#so for her to realize how far my sewing has advanced in the past year with my new job

[sassmill]

My mom has historically not given me birthday gifts (growing up this was because she would let me do whatever I wanted for a birthday party, and since then it’s because she helped me pay for college or would take me to see a show etc) but my birthday is tomorrow and she just asked me “so… would you like a dress form for your birthday??”

Yes yes I would!!!

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 1

Hello! So this is my first Peaky Blinders Fanfiction.  I own nothing, except for the few OCs I created. 

This story is also on Wattpad and FF.net under the same title if you want to read it there as well--- however be warned it is not as edited as this post and I changed the name of one of the characters because I thought it was a better fit... lol!

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

  Enjoy!

OoOoOo

"He's a ghost, he's a god, He's a man, He's a guru,

You're one microscopic cog, In his catastrophic plan

Designed and directed by his red right hand"

~Red Right Hand~

1919

She had that dream again, the one where she had to decide which door she would open. Both doors were identical in every way. Yet, she just stands in the empty room lit as if by candles; frozen in place; The weight of the decision ultimately waking her out of-

No, that wouldn't do, a dark-haired girl thought as she scratched out the words she had just written down. In a small bedroom on the second floor of number Seventeen Watery Lane, sixteen-year-old Margaret Shelby sat on her bed, or rather the bed she shared with her older sister. Dressed in the long white nightgown that had once belonged to her mother and with a pen in hand, she scribbled down more words in her brown leather-bound journal resting on her lap. The journal was gifted to her by her Aunt Polly on her most previous birthday. Upon receiving it she couldn't wait to fill its pages. She liked writing, ever since she learned how to form her words into a cohesive sentence on paper. It had been an outlet, a distraction from the "shit-hole" that was Small Heath, Birmingham.

As a child, she had the fondest memories of taking the drawings her eldest brother Arthur would sketch and would accompany his rendering with an original story. She took pride in how much he would always be so impressed and relished when he called her “his little genius". As the years passed, she believed if she could write and publish a story that was good enough, then maybe one day she could provide for her family. Give them a way out of their current situation. Not that she knew much of how dire their situation really was. To their credit, her family tried their best to shield her, as well as her youngest brother Finn, from feeling the effects of living a life in the slums. She was lucky in that way, most of the girls her age had dropped out of school and had a child of their own already.

Her thoughts of prose were soon interrupted by familiar sounds causing the pit of her stomach to sink. Even after three months of him being back, she doubted she would ever get used to it. Opposite from her bed, through the thin wall with floral green wallpaper which had been peeling off for years, muffled cries could be heard. Maggie knew exactly who it was, her brother, Tommy.

She placed her journal onto the thin cotton sheets and traveled into the hallway. Before she knew it, she was standing outside the door of her older sibling. Taking a deep breath, she decided against knocking and slowly opened the door.

"Tommy?" she whispered into his candlelit room. She could see he was awake. Lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Go back to bed, Mags," the second oldest Shelby ordered, but the girl hesitated.

"I thought I heard yelling," she sounded apologetic, before taking a whiff of the air. "Do you smell that?"

"I said back to your bloody bed," his harsh tone surprised her.

This time she did listen, gently she closed her brother's door and made her way back to the empty bedroom she once was in.

OoOoOo

The next day, Margaret exited the small school she attended that was located right on the edge of Small Heath with her best friend Cara Ryan by her side. The girls had played together for as long as their memories had served them. Cara was a stylish and talkative girl who stood at a height of five feet and six inches. Dazzling green eyes sparkled and her straight honey blonde hair fell upon her shoulders. Her family did better than most, the Ryan's own a dress shop that is very popular amongst the younger women, Ada, in fact, is a frequent customer of the establishment. Though the word 'customer' was a loose term, the Ryan's like most shop owners in the area were obliged to give anyone with relations to the Peaky Blinders whatever they wanted. Mrs. Ryan's and the two oldest sisters operated it, and in her spare time, Cara could often be found working in the backroom, sewing buttons and beads to fabrics. The family had a deal, in a year's time Cara would come to work for the shop full time, but until then Cara could continue her education.

"Can't believe Henrietta's having a baby," Maggie said aloud, as shorter and younger students ran past them excitedly.

"I can," Cara replied smugly. "That girl would open her legs up for any sod that gave her a second glance."

"I feel bad for her." She admitted thinking of the fifteen-year-old whose life was now forever changed.

Cara shook her head, "Don't it's her own bloody fault."

After rounding the corner, they both saw Ross Murray. A thin nineteen-year-old with dark hair standing at five feet and eleven inches, resting his back against the dull red brick wall, smoking a cigarette. Cara stopped them in their tracks and waved at the young man. "All right, Ross?!"

Maggie smiled at her friend, she liked Ross, he'd always looked out for her and Cara like they were his own sisters. They had all been in school together up until the moment Ross was kicked out for beating up another boy named Jonah Smith. In all likelihood Jonah may have had it coming. He never had the ability to let go. For example, just last year Maggie would have to constantly have to turn down his advances for over a month. Due to the reputation of her family, attention from boys was a rare occurrence. Which she didn't mind, she never really felt romantic feelings for anyone. However, Jonah took advantage of her brothers absence. One day he even cornered her when she went back to the classroom to grab the jumper she left behind. Thankfully Jonah eventually stopped, and never bothered her again.

Getting kicked out of school didn't seem to bother Ross though. Once he turned eighteen, he enlisted to help with the war effort. He completed basic training within the required three months, and according to the letters he would send her and Cara, he was held in high esteem with all of his commanding officers. Just as he was about to be shipped to France, an armistice was declared. He'd managed to find a job working at the BSA factory rather quickly, but when he came back into town Maggie could tell he had changed. He now had this mentality that made him seem as though he was ready for a battle, yet had no one to fight.

"Cara, Margaret," he acknowledged, stubbing out his cigarette on the bricks he had rested his back upon "Where are you two heading, aye?"

"Just going home," Maggie told him, readjusting the bag on her shoulder.

He came closer to them, "I'll walk with you. Birmingham hasn't been the safest place now that all these blokes with fucked up brains are back."

"Look at that Mags," Cara said happily, and he allowed her to take his arm. "The only gentleman in Small Heath"

Maggie smiled knowingly at the sight. Since Cara was ten years old, she had been smitten with the dark-haired boy. Cara would frequently turn down other offers in hopes that Ross would one day ask her to be his girl. They both hoped that it would happen soon, because in Cara's words "She wasn't getting any younger".

"Don't know what you two keep going to school for," He expressed to them, as they began to walk in the direction the girls needed to travel. "What more is there to learn?"

His comment made Maggie shrug, "It's something to do."

"Yeah, most girls our age who aren't in school are either whores or mothers." She agreed.  "Or both."

They continued chatting about their school day as they walked closer into town. The canal that ran nearby as well as the different establishments were coming into view. "Mags, is that your brother?" Ross asked, pointing to a couple of boys.

Maggie turned her head to where her friend was pointing. He was right, her younger brother Finn, was running around in front of the pharmacy with Isaiah Jesus. He must have skipped school again. "Oi!" Maggie called out angrily, and Finn froze in place "What have you been up to all day, hm?"

"Please don't tell Tommy," the ten-year-old begged.

Maggie was about to tell him off, but she was caught off guard by the arrival of a person exiting Compton's, "Ada?"

"Oh, hello." The dark-haired beauty clutched the paper parcel tighter in her hands, clearly caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her younger siblings. "Heading home then?"

Maggie nodded and Ada continued, "I'll join you." The older sister then turned to her brother "Right Finn?" The boy scowled, but nodded all the same.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Maggie told her friends, still trying to process what her sister was up to.

Cara didn't seem to mind her best friends' announcement to depart. Turning to the hazel-eyed boy she asked, "Fancy accompanying me to the confectionery?"

He looked over to the Shelby family first, "Will you three be alright by yourself?"

Ada looked amused at his worry, "We'll be fine. I doubt anyone would mess with us." He accepted her answer with a nod and led Cara to the candy shop.

As the water rushed in the cut, Ada and Maggie walked down the sidewalk arm in arm. Finn wasn't too far in front of them. He was running and jumping around like a madman. That boy always had so much energy, Maggie found herself thinking. No wonder he skipped school, the poor thing probably could not sit still.

"That Murray boy has aged well hasn't he," Ada commented, finally breaking the silence, "Have you two?"

"Ada!" The younger sister cried out in surprise.

"Just asking." She shrugged, "Jesus you're a prude"

"Everyone's a prude compared to you" she retorted, "What were you doing at the pharmacy?"

Ada didn't reply though, instead opting to purse her lips. They were almost home now; Maggie could even see Pol heading to the house, traveling towards them. She was about to wave at her aunt until she was distracted by Finn, who ran around in front of his sisters. Her heart clenched when she noticed a black metal object in his hand.

"Finn, where did you get that gun?" she questioned, yet the youngest Shelby only giggled in response. 

"Oi! Quit messing around," Ada scolded, moving forward in an attempt to take the weapon away. "You shouldn't b-"

BANG! The sisters screamed and Aunt Polly, who had witnessed the whole event transpire, rushed over from down the street. Both the girls tried to catch their breath and a shocked Finn looked like he was trying to mentally process what had just happened. 

"The hell were you thinking?!" Polly scolded, snatching the gun from his hand. "Where did you get this?!

"He nearly fucking killed me!" Ada screeched pointing to her brother.

"I-I found it on the sideboard of the shop." Finn spit out as they watched his face concave and he soon began weeping in fear. "I-I thought it was empty. I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

His tears pulled on Maggie's heartstrings, but Polly wasn't having it. She pushed the sobbing boy towards Maggie ordering, "Take him home, and no more playing with guns. Next time you leave them be." 

The young boy nodded and allowed his sister to lead him back home."I didn't know Mags, I swear" he cried out again.

"I know you. You can apologize to Ada once she's feeling more forgiving" she expressed, her arms wrapped around his small shoulders.

OoOoOo

Childhood had molded her into the person she had become. Now she understood that...

Maggie internally groaned and scratched out what she had just written. No, that was definitely not good enough. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a chuckle. Her eyes were taken off the page by Ada, who was getting ready for her date with some mystery man.

"What's so funny?" the younger sister grumbled.

"You," Ada smiled as she brushed her hair in front of the small vanity mirror, "And how seriously you take yourself."

Quickly she closed her journal, wanting to change the subject "So, what was the family meeting about?" Maggie asked, not genuinely curious.

"New copper’s coming to town," Ada replied unbothered, more interested in fastening her shoe buckle.

"When I went downstairs, I caught Finn trying to listen through the door. Told him off for eavesdropping," the younger sister snickered .

"Can you believe that little tosser?" Ada said, putting on her paste earring. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He could have killed me today!"

"It was an accident, Ada." She reasoned, opening her journal once more, "Pol already told him and John off, what more can you do?"

"I can still bitch," the older sister huffed, before looking at the book in her sisters' hands. "Are you ever gonna tell me what you're writing about?" Ada asked pointedly, now completely dressed in a white fur coat that rested over her dress.

"Are you ever gonna tell me who you've been going out to see the last few months?" Maggie shot back jokingly. 

Ada responded by pantomiming the locking of her lips, which only made the younger sister smile. "Cover for me?"

"As always," The girl assured Ada before she quietly opened and closed the bedroom door.

It was about an hour later when Maggie began to hear the familiar muffled cries. Feeling hopeless as she stared at the green papered wall.

OoOoOo

The following day was mostly uneventful for Margaret. She'd gone to school and heard all about Cara's "date" with Ross. According to Cara, he was a complete "gentleman", much to the blonde's disappointment, though she still clung onto hope. 

Now she stood in the kitchen with her Aunt and sister making dinner, continuously kneading some dough until her skinny arms began to burn. Hopefully, this batch of bread would last long enough for her to enjoy. Last time she made bread her siblings had eaten it all, not saving any for her. Upon hearing the door slam, she and her aunt stopped to glance over to the door.

"Holy Shit!" The girl exclaimed, witnessing her eldest brother who was bloody and beaten, being assisted by John into a wooden chair.

"Finn, go find Tommy and tell him what happened," Polly commanded. Like a shot, Finn was running out of the room, but not before Pol hurriedly added, "And tell him we need a shit ton of more alcohol!"

Polly then immediately began to gather gauze and rods of wood to make a splint, "Margaret, start heating up water, then cut this cloth up in stripes." Nodding at the directive, the girl began to do just that.

"The fuck happened?" Ada interrogated, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"Was told some of the men found him like this outside the cinema," John explained.

"Do you know who?" Maggie heard her sister continue as she put the kettle over the flame, but Arthur remained silent.

"I'd like to know as well," An aggravated Polly chimed in.

This time Arthur did speak. “That Belfast copper,” the mustached man spit out, "I'll discuss it more once Tom gets here."

They all fell into silence, the only noise coming from Maggie who pulled out a chair to sit next to her brother, and quietly began cutting the cloth Polly left for her on the table. "Do you think this is enough?" Maggie asked her aunt after she finished.

"Should be plenty, love," Pol told her, taking one of the strips to start mending his hand.

"John, wipe the blood out of his eye," Ada told the third eldest sibling who was just watching the ladies scrabble around as they tended to Arthur.

"Since when did you give orders?" John asked incredulously.

"I'm a trained nurse." The sister stated.

Though seeing as John wasn't budging Maggie rose from her seat and began to wipe the blood herself.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts my face," Arthur joked as Polly bandaged him up. "You're a nurse like Mags here is a writer."

His comment caused more annoyance than Maggie cared to admit. With her index finger, she pressed onto a forming bruise on his cheek with great pressure, instigating a string of curses to come out of the eldest man's mouth.

"Oops," Maggie said insincerely. This caused Arthur to look to his aunt, wondering if any reprimanding would be given to the girl, but Polly just gave her brother a 'like you weren't asking for it' look.

 "I bloody am!" The older Shelby girl whined to John.

"You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for giggling," John corrected her.

"Not before I learnt how to stop somebody from choking," she shot back.

"I'm not bloody choking, am I?" Arthur spoke gruffly.

"You will be when I wrap this cloth around your neck." She told him as she poured hot water from the kettle into the bowl.

"Let me see him." Tommy's voice was heard as he entered the kitchen. "Well, have this" Tommy passed the bottle of rum and Arthur took a swig. Grabbing a rag, he immediately got to work tending to his brother's face.

"He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. 'National interest', he said. Something about a robbery." Arthur explained. "He said he wants us to help him"

"We don't help coppers," John said immediately, disgusted at the thought.

"He knew all about our war records. He said we're patriots like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said -" He paused a moment before continuing, "I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote".

Everyone remained silent, and frankly, that was enough of an answer to the eldest. "Why not? We have no truck with Fenians or communist," Arthur said exasperated, before heatedly asking Tommy. "What's wrong with you?"

Tommy continued to stare back at him, before asking his aunt, "What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

"If I knew I'd buy the cure from Compton's Chemist," Polly answered, staring at Tom who stared right back.

OoOoOo

Being alone at night was something Maggie had gotten used to now. The cries next door, however, that was something entirely different. Sighing to herself, she decided to give it another go. Once again, she rose from her bed, and ventured into the hallway. This time though she brought her journal with her. Not long she stood in front of her brother's door, allowing herself to open it. 

Again, in the candlelit room, she saw him lying in his bed staring at the ceiling, though she couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. "Still awake?" she asked.

"Can't seem to fall asleep," Tommy mumbled calmly. She took his stillness as permission to enter.

"Do you remember when I was a little girl and you used to read me books to make me fall asleep?" she asked, moving closer to the bed, "I used to love those voices you'd do for all the different characters from the picture books."

He nodded and he couldn't help the ghost of a smile while thinking of the memory. Unlike his other siblings, Maggie was the only one who would beg him to read to her. It was something they bonded over.

"If you want," she continued, motioning her hand to hold the journal up. "I can read you my story." Tommy was silent as he looked at the journal for a moment, before Maggie added, "I just thought maybe I could try to help you sleep like you did for me."

"Only if you do voices" he stressed jokingly, then shifted his body to make room for her on the small mattress.

"Remember," she squished next to him leaning her back against his bed frame. "This is a work in progress."

