered, her eyes closing for a half moment, long lashes kissing her golden brown skin, “and I meant what I said. Love can’t change me. But I want to be loved. I want to know what that’s like.”

the three times he told her he loved her, and the one time she agreed;

one, 1916

Spare time was hard to come by, in the thick of battle. Theseus had never known so much chaos, so much fear. He couldn’t help but feel he had made the right decision, disobeying Minister Evermonde’s legislation and joining the war. Even with the help of thousands of wizards, the war did not cease. He wondered, in between air strikes and word form home, if there was ever going to be an end. One day it would come, he supposed, but was it one day after tomorrow or one day after his death? 

He did not know. He couldn’t know, no matter how many Seers predicted ends through the glimpses they saw in crystal balls. 

Did they see this destruction in their foresight? Did they see these bodies, broken and bruised? Did they see him, penning letters home in the middle of desolation, his wand at his side just in case, a rifle in his bloody hands? Did the Minister of Magic, in his comfortable office with a large desk, hear their cries as he told wizards to stand by? 

Did his friends and family know that he loved them - that he was laying down his life for a better future, a possible tomorrow? Did they know that he was fighting to save them? Merlin, he loved them and hoped that they were safe.

‘No one is innocent in this war, Mum. Not the children pulled into battle, not the men planning the attacks, not even us wizards cowering behind wrongful legislation and poorly crafted excuses. Fear has turned wizards into something terrible. As an Auror, dedicated to the safety of our world (which includes Muggles, whether the Ministry recognizes that or not), I cannot come home. I will see this war to the end. I must.’

Theseus held his family in letters; the flowy cursive of his mother, the neat penmanship of his father, Newt’s messy scrawl, and the occasional word from Leta, her letters small but loud. Their words reminded him of simpler times, days when the world was smaller, hurt was shallower, and suffering was least common. 

The war was wrapping everyone in a storm and scattering them on the wind. Where would he be thrown? How would he land? On his own two feet? On his back? His own thoughts threatened to be his undoing, so he clung to those beliefs that he could forge out of the fire.

‘I have to save these men who fight alongside me. I know their stories and their pain. These men aren’t just Muggles, they are my brothers in these trenches. I know you all will understand my bleeding heart, it’s not like it hasn’t gotten me into trouble before, Newt knows that better than anyone.’

There were times his courage left him. When he was stripped of all soul and left as flesh and bone, bleeding from wounds that would never quite heal, some scars in areas that neither medicine nor magic could reach. 

Theseus wondered what he would become after this war. How much of him would stay intact if he survived this living hell? Theseus had met men who had been in wars before. They worked with him at the Auror Office, hardened men of the world and yet jumpy and fragile from memories. Would he understand them? Or find himself to be something else completely, so distant from that humane side of himself that he no longer recognized man?

He was being pushed every which way, burned in the fires of war. He had to cling to his love; he must hold onto his principles and beliefs that paled in the face of this destruction.

‘I am sorry to have left without warning, but if Father would have known, he would have stopped me. All of you would have, but none of you would have changed my mind. I love you all too much to stand idly by.

‘I will write again as soon as I can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage as I always have. I do not want more days as these ones. I cannot continue to watch them come. I’m sending this to you with a bit of magic as our letters are read and censored by junior officers, but I can only send a few this way. Muggles aren’t completely daft. Stay strong and send Leta my love.

‘Theseus.’

--

two, 1921

It was dark when he returned home. Hours at the Ministry were long and taxing, enough to steal any and all daylight from his life. By the time he made it home, the rest of the world was fast asleep. Theseus entered quietly, thinking the woman inside to be dreaming, but she sat at the window in dresses of silk, her eyes glassy and sombre.

“Leta” —her name brought a smile to his lips— “I thought you would be asleep.” Theseus addressed her fondly as he set down his suitcase and shedded his coat. He sat across from her on the window seat, squeezing her shoulder as he passed. She allowed him, still lost in the seas of thought. She had been staying with him for the last week while her place was getting renovated, and in the meantime Theseus had gotten to know his friend better than before, recognizing odd behavior more often. “Is everything alright?”

Leta blinked twice, her eyes clearing and color flooding back into her brown cheeks. “Of course,” she said, “I was just...”

“Thinking. As always.”

She smiled, dipping her head in concession. There was something melancholic in the air that settled around her - deep and omnipresent, assailing her against her own volition when she least expected it.  

It reminded Theseus of that deep part of himself born from war and strife, hidden from those who passed by. Only with Leta did he bear that side of himself, that sorrow they both knew all too well.

“Are you alright?” She busied herself with fixing her skirts, smoothing out their wrinkles with care. 

“Yeah,” Theseus sighed, relaxing into the seat, “I’ve only had to deal with the idiocy in the Auror Office, rather than the entire Ministry, today.”

“So, a calm day, then.”

He nodded, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. “And you, Leta? How was Travers?”

“Besides his usual, terrible self?” Theseus scoffed at her comment and she continued, “Being his assistant is simultaneously the best and worst thing you’ve ever convinced me to do.”

“Worse than my convincing you and Newt to set the Erkling in the Hogwarts greenhouses loose?” Theseus raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes mischievous. “They eat children, you know.”

“I should know better than you! The bloody thing bit me! I still have a scar!” Leta held up her arm, pushing back her sleeves to show him a scar on the inside of her forearm, faded from time, but present all the same.

Theseus kissed it better and she swatted his shoulder.

“At least you’re feeling better.” Theseus smiled contentedly, his eyes searching her face for any lingering sorrow he might find. It was always there, if he looked hard enough. He had only ever seen it go away when she was with Newt, talking about the humanity of creatures. There were no monsters, he would always say, only blinkered people. 

“What are you thinking about now?”

“Huh?”

Leta was staring at him, her intense eyes alight with something Theseus couldn’t put his finger on. There was always something with Leta that he didn’t understand, something that no doubt came from her shrouded memories. Her own war that no one else knew. He often wondered how he was supposed to reach her when part of her was still lost at sea, turning in tempests he could not locate. He would be damned before he stopped trying, though. That much he knew.

“What’s on your mind, Theseus?”

“You,” he answered honestly. Her lips parted in shock, but her eyebrows furrowed in thought, “and Newt. You two were always quite the pair. I daresay you got along with him better than I did, try as I might.”

Leta sighed, her head shaking slightly, “Newt can love anything. Especially those things worst for him.”

For a moment, Theseus was stunned into silence. He knew she thought little of herself, despite his constant comments to the contrary, but to hear it so plain was something else. The truth was heavy on her shoulders, and only now did he see how far it had dragged her.

“Leta...”

“I’m a monster, Theseus.” Her tone was bitter cold. “You and Newt are too good to see it, but I truly am.”

“I don’t believe it.” Theseus shook his head, his voice firm if not the slightest bit angry when he spoke. “You have your secrets, Leta, but no secret can change who I know you to be.”

Then I’ve fooled you, too—”

“—Then I’ve seen the truth of who you are.” Theseus grabbed her hands, so small and smooth in his own, and looked deep into her teary eyes. “I know what it’s like to be changed into something unrecognizable. I’ve also had to move on, pretending you’re the same when you aren’t. But trust me, Leta, nothing has changed who you are at your core.”

“Theseus, please. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Then tell me and I’ll love you through it.”

Her breath hitched in a gasp, her mind acutely aware of her hands in his, their sudden proximity, and the fire in his eyes. Theseus did not pull back in fear of his thoughts being spoken aloud. It was time she knew.

If Leta could not love herself, then Theseus would love her until she could. 

Theseus had never found someone he couldn’t save.

He had seen so much loss in his life; so much sorrow had riddled the trenches, so much pain had permeated the air, so many people passed in and out of his life, all of them laying down their lives, all of them clinging onto something to believe in. He had chosen love. He clung to it like a chlld clinging to their mother, fearful of what he would be without it. He had learned early on that love saved men. It was those men with someone to go back home to that survived their trench foot and shell shock. It was those wizards with someone to keep safe that passed the Auror training programme. It was those people who loved that made it through this harsh world.

He loved Leta. He would love her until she loved herself. Then he would love her even more.

Leta pulled her hands away from him. “I know what you’re thinking, Theseus, but you can’t save me.”

“At least let me try.”

She shook her head, standing up from the window seat, her silks tumbling from the cushion, falling around her like a waterfall. “Love can’t change me.”

Leta walked out the door, into the night, and Theseus watched her with desperate eyes. He had so much love in his heart, but none of it could save him from being alone.

--

two, 1924

Theseus came down the stairs of his childhood home and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the island as he watched his mother rolling out cookie dough, chatting with Newt. Holiday music drifted through the air, the voice of the crooner deep and soothing. It reminded him of the happiness of a lifetime ago, when Newt, Leta, and he would sled down the nearby hill all day, only coming inside to steal cookie dough and cocoa, thinking themselves quick enough to not be spotted.

So much had transpired, since; Newt and Leta had grown up, no longer the impressionable kids that used to tag along on his misadventures. They were people in their own right, now, with depths he hadn’t seen. They were older now, not as easily forgiving of his rough nature, not as aware of what happened inside of his head. 

Some things never changed, though, and a Scamander Christmas was one of them. 

“Theseus.” Newt acknowledged him, his already bent head nodding further downward, his chin almost touching his chest. “These are your favorite, aren’t they?” His younger brother looked down at the cookies their mother was cutting out - gingerbread that would be frosted with a thick buttercream icing. It was always too sweet for Newt, but Theseus would always manage to get the cookie with the thickest layer of frosting.

Theseus was grateful for his attempt at conversation. It wasn’t easy for him and Newt, anymore.

Not since the war. Not since he changed.

“You haven’t been gone so long you’ve forgotten our holiday traditions, have you?” Theseus made sure to keep his tone light, teasing. There couldn’t be any more misunderstandings between the two of them.

“Not exactly, I’ve—”

“—Only been missing for an entire year,” the voice of Leta Lestrange echoed through the Scamander household, and the next moment she was in the kitchen, next to Theseus’ mother, her smile polite but her eyes bright with joy.

Newt let out a strangled sort of laugh, a mixture of surprise and happiness. “Leta, I-I didn’t—”

“That’s what makes it a surprise, Newt.”

“Of course.” The younger Scamander stammered, his eyes anxiously flitting across her face.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Leta.” Theseus finally spoke, saving Newt from his floundering attempt at reconciliation, and grabbing the attention of the young woman. She smiled at him, and the sight of it spread a warmth through his body.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Theseus nodded with a crooked smile of his own, color blooming on his cheeks. His eyes held hers for a long while, and she made no move of looking away. Theseus wondered what had changed inside her. Just a year ago she couldn’t look in his general direction when speaking and now it was common for her to stare at him as though no one else was there. What had changed?

Or, a part of him wondered, what has she resigned herself to?

Newt coughed and he blinked, dispelling the trance he had fallen into. Gathering himself, Theseus walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, where the fire burned bright and solitude surrounded him, leaving him to his thoughts.