"I won't judge you too harshly" he replied, watching her open the journal that lay on her lap.

"Long ago when she was young, she believed that what she saw in her dreams could be a vision of what was to come. It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of-"

"A what?" He interrupted.

"An amalgamation" she repeated. "Do you not know what an amalgamation means?"

"No, I do. Didn't think you did."

"Shut up. You're supposed to allow my words to lull you to sleep."

"Sorry, please continue"

"It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of all her childhood aspirations, fears, and perhaps a little  too much whiskey. With this knowledge she found herself yearning for-"

By this point, Tommy had closed his eyes and was half-listening to the words his sister read from her journal. It wasn't half bad what she wrote. He reckoned by the time she was his age she'd actually make something of herself all with those stories in her head. Perhaps make a career out of it, possibly even get out of Small Heath. It was to be the start of a new decade, a new time, who knows what would happen? When he finally made it back from France, her face was the first face that caught his attention on the station platform. It shocked him. No more was the little girl he would read stories to, but in her place stood a smiling young woman. She had changed so much during the time he was gone.

Come to think of it, they'd all changed. Arthur was head of the family, in charge of the business, and had done a decent job of it. But that was before France, he was different now. He quickly noticed the change in his brother and how he couldn't think straight anymore. Arthur's personality became more explosive, as well as violent. John, well he had become more reckless, especially after a few drinks got into him, and since Martha's passing the drinking had only increased. 

As for him, well he was the one who had changed the most. He used to be carefree, joke and laugh, but now he was more solemn and even more protective of his family. Constantly worrying about how Arthur couldn't handle the business anymore, how John couldn't be alone anymore, and him? Well, he couldn't stand to see his family scrape and scrounge in the slums of Small Heath in order to survive any longer. No, not anymore. New copper sniffing about or not. No matter what Polly said, Tommy saw an opportunity with these guns. He wasn't about to turn it down. He just had to play it smart. As Maggie continued her reading, Tommy could feel himself slowly begin to drift out of consciousness and into a dreamless sleep.

[murderousginger]

Where is your boy tonight?

John Shelby x Russian Maid

Warnings: Alcohol. Drugs. Cussing. Explicit. It’s a Russian orgy party. They’re criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 3,432

Note: ... Well this went raunchy fast. I’m not a smut writer... so like... I’m sorry ahead of time. I’m posting this before I lose my nerve. In other news, I see you John girls, and I absolutely adore you. I’ll be working on prompts as quickly as I can. <3

"Remember ladies,"

Tatiana Patrovna strutted around the room of half dressed women in her lace lingerie, running her fingers along one maid's back as she bent over to put on stockings, across another maid's arm as she straightened her skirts, looking over each and every woman. Each woman had to be perfect. The princess resembled a general overlooking her troops before war. In a way, Anna supposed she was. 

"These men don't know Russian women. They think women are soft. Vulnerable." 

Tatiana's wild eyes danced along every strap, every lace garment, every painted face in front of her. The duchess had hired the best whores as maids, and paid them well when the entire family left Russia to come to England. 

The staff already knew what was expected of them. The family was rich, bored. Bored Russian royalty was dangerous. The staff sated every whim. England would have crumbled by now if not, Anna mused as she watched Tatiana flit between each girl. She was already bored of this pep talk.

"Be who they want you to be," Tatiana's wide eyes shone dark as they darted around the room. "But when they cry in passion, learn from them. Then bring it to me."

Tonight was not a regular night. Three brothers were to join the festivities and every woman was to be on guard. Men often talked when their balls were empty and the lights were low. Men told secrets they wouldn't admit under torture. Men were weak that way. 

Anna was just another maid. Another whore brought over from the old country, here to entertain the wild family and whomever else she was instructed to. She had been with them for years, watching the parties grow wilder with each passing phase. 

In England, the family no longer seemed bored. Instead, they seemed like they could no longer return to what society would deem a normal life. Too many orgies, too many nights with a gun to their head laughing and hoping to find the correct chamber, too often feeling the rush of adrenaline and subsequent crash of psyche that came with the roaring highs of the drugs and sex. They were unhinged, mad with power, and she had decided long ago that she was fine with watching it play out. 

Anna's dark hair and features that were common back home held a sense of wrongness in England. They stuck out against those that looked carefully enough. So far she has only been allowed outside of the house once, to get food from the market. Her dark eyes had watched all of the England common folk bustle about with curiosity. How did they live in comparison? 

She had eyed a man with a fruit stand, watching him carefully as she traced over the options with her lithe fingers. He had nodded good morning to her and she smiled, lifting an apple from the stand and taking a large bite. She rolled the sweet fruit over her tongue as she decided to play with him. Why? Because why not. 

He started to tell her the price of the apple, and she gulped the bite down, playfully spreading the apple juices that ran down her hand along her exposed throat. Now it was his turn to gulp. 

She came back from the market late, with a bag of apples that she did not pay for and the knowledge that English men were far easier than she had imagined.

"Anna," Tatiana snapped, and she jerked her head out of her daydreams. "What did I say?"

Anna assessed the woman in front of her as she hiked her leg onto a chair to put her stockings on. She did not bother to have them perfect; they wouldn't be on long anyway. Tatiana watched her with cold eyes as she stepped in between her legs, her fingers dancing along Anna's knee and up the stocking to her inner thigh. Her fingers lazily played with the fabric between her legs as she waited for an answer. 

"You want us to fuck the three Englishmen within an inch of their lives, so they are ruined from their wives and tell us every boring secret they have," Anna sounded, completely ignoring the cool fingers that traced her. 

"No."

Tatiana teasing fingers swatted her. Anna flinched as the princess turned away and walked into the middle of the room. 

"I said, the leader, the one that goes by Thomas, is mine."

Tatiana glared at every woman in the room, waiting for defiance. None spoke up. 

"The other two, do whatever they want," she waved away the harshness she had just possessed. "What might blow their mind could be silly to you. Do it anyway, and do it with ferver."

A round of mumbled agreements echoed. The princess nodded, more to herself than the girls, and left without another word. The men were coming, and she had to get ready herself.

Anna finished putting on her maid  skirt and top and sat in the seat, waiting as the other maids got ready and gossiped among themselves. 

What could be so interesting about three Englishmen?

----

The Englishmen came through the doors with the princess and the duchess hours into when the party began. Murmurs between help warned that they had already been welcomed with mind games; the two royal women had stripped the brothers down to assess them, the men tearing buttons from shirts like wild animals. One or two maids had been given the shirts to mend already. 

Russian men had already started on vodka, cocaine, and women that morning. The party had already risen to the haze of fucking in the open, half naked women parading around as they like by the time the three Shelbys eyed the room. 

Anna had already entertained some of the men, but easily sloughed off their advances as the newcomers arrived. She had even managed to keep her maid outfit on. The stockings, however, had been long tossed into the fireplace. 

She watched the men, bug-eyed by the general activities of the den. 

"Fucking hell, Tommy," one breathed as he ran his hand along his neck. 

"Remember, play nice," the dark haired one said, clear blue eyes coldly looking around. 

Anna held her breath for the few seconds his eyes had looked at her. They were so calculating. That had to be the one Tatiana was after. 

"Sit with me, Tommy," Tatiana simpered, taking the dark haired man's hand and leading him to a couch. 

Another maid appeared beside the older looking brother with the mustache, leading him toward a chair. She brought him his own bottle of vodka. The last brother continued looking around the room, giggling uncomfortably but looking at everything like it was Christmas morning. 

Anna slipped past the duchess, who took her place by the fireplace to watch, and picked up an almost full bottle of vodka from a bucket of ice that sat beside one of the couches with an maid and a Russian man fucking slowly. She ran her hand along the Shelby brother's bicep and squeezed, a coy smile across her lips as he whipped his head around to see who had approached him.

"Would you like some company? Vodka?" Anna said, lilting her accent at him. 

His eyes looked over her outfit as she handed him the bottle of liquor. 

"Yuh," he said stiffly, eyes not leaving her hem as he cleared his throat, "sure. I was just about to ask those two men if I could enter their poker game."

"Then you will need me," Anna said as she wrapped her arm around his and led him to the table. "It is strip poker. The girls undress as you play."

"I didn't realize," he said, looking over the two bearded men sitting at the table with half dressed women on their laps. "Name's John. Yours?"

Anna pulled the chair out for John, motioning for him to sit. As he did, she made herself comfortable sitting on his lap, moving his arm to her waist. 

"He wants to play poker with you," she said to the men in Russian. "Deal him in. Let him win."

The men laughed amongst themselves and complied, throwing their cards in the center to start a new game. The women chittered on their laps but made no move to put clothing back on. Anna leaned against John, twisting to put her hand on his chest and her mouth to his ear. 

"They're starting a new game for you now," she said, feeling him gulp as her lips brushed his ear. "And you may call me whatever you like, John. Who do you want me to be?"

Anna trailed a finger along his neck as she leaned away to look him in the eye. John's blue eyes were wide and watching the table where his cards lay. With a deep breath he met her dark eyes with his bright blue ones. 

"Let's start with your name, yeah?" A playful smirk appeared on his face as his grip tightened on her waist. "And we'll go from there."

"Anna," she deftly moved his hand from her waist to her thigh along the hem of her short skirt as she leaned forward to pick up his cards and handed them to him. "Better drink to catch up. The men don't like sober players."

"Fucking hell," he breathed, handing the cards back to her and picking up the bottle he had sat beside his chair. 

He guzzled it down and the men made cheering noises, squeezing their women to their laps. One woman was completely topless, only her skirt and panties on while the man bounced her on his knee to watch her tits jiggle. The other woman had only her top and panties on, but her man had become impatient and was groping through her clothing as she giggled. 

Anna innocently shifted in his lap, trying to tempt John as he drank nearly a third of the bottle. His hand squeezed her thigh as a warning and she laughed as he set the bottle down. 

"That enough for you fucks?" He growled as he took his cards roughly from Anna's hands. "Let's play."

Anna would move occasionally in his lap, but used the game to watch the room. To watch the other brothers.

"I sewed your buttons back on," the maid said as she ran her hands across the older brother's chest, "I wanted to make sure I did a good job."

Arthur took a swig of the bottle of vodka in his hand as he watched her hesitantly. 

"You did a good job," he breathed.

She lifted a button up, circling it in her fingers deftly. 

"No, I did not."

The maid took the older his hand and guided him up from his chair and out of the room. Anna smirked. 

The other one, Tommy, the leader, was leaned on a couch, Tatiana laying against him under his arm. She looked bored.

"Why do you play games with people with no benefit to you?" Tommy asked, annoyance across his face as he took another drink from his glass. 

"In Russia because we were bored," Tatiana said succinctly. "In England because we don't know how to stop."

Anna moved on, ignoring the rest of the conversation to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She looked back to the table as John cheered, his arm squeezing her closer as he threw his cards at the table. 

"We won, Anna," he cheered again as she looked to the two sullen Russians for confirmation. 

"That means," she said, softly pressing his arm to release her, "that I no longer need my top."

Anna grabbed the fabric and lifted it above her head, throwing it to the topless girl on the other side of the table with a giggle. John's hand stilled on her thigh as he leaned back with a frown.

"When you win here," Anna said, twisting in his arms to face him, "your whore loses clothes, not your opponents." 

His ears turned a light pink as she shimmied at him with a laugh, her head thrown back. 

"There's rarely a game that doesn't end in fucking."

John's eyes were fixed on her, and she gave a throaty chuckle as his hand grabbed blindly for the bottle at the floor. He was attracted to her, at least. The pressure in his pants would not lie about that. He took another large gulp of vodka as the cards were dealt again. 

Anna watched as one of the men, the one with the girl who only had panties and a shirt on, began whispering in the girl's ear. She nodded, stood up and turned around to kneel before him and undo his pants.

She looked back at John, who tried to ignore the scene in front of him as he picked up his cards, but his eyes wandered to her bobbing head. 

A quick sweep of the room told Anna that Tommy and Tatiana were also gone. These brothers are shy, she noted.

The Russian men began muttering as John threw his hand at the table. 

"Won again," he said and looked at the Russian who muttered in front of him, his hands grabbed the back of the woman's bobbing head to bare her down on him as he gritted his teeth. Anna smiled, earning John's gaze that couldn't help but flicker to her chest before he met her eyes again. 

"Lucky for you," she said as she stood in front of him, topless with her hands at the waist of her skirt. "I have no underwear." 

She stepped out of the skirt and stepped closer to sit on his knee. His eyes were wide and his mouth slack as she straddled his leg facing him. She playfully grinded against his thigh, letting his eyes be glued to the motion, before she leaned back and took his new cards from the table. She stretched, watching his gaze travel up her naked body as she fanned his cards in front of her face to hide her smile. He was too easily shocked. 

"What happens if I win again?" He panted, licking his lips as he reached for the cards. 

Anna pulled them away from his reach and pushed herself up his thigh, twisting so their cheeks touched as she showed him his cards. 

"You, my Englishman," Anna said breathily into his ear. "Win all three of us, or whoever you wish. I can promise you, you want me."

John's eyes started to dilate as his mouth parted. 

"Oh."

The game, -- what little it could be called that -- was short lived. One man was completely engrossed in the lips around his cock, the other taken to pinching his maid's nipples until she screamed as she bounced on his knee, and John was uncomfortably frozen under Anna as she writhed on his thigh and moaned into his ear, completely breaking the concentration he was trying so hard to have on the card game. 

When the men finally threw all their cards down, John turned pale when the other men grumbled again and quickly became engrossed with their women. 

Anna looked over her shoulder to the cards on the table and smiled a Cheshire cat grin. 

"You won."

Before he could answer, she lifted herself from his soaked pant leg and grabbed his chin. He stood, meeting her eyes as she led him backwards, blindly reaching behind her for the door to a side den she knew was there. 

"You seem to be the type to want privacy," Anna purred. "Should I call the others?"

"No, no," John breathed, looking into her black eyes. 

"As I thought," she said and opened the door and led him in. She let go of his face as he stepped through the threshold.

John took a deep breath as he turned and  closed the door before he turned back to her. She was still so close, he went to take a step back and hit the door.

"Look, I--"

"Tell me what you like," she whispered as she pressed against him. 

"Have a wife, Esme--"

"She doesn't have to know," she said, leaning to run her tongue along the shell of his ear, "unless she likes to know about these things."

"No, she's just had a child--" he stuttered, trying to grab at Anna's forearms and push her back. Just a little space. To breathe. She was so close.

"So you've been without, poor man," she pouted mockingly, pressing against his hold. "Let me make it better. Do you love this wife? Do I resemble her?"

"Well you're both dark haired--"

"Do you love her?" Anna's eyes flashed as she smiled, grabbing his hand and pressing it toward her neck. "Do you hate her? Have you ever just wanted to squeeze the life--"

"Stop!" He bellowed as he pushed her back. He stomped past her, near the fireplace in the room, as he paced, muttering to himself and rubbing his face with his hands. 

Anna heard "fucking Russians" and "Tommy said they were fucking insane" mixed in with the rumblings, his tone frantic. He was coming undone at the seams, she thought, too much pressure and he'll break -- but not how Tatiana wants him to. 

She rushed to him, hushing him as she stopped his pacing. 

"That's enough, John," she soothed, his eyes wildly looking around the room at anything but her. "I'm only here to make you happy. What will make you happy, hmm?"

"Just let me fucking breathe, woman," he snapped as he stormed away from her. 

"Alright," Anna said as she crossed her arms and looked around the room. She shuffled in place uneasily, rubbing her arms as she began to notice the chill of the room. 

"Oh for fucks sake," he muttered, looking at her and then darting his eyes away as he took his jacket off. "Here, wear this, come to the fire. You must be freezing prancing around like that, yeah?"

She hesitantly came forward and allowed John to drape his jacket across her shoulders before she murmured a thanks and wrapped it tighter. 

After a few moments of silence, Anna dared to speak. 

"What now, then?"

John exhaled shakily, scratching his neck and stealing a sideways look at the Russian in his coat. 

"They expect you to fuck me, don't they?" He whispered. Anna hesitantly nodded, earning a nod in return as John ran his hand over his face. 