It wasn’t long before Leta joined him, her footfall tentative and soft on the carpet. “Is there something wrong?” Her voice was low and without curiosity - almost as though she knew the answer to her question but thought asking to be a necessary formality.

Theseus swallowed. “No.”

She was still approaching, her voice drifting closer to him, like a song. “You can’t lie to me, Theseus. We’re too close for that.”

“Are we?” He turned to look at her, his voice strong with the slightest bit of hope laced in. Leta looked up at him, her eyebrows knit together. “I love you, but you told me I couldn’t.”

“I know,” Leta whispered, her eyes closing for a half moment, long lashes kissing her golden brown skin, “and I meant what I said. Love can’t change me. But I want to be loved. I want to know what that’s like.”

Theseus reached out and grabbed her hand, his calloused fingers brushing over her own. “Let me show you.”

Leta nodded almost imperceptibly, her eyes wide with apprehension, her heart pounding in her chest. His lips met hers in a slow kiss, one hand on the small of her back, the other still intertwined with her own. She tasted sweet against him, like hot chocolate and candy canes.

“I love you.” Theseus whispered it when he pulled away, close enough for her to feel his breath across her lips.

She kissed him again.

[the-pan-ace-writings]

Chapter 3 The long road and a Flower

First Previous  Masterlist

  Riona has spent the last three months helping the Minutemen rebuild the commonwealth, she's acquired a good deal of new equipment, she's taken up a thick trench coat and a bandanna that matches the skull on her newest companion, an over sized German Shepard that was dubbed Dogmeat. She's also carries a small armory  on her at all times at this point, but her preferred weapon quickly became an electrified Chinese officer sword. Her rolled sleeve blouse was virtually destroyed after an unfortunate encounter with a flamer armed forge member, leaving her with a still pink burn across her chest licking up to her neck, and her undershirt hat managed to survive for the most part. 

   She was currently headed out to a city called Goodneighbor, having taken up at as caravan guard set out from a weirdo town called the Covenant which she was all too happy to st out from, the people having been near obsessed with Synths, controlled by a faction called the Institute which seems to slowly become less of boogeyman and more of a  thing. 

   Riona picked up some of a reputation in the concord area as someone who'll help settlements and as someone who carries a half ton of junk around with them. But she’s collected a fair amount of caps killing raiders and selling scrap. 

   It took them about a day to walk there with the lumbering Brahmin that the traders tended to use, Riona kept the rear for the caravan and was the first subjected to the giant rat creatures that burst up from the ground beneath the brahmin sending it bolting. 

   “Dogmeat!” she yelled the command to chase after the brahmin over the other guards yells of “Mole Rats!” 

   A large mole rat jumped up in an attempt to bite into Riona’s thigh but it met the pommel of her sword with a wet crotch as its skull collapse inwards, she turned her sword downwards sinking it into the side of a lunging rat flinging it bodily into another more mangy rat. It squealed as it received a shock cooking inside its wound. 

   The molerats were quickly dispatched between her and the other guard, Riona took the moment to collect and clean the remnants of them for later as dogmeat trotted back with the reins of  the brahmin. 

   It was evening when they arrived in a neon light filled version of scollay square, the sky was a light in a warm orange and purple only accentuated by the faint glow of Goodneighbor itself. She broke from the caravan after taking her payment and walked through the front entrance of the town. 

   “Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walking around without insurance” a man in a leather jacket walked up to Riona, lighting up a cigarette blowing the smoke towards her. 

   “Hey why don't you back off buddy, before you're the one needing insurance, huh?” she threatened, lifting her sword up from her hip clicking on the battery connected to it. 

   “Hmm? What was that couldn't hear you over all that false bravado, Why don't you hand over everything you got them in pockets or ‘accidents’ might just start happening?” he cracked his knuckles and flicked his cigarette at her. “Big bloody ‘accidents’, ya dig” 

   She looked down at the cigarette still burning at her feet, she ground it into the cracked pavement.

   “Oh yeah I’m tracking”  she nearly swung the blade at him, when a ghoul stepped out of the alley between the state house on their left. 

   “whoa , whoa, Time out.”  he was dressed in similar period clothes that Preston wore, his was a dirty red overcoat on top of an even worst tunic. “Someone steps through the gate the first time, they are a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.”  he strode over confidently. 

   “What’d you care? She ain’t on us.” the gruff man snarked at the ghoul, turning completely away from Riona. 

   “What no love for your mayor, Finn?” his voice took a quick downturn to that of a dangerous man “I said let em’ go” 

   Finn scoffed at the mayor growing annoyed, Riona flicked off the battery on her sword and took a step back from the situation, obviously this ran deeper than she thought. 

   “You’re soft Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor. “ it surprised Riona when Hancock voice dropped to something closer to friendly and stepped toward Finn placing his hand on his shoulder, clasping him like one does to an old friend.

   “Come on. Man. this is me we’re talkin about. Let me tell you something.”  Hancock led forward and in a quick rush a knife was buried repeatedly into a double over Finn, who weekly collapsed to the ground. Hancock just looked down mournfully at his body “Now why’d you have to go and say that, huh/ Breaking my heart over here.” he looked up to Riona. “You all right, sister?”

   She just stared in surprise, 

   “You killed him.”

  Hancock just laughed. “Got a good pair of eyes on ya, i think you'll fit in here. Goodneighbor of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome.”  

   Riona just nodded, looking down between Finn and Hancock

   “yeah , I feel you”  she shook her head still in minor shock at the actions of the supposed mayor, but she figures that this is the norm now in the wasteland cities. 

   “Good. you stay cool, and you'll be part of the neighborhood.”  he leaned in closer, eyes narrowing “so long as you remember who’s in charge.” he turned around after tipping his tricorn hat, sauntering off to the state house  behind him, leaving her stand alone over Finn’s body. 

   She took the caps off him, shaking her head.

   “I need a drink, Christ” she kicked him out of her way and walked off towards the ally Hancock entered from, Dogmeat following at her heels.  

   Through her wandering she found what looks like the entrance of a subway with a bright red neon sign that said “The Third Rail” , it sounded like a bar if she ever heard of one and slipped inside,  the bouncer let her through with little issue only giving warning about keeping the dog in check down there. 

   Once she entered the main room of the bar she was met by sultry sounds of one of the most gorgeous women she's seen in a long time singing on the small stage in the corner of the room, being watched by what looked like the most drug addled people she's laid eyes on. She smiled at the woman singing and went to sit down at the bar. 

   The bartender was a posh sounding Mr. Handy who took her order “politely” and didn't try to keep conversation with her. She finished her first drink while watching the singer on stage move her hips, gilding her hands down her red dress, when she turned back to the bartender to order a second drink it's as already there, taking the drink she raised it to her lips and winked at the signer.  Shortly there after Riona felt a warmth press into her side as a chair was pushed aside to allow the singer to lean back on the bar. 

   “Names Magnolia” her voice was husky and spoken within inches of Riona’s face, She smirked placing the glass down to face her more.

   “Riona, how bout we get to know each other better?” Riona leaned back a bit, placing her elbow on the bar behind her, propping her boots on the bar beneath her chair. Magnolia stepped into the space between her knees

   “Oh Really? Go on… “ she was leaning on her knee at this point, hand dropping to steady herself there. Riona smirked, she hadnt had this much fun since she was discharged. 

   “You. Me. an evening stroll under the streetlights…” she brought her hand to rest on Magnolia’s hand. 

   “And then what?” Magnolia moved her hand from just above Riona’s knee to rest higher on her thigh. Riona leaned into Magnolia, bringing her lips to her ear. She made eye contact with a lithe figure standing that the archway of the backroom, they were just staring. She smirked and placed her hand on Magnolia's hip and whispered. 

   “Music” she winked at the lithe figure standing up pulling her closer, Magnolia reached behind Riona to grab her coat, pressing into her then Magnolia took the lead pulling her from the bar. 

   She woke in the Hotel Rexford. 

Next

[iliveinaconstantstateoffire]

“I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. Above all, I must not play at God.” -The Hippocratic Oath (1964)

The Sunflower State.

The Wheat State.

The Wheat Basket.

The Jayhawk State.

Kansas is a beautiful state with an incredibly brutal history. Born of an ousted people, baptised in the brutal conflict of both world imperialism and civil strife; torn from a neighbor, with her people strewn across an ungrateful nation, The state of Kansas has borne horrors, humilation, and blood with an uncanny grace. Though her history is especially bloody, she has chosen the path of a healer. 

She has watched and helped as her own people with forced onto lands that they didn’t want, and then were treated unfairly by a government that knew nothing of her strengths. She has been a home to immigrants and emigrants, people hoping for a new life in this new world. Populations forced to continuously adapt, grow, and learn, yet through it all remained strong in their conviction that a better tomorrow was possible today, if only one kept at it. 

She housed civil unrest as the atrocities from the east found their way to her borders; she herself fought for the rights of humans, while her own neighbors flooded her state, her territory as an evil that she didn’t want reared its ugly head. Yet, through it all, her people persisted; she persisted. As invaders continued theatening her, her people answered the call and fought beside her, for her. When her statesmen faced a divided nation, again they answered the call, fighting alongside the Union. 

She fought in the trenches as, yet again, there was a call to arms; she weathered the devastating Dust Bowl alongside the national Depression; she fought in the fields across Europe and Asia, Italy and North Africa; when victory was called and she returned home, she continued her efforts in medicine.

With tragedy, came triumph: She bore a new era of progressivism which led to new growth within her state; she watched the prohibition movement grow in her amongst her people; she watched as her brave civilian, men and women, took u the battle flag to defend freedom at home and abroad; the needs and values of urban America became a common topic, and her personal faith and hope in community only grew during this time; she housed ‘the oil fields that won World War I; and from 1922-1927, she won legal battles against the monsters and won, leading to the collapse of their control and their numbers in her home. 

Forged in fire, cast in steel, Kansas and fought and triumphed, fought and lost, and yet she still moves forward. She is both the Wheat Basket and the Jawhawk, the fighter and the healer; a home to a Native people, forced off their lands; home to settler and immigrants, hoping to start anew; a way station for settlers heading west, west, west into the rising sun, into a new future. 

Her people have created in her a personal motto, something to hold tight to when the world is falling and the light seems so dim: Do not mistake my kindness for naiveté, my silence for submission. I have willingly done what few have chosen to do: I have put down my bows and arrows, and picked up my wreath and stethoscope. 

I have chosen kindness and healing over strife and discord. 

She is the Sunflower State

The Wheat Basket and the Wheat State

The Jayhawk State

She is Kansas. 

Alright, so here’s my girl Kansas. This is my personal HC for the Sunflower state, and the picture on the bottom right hand corner I found on a site called Pexels, and the picture was made by the creator Godisable Jacobs. Her pictures are absolutely beautiful. 

HC for KS:

She’s worked in medicine pretty much her entire life, but took an active interest in it later on.

She knows numerous different methods of healing and has, herself, both created new methods, written about them, and has added hundreds of medical journals and research papers to the science and research of medicine.

She works in different fields of medine, though her favorites are pediatrics and neurology. The former because she adores playing with kids and being around them, and the latter because she finds it pretty cool--its both old and new! Which, granted, is most medicine, but its like some cool sci-fi disovery.

She’s generally very good with kids, but she has lost one in a field of sunflowers before. She found the little boy later, but still.

She and Missouri still have a tense relationship. It’s getting better, but the dude literally militarily attacked her on numerous occasions. 

She loves cookie dough. 

She works with Doctors Without Borders and has donated quite a bit of both time and money on the program.

During the Dust Bowl and Depression, she had lost too much weight and was constantly coughing up dust, so she makes up for that by eating whenever she can, and staying as far away from smoking and cigarettes as possible.

A lot of doctors know her name and by sight. So, when they see her entering the hospital, they know to approach her immidiately and answer all questions that she has.

If she’s not in a hospital, she’s watching netflix or watering her garden. 

She sends her siblings sunflowers every year on important dates. 

She’s pretty close to CA and FL: the former keeps her on her toes, the latter helps her relax.

She once raised a squirrel and named him whiskers; she once raised a raven and called her Quoth (she loves Edgar Allen Poe, but refuses to let VA know). 

She’ll help any mangy animal that she finds.

She’s more than happy to help anyone that needs it, free of charge (she has encyclopedias worth of opinions on medicine and medicare and healthcare. Once she get’s started, she doesn’t stop).

She’s a left-handed.

She was a fighter in her early years, and later took up medine.

She was The Head Nurse during both World Wars. 

The only alcoholic drink that she likes is C*ke with Rum.

She can’t whistle. 

She has a little barn area behind her house where she sometimes helps treat people when they need it. 

She didn’t speak to Missouri for a solid decade after the Civil War.

She knows a lot about gods and goddesses of medicine in dozens of mythologies.

She can speak a lot of different languages, and sometimes when she’s angry at her siblings, she’ll snap at them in Greek or Latin. She doesn’t swear at them, just talks to them angrily in Greek or Latin.

During World War II, she once snapped at an especially rude (read: racist) injured soldier and she told him, “Sir, I am an army doctor. Do you know what that means? It means that I have a perfect understanding of the human anatomy. What that means is shut-up, or I’ll break something that won’t grow back. I can take the sight of blood; you won’t be so lucky.”

simultaneously the mom friend, the dad friend, and the big sister friend. 

So, this is my personal HC for Kansas, but like I’ve said, states are so vast and all of them carry so much history, that to have one single representative, makes very little sense. So, although this is firmly KS for me, there’s always room for interpretations.

To the person that wanted Kansas, do you want me to tag you in this post? If not, then you know who you are and here you go! I hope you like it! If you do want me to tag you, feel free to pm me and I’ll fix it. 

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (98/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

To: doctor_shunga@wrantool.vii

From: zatte@emerald.eye (encryption engaged) (proxy transmission #6 engaged)

Dear Dr. Shunga,

[Note: Add some sort of greeting here.   It’s weird to just open the message cold.   Maybe he wouldn’t mind, but I would. -Zatte]

I get angry at my wife sometimes.  That's only natural.  Sometimes I worry that I take that for granted, and get angry with her when I shouldn't.  

I mean, she can be a real slob.  She keeps the kitchen and dining areas clean enough, but she treats the rest of the ship like one giant clothes hamper.  The service robot handles most of that, but it's still disgraceful.

And she's really moody.  Sometimes it's like she just doesn't want to open up, even when we're all alone.  She growls a lot.  She always says it's because of things she smells in the air, things that I can't smell.  I think it's just an excuse to be grouchy.

And... she kind of cheated on me.  I blame myself, really; I should have paid more attention to the situation.  She needed me and I wasn't available to her because I was so focused in that damn murder investigation.  It's not like she had sex with him, so there's mitigating circumstances, right?  Stuff I tell myself to help me forgive her.  But she still did it, and I can't pretend it doesn't bother me.  

I try not to deny those feelings.  They keep me grounded, because I always get starstruck when I'm around her.  I have to remind myself that she's not a goddess or an angel or anything like that.  But I do believe she's a miracle, and that's hard to fit into a marriage.  So it helps to remember that my beloved miracle leaves her dirty socks in the engine room for no good reason.  It's important to consider that the woman I'd die for has betrayed me.

I don't have a lot of friends, not since the colony fell.  I'm too wrapped up in Luffa's world to bother socializing.  I feel like a one-woman cult sometimes.  But it's not wrong.   My people believe that there are focal points in the universe where history is changed for the better.  We have a word for them: xan-nil'Dor, and a sacred duty to find and cultivate them in whatever form they appear.   The Dorlun race has been doing this for millennia.  It only seems creepy because I'm the only Dorlun around lately. It only seems cultish because my xan-nil'Dor is five-foot-three and adorable.

I've suffered for her.  The colony fell and we fought to the bitter end, each of us thinking the other was dead.  I was captured by demons who forced me to stalk her and corrupt her.  I fought against her enemies and wore my wounds like badges of honor.  We used to share in a mental communion that was so beautiful, but she had to put a stop to it because the intimacy of it was too intense.  I feel like a moth circling a flame sometimes.  If I stay with her, I'll be destroyed.

I'll take that chance.  Risk.  Among my people, "risk" is a dirty word.  Luffa whispers it into my ear sometimes because she knows it drives me wild.  I'm not like the other Dorluns.  I don't want to die--don't get me wrong--but I'm more aggressive about it.  Hiding isn't my style.  I'd rather face a threat head-on, or at least prepare to face it head-on.  I think that's what Luffa likes about me.  It's not quite the same as Saiyan battle-lust, but it's close enough, I guess.

She's been training me ever since we got together.  I mean, she was training me before that.  Back on the colony she did combat exercises with the Dorlun militia, but now the militia is down to just me, and the lessons are more intense.  Early on, Luffa singled me out as the strongest Dorlun in the colony, and she took an interest in seeing how much stronger I could get.  Once we were married, she took that project even more personally.  I'm nothing compared to a Saiyan, but she's always told me that isn't the point.  It's a matter of pride.  She wants me to be the best I can be, for my sake and for hers.  It's tough to live up to that, but it's inspiring too.  Like I'm a piece of raw iron she's forging into a great sword.

Maybe I romanticize this stuff too much.  I think of Luffa like this mythical heroine who does all these wonderful things, so whenever she blows off laundry I make end up making excuses for her.  We don't always get along, but when we do it's like nothing I've ever felt before.  She's like a living inferno, and I want to dive in and burn for her.    The weird thing is, Luffa thinks I can be cold towards her.  I shouldn't be surprised, given how passionate Saiyans are, but I'm pretty sure most Dorluns would be embarrassed to see how I carry on around her.  Or maybe they wouldn't, and I'm just being self-conscious.

I'm getting away from the reason I wanted to write you this message in the first place.  It's the same reason I had to transmit it in such a convoluted way.  Well, I haven't done that yet, but I'm planning to bounce it off several dozen interstellar relay stations in order to make it harder to trace.  Luffa and I can't go back to your planet anymore.  We're not sure what will happen if the Saiyans find out we've been there.   They might attack Wrantool VII, and maybe even destroy it.  That's why we missed our last appointment for couples counseling, and why we won't be able to reschedule.  I hope you understand.

I just feel like we're running away from the issues that led us to see you in the first place.  So I thought maybe if I explained some things in a letter, it would help convince me that our marriage is going to be okay.  I think that's why we came to you.  We both wanted a third party to tell us we were doing it right.  Well, that's not a luxury we can afford these days, so I'll have to make due with what we have.  I'll tell you a story, and I'll have to hope you're as convinced as I am.

[Note: I should probably explain everything that happened since our last session, but later.  -Zatte]

So, after everything that happened with King Rehval, we had a lot of downtime on our hands.  Our ship was badly damaged, especially the computer.   It took us weeks just to get to a planet that could do the repairs, and they had to order a lot of custom parts, so we ended up taking a vacation neither of us really wanted.    They had some nice lodges out in the mountains, but we just weren't in the mood to enjoy it.    Luffa was anxious to get back to Planet Saiya and confront King Rehval, and I... wasn't sure what we should do.    I had hoped we would figure it out while we waited for the ship to be repaired, but all I could think about was what we had been through.  

It was a nice place to try to sort things out, though.   I probably shouldn't say the name of the planet, in case this message gets intercepted somehow.   The less you know, the better.  Now that I think about it, I should probably change the names of the people and places in this story.  Only I can't think of any good fake names, so I'll go back and do that later.

[Note: Don't forget to do this!! -Zatte]

So,we were on Planet Thrush, about 6000 light years from Pflaume.  I had managed to convince Luffa that we needed to keep a low profile until we got the ship repaired.  Luckily, we still had enough money to cover a place to stay and new clothes to keep Luffa from standing out too much.   She spent most of her time monitoring interstellar news reports.    She was determined to keep up with King Rehval's movements as closely as she could, to find out what he would do next.   We weren't sure if he thought Luffa was alive or dead, or how he might respond if he found out she survived.   As it turned out, he didn't really do much of anything.  Luffa compared it to trench warfare, where neither side was willing to risk taking the initiative.    Maybe he was waiting to see what we would do, or he wanted the rest of the galaxy to find out for themselves that Luffa was gone.

The standoff frustrated Luffa, but it also convinced her that laying low was the right move, and that seemed to get her to relax a little.    She focused more on trying to apologize for her makeout sessions with Rehval.   She cooked my favorite foods, massaged my feet, kept the hotel clean (relatively speaking), and she even took me dancing.     She was... well, it was like you said in one of our sessions a few months back.   She was trying too hard, hoping to repair past failures by overcompensating in the present.   It was all a little much, but I liked this better than her brooding over how to take revenge on Rehval.   And things were hard for Luffa too, with her learning her son was alive.    I thought it was best to let her deal with that in her own way, and I think it helped her to know that I'm still part of her family, even if her son has rejected her.  

So one day we decided to go hide out in the mountains and just live off the land for a while.   It's helped us connect in the past, and we never get to do it enough because we spend so much time in space, surrounded by technology.   I was glad to have Luffa away from the news dispatches for a while, and I think she was just happy that I was going along with her suggestions for spending time together.    The thing is, I'd love to say all this downtime is good for our marriage, and it's brought us closer together.    I'd also like to say that the experience with Rehval was good for our marriage, and it's brought us closer together.    But I also have to question if I'm just looking for excuses to say everything is all right, so I can ignore the problem.   Maybe that self-doubt is what's holding me back.   Maybe Luffa has the same trouble.  

Anyway, we had been out there for three days.   Luffa had finished loading our barbecue pit, and was taking a nap in our shelter.   This was just a sort of tent we made out of logs and brush.  We didn't plan to stay long, so we kept it simple.    I was scouting the terrain.   We didn't really need to do that, since we had an aerial view of the place when Luffa flew us in, but my energy manipulation powers let me detect things that normal senses might miss.   I was on my way back when I heard a noise from our camp.   By the time I got to the shelter, Luffa had stepped out, carrying a little boy by the scruff of his tunic.  