"And my brothers will never let me hear the end of it if I don't," he mumbled. 

"Do you… not like girls?" Anna said slowly. "I can call in one of the men--"

"God no," John laughed. "I just… it don't feel right…"

Anna shifted. 

"Is it me?"

John's eyes softened as he looked at her and smiled. 

"You're bloody gorgeous, darling," his smile turned lopsided. "It's not that."

Silence filled the air again. John exhaled.

"How about this," he said, his hands pushing the air down to the floor. "How about we walk out there and say we did. I'll tell them all that you sucked the soul out of me cock with those lips of yours, and you can tell your princess I cried like a little baby, or whatever will make her happy, yeah?"

Anna nodded. 

"We'll go out there, you can continue to be my girl for the night, and no one knows any different. Keep my coat till the morning if you like."

"Alright, John."

His face brightened and he held out his arm. Anna stepped forward and slid under it, smiling at the odd man at her side. 

"Let's go back, then."

----

"The old one," the maid said as she stood beside Anna as Tatiana ate breakfast at the table, "Arthur. He was hesitant but bred me like a dog. I think he whimpered a few times, but it only made him rougher."

Tatiana hummed as she drank her tea. 

"And the other?"

"The youngest one is named John," Anna said with a yawn. 

He refused to fuck me because he loves his wife, Esme, and they recently had a child. One of many. He was polite and attracted but wouldn't budge.

"What about him?" Tatiana snapped. "Out with it."

Anna frowned. 

"He was a fast lay," she said. "He came in my mouth after two strokes. He was so spent he never touched me after. He cries when he cums."

"How boring," Tatiana laughed. "I suppose I did save the best for myself."

"Yes, princess," the maids droned. They were dismissed with a wave.

[lunarkittens]

now you’re on your own (won’t you come back home?) (2/?)

Word Count: (In this part) 2,035

Pairings: Gen

Rating: T

Summary: Dean doesn’t believe in fate. But it is a strange coincidence that the one time Dean is ever in California, pointedly trying not to think about his little brother hours away in Palo Alto, he gets a voicemail saying Sam’s in the hospital. Pre-Series.

Sam leaves two days later with the doctor’s approval. Dean lets Sam lean on him as he walks him to the car and it brings back a flood of memories. This weight is familiar, this bent posture and bodily support.

Last time he did this, it was a hunt. A werewolf got the drop on Sam while he was looking out for John. Sam was younger then, looked more fragile, and despite all the hours of sparring Dean still found himself thinking that if Sam were to get thrown around, he’d shatter into a million pieces.

It’s funny how the feeling resurfaces at the most inconvenient times.

It’s not funny how it seems to take near-death experiences to bring the Winchesters back together. If Sam heard him say that, he’d say that Dean was being dramatic, that appendectomies are a routine procedure and people get them done all the time. Yeah, Dean would say. Well, most people aren’t you, are they?

Sam sits down gingerly and a little hunched over. He can’t sit up too straight or he’ll tear the stitches. Dean starts the car and risks a small smile at Sam, who’s wincing as he shifts his weight. Some piece of him feels like it’s back in place. He can never sleep, not really, not when Sam is so far away and Dean doesn’t know what he’s getting up to, if he’s safe.

It feels good to look over at the passenger seat and have it not be empty for once. Good in a dangerous way, like it might be taken away from him.

They head to the dorm to get what little stuff Sam owns. His blanket and pillow, his backpack full of books. Some clothes. Dean shoves some guns and knives to the side and makes as much room as he can.

Dean takes a little mercy on him and plays his music more quietly than he’s used to. Sam is a bit like a horse right now, easily spooked and not to be snuck up on. Dean has to approach him very carefully. He’s scared he’ll come out of the fog of medication and realize he doesn’t want to stay with Dean after all, that he hates him too much, and Dean is trying to enjoy the time he does get with him while all too aware that it’s going to come to an end sooner rather than later.

You never can just be happy, can you, Dean? he thinks.

“Dean,” Sam says. “What is this place? I mean, how’d you find an apartment on such short notice? It’s not that easy, you know? There’s like, credit scores and interviews and everything.”

Dean laughs, turning into a parking lot.

“My friend Claire here’s dad owns these buildings. She said they’re between renters and she got her dad to swing it for us as long as I pay in advance and we don’t overstay our welcome.” Sam snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re crazy,” Sam says, and it sounds fond. Dean clears his throat against emotion and sneaks a glance to the side.

“So, uh...How you doin’? With the pain and everything.” Sam shrugs.

“I’m fine.” Dean gives him a look. “No, dude. Seriously, it’s not even bad,”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “That’s ‘cause you’re comparing it to getting your ass kicked by vengeful spirits.”

“Probably,” Sam agrees. He’s quiet for a moment, swallows and then clears his throat, eyebrows furrowing, and Dean thinks, here it is. Better to rip off the band-aid, right? At least Sam didn’t lead him on any longer, didn’t let him get all settled and happy in the new apartment first.

“Hey,” Sam begins. “I wanted to tell you...”

Dean’s hands tighten their grip on the wheel.

“Just...” Sam sighs. “Just thank you for coming, you know? I know we left on bad terms and-“ A shake of his head. “I didn’t wanna leave it like that, but Dean, I was...And then you just- I woke up and you were there, and I wanted to thank you for that.”

“Sam,” Dean says dismissively, trying to hide his surprise. “Come on,”

“No, really,” Sam insists. “It’s uh...It’s more than Dad would have done, you know? I’ve always been able to...to count on you. Always.” Dean looks at Sam then, holds the eye contact for a moment as he parks the car.

“Well, what kinda brother would I be if I missed the chance to see you in that hospital dress? A bit breezy, huh, Sammy?” Sam smiles.

“Shut up. Let’s get our stuff moved in.”

“Woah, there. I think you mean it’s time for me to get our stuff moved in.”

“Dean,”

“Sam, you just got surgery, okay? Sit down and relax for ten goddamn minutes. For me, alright?” Sam relents at that, sighs.

“Fine,” he says. Dean grins.

“Hey, there you go. This’ll only take a minute.”

After setting the things down on a couch (fully furnished apartment, thank you), Dean goes down and helps Sam get out of the car.

This would be a lot goddamn easier if Sam weren’t fucking ten feet tall but Dean manages, helps him slowly and carefully go up the stairs and threatens to redo the stitches himself if Sam tears them, just like the old days. Sam winces at the memory and says he’ll pass and Dean laughs.

“Who could ever pass up the surgical precision of Dean Winchester?”

“I could. And probably anyone else with a brain,”

“Saved your ass a few times,” Dean counters. “Sewed you up like a goddamn blouse,”

“Yeah,” Sam admits “But if it’s between you and the hospital...”

“California’s spoiled you,”

“And you disinfect cuts with Jack Daniels,”

“Ah,” Dean says wistfully. “Medicine,”

Dean holds up Sam while he twists the doorknob and pushes it the rest of the way open with his foot.

“Well, home sweet home, Sammy.”

Sam takes in his surroundings, eyebrows raising.

“You like?” Dean asks.

“Dean, it’s- It’s nice.” Dean smiles, pride or smugness. It’s fine, he thinks he deserves to have either after scoring them a place this nice. He could have just bought out a motel room, but he wanted this to be more comfortable for both of them, for it to feel like more of a home.

“You’re damn right it is. So, uh. It’s two bedrooms. One bathroom. Small kitchen connected to a living room.”

“And we’ve got it for the month?”

“Yup. This is home for the next 30 days. What time is it?” Dean asks, and Sam squints at the clock over the couch.

“3:45.”

“Okay, so it’s time for your antibiotics...What’s that face for?” he says, taking in the intense way Sam is looking at him.

“It’s just...You’re serious about this. A whole month, you and me.”

“That a problem?”

“No, it’s just...we haven’t exactly gotten along the past couple years. You think we can pull this off?”

“Are you gonna be a bitch?” Dean asks, eyebrow raised.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sam says, annoyed. Dean throws his hands up.

“Not really seein’ the problem then.” Dean says. “Take your antibiotics, Sammy. If that gets infected you’re gonna have more pressing things to worry about than the month of hell I’m apparently subjecting you to.” Dean tries not to think about the end of the month, about driving away from him. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do it.

“Dean,” Sam says firmly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Well it’s been two years, just like you said. Maybe I don’t know you anymore. Maybe you’re someone else now.” Sam bows his head. A guilt trip from Dean has always been able to get to him, age be damned. He’s a little too soft, but Dean’s not gonna beat that out of him when it works so well in his favor, and besides, the kid’s got the perfect eyes for it.

“I’m not that different.” Sam says quietly.

“Well then, Sam” Dean says gently. “I think we’re gonna be okay, here. I mean, look around us. We have a nice place here, for once. It’s not some crap motel room in the middle of nowhere, and this time...This time I can take better care of you.” Sam’s jaw clenches.

“You mean it’s not gonna be like when Dad used to abandon us?” Dean sighs.

“He was working, and you know that, Sam. But yeah,” Dean says tiredly. “I mean, I’m older. I go on hunts alone, and- and I can take care of you the right way now. I’m not some dumb little kid anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have had to do that, you know.” Sam says, and it lands hard, shatters like a plate.

“Yeah, well.” Dean says. He gets up and puts his jacket on.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam says hurriedly. “Don’t leave.” Dean turns around fast, eyebrows furrowed

“Sam- No, I’m- I’m gonna be right back. I just need to get us a few things. Food and stuff like that.”

“Oh,” Sam says, looking embarrassed. “Well, I still-“

“Dude,” Dean says, hand up in the air. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m not taking off. I’ll be back in 20. Just try not to die on Day 1, okay?” Dean’s just about out the door when he hears Sam call “Could you get some vegetables at least?” and he grins to himself, closing the door behind him.

He’s smiling while he drives. Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to take off, thought he’d really pissed him off with the Dad comments, and yeah, Dean definitely didn’t enjoy those, but it wasn’t worth getting into it. They had plenty of time to fight later on and after that night when Sam left, Dean was good on fights for a long time.

He just didn’t know if he could say the same about Sam. Maybe if he avoided those hot button topics they could make it. Maybe even be brothers again, like a real family.

Dad couldn’t know, would be pissed if he knew Dean was leaving people defenseless when he could be out hunting. The problem was that Dean had some kind of big brother loophole in his sense of duty that made Sam the most important person in the world, and if John got mad about that, well. It was his fault Dean was like this in the first place.

But Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to leave, had wanted him to stay, and he thought back to Sam saying he was scared and wondered if Sam thought about Dean as much as he thought about Sam, and all that had kept them apart was some Winchester pride and a huge misunderstanding. That would be so like them, two years of radio silence just because they were both too proud to make the first call.

It never used to be that way before. They used to be close. They used to laugh and joke and be kinder to each other, and then Sam grew up and got angry and him and John were in constant shouting matches and then Sam, well, the more Dean thinks about it, Sam got kicked out. He’d thought differently for so long, but after that conversation at the hospital he’d started to see it, see that night clearly and with new eyes and he saw the look on Sam’s face and the way he closed the door timidly instead of slamming it and he knew Sam was right.

And if Dean has been 22 and afraid of losing Sam, he wondered how it must have felt to be 18 and abandoned by your family. To take a bus all the way to California alone. Sam could have gotten into the wrong car while hitchhiking, gotten attacked and died before he even made it halfway there, and Dean had been so blind with rage he hadn’t even thought about it.

Sam could have died and Dean wouldn’t have even known, would have just thought Sam cut them off and decided to never talk to them again. New horror spread throughout his chest even thought it was a hypothetical situation and one from the past anyhow, and he decided to busy himself with looking at the produce, trying to find fresh fruit and vegetables so Sam wouldn’t starve to death.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 6 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

||3rd Person POV||

No one spoke to her on the ride home after Kali's lecture, especially Kali. Jane immediately dismissed herself to her room when they returned and there she sat in a dreadful silence. Her mind was racing. Thoughts of the cabin, thoughts of the lab, thoughts of tonight. Thoughts of what she believed living here with them would be like. And what it really was.

But what kept coming back to her was Y/n's voice. Their last conversation before she left.

"Just, hear me out, please! You didn't hear the things she was just planning. The things she just said to her friends out there, you don't understand-"

"No, Y/n. You don't understand me."

Jane shakes her head in disgust, unable to believe the words changed between them. Why had that happened? How did things go so wrong so quickly? There was still anger and resentment towards Y/n, but it was faded and dying out. More than anything, she missed her.

She found her feet were carrying her to the ends of the bed where the remainder of her things lay forgotten. The remnants of what felt like a life long forgotten. Peeking from the half-opened zipper of her bag was the flannel shirt she had worn just hours ago. Her legs folded beneath her as she knelt before her belongings, her fingers running over the fabric. With a heavy heart, she plucked it from the bag to bring it close only to find her brows in a hard crease.

Jane's eyes had fallen to the outside zipper where the sleeve had caught, and what surprised her is she didn't remember opening it. Setting the shirt aside, she inspected the pocket to find nothing but the photo of Kali she had used to get here. And that's when her heart stopped.

The Missing Experiment files. They were gone, missing. And so was the remainder of her money, though this was not what bothered Jane.

Now Y/n knew. Now Y/n knew that she had withheld the files. Jane deflated with a heavy sigh, feeling a crushing weight on her conscious. She knew she would come to regret it and low and behold. Of course, she had meant to share them with her, why else would she have brought them? But after seeing Y/n, she was overwhelmed with relief and she was swept up in their reunion and then their plans of getting to Becky's.

But the last night on the bus.

《•••》

"Like I said before, Mike hasn't been himself since you left. And now Will is acting up, in fact, he's... completely different. He's sick, he's really sick and he's angrier than usual. The party is falling apart, and I've felt more alone these past few weeks than I have in a really long time. And on top of it all," Her voice lowers, and her eyes scan the area before leaning in. "I'm still finding stuff I didn't know I could do. I've been having trouble, controlling my powers."

El's eyes widen, and subconsciously her hand finds the pocket of her bag. The files! She needed to see them. But a terrible thought struck her.

If she gave her friend the files, what would stop her from wanting to leave? Go back home? She'd be alone again, her only hope the girl from the rainbow room but who knows what she was like? El noted the animated look in her friend's eye, the way she lit up and she felt a heavy feeling clench her heart.

"The point is, you showing up has been just what I needed. And yes, it's really scary, but thanks to you I found out how I got here, where I came from. That's really good! I have you to thank for that."

Against her better judgment, her mind and body screaming at her, to tell the truth, and show her the files, El only smiles weakly. Her lips sew shut and her hand returns to her lap.

《•••》

Jane feels her legs grow damp, and she realizes she is crying. Silent tears streak her cheeks and she sniffles, hanging her head.

What Y/n must think.

Y/n had been nothing but kind to her, ever since that night Mike took her in. And looking back on the previous night, she only had her best interests at heart even if she did upset Jane.

But friends don't lie, she reminds herself.

And jane of all people knew how it felt to have been lied to.

But what could she do now? Y/n was gone, and even though she now had someone who understood the life of the lab, she felt awfully alone.

A knock on the door ripped her from her thoughts. She jumped slightly but she turned her head, mentally brushing it off. She found Kali in the doorway. She gestured with her eyes to the bed across from Jane.

"May I sit?"

Jane merely shrugged, and Kali stepped forward and took a seat across from her on a swivel chair. She took a deep lingering breath before speaking.

"I was once just like you, you know that? But that's why I'm hard on you, because I see in you my past mistakes."

The disgust returned to Jane's face, and she nearly shook off her words. "They were kids."

"Does that excuse that man's sins? Were we not also children?"

Jane only looks away with no reply.

"Do you remember what I told you last night? That when your friend, Y/n had escaped everything changed?"

This drew Jane's eye, but her glower remained. Kali was treading on thin ice.

"When she escaped, they spent years looking for her. Do you know why? Because she was rumored to be the most powerful of us all." Kali croaked, tears forming in her eyes as they drifted to the other side of the room.

"Signs of her power showed months before she was born, and they became obsessed. The idea of her became an impossible standard that we were forced to meet. They searched for her for years, I remember hearing whispers of her when I arrived. And then you came along, and I had a friend."