It took a while for us to figure out what had happened.   He wouldn't talk at first, but after a couple of hours, he got hungry, and the smell from Luffa's pit probably helped loosen his tongue.   His name was Bred, and he was on this quest to save a kingdom from an evil wizard named Lyder.    We never really got to the bottom of it, but we're pretty sure he wasn't from Thrush.   He used some sort of magic mirror to transport himself from his world to ours, and he had to do that several times in order to collect items and weapons he needed for his mission.   This time, the item he needed was my wife's scalp.

I think the strangest part of life with Luffa is that she's more than just a extra-special Saiyan.   It's tempting for me to think that the "Legendary" in "Legendary Super Saiyan" is a redundancy.   Any Saiyan that powerful would have to be noteworthy for centuries to come.   But it's more than that.    There are people out there who remember the past Super Saiyans, like the Plantians, or the people of Bigreen, or the faerie folk of the F-Tunnel.  For them, Luffa is like the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy.   I think that's the only magic Luffa really appreciates.   She doesn't put much stock in the Dorlun concept of xan-nil'Dor, but she's proud to be part of a lineage of larger-than-life Saiyan heroes, and I think she looks to them for strength.   Maybe its more of a rivalry.   The point is, it's easy for me to think of her as normal, since she's the Saiyan I know best.    Then you have people like Bred, who think of her as a cryptid, like the Hellmoth, or comet-walkers.  

I was about to use Basilisk X as an example, but I forgot that he doesn't count because he's real.   Luffa and I had dinner with him last year.  He's not nearly as deadly as the stories say.   He doesn't kill with a glance, but it can stun you if you're not careful, but he usually reverses it once he's had a chance to calm down. 

[Note: Maybe I shouldn’t bore the guy talking about Basilisk X. -Zatte]

Bred was supposed to undergo a trial of courage to progress through a certain dungeon.   It's kind of complicated, but his quest involved gathering a lot of relics from dungeons, which he'd then use to unlock other dungeons, and so on and so on.  The trial of courage was a portal leading him to a mythical beast, and he would have to slay it and bring back its pelt as a trophy.   The portal led to our campsite on Thrush, and he recognized Luffa as a Super Saiyan from old stories his grandmother told him.  I guess Chanisp or one of Luffa's other ancestors must have paid a visit to Bred's world.

I think that, more than anything else, caught Luffa's interest.   Bred had tracked her all the way to our campsite, found her sleeping in our shellter (he called it a 'lair'), and managed to draw his sword before Luffa woke up and caught him.  I was amazed that she didn't kill him on instinct, but it's easy to forget that her reflexes are as enhanced as her strength and speed.    Once she realized Bred wasn't a threat, she let him live, but Bred continued to struggle, and she was blown away by his bravery.

"This guy doesn't back down from anything," she said.   "He reminds me of you."

Looking back, I think I let the compliment go to my head.   Otherwise I might not have agreed to her plan, which was to go back with Bred and present her scalp as proof that he passed the trial.   Luffa figured that if the rest of the mythical beast was still attached to it, then so much the better.    I wasn't sure about going off on another adventure, but like I said, she talked me into it.   We had nothing but time on our hands, and she didn't think Bred's enemies would be much of a threat to us.    So I agreed, and Bred's magic mirror could take us all back with him, and off we went.  

The gatekeeper who presided over the trial of courage didn't exactly see things Luffa's way, but he wasn't in much of a position to argue.   Luffa took offense to a lot of things in Bred's world.    There were a lot of locked doors and secret passages, and a lot of rules and preconditions you had to meet to be allowed to pass.   She didn't like that at all, since Bred was a nice kid, and she didn't think it was fair to make a nice kid jump through a bunch of hoops just to fight an honorable battle for the good of everyone.    

"If he was a grown man, that'd be different!" Luffa explained to me after she cut down a battalion of Lyder's monsters.    "This boy's just getting started as a warrior, and they expect him to solve a bunch of puzzles, and run errands?"  

I asked her if it was right to interfere like this, but she didn't see a problem with it.   In our own universe, that's how Luffa does things, after all.    She finds people who need help and crushes their oppressors.    Originally, it was for money, then for sport, and eventually she realized it was more than just was way to pass the time.    She really cares about the little guy, I guess because she's been the little guy before.   Maybe that's what she saw in Bred, now that I think about it.    It wasn't too long ago that Luffa and I were a couple of kids, not much older than Bred, facing down a horde of monsters by ourselves.   It would have been handy to have an invincible warrior to join us that day, but Luffa wasn't a Super Saiyan yet.   I guess that was what bothered me about helping Bred.   I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but it didn't seem quite right to step in and handle things for him.    If someone had done the same thing for us, then Luffa never would have lost that battle, and never would have become a Super Saiyan.   What if we were denying Bred a chance to become something important himself?   What if Luffa was saving him from an ordeal that he needed to experience?

On the other hand, I doubt I could have convinced Luffa, even if I had thought of any of that stuff at the time.    She and Bred formed a sort of bond.    Her son was taken from her while was still pregnant, and raised to be her enemy.    Bred never knew his mother, so they each sort of had what the other was missing.   We spent several days in that realm.    It was pretty.  The sand was bright yellow and the trees were greener than I've ever seen anywhere else, and all the rocks were purple.   Luffa would smash down doors that refused to open, or sometimes she would help Bred find items he needed, even though she had the power to make them unnecessary.   She taught him how to shoot a bow and arrow.    I didn't know Luffa had ever handled one.    She prefers unarmed combat, but she said she played with a lot of weapons as a child.   She even showed Bred how to shoot using her feet.    I can't even explain that right.    Like, you're on horseback, and you grab the saddle with your hands, and curl your back until you've got your butt over your head, and then you use your legs to work the bow... I watched Luffa do it and I still don't understand it.  

Eventually, Luffa defeated all of Lyder's invasion forces, so we started taking the fight to the enemy.   I helped with a lot of that.   My powers made it pretty easy to recon the dungeons and loot them of anything useful.    If I ran into any serious obstacles, Luffa could handle them.   Once they were clear, Luffa would turn the entire stronghold into a crater.    I couldn't help but think this was something akin to how Luffa would have raised her own son, if she'd had the chance.    Bred was no Saiyan, and I think it made him a little nervous to take lessons from one,  but the affection Luffa showed him was real, and I think that made up for some of her gruffness.  

We were feeling pretty confident when we stormed Lyder's fortress.    Luffa tore through the wizard's defenders like they were made of wet paper, and Bred barely had to lift a finger.   There was a large gate that required several totems to open it, but Luffa simply shattered it with her ki.   There were a lot of "key = ki" jokes made during this campaign, what with all the locked doors we came across.    

We thought Lyder would fall as easily as her forces, but it things went poorly as soon as we met her in person.    She had a failsafe, a weapon to defeat anyone who approached her, no matter how strong they were.    It was like a virus, and we had all inhaled it the moment we entered her inner sanctum.   Apparently, we goofed when we smashed our way in.   If we had used the right items, we could have deactivated the virus and entered safely.  

Somehow, my own body managed to hold out against it.   I felt nauseous and weak, but I could still stand and avoid Lyder's attacks.    Bred wasn't affected at all, and Lyder suspected she knew why that was.    When she had created her defenses, she had designed them to make herself immune to them, and that immunity was passed on to her offspring as well.   That was when she revealed that Bred was her son, and she had abandoned him at birth when she discovered that he wouldn't be suitable for some mystic sacrifice she was planning.  

That was when Luffa lost it.   She transformed into her Super Saiyan form to attack Lyder head on, but that just amplified the virus's toll on her body.    Before, she had been struggling to stand, but when she transformed, she managed to get about three steps towards Lyder before she collapsed.    

I rushed to her side, ignoring my own symptoms, and started checking her vitals.   Her pulse was bad, and her eyes were glazed over, but she was still breathing.  There were all these purple lesions on her skin, and I had no idea what they meant, but I knew it wasn't good.   I knew we had to leave.   We had to find some way out of this place, and get her to a doctor while there was still time.   I guess she knew what I was thinking.   On second thought, I was probably babbling a lot while I tried to pick her up.   She probably heard me panicking and knew I wanted to get her out of there.  

Then she took my arm and said: "Forget about me!   Go and help the boy!"

I tried to argue with her.   Tried to tell her that I was barely in any shape to fight, and even if I had been, I couldn't just leave my wife to die.  Not just my wife, but the xan-nil'Dor, the hope of the universe.    

She coughed and made a face.   I can't really describe it well.    It was sort of like she was too weak to scream but she needed to release her frustration anyway.  

"Damn it all!   We came here to help that brat!   He's just a kid.    We can't just abandon him now!"

I tried to tell her to calm down.    That Bred didn't need our help.   That she was destined to do great things and none of that would happen if I let her die there.

"If... if you believe any of that crap," Luffa said,  "then you know I have to see this through.   If I can't survive this, then it doesn't matter what I might have done later."

She took my hand in hers, and her expression softened.    I thought she was going to cry.    

"I really screwed up," she said.    "Took it all too lightly.   This 'quest'... our marriage... everything.    But I love you."

I didn't know what to say.   It was like she was saying goodbye to me without actually leaving.

"Guess if I die here, it proves I'm not a xan-nil'Dor, but whatever you think I stand for... whether I really do or not... you've got to fight for it, Zattie.   Even if I fall, you still believe in my cause, don't you?"

That's what I love and hate about her the most.   Luffa sees things beyond mere survival.   All I've wanted was to fight for her, alongside her, and there she was, telling me to carry on without her.   It makes me upset just thinking about it, but I knew she was right.  I had to let her go.  

And so I left her behind a nearby pillar, and I helped Bred as best I could.    He didn't need much.    Lyder was strong, but predictable.    She needed time to prepare her worst attacks, and she couldn't defend himself while she was deploying them.    Bred's sword seemed to hurt her more than anything else, and there wasn't much point in me joining his attack.   Instead, I used my powers to disrupt the illusions in the dungeon.   When Lyder tried to turn invisible, I warped the light around him to reveal her position.    When she summoned creatures to swarm us, I fought the real ones so Bred could ignore the phantoms.   When things got too hot, we took cover behind a bunch of pillars that seemed to be impervious to her attacks.   I don't know how long we kept this up.    I just remember thinking that Luffa wouldn't make it through the battle.   I remember wanting to run back to the pillar to check on her, but every time I thought of it, I would see Bred fighting and I couldn't bear to turn my back on him.  

Then, the enemy changed tactics on us.    Instead of firing ki in one giant burst, he started launching a wide field of it.   Now, we had to use the pillars for cover, and wait for the attack to subside before we could go back on the offensive.   I remember making a break for the pillar where I had left Luffa, just to check on her.    I remember Bred covering me, and asking in a terrified voice if 'the beast' was all right.  

I couldn't answer him, because she was gone.

Just as Lyder tried to close in on the boy while he was distracted, I saw a yellow light from the other side of the room, and there was Luffa, on her feet.    She looked awful.    The purple lesions were worse, and there was blood coming from her nose.    Somehow, she had managed to transform, if only for a moment, and she raised her hand to fire a ki blast at Lyder.    