"But when they gave up hope, that is when everything changed. Jane, why do you think we were beaten? Imprisoned? They were so desperate to recreate what they had lost that they were willing to do anything to get it back."

Hot tears stung Jane's eyes and she shook her head, refusing to believe the harsh truth.

"No," she croaked.

"Yes, Jane. Yes, listen to me. That is why men like Ray treated us the way that we were treated. Not only were you their guinea pig, but you were also her replacement. All those years, spent in the room, all those years beaten and starved, they were pushing you. Testing you, and forcing you to be someone you are not."

Tears of her own slipped from Kali's eyes, she now held Jane's hands firmly in her own grasping her tightly. But Jane continued to cry, shaking her head as she was forced to relive the memories. She no longer felt like Jane, she felt like Eleven again and she hated it. She despised it. Kali finally stopped, the pad of thumb swiping across the back of Jane's hand in an act of comfort but it only made Jane feel worse. It reminded her of Y/n, and once again she was torn. She missed her friend terribly but the truth sickened her.

Kali continued, her voice more gentle.

"I remember the day that I came to the rainbow room and you were gone. Shortly after I was taken away and I shared with, I was relocated several times. I never saw you again. And that's when things got worse... So when my gifts were strong enough I used them to escape. And I ran. I ran away as far as I could."

She gulped, swallow the lump forming in her throat at the memory.

"And it was there, far away. That I found a place to hide. A family. A home. Just like you and your policeman. But they couldn't help me. So, eventually, I lost them, too."

Jane looked down at her feet, she was overwhelmed with the memories of her first night outside the lab. At Mike's. And Y/n took her in when the boys did not understand. But it is quickly soiled by the memory of the cabin. Her feeling trapped and isolated once more.

"So, I decided to play the part. To stop hiding. To use my gifts against those who hurt us. You're now faced with the same choice, Jane. Go back into hiding and hope they don't find you. Fight, and face them again."

"Face who?"

Kali hesitates but speaks firmly. A silent decision made up in her mind.

"The man who calls himself our father."

Jane shook her head, speaking through clenched teeth. "Papa is dead."

"That man tonight disagreed."

Jane felt her blood run ice cold, her stomach dropped through the floor and her she swore her heart stopped beating at the all too familiar voice behind her. Her head whipped over her shoulder and in the doorway stood a figure she never thought she'd see again. The man who abused her all her life, the very reason she felt so broken. The virus that destroyed anything he got his hands on. But she was smart enough to know.

"You're not real." She says, rising from the floor and slowly stepping forward.

He simply grins and tilts his head. His tell of disappointment.

"All this time? And you haven't looked for me? Why? Because you thought I was dead?"

Jane steps forward, wanting to be braver than she appeared. Though no matter the facts before her, even if he was nothing more than what Kali was telling her was real, she did not feel like Jane. She was Eleven. No more than a number. She hated the feeling, and she was furious and betrayed her sister would do such a thing. But all she could think of was the fear. The pain. Him.

"Or because you were afraid of what you might find?"

Bravely, she swallowed her fear. She shook her head, shrugging him off in anger.

"Go away." She ordered.

He steps forward, his tall figure towering over her like a shadow. A shadow she can never seem to escape.

"You have to confront your pain. You have a wound, Eleven,"

Eleven backs away, ashamed of her fear but she attempts to hold her ground as he pokes and prods once more.

"a terrible wound."

He continues to advance, and she continues to cower just as the man named Ray did. Her composure breaks and tears begin to flow once more. Eleven chokes back a whimper.

"And it's festering."

Her feet hit the bag and she collapses to the ground, gazing up at him through her blurred vision.

"Do you remember what that means? Festering?" His eyes never leaving hers, never blinking, he lowers himself in front of her. "It means a rot. And it will grow. Spread."

"Get out of my head." She whispers.

"And eventually, it will kill you."

She feels herself snap, the lights flicker around them and she screams with all her might.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

She collapses into tears, cradling the flannel close to her for any scrap of comfort. Sobs wracked her body and when her head lifts, she finds Kali looking up at her with a smile.

"This is not a prison, Jane. You're always free to return to your policeman. Or stay, and avenge your mother. Let us heal our wounds, together."

No more words are spoken, and Kali rises leaving the room and a dismayed sister.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Unknowingly, a squad of police cars and SWAT team snake the streets of Chicago, growing ever closer to the hideout minute by minute. Mick sits in her usual perch, her attention focused solely on the lookout at her usual window while Funshine slams his cards against the steel table with a deep rumbling laugh.

"Full house." He cheers.

Axel swipes his arm across the table with fury.

"Screw this. I'm out." He rises from the table, beer in hand as he marches away.

Dottie chortles and calls after him.

"Out of money, you mean. You are broke!"

She collects the discarded money as Funshine cackles. The two divide the money and Dottie looks over her shoulder.

"You want in, Mick?"

She scoffs, taking a puff from her cigarette.

"Nope."

"Aw, come on! Just one hand." She whines.

"You're the worst."

"How I am the worst?"

"Because, one hand leads to hands, and two hands lead to three. And before you know it I'm as broke as Axel."

"Are in or out?"

"Out."

Lost in the argument, Mick fails to notice the swarm of guards circling the place. They break off and take several paths and their presence remains unknown.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jane sits on her side of the bed, her mind and heart still calming from her previous encounter. The flannel still clothes tightly in her hands, she holds it up before bringing it close to her heart. Her mind takes her back once again to the first night outside the lab. The good moments, the ones she thought of so often.

《•••》

Mike smiles softly at her, a wonderous gaze in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that before. With appreciation. And awe.

"Maybe we can call you 'El.' Short for Eleven?"

•••

The bullies flee in her path, and the boy who once asked too much of her after their first meeting, the boy who quickly became her friend called after them. A mix of fury and pride as he declared his loyalty after they hurt them.

"YOU'D BETTER RUN! SHE'S OUR FRIEND, AND SHE'S CRAZY!"

•••

Mike leans over her, an untamed smile on his lips as he once again stares at her in awe. Even when she had confessed her darkest secret, the secret she feared would ruin their friendship.

"No, El. You're not the monster. You saved me, you understand? You saved me."

•••

She was used to people speaking of her harshly when she was in the room, not taking into consideration her feelings. But the girl was full of surprises. She dismissed the behavior, and for the first time in her life she was told - she was shown - that she didn't deserve it. And she even offered her comfort.

"If you ever need anything or someone to talk to, even after we get everything sorted out, well, I'm here." Y/n smiled at her, and a warmth spread through her chest.

•••

"Co-compromise?" She asks, her face scrunched up in confusion.

"It's something that's kind of in-between. Like halfway happy."

Hopper reaches out a hand and ruffles her curls bringing a large smile to her face. The warmth returns.

•••

His odd movement the first day in the cabin. The music played and an odd look crossed Hopper's face, and much to her embarrassment, he began to bounce around.

"Once we fix it up, it's gonna be nice. Real nice. This is your new home."

[END OF FLASHBACKS]

She opens her eyes, finding herself in the void yet again. When she sees who is with her she realizes who her mind was searching for.

Hopper.

He is strained and scared, he paces the floor next to a strange panel that reminds her of the lab. This worries her. His palms dig into his eyes and he grunts, silently processing. He begins to pace once more, his hand on his hips and Jane approaches him slowly. He looks to the console, grief, and despair overwhelm as he leans his weight on the ridge.

"That's where I was. It's a damn graveyard."

"I need to get through! I need to get through."

Mike, it was Mike. He was approaching the distance and desperation and fear rang in his voice. She watches as an invisible force pushes him back. But his desperate calls do not concede.

"I need to warn them! It's a trap! I need to get through. It's a trap. I need to tell them it's a trap!" He shrieks, his voice cracking.

"Mike!"

She wasted no time in running for him. He does not see her but he continues to jump AMD fight over against an invisible force as he calls out to someone.

"IT'S A TRAP. IT'S A TRAP!"

Her arms extend to catch him, but he fades at her touch. She turns frantic, looking around the room but in her heart, she knows she lost the connection.

"Mike! Mike! Mike, where are you? Mike! Mike! Mike!"

She spins in circles, though all sense often direction is lost. Hopper has disappeared as well and she is now all alone. It's eerily quiet apart from the sound of her drumming heart. Though she quickly realizes this is not the case.

THUMP

THUMP

THUMP

Jane is ripped from the void and she finds herself back in the bedroom. The sounds of the steel door being thrown open echo throughout the warehouse and she flies to the window. Troops swarm the lower flower and she gasps silently when she feels a hand upon her shoulder.

"Let's go." Kali whispers lowered tongue floor.

Jane complies, immediately followed her lead and she sinks to the ground. Her hand clasped tightly in Kali's they dart across the landing and up the stairs to the others, unfortunately, giving themselves away. Klai hears their orders and knows they are after them.

"The hell's going on?" Axel asks.

"They found us!"

"Jesus Christ!"

Axel whips out his gun, but Kali reaches for it.

"No, no, no!" She orders, gesturing for everyone to freeze.

She silences them, ordering them to pack in and freeze, they all comply without question.

The guards round the corner, and begin sweeping the area. They all tense, but they watch holding their breath as the guards begin to scan the area. They do see them. Kali is hiding them. They watch, frozen as statues their hearts pumping as the officers snake right by them. Jane and Axel have to silently step out of their path but the illusion remains and no one moves a muscle. All the officers see in an abandoned room.

When they pass, Kali gives the okay and they run noiselessly for the exit. They have to take the back entrance, and Kali manages to keep the illusion up as they flee. It finally gives when they escape the building through the side but they are quickly spotted.

"We gotta go, now!"

"HEY! HEY!"

"Jane, come on!" Mick senses her lagging and grabs her hand pulling her through.

Axelnis last to approach the van but he turns and begins firing over his shoulder.

"Come on, hurry!"

Jane is pulled to safety behind the van, and the others dive for cover. They each manage to squeeze behind the van, sharp pings echo out in the night as the bullets hit the side.

Axel manages to get a few shots in from the corner, and Funshine uses himself to shield Dottie and Jane as glass rains down.

"Do something, Kal! Do something!"

But she is already at work. Her mind reaches out to find each of the officers and it begins to paint a picture. Enormous beams of steel erupt from the ground and rise to the stars, higher than any skyscraper, completing separating them from the men. Convincing them of that at least. The shots cease as they stare on shock and awe, iron and steel walls rising up from nothing and they are unable to do anything but stare.

Funshine opens the van door, ensuring everyone makes it okay and they do. Kali is the last to enter, her illusion to still holding. She turns to find Jane lingering by the door, but she cannot enter.

"Jane, get in."

Something is stopping her.

"It's a damn graveyard."

"Mike!"

"IT'S A TRAP! IT'S A TRAP!"

She shakes her head no.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I have to go back." She says, bringing tears to Kali's eyes.

"My friends... My friends are in danger."

"This isn't time for a talk. We have to go right now!" Axel orders, cutting in.

And like that the illusion was broken, the wall disappears. But Kali does not care, refusing to give up one person who understood her.

"Your mother sent you here for a reason, remember? We belong together. There's nothing for you back there. They cannot save you, Jane."

She merely shakes her head. This was not who she was.

"No,"

《•••》

El marches forward, her eyes fixed on the bullies ahead of her, where they tortured her friends. Nearly killed Mike, if she hadn't returned.

《•••》

"But I can save them."

She turns and flees down the ally, wiping away the tears that fall as her sister's call is drowned out in the returning fire.

"Jane? Jane. Jane! JANE!"

The illusion breaks and the van pulls out, the door sliding shut. The world around to her fades and the voices and presence of her friends are drowned out in her grief.

With trembling hand, Kali swipes away the drop of blood streaming from her nose and turns away. She looks out the window before anyone can see her cry. Her world breaks in two, and once again the piece of her that made her whole, is lost to her once again. Her lost sister. All she sees is the passing lights as the van weaves through the streets and her tearstained reflection in the rain spotted window, just as Jane does.

Jane now found herself on a bus once more, her head hung glumly against the glass as she dwells. A soft and friendly voice calls out to her from across the aisle, and she turns.

"You all right, sweetie?"

She finds an older woman in the seat, she wears a friendly smile as reaches a hand out to adjoining seat.

"You were looking a little forlorn there. You mind if I join you?"

She doesn't say anything but silently gestures to the open seat next to her. The woman rises and joins with a soft hum.

"You are awfully young to be traveling alone, aren't you?" She asks worriedly.

She merely looks away, knowing better not to answer questions.

The lady hums a laugh and shakes her head.

"Well, you are quite the chatterbox."

The woman continues to attempt idle chatter, hoping to gift comfort to the troubled girl.

"So where you headed?" She quirks a brow, speaks soothingly. "To your parents, I hope."

Finally, she meets her eyes.

"To my friends."

She looks ahead of her, for once in a very long while she feels a swell of hope and that familiar feeling of warmth in her chest. The warmth she has longed for all her life, and only now does she realize she had it. With her policeman. With her friends. The one place she could truly be herself, not Eleven. Not even Jane, but El.

"I'm going home."

The warmth spreads through her chest, it's set ablaze in her and it spreads throughout herself. It stretches to her fingertips, to the tips of her toes and it even sparks a warm smile that curls her lips.

And El had never been more eager to return.

||Reader's POV||

It took hours but I finally reach Mirkwood. And although my eyes have adjusted well to the night, my eyes squint to find my bike. I curse my past self for hiding it so well when my heart bursts in my chest as my foot hooks and I fall to the ground. Groaning, I turn over, untangling my foot from what I assume is root when I realize it's my bike.

I forgot I had buried in under leaves and it must have been buried further in the wind. With a grimace, I look to my hands, mud and hook cling to my palms and I quickly dust them off before rising to my feet and lifting the poor slightly rusted thing.

It gives a terrible creak but I shift the handles and it loosens up. I swipe the seat with my sleeve, discarding the excess dirt from the leather but when my eyes return to the road I realize I do not see it.

Shit.

I wandered too far and once again I curse myself for my bike's hiding spot. Shaking my head, a great sigh escaping me my eyes sweep the area. I see a dip in the hill farther along the path that eagerly I inspect. I'm met with an eerily familiar scene, and only then do I get a sense of where I am on Mirkwood. The train tracks, we passed by here last year during our search for the gate. But something is different, it's an odd sight that I do not expect to see.

My head turns, I squint down the long stretch of tracks going either way and I notice that every seven feet or so, is a pile of meat? At the very least, I know I'm heading farther southwest. I mount my bike in the ditch beside the tracks and curiously I follow knowing eventually it will lead me out of the forest and I can ride from there.

I feel great relief in my feet when I sit, but I still have to push through the terrain as I ride. Though it does not worry me, my speed picks up considerably and I am already traveling at a much greater speed. Before long, I find myself out of the woods and into a further clearing. I stop, shifting my weight to one leg as I keep myself still as I study my surroundings.

There's a great deal of fog, but eventually, I find a revealing factor about my surroundings. The hill descends and there are several dark masses along the hill poking put from the white clouds but I finally recognize where I stand. The junkyard.

I'm about to head off when I notice two figured perched on top of a familiar-looking bus. I have to squint, but sure enough, my eyes siren when I recognize a full head of bright red hair and the bandana clad mini afro.

Max and Lucas! What the hell are they doing here? And more importantly, what was that distant growl?

Before I can piece together what is going on, I realize my bike is edging down the hill. It has gained momentum by the time I regain control, but luckily I am able to turn to take cover behind an old car. Thinking fast, I jerk my handlebars to the side and lean my weight on my right and just as I had hoped my bike skids to slow on its side. Out of sight. I'm thankful I have learned from last year when I was cornered by the vans but I know I am not out of the clear yet.

My landing definitely wasn't silent, but at least I was able to muffle the sounds. I realize it doesn't matter seeing as a bunch of fog was swept away during my crash. I freeze, my ears perked for any sign of movement and I feel my blood run cold and I flinch when Lucas's fearful cries echo across the yard.

"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!"

My first thought is he saw me, but the thought quickly disappears when I hear another growl nearby.

Against my better judgment, but anxious to know if I'm anywhere near the threat, I slip out from under my bike and cautiously peek from behind the tire.

I gape as I see several dog-like figures stalking towards the very same bus we hid in, and equally as shocking I spot a figure climb out of the bus who I recognized as... Steve Harrington? He was swinging a spiked bat and he began whistling for, what again, I assumed was a beastly rabid dog. Thought deep down, some part of me knows that is not what these things are.

Without a thought, I returned to my hiding position, my breathing sporadic but I have no choice but to stay still. I freeze as I hear footsteps approach though somehow they don't sound human. They come in fours and I assume it's the dogs that are approaching.

I steady my breathing, praying that it doesn't hear me though that's even if it doesn't smell me first. But the last thing I expect comes into view.

That's impossible. It can't be.

I could swear up and down that before me was a Demogorgan.

It's on all fours and I do not know how it hasn't seen me yet. As if my luck hasn't pushed itself yet, it freezes at the sound of Steve's voice.

"Come on, buddy. Human tastes better than cat, I promise."

Wait, what?

The demogorgan turns and begins stalking back towards Steve and my eyes closed as a silent sigh rolls off my chest. Nevertheless, I know I have to help. Testing my luck once more, I peer around the corner to find several of these beast surrounding him, and that's when I hear Lucas's frightened cries.

"Steve, watch out!"

"A little busy here!" Steve snaps.

"Three o'clock! Three o'clock!"

I watch in shock as Steve drives across one of the roofs of the cars, just narrowly avoiding getting hit. He turns, and for a moment I think I might have been spotted and I panic. I try and understand why in the hell I'm hiding when I should be helping them. The answers all too clear when I find myself spiraling.

What if I can't handle it? I'm not fully prepared to take on a bunch of demogorgans yet, and what if I choke and endanger myself and others by trying to help.

No. I shake my head, scolding myself for wasting time. I was certainly not dealing with this now, and I'm already in. I have to help.

It's mostly the frightened screams that rip me from my daze and I realize that the voice on hearing is my Dustin's!

"Steve! Abort! Abort!"

"Steve run!"

"Steve hurry!"

Getting into position, I ready myself to attack. I have the advantage, that I know for sure when I see them target the bus. Steve has made it inside, but they are still fighting to get in.

That's when my heard stops.

I spot one that seems to be peering down into the roof hatch and a shrill scream echoes out from the bus and pierces the air.

Fuck, here goes nothing.

I jump to my feet before I can allow myself the time to talk myself out of it, and I sprinted for the bus. A surprisingly vigorous cry erupts from my throat and my arms are thrown up into the air. Once again, I embrace the anger and I find it is quicker to summon. The scream is enough to grab the beast's attention, buying me time and I explode. The familiar hot burst of energy explodes from my palm and the beast is sent flying, it's screech is horribly familiar but there is no time dwell.

I pant heavily as I watch it disappear out of view and I look around. Several creatures are advancing on me and quickly, I scale a nearby car gaining ground. They come for me, but I'm too quick. Everything moves in a blur, pun unintended I suppose as I deflect their attacks. They are blown back with my burst of energy and I gape as I witness my own abilities. My knees give out and I tumble on the grass, and they begin to circle.

"Y/n?"

But I definitely hear shouts come from the bus as I fight but I barely register them as the demogorgons begin to surround me.

"Stay back!" I shriek, hitting them with another blast. "Stay the hell back!"

"What the hell is going on?"

I don't last as long as I hope, and using all using strength I attempt to stay awake when I hear and a loud thump behind me and I glance back to see the bus moving with heavy footsteps.

Not allowing another second of my attention wasted, I look back to the creatures to find them staring off in the distance. I tense, ready to strike at any moment when suddenly they begin to circle me, staring me down. I meet their eyeless gaze and I turn with them assuring my back is never exposed. But much to my surprise, they dart after the bus.

I panic, my arms reaching out to hit them with another blast as I follow but I come to stop when I see them each simultaneously part around the bus. Moments pass and not a single strikes, they merely flee the junkyard and disappear into the night.

I frown after them despite the relief and I allow my legs to give out. My ones hit the dirt and I wince, mostly from my empty lungs and there I sit, fighting the dizzy spell I'm suddenly under until I hear several footsteps approach.

"Y/n! Oh, my God, what the shit!" Dustin cries.

I look up and spot him running towards me and I jump back when he slides onto the grass, and nearly knocking me over.

A million things cross my mind, and for a moment I do not know what to say. All I can do is pant for breath, and with a weak chuckle, I grin halfheartedly.

"You're... welcome."

+++

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[danganronpa-21]

Happy birthday to Makoto and koichi!!!

Happy Birthday to the boys!! Sorry that this is so darn late, Wednesdays are my long days at school. Plus, one of my poor pups had ear surgery today! He’s doing okay, but he’s very drugged up and sleepy. Therefore, he needs a lot of attention. Got the cone of shame and everything.

But yeah, BIRTHDAY! Seiko made them t-shirts and everything. Let’s do some birthday headcanons, shall we?

Makoto’s Birthday — 2020:

February 5th, 2020 brings a seemingly typical day for Makoto at first. As it’s a Wednesday, he’s still expected to drag his butt into work. He doesn’t even get to sleep in! Kyoko claims that they can pretend to be late because of “morning sickness”, but he doesn’t think anyone will believe it. She’s in her seventh month of pregnancy with their first, and fully intends to go to work with him. She’s much too stubborn to take maternity leave until she has to. At the very least she talks him into skipping a breakfast at home, as he’d have to be the one to cook it anyway. He later discovers that by the time he gets there, Aoi’s already baked some muffins for him and dropped off a cup of coffee — just the way he likes it! If that weren’t enough, some of his students left him gifts. One of his favourites is a small succulent in a hand-painted pot, which he cheerfully places by his window.

He assumes that maybe this is going to be the extent of his special day, but he’s wrong. When he goes to do his paperwork, he discovers that almost all of it has been done already. His meetings have been cut in half, and all because his friends took over some of his work! He’s overwhelmed with love, and makes sure to shoot them some thank you messages. He then does the rest of the work that’s left over, which holds him for just enough until Kyoko comes bursting into his office. She’s planned a picnic for his lunch. They eat together in the school’s gardens, chatting and cuddling. Kyoko can’t help but tell her husband how grateful she is for him, and how excited she is to be carrying his child. Makoto can’t help but laugh and tell her how lucky he feels to be the subject of her love.

The rest of his school day is spent in meetings and popping in and out of classrooms to chat with the students. When work ends, his friends drag him out for dinner, and then to the karaoke bar. They spend the night drinking, singing, and laughing until the late hours of the morning. Makoto, Yasuhiro, and Byakuya are mid-way through a trio song of “Hakujitsu” when they realize they should probably head out... as Kyoko and Toko had started to nap in the corner. To settle things down a bit, they pop into Aoi’s café — where they have a sweet birthday cake waiting for Makoto. He gets a cheerful singing of happy birthday, and all kinds of love and hugs from the people around him. They even prepared in advance and brought their gifts for him to the café!

Byakuya just straight up gifts him cash. He insists that he doesn’t know what to buy someone so painfully average, but everyone knows it’s because Makoto nearly had a heart attack at last year’s birthday gift. He really wasn’t expecting to get a car for his twenty-fifth, so for his twenty-sixth... Byakuya plays it safe. Toko and Komaru choose to collaborate on an adventure manga for him, in which he is depicted as a valiant hero saving people from despair (and inevitably winning the heart of his pretty detective boss in the process). Aoi puts together a collection of CDs for him, with every song he’s ever sung along to on it. It’s really hard not to cry when they put it on and hear Sayaka’s voice playing through the speakers. Yasuhiro opts to gift him a couple of free fortune tellings, before also passing along a brand new hoodie. Hiro says that he figures if he knew one thing, it was that Makoto loves comfortable clothing. So he thought it would be fun to pass along something he knew Makoto would use. As for Kyoko, well, she goes super romantic on her gift. It’s a huge notebook, filled to the brim with photographs and journal entries of all of the adventures they ever had together. She’s even notably added passages from her personal journals, in which she first begins to cite her feelings for him. At the end of the book, he finds the words “... and I can’t wait to have even more adventures with you”. 

Below this, is the ultrasound photo of their daughter.

Koichi’s Birthday - 2037:

Koichi has never really been someone who likes too much birthday attention. Most of the time he’s content to spend it with his family. Growing up, he’d usually take the day off school. Kyoko would take the day off work, and they’d go around doing whatever he wanted to do until the rest of the family got back from work and school. 

This year, he chooses to go to school. Not because he really wants to, but because he has friends who are desperate to see him for his birthday! So his dad wakes up that morning for school as always, with the two of them wishing each other a mutual happy birthday. He gets to eat a happy breakfast with his family, who is sure to shower him with love and affection. It seems like none of them can stop talking about how old he’s getting! Even Seiko’s going on about it, as if she’s not getting older herself. 

When Koichi comes to school, his friends are sure to greet him with as much as they can manage. Tamiko, Natsumi, and Phoenix have decked out his desk in balloons and confetti. They’ve each placed a little wrapped gift for him on his desk, and Tamiko even went ahead and made him a birthday cupcake. The three of them (embarrassingly) sing a rendition of happy birthday in front of everyone, and the whole time, Phoenix is happily snapping pictures. 

Unfortunately, he does have to spend much of his day in class because it’s still a school day, but at least his friends make it fun. For lunch, they decide to sneak out and go to a local restaurant. Being a technical yakuza heiress, Natsumi covers all of lunch and tells everyone to order whatever they want. Naturally, the group stuffs themselves full of tasty food before returning back to school. They slip back in mostly undetected... well, if being noticed by Aoi but not chided is considered “mostly undetected”. 

After school ends, Koichi goes to meet his parents as always. He’s surprised to discover that his father has gone out to pick up their birthday cakes, and that he intends to meet them at a surprise location... Which his mother is taking them to. After picking up Seiko from school, Kyoko takes all of her kids to the local arcade. They’re told that they can play as many games as they want for [retty much as long as they want. The kids all decide to team up in an attempt to win a huge purple teddy bear, just for the fun of it. Seiko kicks everyone’s butts at whack-a-mole (including Makoto’s, when he shows up), Hope absolutely destroys at Dance Dance Revolution, Kyoko shoots a decent amount of hoops, Makoto is able to stop on just the right spot at the prize wheel multiple times, and Koichi has nothing but victory at the ski ball machine. They manage more tickets than they ever thought possible, and of course managed to nab the teddy bear. They decide it should be kept in Seiko’s room, given that she’s the kind of person who could probably find space for something like that.

When they return home, Hope and Seiko challenge their brother to play a quick game of basketball outside while Makoto prepares dinner. Being the most athletic of the three, naturally, Koichi beats his sisters into the ground. But they get a lot of good laughs out of it, and they end off the match with Hope having slung Koichi over her shoulder and walking him back into the house for dinner. Dinner is Oyakodon, paired alongside some homemade gyoza. Despite having had a big lunch, Koichi eats something like three helpings, which his family teases him about. “The older he gets, the more he eats! He’s gearing up for that big growth spurt!”

For dessert, they of course, have two birthday cakes. One of them is Makoto’s, and the other Koichi’s, and each of the boys gets their own rendition of happy birthday. Makoto’s birthday cake is a vanilla-flavoured cake, whereas Koichi’s is a strawberry ice cream cake. They take turns pretending to blow at each other’s candles, just to mess around. It makes for some great pictures. Everyone tries to have small slices of each cake, so they can enjoy it. The only people who get big pieces are of course, the birthday boys. And when cake is done, they follow it with presents. Being the younger one of the two, Koichi gets to go first.

From his parents, he gets a new video game. One that he’d been saving his allowance for for a long time, I might add. He’s ecstatic! He’s sure to thank his parents several times, especially considering that they’d complained about how pricey it was. Seiko’s birthday gift to him comes with a card she made herself, decorated with as many happy penguins as she could fit onto the page. They’re his absolute favourite animal, after all! The gift she ends up giving him is a set of different tea flavours for him to try -- most of them being far off from the kinds you can find in stores. She also throws in a little plushie penguin that Kyoko and Hope helped her sew. Truthfully, it’s not really pretty, but Koichi loves it. He promises to treasure it, before tearing into Hope’s gift. She’s managed to get him a brand new stack of novels, ones from authors she knows he admires. She confesses that she sort of raided his room to figure out which authors were his favourite. 

They watch Makoto open his gifts next. He receives about what you’d expect for a man his age. Hope gifts him a whole bunch of new yarn to knit with, as well as some of his favourite candy. Seiko gives him a clay sunflower she made at school in her art class, as sunflowers are his favourite flower. Koichi gifts him a set of headphones that have become popular in the past year or so, figuring he will make use of them while he’s working or trying to sleep. Kyoko gives her husband her gift in the form of kisses... as well as multiple picture frames that contain photos of their family. Notably, even the older pictures of his parents that she found are added. 

All in all, the boys have a great day.

[angel-deux-writes]

I’ve talked a lot about this long fic I’m working on this month, and I finally got started yesterday and have already churned out a pretty decent amount! I’m like 6 chapters deep, and I wanted to share the first one, both because I kind of like it and because I want to post something this weekend. 

I have no idea what this is going to end up being called. Currently in my draft it’s The Return of the Wolf, but that’s going to change. It’ll be Jaime/Brienne, Robb/Dany, and Jon/Sansa when it’s done! With probably a bit of Arya/Gendry as well! 

Hopefully putting it under the cut here...

Jaime I

 She is still in here somewhere.

Jaime refuses to run, knowing that it would draw the more obsequious of his men to him like large metal moths, looking for a chance to win the favor of their one-handed commander. He keeps his expression level, and he walks as quickly as he dares past his men and through the underbelly of Riverrun. There are shouts from deeper in the tunnel, and he follows them. The clash of swords. His stomach tightens. So much for a peaceful surrender. He runs anyway.

She is still in here somewhere, and he must make sure that she gets safely away. She cannot linger here once the Lannister forces have taken the castle, and he knows that she will linger if Tully gives some fool, impassioned speech about honor and duty, because the stubborn woman is too honorable by half, and she will be moved by the old man’s courage, and she will be killed by the old man’s courage.

He cannot allow it.

He scarcely knows why. He warned her. He all but begged her, but of course she didn’t listen. She never has. Even when they grew something of a respect for each other, she was always so sure she knew better than him. Well, this is what happens. She gets herself caught in a siege she should be far away from, and here he is, trying to clean up the mess.

The mess. The Lannisters are the mess. The Lannisters and the Freys, stealing the ancestral home of the Tullys from Brynden Blackfish, who has long been a hero of Jaime’s. How did it come to this? How did he let it come to this? He thought he could be better, once. Why did he stop trying?

He increases his pace as he ducks his head past a wooden beam and finds himself in a rocky tunnel. There is a dead man at his feet. Lannister armor. Another up ahead.  Jaime trips past them, his golden hand loud and cumbersome along the rock wall as he places it there for balance, stumbling as the shadows mess with his perception. Ah. Another dead man, just ahead. He wonders which of them killed him. Not that it matters. He’s seen Brienne take down three men before. She hardly broke a sweat.

He rounds a corner, and at last he sees her. She looks bigger than ever. Her frame takes up most of the tunnel the same way it took up most of his pavilion and left it feeling empty when she was gone. She’s speaking urgently to the Blackfish. Tugging on his arm. The fool woman is trying to get him to abandon the castle. Jaime sighs, and Brienne and the Blackfish both look in his direction. Mostly impassive, both of them, but he can see that one is surprised. Heartbroken to see his left hand near his sword.

He hadn’t actually intended to draw it, but Brienne steps before the Blackfish and pulls her own. Oathkeeper, he thinks. Yes, and she means to keep my oaths for me, if I’m too much a Lannister to keep them myself. Even if it means running a sword through my gut.

“What are you doing?” he asks her.

“Ser Jaime, please,” she says, and she sets her stance wider.

“I will not surrender,” the Blackfish says, behind her.

“I was speaking to the lady,” Jaime replies, trying for sarcastic, trying to pretend that the daggers the Blackfish glares in his direction aren’t piercing. There is sweat on his brow; it trickles down his temple. He dares not wipe it away. “Lady Brienne, I cannot allow you to take him.”

“And I cannot allow you to stop me,” Brienne replies. “I told you it might come to this.”