She said something badass in that moment, I'm sure of it.   But her voice was weak and the noise of the battle was enough to drown it out.    Her eyes told the whole story, though.   Lyder would have to finish killing Luffa before she could harm a hair on Bred's head.  

I wouldn't say this frightened Lyder.   I think she understood her virus well enough to know that Luffa would die that much faster now.    But she still turned to focus on Luffa anyway, as if she wasn't quite as certain as she had been.   I've seen a lot of enemies underestimate Luffa, only to pay with their lives for the error, and Lyder seemed to guess that this was no one to be taken lightly, even if she seemed to be doomed.  

Maybe Luffa could have held out against Lyder, but my guess is that she never would have survived.    Luffa was ready to die in that moment.   She just... didn't care.    Not because she wanted to die, but because she wanted me and Bred to live that much more.   It was that fiery Saiyan will of hers, and she used it to trick Lyder into overestimating her instead.   In that moment, when Lyder turned to face Luffa, Bred saw his opening and attacked Lyder with everything he had.   It was amazing to see.   He didn't hesitate, he just went in and got the job done.    Lyder was destroyed.  Her body immolated into a cloud of smoke, and I think it took her virus with her.    All I know for sure is that I felt a lot better once she was gone.  

As for Luffa, she survived, but only just.   Bred had an elixir that healed her, but only to a certain extent.  I ended up getting her to a hospital on Thrush, but the short version is that she'll be okay.  At the time, though, it looked pretty dicey.    Even so, she was smiling the whole time, and she kept mouthing the words "I'm so proud of you both".

Maybe this story doesn't really prove anything like I thought it would.  I wanted to tell you our marriage was fixed, in spite of everything that had happened.  I wanted you to read this and say that you agreed with that, even if I wouldn't be able to hear it.

But it doesn't really work that way, and the more I think about it, I can't really send you this letter anyway.  It's too dangerous, and there's nothing tangible to be gained.  I think I knew that all along, but I had to get this far to accept it.

I guess I just wanted to say good-bye.  There's a good chance Luffa and I will never see you again, and that bothers me, because you helped us out so much.  I've had to part with a lot of important people in my life that way.  I don't like it, but that's just how it has to be.

Well, I think we're going to be okay.  I want to tell someone that, but even if I can't, I'll write it down where no one can see it, and I guess that will have to do.  After what happened, I believe our marriage will work.  We have work to do, and nothing's guaranteed, but my wife never stops trying, and I've pledged myself to support her in any way I can, so I guess I won't stop trying either.  It might not be the most elegant relationship, and it might get dented and scratched up along the way, but we'll make it.

I think that maybe you were waiting for us to figure that out all along.  You knew we could do it without you to tell us that.  Well, there's no way to know, so i guess it doesn't matter.

But I want to thank you anyway.  Thank you for putting up with our bickering and our ridiculous problems.  Thank you for listening to us when we wouldn't listen to each other.  We'll try to make sure your efforts weren't in vain.

--Zatte.

NEXT: Loose Ends

[priteva-blog]

Investing in Deception: How Friendship, Love, and Ambition Fueled a $150,000 Scam

It was the spring of 2019 when my long-time friend, *Lauryn, came to me with a business opportunity. Lauryn and I had been close for over 15 years, our bond forged in the trenches of grad school and solidified by shared life experiences. When she pitched her idea to me, I didn’t hesitate to listen. She was more than a friend — she was my sister, and I was eager to see her succeed.

Lauryn had been through a lot. Two years earlier, she lost her husband, becoming a single mother to two young children at just 39. As a widow, she faced challenges that would have broken many, but Lauryn was resilient. She was rebuilding her life, and I was invested in her success. That’s why, when she approached me about reviving her wellness business, I was all in.

Lauryn was no novice in the health and wellness industry. She had owned a natural body care line, taught fitness classes, and dreamed of opening her own wellness center. She was knowledgeable, passionate, and ready to take her business to the next level. So, when she met Zacharia Ali — a financier, businessman, and investor — at our local LA Fitness, she believed it was a divine connection.

All Smoke and Mirrors

Zac was everything Lauryn needed at that moment — a businessman with a wealth of experience, or so it seemed. He offered her intimacy, mentorship, and guidance. Lauryn fell for him, both as a romantic partner and mentor. Zac carried himself with an air of authority, his words laced with the promise of success and prosperity. He spoke of his business accolades and widespread connections. He informed her that he was divorced, had sadly lost a child in a car accident, and had moved to the area for a fresh start. He was a practicing Muslim from a prominent family in Philadelphia. He was well-connected and had successfully launched many companies, and now he wanted to do the same for Lauryn.

The First Red Flag: Trust, but Verify

When Lauryn introduced me to Zac, I was initially impressed. He spoke with authority about entrepreneurship, investing, and the importance of ownership in the Black community. He even attended my birthday party, where we discussed his ventures in South America, the Middle East, and the African diaspora. Over time, Zac and I exchanged messages about business opportunities, and he seemed genuinely invested in our shared goals.

Zac became more than just Lauryn’s romantic partner and mentor; he became a central figure in our budding business venture. He offered to use his extensive network to help Lauryn relaunch her brand, promising to turn it into an international success. The plan was ambitious but enticing: we would create a line of CBD-infused skincare products, tapping into the booming wellness market. I was hesitant but hopeful. Lauryn’s trust in him reassured me. In hindsight, I should have let Lauryn and Zac work together without getting involved.

Despite my initial reservations, I convinced myself that Zac’s impressive background and Lauryn’s enthusiasm were enough to move forward. I researched Zac’s company, Zar Capital, and found nothing alarming — just websites and social media endorsements that aligned with his stories. But I ignored the small voice inside that urged caution.

The Second Red Flag: If It Sounds Too Good to Be True, It Probably Is

Despite my initial excitement, a nagging voice in the back of my mind urged caution. I researched Zac and his company, Zar Capital. His online presence seemed legitimate — impressive even. His website detailed his supposed business ventures in South America, the Middle East, and across the African diaspora. But beyond the polished surface, something felt off.

Still, Lauryn was convinced. Zac had become her rock, helping her navigate the complexities of business and life after loss. She believed in him, and because I believed in her, I put my doubts aside. Under Zac’s guidance, we formed a business partnership: Lauryn would hold 50% of the company, Zac 30%, and I would take a 20% stake. It seemed like a fair arrangement, and over the next few months, Lauryn and I made substantial investments via wire transfer, totaling $110,000. We were instructed to send the money to a Navy Federal account for GC Worldwide under the umbrella of Zac’s businesses, CBD Switch Holding Corp and Zar Capital.

Another Red Flag: All New Opportunities Are Not Good Opportunities — The Moringa Mirage

As if the CBD venture wasn’t enough, Zac presented me with another investment opportunity: a business centered around the Moringa plant in Ethiopia. He pitched it as low-risk, with the potential for high returns and the added appeal of supporting Black businesses in Africa. He presented me with diagrams, mocks, financials, a business plan, and extensive research. I invested $40,000, and we formed a company called the Moringa Cartel. Through documented email presentations, Zac promised to establish operations in Ghana, help with the business plan, and set up the website. I was excited about the prospects, but the excitement was short-lived.

Trust Your Gut

Once the money was sent and the paperwork signed, unease set in. I noticed discrepancies, like the fact that our business was registered in Nevada, even though we were all based in the Mid-Atlantic region. I decided to dig deeper, using the state of Nevada’s business portal, Silver Flume. What I found left me reeling: only the company formed between Lauryn, Zac, and me existed as a domestic corporation. My name wasn’t listed anywhere, and neither was Zac’s. Lauryn was the sole officer of the company. As for the Moringa Cartel, it was nothing more than a name reservation that had expired three months after its formation. On paper, my $100,000 investment had vanished into thin air.

“All Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk”

The pandemic hit, bringing unforeseen challenges. Despite this, I consistently reached out to Zac for updates. I pleaded with Lauryn to help, assuming her closer relationship with Zac might yield answers. But her relationship with Zac had soured, and she informed me that her new venture with a national television show prevented her from pursuing any legal action for at least a year. I was on my own.

I demanded that Zac dissolve my participation in the business and return my funds. His response was vague, promising to return the money once his partner returned from overseas. But days turned into weeks, and I received nothing but silence. Then, instead of the money, I received a cease-and-desist letter — a blatant attempt to intimidate me. My attorney dismissed it as legally invalid, but the damage was done. I realized too late that I should have involved legal counsel from the start.

Desperate, I contacted the Prince George’s County Financial Crimes Division and met with a detective. Lauryn accompanied me, providing proof of her own financial losses. The detective initially suspected she and Zac were working together to scam me, but her evidence showed otherwise. Still, the State’s Attorney’s office couldn’t help; our losses, though significant to us, didn’t meet the threshold for prosecution.

The Aftermath

The full scope of Zac’s betrayal came to light when I discovered another woman who had fallen victim to his schemes. Through social media, I connected with a young lady on Facebook who had also been scammed by Zac. Her story mirrored Lauryn’s — she, too, had trusted him, invested in his ventures, and been left with nothing but broken promises. She had been physically and romantically involved. The end result was a broken heart and $60,000 poorer. Her story was both devastating and validating. We were not alone, but that did little to ease the pain.

In total, I had invested $100,000 — $60,000 in the CBD skincare line and $40,000 in the Moringa Cartel. But the financial loss was just one part of the devastation. The betrayal cut deeper. Lauryn, the sister I had trusted implicitly, had unknowingly led me into the arms of a predator. Zac had exploited her vulnerability, using our friendship as a tool to manipulate and deceive.

I was left with nothing — no money, no business, and no means of contacting Zac. Emails bounced back, texts went unread, and calls went straight to voicemail. I had been swindled out of $100,000, and there was no way to recover it. Heartbroken, Lauryn had lost $50,000 and wanted nothing more to do with the situation.

Lessons Learned

Looking back, the signs were there. But I ignored them, blinded by the desire to support a friend in need and the allure of a promising business opportunity. I’ve since learned the hard way that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. In the end, I had to come to terms with the trauma of losing everything because I let my desire to help a friend cloud my judgment. I was emotionally invested in Lauryn’s well-being, but I failed to do my due diligence on Zac. I trusted blindly and paid a heavy price.

Conclusion

In the end, the story isn’t just about a lost investment or a failed business venture. It’s about the importance of critical thinking, the danger of blind loyalty, and the painful reality that not everyone who enters your life has good intentions. I was betrayed by a man I barely knew, but also by my own willingness to believe in the impossible.

Let this be a reminder: Protect your dreams but protect your heart and your wallet even more. This experience has left me scarred, but it has also made me wiser. I share this story not to shame myself or Lauryn, but to warn others. In the world of business, and in life, there are those who will prey on your goodwill and ambition. The best defense is vigilance — ask questions, trust your instincts, and never let excitement cloud your judgment.

[adorealeclightwood]

Malec: Fix You.

[Summary: Takes place after 3x08. Lilith has taken Jace once again, and Magnus is trying to comfort Alec.]

AO3

Mood music: Fix You - Coldplay.

Magnus sat on the couch, only to hop back up a few seconds later. Sitting didn’t feel right - not now. He could pace and pace until there was a trench in the floor, or knock on the bedroom door, pleading with Alec to open it, but he couldn’t sit. 

He knew it wasn’t his fault. 

He knew that there wasn’t anything anyone could’ve done to stop Lilith, but what good did that do? What good did that do Jace, who was probably suffering even more? What good did it do Alec, who’d found a thousand more reasons to blame himself? 

“I should’ve been faster,” Alec had said, still cemented to the floor. He’d been clutching the chains they’d used to restrain Jace for nearly an hour, and cringed whenever Magnus tried to get him to release them. 

“He needed me,” Alec gazed up at Magnus, revealing nothing but agony, and raw pain in his eyes. “He needs me, and I-”

“You did everything you could,” Magnus said gently. He’d been repeating the line over and over, hoping it would slip through the cracks of the walls Alec was steadily forging in his mind.

For a while, it seemed to be working. Alec sat there, mumbling occasionally, struggling to form a coherent thought, and Magnus stood idly by. He had to tread carefully when it came to Alec’s emotional well being; if he hovered too close, he’d panic, and shut him out. It he drifted too far, Alec wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of the hole he’d been digging.

Alec was the strongest man he knew, but that strength had been tested one too many times, and was waning, right before his eyes. In times of crisis, he’d never had to worry about Alec being the one to fall apart.  

A noise came from the bedroom, and Magnus stopped pacing to listen.

There was something in that shout - a pain behind it. That’s when Magnus knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He inhaled slowly.  

What if nothing blew up? What if there were no consequences? Wouldn't Alec have to calm down, then? Wouldn't the shield clatter to the ground, and let the pain tumble out once and for all?

That was the thing about emotional pain. Emotional pain has a biological purpose, to teach, to educate us away from unhealthy patterns and relationships. Alec had been pushing against it for so long, medicating with friendship, with romantic notions, yet it returned in his weaker moments, devastating his mind, and threatening to consume him. 

Magnus wanted to help him, to put him at ease, to be the one to kiss all of it away, but he knew that he couldn’t. He knew from experience that prolonging the inevitable wouldn’t end well for anyone. The best thing he could do for Alec was linger, and make sure he knew that he was within reach if he needed him. 

Alec was inside of Magnus’ room, curled up in the center of the bed. He wanted to keep screaming, to force himself to cry, to fall asleep - anything to release himself from the anguish of his own mind, but the relief never came. Perhaps this was his punishment; knowing he’d been close enough to touch Jace, to feel the terror rattling his limbs when they hugged, only to be left with nothing but chains to remember him by. 

Using the parabatai bond as a way in had been a Hail Mary, but it worked, and it was eating Alec alive. Magnus’ magic had strengthened it somehow, and now, he didn’t have to wonder if Lilith was going to punish Jace for trying t escape. 

He knew for sure. 

If he closed his eyes for too long, the images crept in. He could hear Jace’s cries, and feel his own hands stiffening as Jace fought to keep from lashing out at him. 

Things weren’t supposed to end like this. 

He wasn’t supposed to be lying in bed, too overwhelmed with fear, sadness, and absolute disgust to move. 

He’s not your brother - he’s not your blood. 

Maryse’s words echoed in his mind, and there was a cruel, almost mocking irony to them now. Would it have been better to let Jace go? 

Alec could’ve written a million letters, each one the same as the last in sentiment and cadence - they’d never change. It boiled down to one thing: he missed him. He should’ve been there. Ultimately, no one knew if it was selfish or not, and even if it was, to hell with the rest of the world and their opinions. Jace was the other half of Alec’s soul, for fuck’s sake. Wily heart, torn mind, kind, tortured soul and all. With him gone, Alec’s heart was missing an integral piece, a part that kept it from working correctly. Surely, it would’ve hurt to let go of Jace back then, but now? 

The mere thought of it was enough to bring Alec to his knees. 

He didn’t abandon people when things got hard. He wouldn’t turn his back on anyone he loved, no matter how bad it hurt to face them. 

There was a knock on the door, and Alec closed his eyes once more. 

“Alec?” Magnus called softly. A thousand questions burned the tip of his tongue, but he bit them all back. 

“I’m going to come in now,” Magnus said, unlocking the door. “You don’t have to say anything - I just want to make sure you’re alright.” 

Alec heard Magnus come in, and felt the bed shift as he sat beside him. Magnus leaned over to run his fingers through Alec’s hair, making him sigh and inch closer to him. 

“I’m sorry.” Alec spoke after a while. “

“For what?” 

“We did everything- you did everything you could, and I’m being...terrible.” Alec opened his eyes. “I’m sorry you were dragged into all of this.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“No, let me say this,” Alec sat up, looking Magnus in the eye. “Lilith messed with you too. You said the only reason she didn’t kill you was because she doesn’t want war with your father. If she decided she didn’t care, and I lost you trying to help Jace...” Alec couldn’t fathom the thought. 

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself if something like that happened. 

“Alexander, stop it.” Magnus spoke firmly. He’d learned when to be gentle with Alec, and when not to be. There were times when he needed to be held and soothed, and this wasn’t one of them. 

“Do not apologize to me,” Magnus went on. “Not for this. This was not your fault. Lilith was the one that came to me for the elixir, and I gave it to her. Lilith chose to possess Jace. Lilith is responsible for all of this. None of it has anything to do with you.” Magnus tried to keep his eyes on Alec’s but was forced to look away. 

They were wide and unblinking, shining with tears he’d never bring himself to shed, and the sight pained him.

“I’m...” Alec shook his head, realizing he was about to apologize for apologizing. “Never mind.” 

“Here,” Magnus took Alec’s hand, and placed it on his side, right over the parabatai rune. “Close your eyes.” Alec hesitated, but obliged. 

“Can you feel him?” 

“Yes.” Alec winced. “He’s hurting, Magnus. He’s in so much pain, and I can’t-” 

“He’s alive,” Magnus stopped him before the panic could set in. “I know that he’s hurting, and I know that that hurts you, but he’s alive. He’s still fighting. He hasn’t given up, and you’re not going to give up either.” 

Alec opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. Was that what it looked like? 

“I wasn’t,” He frowned. “I would never give up on him.” 

“I know,” Magnus smiled. “He knows it too. We’ll figure this out, okay? I’ll come up with another spell, we’ll try tracking him - this isn’t over. Not yet.” 

Alec couldn’t help but admire Magnus then. Always encouraging, always the strong one, always the one to keep him moving forward. Often times, Alec wondered why Magnus had so much faith in him in the first place. 

“This isn’t over,” Alec repeated, nodding to himself. “But...what if it should be?”

“Nonsense,” Magnus said. “He’s your parabatai. You’ll fight for him until your heart stops beating.” 

This was something that Alec loved and loathed about himself. The gesture was noble enough; going the extra mile for the ones you loved time and time again, but how could he be sure those miles were worth it? 

“That doesn’t...bother you?” Alec asked quietly. He’d always assumed Magnus understood him, but there were times when he needed to be sure. 

“Alexander, Jace is a part of you. He’s just as much your family as Maryse, or Isabelle. Hell will freeze over before I open my mouth to say I have a problem with the lengths you’re willing to go to for him.” 

“Do you really mean that, or are you telling me what you think I want to hear?” Magnus sighed and leaned against the headboard. 

Alec wasn’t trying to be argumentative - this was just something he did. Of all the Shadowhunters Magnus had come across, Alec was one of the most self-assured. He needed a little push from time to time, but his confidence in his choices was nearly unmatched. However, when his emotions began to run wild, and tensions were high, he’d falter, and need all the reassurance he could get. 

“I mean it,” He said slowly. “To tell you the truth, I love watching you fight for Jace, because I know that you’d do the same for me. At least, I hope you would.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Alec said. “Magnus, I’d do anything for you. Without hesitation.” 

“I know, I know, settle down,” Magnus pat the space beside him, encouraging Alec to come and lie there. 

“I don’t want you to think for one second that I wouldn’t be this torn up if anything ever happened to you,” Alec said. “I’d be a wreck.” 

“There’s another reason, too,” Magnus paused. “If it were you - if something as terrible as this was happening to you, I’d want all hands on deck. I’d want everyone to do everything in their power to save you.”

Alec didn’t want to think about that. He’d been through his fair share of distress, but knew Lilith would’ve broken him by now. After all, she’d gotten Jace, of all people, to place a dagger in his hand and beg for death not once, but twice. 

“I wouldn’t care if I was the only one trying,” Alec said. “I’d do anything to get to you, even if it killed me.” 

“Would you be quiet?” Magnus teased. “I know that, because I know you, Alexander. This isn’t a question of who you love more, or what you’re willing to do for me or Jace. I just want you to know that you have nothing to be sorry about, and that I’m here for you.” 

This was what Alec needed to hear, and he allowed Magnus’ words to sink in and take root. Love was fascinating that way; it allowed Magnus to take Alec’s pain and make it manageable, creating a person capable of recovering where before there was only turmoil. Magnus was able to soothe with his love, with his silliness, and outright cheekiness;  Alec loved him all the more for it. He soothed with a caring that never relented - never faltered. One look from him, and Alec was made whole. It was as if the rain stopped, the wind ceased, and Alec could breathe easier.

“Magnus, I love you,” Alec said. “More than you’ll ever know.” 

It was impossible to stay anxious or upset with him around. Soon, Alec’s eyelids became heavy, and he curled into Magnus’ side, letting the feeling of his fingers in his hair lull him into a sense of security.

Magnus waited until Alec had fallen asleep to look down at him again, and smile at what he saw. 

It was almost funny the way Alec was never truly relaxed until he was in a deep sleep. The familiar crease was absent from the space between his brows, and his lips were pressed together in a soft line. 

“I love you too, Alexander.” Magnus whispered. 

[bluboothalassophile]

Blu, I have had an though of what if Raven got taken in by John Constantine instead of the Teen Titans. Also I love your writing. It always brightens my day when I see you have posted. Oh, and all the spoiler shorts make me want the stories more. Thank you for all your writing. 💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️. (>0.0)>

Hello!

And I’m so happy to hear that! As to  your request, I like the way you think and I hope you enjoy the story!

Fathers…

John Constantine was many things, demon adopter was not onthe list as he stared down at a little demoness looking at him with wide,innocent, dark eyes and tangled black hair in the depths of Hell.

He had come here to kill this little menace.

Before the menace was a real threat.

He’d even come with the tools to do it and make it stick.But looking at this little girl, he couldn’t as he smoked his cigarette andthought his options through carefully. If he didn’t eliminate her then shewould grow and succumb to her father, and if her father was unleashed on theworld of the living. But if he did eliminate her, he would be killing a child,and Constantine didn’t kill children. He had one on his conscience and he didn’tneed another.

“Are you here to kill me?” the girl asked, a warm, sulfurscented breeze ruffled her hair.

The question knocked him back, it was like a punch to thegut, and he pulled the cigarette as he flicked it away. “What do you think I’mhere to do, love?”