Jaime continues to move closer. He still doesn’t draw his sword. Could he draw against Brienne? He hardly knows. Perhaps, if it came to it. He’d like to at least die with sword in hand, if only to spare the poor girl the trauma of striking down an unarmed man she once may have thought of fondly, despite all his many faults.

“And I told you that I hoped it wouldn’t,” he says softly. Brienne’s sword does not waver, but her expression does. He meets her eyes.

“It doesn’t have to,” she says.

“My lady,” the Blackfish warns her gently, still close behind her. “We must go.”

“Uncle.”

Jaime’s eyes leave Brienne’s for long enough to see the figure that appears in the tunnel behind her. It’s impossible, yet Jaime would know the boy anywhere. He spent a year chained in his camp, visited periodically by the King in the North, with his great grey beast beside him. Jaime did his best to comfort Brienne when they received word on the road that the idiot boy had died with his mother and wife at that cursed wedding, but he hadn’t exactly mourned the loss himself. He heard tales from the Freys. Bragging, endless tales about cutting the boy’s head from his body and sewing his wolf’s on in its stead. Something that made Tywin laugh and made Cersei smile and made Tyrion wince and made Jaime try to think of nicer things so he didn’t have to imagine it.

“No,” he says, forgetting to be calm or wry or amused or whatever it was he was trying to go for here. “Brienne…”

He can hear the songs now. The Return of the Wolf. The Young Wolf Rises. Triumphant stories of the boy who never lost a battle but who lost the war for love, born again to take revenge. Sentiment has already turned against the Lannisters. Cersei may not want to hear it, but their son holds to his throne only through what remains of the realm’s fear of their father. When the smallfolk hear that Robb Stark has risen again…

“Get in the boat,” Brienne says over her shoulder. “I’ll keep him.”

“We cannot wait forever,” Robb warns her. Jaime can’t stop looking at him, hoping to see an illusion. A trick. This is some Tully cousin they hope to use as a decoy. Some trick to win favor in the war the Starks are fighting against the Boltons.

No. Stark turns his poisonous glare in Jaime’s direction, and it’s him. He is so much his mother and father at once. Jaime has felt the force of that glare many times in his life, but it is perhaps more potent now, with Brienne standing between them.

“It won’t take long,” Brienne says, and both men vanish into the darkness behind her. Jaime had begun to advance again, but he stops when she speaks the words. He wants to feel betrayed. He wants to say Brienne in a hurt, small voice, like a much younger man. A child asking for answers the Septon can’t give. Why?

“I must warn you I’ve been practicing,” he says instead. Brienne’s eyes close for an instant, but then they open again, made glimmering and orange by the torchlight. It used to strike him as funny that she could be so much a maiden in the body she had been given. A soft heart beneath muscles and a massive height. Some cruelty of the gods made her fall in love with poor, dead Renly, and they made her too much man for most but not man enough to secure the heart of the one she wanted. He doesn’t think it’s funny anymore.

“As have I,” she says. Her maiden’s heart is breaking. Jaime steps closer. His left hand still holds the sword, but he doesn’t draw it. She meets his eyes, and her chin raises as she looks at him.

“You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” he asks. He can hear the Blackfish barking orders at someone down at the water’s edge, and he suddenly wants her on it. Away from him. Away from his family. Take the bloody Stark boy and go, he wants to shout, but he doesn’t. His voice is very quiet. He doesn’t know he can shout, now. He is oddly breathless, oddly removed. “For the Starks, you would strike me down. Kill me as you killed Renly.”

“I didn’t kill Renly,” Brienne says. She tilts her head slightly. “Stannis did that. And I killed Stannis.”

A boast from anyone else. From her, it’s a warning. A reminder that he struggled to fight her even when he had two hands—the irons and the year of captivity were bad, but they weren’t a maimed sword hand. If he tried to fight her now, she’d cut through him like wet sand. The best he could hope for would be delaying the inevitable until his men could come to his aid, but then he would have to take her in, and Cersei would…

No. He shoves Widows Wail back into place, and he takes a demonstrative step back.

“You would have done it,” he says. Brienne slides Oathkeeper back into place with a look that’s warning. Almost afraid.

“Yes,” she says.

“Good,” he replies. “Now go. Before my men realize you’ve taken the most valuable political prisoner we had and one we didn’t even know existed.”

There is still a glimmer in Brienne’s eyes as she nods and turns to go, but he also catches the slight edge of a smile. The slight upturn of her lips. She thinks he has done a good and honorable thing, of course. She always thinks the best of him. He wishes she wouldn’t. It would be so much safer for her if she realized how wretched he has become.

He follows her at a distance. Brienne settles into the boat. Her squire is there, he sees. At least she listened to him about that. The Blackfish and Robb Stark are there too. If Cersei knew what Jaime let slip away…

He raises his golden hand when Brienne turns back to look, when they have already begun to melt away into the fog. Brienne hesitates, but then she raises her hand as well. He stands and watches until they’re gone.

Next time, he won’t be so lucky. Cersei is always calling him a fool, and perhaps she’s right. He was a fool to think he could simply meet Brienne of Tarth as friends. The honorable woman and her absurd fondness for the oathbreaker. As long as he continues to stand against the family she swore herself to, she will continue to stand against him.

It would have destroyed her to kill him. But she would have done it, and he would have deserved it. Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt honorable to do it, but she would have been. The Kingslayer slayed at last by a woman as virtuous as she is ugly. The songs would last for a thousand years, and the singers would never know how either of them truly felt for each other.

He returns to his men. He says nothing of Brienne, nor of the Blackfish. He accepts the news of Tully’s escape with an incline of his head and some wry comment about Tully being a sly old man.

In the morning, they will begin the return trip towards Kings Landing. Towards Cersei. And he will pretend that he is as eager to get back to her as he was only hours ago.

[loki-godofmischief-myking]

Love Is For The Foolish (5)

Loki x Asgardian!Reader

<== Previous | Next ==>

Chapter 5: True Intentions

“Do it again, this time do not close your eyes.”

Loki watched you with hawk-like precision as you got ready to once again try and alter your shadow at will. It was absolutely breathtaking to discover the capabilities of dark magic in a controlled setting. 

“It’s the only way I can concentrate Loki!” You grew irritated with his constant reprimands. 

As a person Loki was dark and calculative, as a prince he was intelligent and sophisticated, and as a lover he was supportive, affectionate and passionate. As a teacher, you could hardly stand his critical and unforgiving demeanor. He truly strayed from the bias of lovers to teach you properly. 

But perhaps his standards were too high. 

Loki walked up to you, brow furrowed from his own irritation with your inability to do as he says. “Within a year I was already able to shapeshift and teleport with ease.” Shadow shifting was your equivalent; he expected you to have mastered the act by now.

“It is a proven fact that children retain information and learn new skills much better. You can not expect me to learn at the same pace you did.”

“But I do,” Loki looked down at your hand. It was laid flat against the roundness of your chest atop the crystal. “Eventually I expect you not to rely on physical contact with the crystal.”

Up until now you always held it in your hand, closed your eyes, and concentrated on what he or Queen Frigga instructed. Honestly, you preferred the Queen’s style of mentor to his. She was kind and reassuring, her words encouraged you to develop your skill at your own pace. If you could just do a little better every day then it was surely a success. 

Loki’s standards were indeed high. He expected you to excel like he had so you may become just as powerful. “Tell me, would you ever close your eyes while sewing?”

“Never!” Your eyes widened in horror at the thought. “The stitching would stray from its intended path.”

“This requires the same amount of concentration, the same amount of attention to detail you use as a seamstress.”

You exhaled loudly releasing the build-up of irate stress. “I may have found new respect for Loki,” you hid your face in the palms of your hands muttering the rest of your statement, “and also hate for your Highness even more.”

Loki witnessed your shadow nearly double in size when you released your tensions. It, along with your comment, finally evoked a smile from him effectively breaking his role as your mentor.

“Perhaps I have been too harsh on you lately my lovely enchantress.” He held both your hands in his as he stared into your eyes. “I only wish to prepare you for the future.”

“What am I realizing in this future you envision for me?” you asked incredulously. His statement made it seem as if he had all but planned your future out for you. Or perhaps this had something to do with the pending favor you owed him.

Neither of you had talked about the subject. It seemed like ages had gone by since you and Loki first began your journey of discovery into the black hematite. A part of you wondered if he had forgotten about the deal or if he had simply written it off due to the new circumstances you found yourselves in.

Loki brought your hands up to kiss the back of both. “Nothing less than Queen suits you, MY Queen to be exact.”

“I advise you to look elsewhere for a Queen if I am required to be as versed as the Allmother.”

Loki chuckled, “You are not required to be anything other than yourself.”

You retreated from him feeling the full effect of his honeyed words. “I doubt anyone would believe me to be a Queen.”

While you were beyond flattered you knew there were countless errors in his romantic statement. Aside from Queen Frigga, Thor, and Sigyn, your courtship with Loki was met with skepticism. Women would openly flirt and make their advances. His reputation made him seem like someone incapable of formal courting.

But his courting of you was very formal. Loki seemed almost a new man now that he devoted himself to you. Others would not be entertained no matter how hard they tried, and they did. 

“Then we shall show them.”

“How shall we do that?”

King Odin himself did not respect your relationship with his son. You did not know what he had against you or Loki but when it came to his sons he always seemed to favor Thor. "The Allfather would never make you King, much less allow me to become Queen. He only has eyes for Thor.”

Loki chuckled, “Finally there is someone who understands.” All his life Loki had been preaching the same words to his mother yet she would dismiss the thought. “You are truly the only one worthy to stand as my equal,” Loki assured.

From the beginning, he knew there was something different about you. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere Loki.”

“I disagree,” he pulled you in so your back was to his chest. “It has proven quite successful in acquiring me with what I most desire.” His lips landed on your shoulder, laid bare by your off-shoulder gown. He held your silky soft hair in his hand moving it away so his lips may travel down the small portion of your back that was exposed. 

You let your head fall back onto him with eyes closed, enjoying the small moment of intimacy after being reprimanded all evening long. 

It didn’t last long.

Your eyes shot open when you heard a deep disapproving grunt. “My King,” you curtseyed after Loki released you from his embrace.

King Odin stood at the entrance of the practice room hands behind his back. His one eye narrowed at the scene before him. “Is this how you intend to master your dark seidr Lady Y/N?”

Odin was still wary of your dark magic. The relationship between you two also caused concern. He kept a close watch of you and Loki thinking his son had only chosen to court you because of your dormant power. 

You stopped Loki from stepping in by brushing your fingers against his in a silent plea. The last thing you wanted was another argument between him and the King. “I apologize and will take my lessons more seriously from now on.”

Odin nodded, admiring your resilence. At least he could rely on your calm demeanor. Loki, on the other hand, was far more difficult to reign. “You may leave us.”

“Yes, my King.” Your eyes adverted to Loki for a moment letting him know you would be waiting in his rooms.

The vast empty room echoed in silence as neither spoke.

Loki mimicked his father’s posture and held his arms behind his back. His green eyes staring straight into his one good eye. 

“What are your true intentions with her?” Odin finally decided to voice the question he had been mulling over since he was aware of Loki’s courtship. “You who have only fooled around until now?”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I wasn’t yet ready to settle when you tried to stifle me with Lady Sigyn?” He had no ill will against her. On the contrary thanks to her, he was able to find you who had hidden amongst the crowds for years. “Now that I have found someone I love-”

“Do you truly love her?” It wasn’t like Odin to question sentiments. “I find it convenient that you have chosen to court her after finding out her father was a powerful Vanir. Your mother says you know all about her past, of the darkness that she harbors.”

Loki remained silent.

“You’ve invested a large amount of time in developing her skills. For what purpose I ask?”

“Do you believe my actions go beyond wanting to see my significant other succeed in reconnecting with a vital part of her identity?”

“I would not be your father if I didn’t.” Odin knew his son better than he knew himself. “Loki, god of mischief.”

Loki snapped and yelled, “What do you think is my purpose!?” For once he was living peacefully yet his father believed him to be planning something. “You will remain unsatisfied no matter what I do. I love her and have done nothing wrong by her.”

“Yes well... we shall see how long this lasts.” Odin turned to leave but was halted by Loki’s refute.

“Is it so hard for you to accept that I have changed? Or are you worried I might marry before your precious Thor?” 

Although he stopped Odin did not turn to face Loki. Even when his son was accusing him of favoritism. It would certainly alter tradition but not his decision of making Thor King. “We shall see Loki.”

\\\

A pair of sky blue orbs stared into the mirror ahead meticulously observing every fine line and detail of the gown upon her body. “Do you think you could take it in some more along the waist?”

Your brow rose in question, “Lady Silva, if I take it in anymore the seams will burst.” The pins were already hanging on for dear life where she insisted you sew in. You owed it to the beautiful fabric to make her see to reason. The woman wanted a smaller waist but you could only do so much with the bodice she had chosen.

“This is why I insisted on a corset top.”

Leaving her to stand motionless in the middle of your shop while you went to rummage through the other room was standard procedure. Fittings were your least favorite part but very necessary. When you came back with the corset bodice you found Lady Silva in the company of your dark prince.

She twirled to give him a good look at her. It was clear by the twinkle of her eyes that her motions were salacious. “What do you think Prince Loki?”

Loki stood back admiring the view. His eyes only momentarily strayed from the woman on display to the woman in black behind her. “Stunning, beautiful...”

Lady Silva blushed at the compliment.

“Beauty radiates beauty doesn’t it?” He stepped closer circling her before standing next to you. “You truly are the best seamstress in all of Asgard,” Loki concluded making Lady Silva realize he had complimented the gown not her.

He indulged you with her flustered expression. You toyed with her by playing along with your cunning prince. “I believe Lady Silva was expecting a compliment of her own, your Highness.”

“Was it not your philosophy that men will chase anything in a pretty skirt?” He eyed the skirt of your own dress, particularly fond of the slit in the skirt that ran up the side. “As long as there is enough visual stimulation...”

Lady Silva was absolutely livid at this point but she could do nothing. For if she vexed you, she would be forced to get her gowns elsewhere.

You proceeded to finish knowing you had won.

Loki only emerged once again after hearing the door being locked. “That was fun wasn’t it?”

“Humiliating a she-wolf?” You asked and answered your own question. “Always.”

He picked you up and set you atop the modeling platform Lady Silva had previously been occupying. He stood behind you, his hands roaming up and down your body.

“Is this all you came for?” you asked turning around to face him. His dark gaze was on your lips eager to claim them but when he tried you turned your head. His lips went to your cheek but he was not deterred, instead, he pecked your cheek then ran his tongue down the length of your neck.

“Can you blame me if I am hardly able to rest without seeing you?”

“You saw me earlier this morning,” you pointed out with a grin. “When we went on our eventful stroll through your mother’s garden.”

Loki smirked reminiscing how you two had managed in such a public area. “That was not nearly enough.” His lips ghosted the shell of your ear before he huskily whispered, “I wish to be with you all the time.”

“That is impossible.”

“Not if you were to live in the palace with me.”

You pulled back for a moment to get a good look of his face. His eyes were determined to assure you he was fully aware of what he had just proposed.

“Do not be so shocked, Love.” Loki placed his index finger beneath your chin to angle you in a favorable position for his lips to meet yours. “It is expected for my betrothed to reside in the palace where they can be properly guarded and tended to.”

“I do not recall being betrothed to you,” your left brow quirked up in defiance.

“Courting is a means to betrothal.” He inched closer allowing his words to be felt against your lips.

You couldn’t help but feel like a fool for allowing his words to breathe life to a new feeling. “There is still a part of me inquiring when your Highness will revert back to his old ways-”

Loki harshly bit your bottom lip insulted by your assumptions. He silenced your painful yelp by further claiming your lips. He kissed you with an intensity you had yet to experience. Pain and pleasure were never synonymous until that very moment when he licked your bruising lip.

“Do not question your prince.”

“I must when he is being foolish.” Who had heard of a prince living with the woman he is courting? Perhaps if she were a princess but even then the idea was unconventional.

“Would you deny me then?”

Loki had to prove to his father that he was serious. You two would last, you two would marry and be the greater option for taking over Asgard.