“I think you don’t know.” she answered softly. “I’m notevil. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Constantine asked.

“I just wanted to meet my dad,” she whispered.

“Oh,” he sighed. “Come on kid.”

She looked up again and he scooped her up as he opened theportal and walked into the House of Mystery. He might come to regret this, buthe couldn’t leave the kid there to fend for herself.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” a scream had him bolting up in hisbed as he shoved Zed off him, grabbed pants and yanked open the door to seeRaven come barreling down the hall screaming as Deadman, Boston Brand and Chasran behind her.

In the four months since taking in the demon he had learnther name was Raven, not the Gem of Scath and calling her the Gem got himblasted. She was eager to learn, anything, she was so magically adept that he hadto start teaching her after she started figuring out how to read ruins. She wasalso more than willing to abide by his rules, and learning about morals andethics. She was Azarathian, her mother was Arella Roth. She was an empath. Shehad demon behaviors and characteristics which seemed to be a minor influence onher. Otherwise she seemed to be a normal human child, and after a nosey hag hadstarted sticking her nose into his business, he had simply adopted Raven. Evenfiling legal papers in England after forging her citizenship papers. Raven hadtaken rather quickly to calling him Dad and Daddy.

“What is it!?”

“Demon!” Raven launched herself at him, he caught her justas Etrigan rounded the corner with a roar.

“Oh Fuck!” Constantine slammed the door shut as he ranthrough a portal with Raven.

~~~*~*~*~~~

“You can’t be the real Devil,” Raven stated to the Devil’s face.Constantine blinked at this sight as his twelve year old sat in Lux withLucifer looking like a cat ate the canary with Raven, it was the only placeConstantine could think of with a female demon to explain puberty to Raven. Mazikeenwas here, and she was the only female demon he knew to be alive at this oldage.

“Constantine, she is just a darling little pet,” Luciferdeclared.

“Careful Lucifer, this is the Gem,” Mazikeen said walkingaround Raven.

“Nonsense, she’s my darling granddaughter, and I insist youbring her around more often,” Lucifer declared.

“Are you my daddy’s daddy?” Raven asked.

“Trigon’s creator,” Lucifer clarified.

“Oh, I never had a grandpa.”

“Fuck,” Constantine muttered. Mazikeen just looked vastlyamused.

“Then I’m your aunt Maze,” Maze decided.

Raven just nodded and smiled deviously, Constantine had afeeling that her enemies should be wary.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Ten years of having Raven as his daughter this was the firsttime he had left her behind on a job, it was for the best because he had kepthis daughter away from the Young Justice Team for this very reason.

“Constantine,” Fate greeted him.

“I heard you have a problem of Chaos,” Constantine saidlooking up at the screen past the League members.

“Our team is trapped in an energy field of some sort,”Batman said. Constantine’s eyes flicked up at the ruins dancing.

“You have fought something like this we were wondering ifyou could get around it, the children are trapped,” Diana stated.

“I never got around this,” Constantine admitted reluctantly.Flicking his cigarette away he exhaled as he stared at the screens.

“What do you mean?” Fate demanded, he could see Zatara inthere then, trying to break the surface of Nabu’s hold.

“I mean I have never gotten around this barrier, the onetime I did it was because of help I had.”

“Help from who!?” the League sputtered.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason covered Artemis as there were blasts at them from thatpsycho brat. Jason wanted to kill him.

“I can’t get close to him!” Zatanna shouted.

“Come out! Come out to play!” Klarion cackled.

“I’m going to kill him!” Jason snarled.

Then the shadows warped, she breezed by him. He stilled, theindifferent, pale, girl looked like she was more shadows than human and abouthis age. Her eyes were cold, dark, and she moved like a ballerina with thisfloating grace.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to pick on kids your own sizeKlarion?” she asked so coldly as a surge of power rippled in the dome they weretrapped in.

She was the prettiest woman Jason had ever seen, as hepeeked over the rock. She wore a black trench coat, black boots, jeans and aworn shirt for Deadpool; the drawing, and ‘Ouchie!’ written on the caption.Fuck she was sexy as she stood there.

“Well, they sent you to play with me, Gem,” Klarion cackled.

“Get out of here,” the girl ordered as a portal was tornopen.

“It can’t be,” Zatanna started.

“Don’t know about you, but we’re out of here!” Dick declared,and Jason shoved his teammates through the portal before running in himself. Lastwords he heard were:

“Show me what you got, you prat.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

“We are welcoming a new teammate, today,” Bruce stood therein the cowl beside a rumpled blond man who looked half put together smoking acigarette.

“Who?” Dick demanded. Jason had a guess.

“John Constantine’s adopted daughter, Raven,” Bruce continuedas if Dick hadn’t spoken.

Jason blinked when she walked out of the shadows again, herlong black hair pulled back in a ponytail, she wore a trench coat, and lookedmore put together than her father in jeans, boots, and a grey t-shirt then.

“Hello,” she said.

“You can’t be serious! She’s a demon!” Zatanna shouted.

“A demon who saved our asses!” Jason snapped as he walkedforward. “Robin.”

“Raven,” she answered taking his hand.

“You’re awesome, and thanks for kicking his ass.”

“No problem.” she smiled. He was gone. Sunk.

Jason was pretty sure he’d just found the love of his life.A dangerous little bird.

[mahalidael]

OLYMPAHOMA CHAPTER 6

SOMEONE NEEDS A DOCTOR AND FOR ONCE IT ISN’T ME

We ran at top speed until Cyrus slipped out of view. Juliet sat on the nearest wood porch.

As I slowed, I saw that I must’ve bitten her harder than I’d intended. She’d gone back to clutching her arm, but I could see blood gushing between her fingers. “Are you okay?” I said.

Juliet removed her hand. The bite was hardly visible, she was bleeding so much. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “As long as this cold-ass wind doesn’t blow any dirt into it — it’s freezing right now! Did you notice that?”

“It’s, what, sixty degrees?”

“Yeah, in Oklahoma. In May. At noon. Don’t you think it’s odd?”

“I think you need a doctor.”

“Yeah? Well, guess whose porch I’ve sat on.”

I looked up. The sign said “OLYMPAHOMA HOSPITAL.” Behind the letters, in a different color, there was a painted lyre.

The hospital’s western-themed exterior hid a functional infirmary on the inside. We sat in a waiting room, waiting for Juliet’s arm to get looked at.

I hadn’t noticed earlier, but Juliet looked much less lunatic. She must have cleaned up while I was unconscious. Her hair was brushed out, and she’d applied pink lipstick (which I would later learn is the only makeup that survives Oklahoma heat). She was sickly white, but that seemed consequent of blood loss.

“Are you sure I didn’t hit a vein?” I said.

“Nah,” Juliet said calmly. “I’m just pale. Don’t worry, Dr. Doctor will be here in a minute.”

I thought I misheard her. “Doctor what?”

As I said that, a blonde, middle-aged woman in a lab coat walked in the door. “Who’s next?” she said.

I looked back and forth. We were the only people in the waiting room. “Hey, Doctor,” Juliet said. “Annie got her panties in a twist and bit me. I just need it looked at — maybe you should check her head, too.”

“Ah, Ms. Zhu,” the doctor said. “I should introduce myself. I’m Dr. Docter Dockter Doctor.”

I figured I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought, but then the doctor handed me her business card, which said the exact same thing. “Oh my god,” I said.

“My parents were very passive-aggressive. But enough about me. Let’s go to the back and look at these injuries — how long have you been out and about?” she asked me.

“An hour?”

“Jesus. I told Cyrus to bring you straight to the hospital. That boy’s too wrapped up in his own rules,” she tsked. “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Annette Mary Zhu.”

“Do you know who’s president?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Doctor looked at me closely for a brief moment, her pupils twitching. “...Eh, I think you’re good.”

“...Oh. Okay.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh?’”

“Aren’t there scans you’re supposed to do?”

“In my professional opinion, I think you’ll be fine. But if you insist…”

Doctor stared directly at my forehead. Her pupils went huge, and started glowing white. I laughed nervously, feeling dizzy. “Hey, what the fuck?” I said to Juliet.

“Hold still, she’s scanning,” Juliet said, picking at her nails.

Doctor’s pupils stopped glowing and constricted to their normal size. “You’ve got a little blood in your skull, but it’s a very small amount. Give it time, and your brain will reabsorb it. Now let’s see what we can do about that arm.”

Doctor took us into the meat of the building. She had Juliet sit on a bed in the emergency room, and it was a normal emergency room — assuming you didn’t look too closely. There were about ten people writhing around with arrows sticking out of them, and a handful of tanned bottle blondes running around in scrubs. “Don’t some of these kids seem a little young to be doctors?” I whispered to Juliet as Doctor searched a drawer.

“They are, but the hospital’s real shorthanded. Mortal doctors can’t see half the injuries we get, and demigods rarely get medical degrees. Everyone who works here is either from Apollo, or uh… Asclepius, I think. One of the Paeans.”

“Oh.”

Doctor came back with a needle and thread. “Is that really necessary?” Juliet groaned.

“Yes, it is. Your friend here really did a number on you.”

“I’m not her friend,” I said quickly.

Juliet ignored me. “Whenever you’re ready, doc.”

Doctor started doctoring, as doctors do. She said to me, “your stepsisters are upstairs.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Vivian’s daughters. They’re upstairs,” she said, focusing more so on doctoring than what she was saying.

Juliet was cringing from Doctor sterilizing her bite wound. I said, “I’m going to go see them, I’ll be right back” and I guess she was too distracted to tell me otherwise.

I found a staircase and went to the hospital’s second floor. It was significantly quieter up there — lower priority cases. There were very few doctors, or even anybody pretending to be doctors. The people here were just licking their wounds.

The absence of medical staff upstairs was actually helpful. Rosalie and Genevieve in a sea of blondes would’ve been hay in a haystack. There was a distinct lack of curtains throughout the building, so one glance in the main room should’ve done the trick.

Except it didn’t. They had to be hiding somewhere.

The few kids in scrubs were busy, so I had trouble figuring out who to ask. A smell caught me off guard. I tilted my head back. Cotton candy?

A curly redhead a few years older than me came out of the staircase—she had a bouquet in her hand and a blue pen in her mouth, leaving a trail of sweet lies behind her. She was tall, athletic-looking, and her hair was cloudy-looking. A dark, impressive-looking trench coat hung off of her. I could tell she wasn’t in charge, but she seemed like she should be, you know?

My reverie was cut off by a candy striper shouting “YOU CAN’T VAPE IN HERE.”

I said, “hey, excuse me?” as she clicked her pen off.

She looked back and forth, then looked down at me. Her eyes were light blue. Very light. “Jeez, I didn’t see you there. What’s up?”

“I can’t find my stepsisters. You know if there’s any other rooms on this floor?”

The vape girl made a face and shrugged. “Uh… you’re car crash, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Down there,” she said, pointing at a door. “Isolation room.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Are they okay?”

“Don’t sweat it, they’re probably fine. They keep the new kids there.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said as I walked into the isolation room.

For once, Rosalie and Genevieve were lying in bed. It was a white room, a boring room. Good for a place engineered to keep someone from being instantly overwhelmed. They seemed fine — abnormally quiet, but I didn’t see any injuries.

I crept up to Rosalie and shook her gently. “Rosalie?” She was limp. “This isn’t funny. Rosalie.”

I did the same with Genevieve. Nothing.

The twins didn’t move, or show any signs of moving. I realized they were both hooked up to IV bags, feeding tubes, and heart monitors that beeped in near-harmony.

I tried every possible thing short of sticking them with needles, but they never responded.

“Well, fuck,” I said, sitting down on a bench. Is it bad that I never thought that I would want to talk to my stepsisters?

I sat down and closed my eyes. Was the sight of the twins’ lifeless bodies upsetting? Yeah. But a quiet, empty room was exactly what I needed then.

After a fair bit of time, somebody walked in. “Hello, hello,” someone said in a soft, chalky voice. She didn’t sound like a candy striper. “Are you their family?”

“Uh, yeah.” I opened my eyes. “Who are you?”

The woman who’d come in was a short, swishy figure whose dark clothes floated around the room. I couldn’t pin down her age, and I wasn’t feeling rude enough to ask. Her red talons clutched at bags of beige nutrient slurry. “Miss Zhu, I assume,” she murmured. “I suppose you would like to know about their condition.”

She changed the topic so fast I didn’t realize she hadn’t answered the question. “Yeah. What’s wrong with them?”

The woman fiddled with the nearly-empty bags hooked up to the feeding tubes. “They haven’t woken up for quite some time. The doctors aren’t quite sure of the cause.”

“Can’t you funnel some of that yellow stuff into their throats?”

“They are mortal. Ingesting a half-teaspoon of ambrosia would be like inhaling a thousand part-per-million of carbon monoxide. ...They would die, is what I mean,” she added when she saw my confusion.

“Oh.” I noticed her phrasing. “You’re not a doctor.”

“No,” she said while changing the bags.

She stopped, like that explained everything, and wouldn’t respond to any other question.

I left and looked for Juliet. When I asked the receptionist where Doctor was, she told me “over there.” When I asked Doctor where Juliet was, she told me “outside.” Juliet was standing on the porch, calmly reading the file she’d stolen from Cyrus, and by the time I found her I’d forgot all about what I’d actually meant to ask her. Instead, I said this:

“Hey.”

“Hey!” she said.

I shivered. The temperature had dropped somewhat, they sky had gone eerily gray, and I was standing around in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. The shawl provided some protection, but not nearly enough. “Did it get colder out here?”

“I think it did.”

A few people came out of their buildings to peer at the clouds. The cool, dry wind billowed across the town like curtains, except it was wind. The rope in a nearby well swayed; I could hear the metal clank of the bucket hitting the sides. Dust blew in my mouth. I peered over Juliet’s shoulder. “What’s that say?”

Juliet peered over the file, skimming it. “Uh… Annette Zhu, blah blah blah, unknown parent — you know what, how about you just read it?” she said, handing me the folder.

INTAKE FORM

NAME: Annette Zhu

AGE: 12

MORTAL PARENT: Yan Zhu

DIVINE PARENT: Unknown

FAMILY DETAILS: Biological father, stepmother, two stepsisters

MIST STATUS: Average vision

AMBROSIA: No visible monoxide poisoning

MONSTER ENCOUNTERS: Unknown, likely at least one

OFFENSIVE POWERS: Unknown

NON-OFFENSIVE POWERS: Unknown

WEAPONS: One

EXPERIENCE: None

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Had no prior knowledge of her heritage. Possibly one of Hephaestus’s cronies? Probably too tiny for the forge. Needs some looking into.

“Good, great!” I said. “I hate it.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “You can’t hate a file! Them there’s facts.”

“Facts? This — this looks like you’re grasping at straws.” Frustration burned my throat.

“Annie, you’ve already seen all this shit. It’s not an elaborate ruse. Why are you still doubting this?”

I sputtered. “Why me? I think I got a damn good reason to ask it.”

Juliet took the file out of my hand. “By the looks of this, I’d say your dad is separated from your mom. You ever met your mom?”

“Well, no.”

“Then how do you know?” she said. “Annie, be honest with yourself. The food that Cyrus gave you — it’s what the gods eat. If you were normal, it would taste like burnt food. Then you’d die, because you ate a burning building’s worth of compressed smoke. Not a lot of explanations for that.”

“But I don’t have… I’m not some kind of superhero. I don’t have any special powers. And there’s a fifty-fifty chance that my mother is actually dead in some crack den in Alabama!” I added. “Have you ever been to Alabama?”

Something I said must’ve struck a chord with Juliet, because that ramble seemed to upset her worse than outright assault had. “Yeah, well…” She pushed her hair back and took a deep breath, as if to say something intelligent — but a whiff of cotton candy floated past us. “Helena!”

The vape girl was walking out the hospital door, no bouquet, no vape, shivering. Her coat was gone, and the tank top underneath was labeled ‘everything hurts and I’m dying.’ She was staring at the sky, but not emptily. She was looking for something.

Juliet waved. I could’ve sworn she was blushing. “Hey, Helena!”

Helena looked towards us. “Hi, Juliet. Car crash,” she said, nodding to me. “I see you two met. Hope you’re not too confused.”

“I’m pretty confused,” I said.

“Understandable,” she chuckled.

Juliet laughed along nervously. “Annie, this is Helena.”

“Oh, we’ve met,” Helena said, gazing back into the horizon. Her blue eyes stared ahead as she tried to waft away the candy smell stuck to her clothes. “Something’s wrong with the air,” she said thoughtfully.

“It’s probably vape juice,” I said.

She frowned. “No. I would know if it were vape juice. I live and die in vape juice. This is north wind — cold north wind. It should be coming from the west, and it’s dry, so what’re those clouds doing up there? Makes no sense.”

I paused. “...Daughter of Zeus?” I said.

“Ding-ding-ding,” Helena muttered, shading her eyes from the little light still coming from the sun. “You guessed it.”

Meanwhile, Juliet looked like she was about to combust. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

“Huh?”

“Here — in — what brought you to the hospital, I mean!” she blabbered. Hoo boy, if Rosalie could see this. And she thought I had a bad case of the doki’s.

If Helena picked up on this, she didn’t let it slip. “Oh, yeah. Slamlet broke his nose.”

“Oh, shit!” Juliet said, going pale. Is it healthy for blood to go to your face, and then leave it so fast? “Slamlet’s here?”

“Slamlet?” I said. “Who’s Slamlet?”

“Slamlet’s a big pain in the—”

A screaming like thunder came from inside the hospital:

HOOOOOO

“FUCK,” Juliet said. Helena just walked away, shaking her curly head.

A nurse screamed at somebody to get back in bed, but was cut off by the thwack of metal hitting the floor. No time to dwell on that noise. A giant of a kid burst out of the hospital.

This was probably Slamlet. He had an obvious nose splint and a shaved head, but otherwise looked like a big Helena. His face was tomato-red, and there was a visible vein on his forehead.

Of course, I’m describing this guy after the fact. At the moment I couldn’t see any of this because he was charging right at me.

Slamlet stopped inches from my face. He stared. He turned to Juliet. “WHO’S THIS?”

“None of your business—!” Juliet shouted.

At that second, I knew I was at a crossroads. I said to myself, this is day one, I have a choice. I can lay low, which won’t be altogether pleasant, and I know that because I’ve laid low my whole life. Or I can fight. I might not win. I probably won’t win. But if I do win, nobody else will mess with me.

You know what they say.

When in Rome, kill the biggest guy in the yard on the first day to establish your dominance.

“I don’t know, who are you?” I said, cutting Juliet off.

Juliet looked confused. “I just told you that’s Slam—”

“No, I want to hear it from him,” I said.

Slamlet’s eyebrow went up into his hairline (?). His head acted like it was edited in from some particularly well-animated anime, that’s how fast he could rearrange his own face. If fortune so favored, he wouldn’t be rearranging mine. “I asked you FIRST.”

“I asked you second.”

Slamlet scoffed and jerked a thumb at his chest. “I am SLAMLET, son of ZEUS! I am one of his CHOSEN WARRIORS who are training in this town for WAR!”

“What war?”

“Uh…” He scratched his head. “I’ll get back to you on that one! Now who are YOU?”

“I’m Annie.”

“...AND?”

“That’s it, I just got here.” I sighed. “Look, are you the guy who beats up new kids or what?”

“YEE.”

I rolled up my sleeves and smiled. “Then come get some!”

“PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN PUT ME DOWN.”

“Hey, g-guys, I’m back — what happened?!” Cyrus said.

Slamlet was holding me above his head.

Juliet took her phone out. “Annie’s getting slam dunked.”

Cyrus’s jaw dropped. “Already?”

“Yeah, she doesn’t fuck around. Oh, he’s throwing her down the water hole,” she said placidly.

Slamlet tried to drop me in the well, but I grabbed the edge and braced my shoes against the other side. He tried pushing. “WELL! WELL! WELL!” he chanted.

“ARE ANY OF YOU BASTARDS GONNA HELP ME?” I shouted at Juliet and Cyrus.

“Uh…” Cyrus stammered.

“You’ll be fine!” Juliet shouted, turning her phone camera on. “Try not to blink, I’m gonna take a still.”

“FUCK YOU.”

I looked over my shoulder. The bottom of the well was far away. Very far. All I could think was no way in hell I’m falling in this well!

I heard a faint sizzling noise. Slamlet paused for a moment and sniffed. “SOMETHING’S BURNING,” he declared.

I looked behind him. Juliet clapped her hand over her mouth and took another picture.

Slamlet screamed and dropped me down the well.

SPLOOSH.

I flailed in the water. “HELP! I CAN’T SWIM! I CAN’T SWIM—!”

My feet hit the bottom of the well. I stopped yelling. I stood up.

The well was actually about five feet deep, and I could see over the edge a little.

“...Oh,” I said, watching Slamlet run around.

I stared at the scene uncomprehendingly for a good minute. There I was, standing in a shallow well. My dad was still missing. My stepmother was drunk. My stepsisters were in a coma. A guy who just tried to beat me up had spontaneously combusted. A boy I barely knew was frantically spanking the guy in a futile attempt to put him out. And the girl who’d ruined everything was putting it all on YouTube.

I kept watching. Cyrus’s spanking strategy worked, somehow, and the flaming inferno on Slamlet’s butt died to a smoking smoulder.

Slamlet fumed at everyone in the vicinity. Cyrus was wheezing too hard to formulate a response. Juliet ignored him, choosing to continue her smile. Everyone else stared at him like they were watching a trainwreck.

“WHAT’RE YOU GRINNING ABOUT,” he screamed. Cyrus squeaked and darted away. Juliet took a big step backward, but still grinned.

Slamlet stormed over to me. “This isn’t over,” he said menacingly. “I’ll get my revenge.”

He flounced away, into the hospital. Distantly, I heard: “PATRICIA! I NEED SOME OINTMENT!”