You sighed, looking around your shop. “What have you done to me,” you muttered- honestly wondering how you had gone from despising dishonest men to being courted by the god of lies himself. 

“I am only guilty of loving you, my beautiful enchantress.” 

“To the point where I can no longer deny you.”

-end-

A/N: Sorry for the long wait but I had to do some arranging with the story’s events. The next chapter will be a time skip to nearly where the first Thor movie takes place. 

Finally, the action will begin!

Tag List: @drakesfiance

[hunty-booboo]

The Bidding Arena

My breathing and pulse get a little as I make the main worn stone stride upwards. The angled stone way is miserable and dim yet at the head of the flight of stairs, there appears to be all the more light, anyway bluff. I can hear men rearranging in line behind me and the very recognizable chink and thump of weapons on shield give physical belief as far as anyone is concerned of approaching battle. A profound thundering sound streams down those stone strides toward us and the unenlightened would battle to put it however I know it. I realize it well and it is the baying insane person sound of the massed crowd and it mixes my juices. I revel in the surge of adrenaline it gives and the strain that thrives now in my body. No longer do I dread this fatal parade, no I have come to cherish it - to require it even.

A quieted note from a removed horn sounds and this works our watchman in advance. He turns and gestures to me before driving us up the steps, to the fold of the periphery to his calfskin tunic. These ragged and split, stone steps could demonstrate the veracity of practically unending agony, enduring and blood, consistently blood. They have been trodden by a large number of men before us and we are instructed that a great many men will tail us. It is, as it has consistently been and those of us who acknowledge this reality, endure, exist and even prosper however opportunity is the one genuine objective for us contracted warriors. That accomplishment accomplished by scarcely 1% of the 1% is amazing and in truth, is the thing that we as a whole long for and endeavor towards. It is the reason we work and practice in reiteration for unlimited an excessive amount of time. In a world brimming with slaves, opportunity is very nearly a legendary idea and past the acknowledgment or comprehension of by far most of our patient individuals.

We rise onto the foot of a wide sandy slope and a hundred feet above us at the head of this incline Loose Diamonds, daylight streams through a huge lumber and iron, curved portcullis door. The light projects precise shapes that puncture the shadows underneath it and I head up the slope, at the brilliant shafts of this inviting daylight, flexing my shoulders and my fingers. The gatekeeper holds back at the entryway thus do we as a whole.

"Get a wicked proceed onward!" He hollers at the moist stone roof, a few feet over our heads. A screeching like a little caught creature starts from some place over this huge entryway, bound with its huge iron plates and bolts. The extraordinary entryway shudders in the midst of additionally screaming and afterward it starts to move. Awkwardly it starts its excursion upwards, pulled by ropes as thick as a man's wrist by an obscure number of slaves in the chambers above us. When he could, the gatekeeper dodged under the rising door and moved to one side to the smashing thunder of the cheering group.

My heart is beating as I at last enter the field, my mouth as dry as a year-old fig, a typical and natural inclination and as I remain on the consecrated sand again. The immense clamor from the a huge number of roaring spectators nearly players my faculties and attacks my ears. I pompously stride ahead and my head comes up as I hear my name being recited from the standard quarters. 'WELSHMAN, WELSHMAN!" I raise my correct arm accordingly, my clench hand gripped and I thunder with a rehearsed viciousness. I step my shoulders back and start my procession. I swagger and present, estranging and mocking the devotees of my foes with obscene and offending motions, an exhibition that is constantly appreciated by my own developing gathering of uproarious supporters and benefactors, and for them I swagger and posture considerably more. A rowdy bun-battle breaks out between the two groups yet it passes on a quick demise, from the current cost of bread yet generally from the wine-prompted craving of its members.

Presently just because, I trouble to pivot and coolly review my enemies for the present human and open scene. A very shifted gathering of around twenty warriors has been collected and are spreading out around the field, playing out their own ceremonies and demonstrations of acknowledgment. There are new faces among them however it was ever in this way. Those be that as it may, I dismiss. My look is attentive however held for those people who can offer a type of challenge to my capacity and consistently developing notoriety. Somebody who can really present me a genuine risk and there are various them present today. More than is common and this is sufficient to spike me on to that penultimate, dangerous degree of readiness. Contorted and scarred, sewed and patched, we as a whole share a couple of things practically speaking however the genuine players here today are as differed as they are hazardous.

'Militarist' stands enormous and foursquare to one side, both substantial arms raised on high and thundering his weird and new war serenade. Looking both magnificent and fearsome in his glimmering cap and covering, he is one I should keep a cautious watch of today, that much I am certain of. This gigantic and transcending warrior is shockingly speedy and light-footed for his size, which to my brain makes him particularly perilous. It is this unforeseen speed and spryness that has gotten numerous a long-dead rival resting and has pushed his riches and notoriety upwards.

To one side and straightforwardly in front of me moves 'Snowleopard', pirouetting deftly and showing his dangerous aptitudes. Antiquated aptitudes woven from battle and move and went down, through uncountable ages. His splendid, pompous silk garments surges around him as he turns, the tufts of his bejeweled crown flying and spinning above him. He is as destructive as he is ostentatious, this I know excessively well and we have nearly come to participate in battle, on two separate events before yet destiny announced in any case at those conclusive minutes. Nonetheless, I have made an investigation of his style and strategies in the months since and am certain that I realize how to vanquish him should we meet today.

'ForceLeFranc', spread-legged and gigantic to my correct hand, boisterous and obviously repulsive as normal and now pouring red wine down his throat with an enormous, berringed clench hand while pissing into the sand with the different massive hand. "Hello Welshman, how the damnation are you, you hopeless heap of waste?" He roars at me, wine running from his tangled whiskers as he giggles, getting defensive. He generally made himself giggle unquestionably more than any other individual could, which demonstrated the perceptive and astute, that his nonsense and his plastered bonehead act were only that, a demonstration. I realized that he will generally be an amazingly keen, perilous predator and he was unquestionably one of only a handful scarcely any I would need to pay attention to very, were we ever to meet. It's looking perpetually likely now and today could be that day yet once more, I am readied. Anyway practiced a warrior he is and anyway boundless is his notoriety, and insidious his mien, I have seen a shortcoming. Something I had gotten by an opportunity look, the last time I saw him contend. A short look at simply the ideal second gave me an important snippet of data. A little part of information however scarcely an inconsequential one, as it could actually choose my very destiny, even today.

We start to circle now, cautiously and as the residue gradually rises, we start to pick our first adversaries, our first kill of the long and depleting day's strategy. I recognize the flexible figure of 'Maharaya' rising up out of behind a hugely fat, Saxon warrior that stands stationary and moronic, up front. She is dressed as she generally is in a straightforward tunic and baggy jeans however the underlying center is consistently that splendid precious stone that flickers and shimmers from the focal point of the turban on her head. Nobody has yet had the option to guarantee that incredible gemstone and armies have died in the endeavor. She grins that twisted, lethal grin at me however her almond eyes above it sparkle like wet, dark stream stones. She moves feline like to one side, maintaining eye contact with me for a long second before gradually shaking her head, 'Not today Welshman.' she quietly mouths and nimbly goes to confront a tall, finely dressed and outfitted newcomer. An attractive and attractive youth known as Prince 'Fahadsaleem', and he had been watching her eagerly with his alarming, emerald green eyes, from under a delightfully created, gold and emerald crusted head protector.

I at last spot 'Wordsoldier', the dreaded and regarded warrior I am looking for now as his odd dress and defensive layer get my attention. I have watched him in battle and have seen him despatch one great warrior after another with his conjuring. Anyway today and as an immediate expense of my constant betting, I am chasing gold, so I have picked likewise. His well off supporters give him gold and silver and he wears simply the best and best protection cash can purchase. Some time back I dreaded him and thought of him as the total warrior, as I was finding my way in this severe exchange and searching for saints to follow. In truth, there is close to nothing yet to challenge that evaluation. Nonetheless, there is something, something little as it generally may be, yet enough to supply me with the conviction that I can vanquish him. I'm going to discover at any rate as the hover of warriors fixes and our aggregate breathing starts to rise.

The strain mounts as we approach the indispensable second and is totally irresistible, moving through the group like a phantom. The second many fear yet a few, me included long-for and can't sit tight for its appearance, the eminent snapshot of battle. Most are shrugging now and flexing, setting up their fear weapons and the clamor of the group increase appropriately. I hunch currently, carefully viewing the edge of my protected zone and snatch a small bunch of the abrasive, dusty sand that is spread over the stone floor of the field, to offer buy to feet, particularly when the carnage is lower leg profound. I applaud together and rub the rough into my palms, feeling it absorb the perspiration in the recognizable, and notable everyday practice. I oust the soil from my hands and stand, straight and intentionally and my devotees go bezerk, hooting and hollering their help from the perceived quarters of this immense and dishonest group.

[memorytile0-blog]

Studio Tour!

Hey everyone!

It’s been over a year since I moved into my new house, so you know what that means – time for an updated studio tour!! Yeahhhh!!

Same as with my last delay, I kept putting off sharing this room with y’all because I really wanted to feel like it was “done” first. Even though, realistically, nothing is ever finished in my home – I’m always moving things around! I had a little kick in my pants via a Sewing Space feature over at Tilly & the Buttons , which forced me to suck it up and take the dang photos already. What you’re about to see is my studio in it’s natural state – it’s tidy, but not show-room perfect (i.e., I really should reorganize my fabric shelve, but, priorities).

While I was compiling the photos for this post, I ended up falling down a pretty deep rabbit hole of my past studio spaces. You may not be aware of this, but I’ve had a dedicated sewing room in some shape or form since 2006. My tastes & decorating have definitely changed a lot over the years, which I personally find pretty interesting! I think it’s also relevant as a lot of people comment on how well-organized my space is – which, it should be, I’ve been working on it for over 12 years! 😛 So before we jump into the NEW studio, I want to share a little bit of my evolution first!

Apologies in advance for the poor photos – it looks like my photography skills have also evolved, at least a little 😉

2006: My very first dedicated sewing space, back when I lived in Midtown in Nashville TN. I loved that apartment so, so much and stayed there for several years – it was a beautiful old building with crazy cheap rent. I eventually couldn’t handle the poor maintenance or the noisy bars getting built up around me, so I moved… but not before moving my sewing room all over this one apartment. First stop was in what I think was the dining room – or possibly a small servant’s quarters (it was a 100+ year old building right by Vanderbilt with a layout that suggested this might have been the intention). It was a VERY small room – like I’ve had bigger walk-in closets than this space – but it was perfect for a tiny sewing set-up.

Also, if you are curious – the dress I’m wearing is New Look 6557, which was the first proper sewing pattern I made by myself and I made DOZENS of that dress lol

2007: Still in the same apartment in Midtown, but I moved shop into what was the bedroom (with my bedroom in the living room, and the tiny dining room being a sitting room). My ex boyfriend and I painted the room orange, and then he claimed it for his office (a bold move considering he never paid any rent). As soon as I kicked his ass out, I reclaimed the room for myself. So this is my “fuck you” sewing room haha. I also got Amelia, my cat, around the same time – for the same reason 🙂

Very little of this room is still in my possession! I have all new sewing machines and furniture. The only things I still have are the desk chair and that Little Prince poster. Also, lol at another New Look 6557 being on the dress form. And, yes, I had 4 irons. I did a lot of dumpster diving at Vanderbilt University back then and irons were a popular thing to throw away I guess.

2008: Decided I was DEFINITELY worth the biggest room in the apartment, so I moved my studio to the living room (and took back the bedroom for, well, my bedroom). This room was massive and I looooved that space so much. Painted it green, which in retrospect… not my best idea. I built a makeshift long table out of some old cabinets and a piece of plywood covers with peel and stick tile. And I upgraded my machines – I still use both of those today! Actually found the receipt the other day while I was cleaning out my files; I bought them at the end of 2007 :3

For funsies, here’s a photo of me at that time – scene hair and all! I made that dress with knit fabric from Walmart haha

2009: Same room, with some updates! I repainted the entire thing bright turquoise (which became “my color” as far as studios are concerned!), as well painted my furniture. Got a cutting table (just one of those cheap ones from Joann’s), some new storage, and made curtains. This was taken over Christmas, hence the sparkly tree (which I still have today!)

2010: Ok, last one! This is the saddest looking photo ever, ha, but it’s literally the only one I have! I ended up moving out of my Midtown apartment and in with a friend who lived in South Nashville. He never used his living room, so I took it over as my sewing room! I had to work around the existing furniture, but I made it work. Lived here for about 2 months and then I moved to East Nashville to live with my BFF.

Other sewing spaces have their own blog post! 2011: Yellow Sewing room in East Nashville, TN 2011: Pale Blue sewing room in East Nashville, TN 2012: Giant Turquoise sewing room in West Nashville, TN 2015: Oddly Shaped Turquoise sewing room in Kingston Springs, TN 2017: Apartment sewing room in West Nashville, TN

Whew! Ok, this post has gotten long already and we aren’t even at the good stuff yet!

Anyway, here is where I am today! I moved into this sweet 1935 Tudor in 12 South/Nashville a little over a year ago. It’s a wonderful house + neighborhood and I really love living here. I use the second bedroom as my studio – it’s very small (just barely 11′ x 11′), and there are two doors, plus a closet, which made furniture arranging a little bit of a challenge! I had to take a lot of measurements and draft up a few room layouts before I figured out a good fit for everything, but it was definitely worth it.

The back half of the house was originally carpeted, and before I moved in I negotiated with the landlord to have the carpets removed (they were gross. Not, like, “ewwww carpet, gross” but like “10+ year old covered in stains gross”) and we were both delighted to discover the original hardwoods underneath. I also had her paint the walls a bright white, which really helped the overall vibe of the room. Before I moved in, this house was dark and dirty… it’s pretty fabulous now, though. I love it so much.

Also, because this comes up often – yes, I move a lot. I’m a renter, and my city is unfortunately going through some growing pains with skyrocketing rents + half the affordable houses either getting bulldozed (to build more $1M houses) or turned into AirBNBs (do not even get me started on the tragedy that is AirBNB over here, omg. It is a big, big problem and I encourage you if you visiting a popular city like Nashville to be very weary of any AirBNB that clearly is *only* an AirBNB and not someone’s home). I would love to buy and stop moving, but right now it just is not feasible. I like to think I’ve found a great long-term home here, but this is an expensive/trendy neighborhood so fingers crossed my landlord doesn’t try to turn it into a short term rental or sell it to the highest bidder.

Details about all products (including furniture & decor) are at the end of this post!

Here is the studio when you enter through the hallway in the back of the house!

As full of a view of the room that I could get!

The back wall (facing the door you enter through) holds all my sewing machines. I built the long table with IKEA components (this will be a running theme in this room haha), because I wanted to house all my machines on one single table that I could just roll down in my chair. There are lots of drawers which is great for storing notions and supplies. The windows get a lot of light and a very pretty view, but there are several mature trees in front so I also get some privacy.

Another view of the table and machines. You can also see part of the side porch through the window.

Above the machines, I hung lights for some extra brightness in the room. True story – I rarely use these lights, as I realized immediately after that the main overhead light could hold 3 bulbs and 2 were blown out. I replaced all the bulbs with super high wattage daylight bulbs and HOLY SHIT BRIGHTNESS BATMAN. It’s like high noon in this room now, all the time! It’s amazing!!! Y’all can have your ~ambient lighting~ all you want but I am all bright, all the time haha

Looking to the left of the machines, this is where I keep my bookshelves that hold sewing/knitting/art books, Papercut Patterns, and knitting supplies. All my yarn fits in that one big basket 😛 I also keep WIP patterns in the magazine holder on top of the bookshelf. Over the book shelves, I hung two long wall shelves – the boxes store swatches, zippers, and lingerie supplies, and the top shelf is purely decorational. Those plants are fake as fuck, btw.

Here’s another angle – thread racks, an extra stool, and a lamp that rarely gets used (again, daylight lightbulbs are the BOMB you guys).

If you continue down that wall to the left, you’ll end up back at the door in which you entered. There is a door in the middle of the wall that leads to the side porch. This is where my dressform lives. I wasn’t crazy about the large blank wall, but didn’t want to spring for wallpaper (or bother painting… I like painting, but I’m not a fan of painted accent walls and I didn’t want to paint the entire room), so I bought these wall stickers on Amazon and made a dotty wall! It makes me so happy! 🙂

So, going back to the machines and swinging right – you will get my fabric stash! Really thought about reorganizing this for the photo (it actually does need to be sorted and culled), decided not to haha. My old shelf that I’ve been using since 2009 wasn’t going to fit in this room, so I passed it on to a friend and bought something a little more modular. This area holds my fabric, PDF patterns, embroidery and art supplies, and my snap setters.

Next to my fabric is my ironing station! I started out in this room with a proper ironing board, but I desperately needed more storage so I swapped it out for a tabletop ironing board. I can’t take credit for this – I totally took the idea from Jasika as she made the exact same thing. It’s perfect! I padded out the top of an IKEA kitchen island with a few layers of cotton batting, then wrapped fabric (it’s Robert Kaufman Essex linen, specifically, if you are curious lol) around the whole thing and stapled it down. The station has drawers that hold ironing supplies and camera equipment, and shelves to hold my current projects and my Cricut Maker. The bucket of fabric next to the table holds scraps that are too big to throw away but not big enough to justify putting back on the shelf.

My iron is a gravity feed iron (I’m still using the same original one I got back in 2012!); the tank is suspended from the ceiling with a heavy duty plant hanger. Rather than keep the iron on my table, I found a small metal shelf on Amazon (used to house tv speakers) and attached that to the wall. This frees up space on my board, plus makes me feel a little less wigged-out about having an iron on top of cotton + wood. Over the station, I have a hanging light that is plugged directly into the same power strip that powers the iron. This way, I always know if the iron is on or off – and I never leave it on by accident!

The ironing station my cat’s favorite place to perch (second favorite is behind the sewing machines), so she can look out the window! I have a really great back yard, but unfortunately my crappy back neighbors tore down the entire tree line that separates us so I now have to stare at their house instead of beautiful green trees (and now no privacy! Boo!). Also, unfortunately for them, this has not deterred me from changing directly in front of that window haha

Next to the ironing station is my desk! This is where I get all my work done, unless I’m sitting on my porch (which is equally pretty great). On the wall beside my printer is where I hang my rulers, as well as an inspiration bulletin board and my fabric swatch board (where I keep track of the fabrics I want to sew next).

Next to the desk is the tiny closet. Sorry about this picture – this was the only way to not make it loo horrifying haha. I keep the rest of my patterns in here, organized in boxes. PDF patterns that I am working on are hung with clips on a small tension rod, and rolled PDF patterns are stored in a small trash can on the floor. I also keep supplies for my other job in here, on the top shelf. Rather than stack things, I built shelves with plywood so this closet is basically a giant shelf behind a door.

For more info about how I organize my patterns, please check out this blog post!

One side of my cutting table has drawers (holding pincushions, muslins, extra interfacing scraps, and lesser-used sewing tools) and bins (holding swimsuit fabric and… well I just realized that other bin is empty lol it was holding a WIP that I finished).

The other side of my cutting table holds all my scissors, and more bins (boxes have leather scraps and silk scraps, bins have classroom supplies and supplies for when I need to take my machine on the road for my job).

Finally, under the table is space for a big trash can and a rolling kitchen cart, which I use to hold sewing supplies and general art supplies.

Some detail shots:

This wall makes me so happy! That jar is holding all my broken/used needles and pins.

These lights make me happy, too! I could only find them in black, so I spray painted them gold.

Embroidery designed and stitched by me 😛 😛 😛

Ok, so almost done! Finally, here are the links to sources for furniture & other stuff. Most of the things in this room are either from IKEA, or secondhand. Spoiler alert! Also please be aware that a lot of these links are affiliate links, meaning I will get a small commission if you click them and end up purchasing something. Just a head’s up!

Wall paint color: Seriously, I have no idea. White?

FURNITURE: Sewing machine table: ALEX drawer unit + LINNMON table top Vintage desk chair: Thrifted Cutting table: 2 KALLAX shelves + LINNMON tabletop + 2 KALLAX drawers + 4 KALLAX casters. Scissor rail is BYGEL RAIL + s-hooks Fabric Shelves: HEJNE shelving unit Bookshelves: thrifted Ironing Station: FORHOJA kitchen cart + metal dvd wall shelf Printer table: KLIMPEN drawer unit Writing desk: Nashville flea market Desk chair: Nashville flea market, spray painted gold and white Wall shelves: EKBY JÄRPEN / EKBY BJÄRNUM Turquoise utility cart: RÅSKOG Dressform: Professional female dressform with collapsible shoulders (also: full review here!)

ACCESSORIES & DECORATIONS: Yellow & white storage boxes: DRÖNA Large white storage boxes: IKEA, discontinued (these are similar) Small white storage boxes: IKEA, discontinued (these are similar) Fake plants: FEJKA Industrial paper roll: Given to me when my old job (advertising) was downsizing and clearing out the art room! Ceiling light (over ironing board): KNAPPA Ceiling lights (over machines): Geometric Light bulb cage pendant (spray painted gold) + Edison light bulbs + HEMMA cord set DMC thread organizer: thrifted Thread racks: given to me by Elizabeth Suzann, but here are some similars on Amazon- thread rack + serger thread rack Sewing room art: Joanna Baker, via Madalynne giveaway “I’ve Made A Huge Mistake” chalkboard sign: Custom made by Kaelah Sewing machine print: Madalynne Polka dot stickers: Gold polka dot wall decals Baskets: thrifted & spray painted gold White floor lamp: NOT floor lamp White desk lamp: Another score from the art supply room cleanout at my old job Small turquoise/white stool: Nashville Flea Market White cutting mats: The Shop Company White deer head: Gift from Elizabeth Suzann Snap setters (only people people always ask!): Purchased secondhand from Elizabeth Suzann

Ok, I think that’s all! Hope you enjoyed the tour 🙂

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Tags: sewing room, studio

Source: https://lladybird.com/2018/09/07/studio-tour/

[bdfanfic]

On His Mane’s Secret Service - Chapter 13

“There,” Number One said triumphantly. “Even the Argonians recognize the truth of the future we have seen, even if they don’t believe in our ability to affect it. Surely now you can see the wisdom of this alliance?”

The Mane whispered something to Isdra, who addressed the meeting next.

“We would like a moment to consult privately, honored guests. Perhaps five minutes?”

Ra’Jirra stood, interrupting and knowingly breaking protocol.

“Wait one moment. I have one question first,” she began. She could feel the eyes of Isdra on her, but she ignored her for the moment.

“The images we just saw here... This is exactly what I was shown before. Why is that? Can you see another scene from this future?”

The Altmer murmured among themselves before Number One gave his answer.

“One of our greatest mages was able to pierce the veil of time to bring us the images you saw. It was his life’s work to do so, and brought that to us some years past. Only our greatest magic users are able to reproduce that summoning at substantial cost, but we have not yet been able to fathom much of what goes into the magic - just to reproduce it. Unfortunately the mage has been lost to us since. Until we can fully understand how it is done, this is all we are able to produce visually.”

“So,” Ra’Jirra continued, ignoring protests by Isdra, “what we have seen may just be one part of a wider world. It could be that Tamriel has become segregated in this future. Would you not concede that there could be many explanations for this vision beyond all our kin having been wiped out?”

Number One became visibly incensed, responding with an increasing vehemence, “The visuals we have shown you here are not our only evidence of our impending extinction, young Khajiit. They are simply the easiest method of exhibiting that doom to others who do not know the way of scrying such things. But the signs are there, be assured! They are obvious, if you look for them!”

Ra’Jirra may have been stung a bit by the ‘young Khajiit’ reference, but she sat back down, having made her point. She felt it was important to sew some doubt in the Mane’s eyes after the Argonians and the Hist had seemingly reinforced the Altmer’s interpretation.

“Thank you, Number One,” Isdra concluded. “Let us confer privately then - but please let us remain inside the conference room. Our meeting here must come to some decision on this matter, and do so today, we are agreed. Such a meeting of our races cannot be assumed to be something that can become commonplace.”

“Agreed, Prime Concubine. We do not request specifics in this meeting, but the Mer are a proud people. We do not look for alliances from other races on a whim. We expect not to be clear on our actions yet moving forward, but we do expect a resolution to be made that such action is necessary and that we can all agree on its objectives. This is the time, and this meeting cannot end without a resolution, one way or the other.”

With that, the three Khajiits rose and adjourned to a small area far from the center conference table where they spoke quietly in Ta’agra.

“You will not interrupt me again, Ra’Jirra,” Isdra said sweetly but with menace in her voice when they sat down.

Ra’Jirra began to offer her apology, but the Mane interrupted.  “Now Isdra, I wanted Ra’Jirra here specifically to offer her insights, and she made a good one - one which, by the way, no one else could have noticed I’ll point out.”

“Still, decorum demands…” Isdra responded irritably.

“Decorum be damned. She’s here to speak her mind. I won’t have her be silenced by decorum.”

Isdra nodded, chagrined.

“That being said, I still have to lean towards agreeing with the Altmer. Racial politics aside, we’ve had our own suspicions that our future is in jeopardy. Of all the intelligent races of Tamriel, ours is the the most fragile. Ra’Jirra, let’s assume for a moment that their argument is valid. Would you have us go the way of our brothers the Lilmothiit, without a fight, only because one of our allies is headed by the Dominion?”

“Interesting you bring the Lilmothiit up,” Ra’Jirra replied. “considering it was most likely the Argonians that wiped them out. No, no need to argue. I like the Argonians. They don’t meddle in others’ affairs for the most part. But I just don’t see any way to stop the Humans’ advances. Honestly the civil war between Hammerfell and Cyrodiil is probably the best way. However, I just can’t in all conscience agree to assist in slaughtering millions of innocents just because they are too successful! Whatever the future holds for us, unless the Humans are actively trying to massacre us, I can’t rectify such actions as being… well… Good.”

“I understand, young Khajiit. But in my position, you must accept that sometimes you must act against common morality for the well-being of your people. I’m afraid this may be one of those times. I see my purpose as just this - to safeguard Elsweyr and the whole of the Khajiit race, and this is exactly the threat I need to recognize. And if we make this agreement, we need not get directly involved in a war, after all.”

“Just facilitate it,” Ra’Jirra muttered, but she recognized the truth of what the Mane said. She realized just how much she would hate to wield such power. Decisions this man made, for good or ill, would change history, and he had to make them with insufficient information every day.

The three rose and resumed their place at the table. The Altmer too returned from where they had been conferring, though the Argonians hadn’t left the table at all. 

Once they had all sat back down, Isdra began again. “Histess, have you - or the Hist - anything to add concerning the question of this future? Is the vision just a local thing, or does this future portend our extinction?”

The Histess rose, and began to pace around the table, all eyes following her.

“The future they see is the future the Hist expects to pass. In it, no Khajiit, Mer or Argonian will inhabit the entirety of Nirn. The vision is not mistaken, nor just a local scene.”

She stopped at a window, seemingly daydreaming as she looked up at the clouds beyond.

“The Hist have more to say, but it is not my place to utter it. I see them only dimly, and I am the best suited for my role of my kind. We hold onto intelligence so fiercely, compared to you, because we know what it is not to have it. The Hist have been so kind to us, and we will never be grateful enough. But to you, who come by intelligence naturally…  You could commune with them so much more clearly than we can. We will always be their servants, as long as they will have us. But you… you may become their equals someday.”

She had turned around and was looking directly at Ra’Jirra now.

Number One stood up and faced the Histess.

“You talk in riddles, Argonian. Speak clearly. What do you mean? The Hist, whatever the hell they really are… they don’t speak to us!”

The room went quiet when Ra’Jirra spoke up.

“They speak to me.”

The Histess nodded, and walked back towards her place.

“It is time, Ra’Jirra. Let the Hist speak through you. I cannot understand them as well as you. You are needed now, Khajiitmother, favored of the Hist. Tell these what the Hist tell you. My role here is almost complete. It is your time.”

“What does she mean?” Isdra demanded.

“I… Two days ago I drank of Hist Sap, at the Hist’s request,” Ra’Jirra began. “Apparently it allows some sort of conduit to them, if they allow it. They have allowed it for me. I can talk to them, in a way.”

“You?!” Number One stood. “Why you of all creatures?! What do they tell you?”

The Histess interrupted before he could finish. “It is not for you to say who the Hist chooses to reveal themselves to,” she said, then turned a bit mirthful. “Besides,” she said, hefting her ample breasts tauntingly, “I wouldn’t let you near these pretty things!”

Number One scowled in disgust, but Ra’Jirra had closed her eyes and was seeking that place in her mind where she met with the beings known as the Hist. They asked something of her then. At first, she recoiled, but then she reconsidered. They wanted to speak through her - to let her allow them to use her voice and the parts of her brain that controlled it and formed it into words. They had rescued her fiance from the Alfiq curse, after all. She relented, putting them off for one more moment.

“I am going to be speaking for the Hist now, Mane. If you approve,” she said, allowing the leader of her race to decide.

The Mane nodded, speaking for the first time at the conference table. “Please do, Ra’Jirra. What does the Hist have to say?”

Then she released herself to the beings known collectively as the Hist, closing her eyes as she performed what she could best describe as a translation with no original language.

“We are the Hist of Argonia,” she began. No change in tone could have been detected, because Ra’Jirra was still fully present. She felt she was just reciting lines in a play, but the words came from outside herself rather than text on a paper.

“We bring you greetings, assembled Altmer, Dunmer and Khajiit. We have knowledge which you need now, in order to make this decision. You are afraid of the Humans. You are right to be afraid. The Humans wield much power, and will wield even more in the future as magic fades. The future of Nirn belongs to them.”

Ra’Jirra heard the murmurings around her, but continued on.

“However, not all here need fear for your own kind’s future. Nirn is not enough for all of the races as you grow. But there is more than Nirn. The Lilmothiit have left this world already, but their numbers were few. Yours are many. Your transport must be much more powerful than theirs.”

Ra’Jirra felt weird, realizing that she was learning from her own words, while the gasps from the other attendees were audible around her. But she kept her eyes closed, continuing to translate.

“For thousands of years we have been growing the vessel that can accomplish it. Thousands of years more must pass before it is fully grown. But the vision the Altmer have shown, while true, is not complete. In time they may be able to view more of the future, but even then it will not be enough - for they cannot view the entirety of the future. The have not seen the event wherein some races will be shepherded from Nirn to their new home. They have not seen the grieving that the Humans will wail when they are left alone on this world, for they are not to blame. A mother has left you races here to grow in this nest, but the nest cannot hold all of you forever. It is for this reason the Hist were sent here. We will help some of you fly from the nest. But not all.”

Ra’Jirra opened her eyes, expecting some reaction from Number One, but all sat watching her as if transfixed by an Oracle. She continued…

“The Argonians, our beloved race, must leave with us of course. Without us, they cannot hope to vie with the Humans or the other races, and our genetic modifications cannot transform them quickly enough into self-intelligent beings. But we have longed for others to join them. The Lilmothiit were a gentle people, but were being destroyed before we were able to help. They were natural to be the first fruits of our labor. They have gone ahead, and even now thrive on their own planet, not far from here, in a sense.”

“The Khajiit, however, were too violent. Only with the recent advances in your civilization have we realized that you have become mild enough for you to join the Argonians when we depart. You will accompany us, via Khajiitmother’s offspring. Khajiitmother’s children, and their children’s children, will be our communication with the Khajiit-kind. When that time comes, as a chick knows when the nest has become too crowded, they will know it is time to leave. And they will join us in the Great Tree.”

“So you just expect us to abandon the world for your Panacea?” Number One interrupted. “Just leave the whole of Nirn to the Humans on a promise of some other world?!”

“No, Altmer,” Ra’Jirra said, looking directly at him. “You and your kind will remain with the Humans. For as long as you are able. But magic is fading, Altmer, and with it your precedence in the order of things on Nirn. Once you were the masters of this world. In the future, you will be slaves. Until you are no more.”

Number One’s composure was shattered.

“She lies. She’s making this up! How dreadfully convenient, Ra’Jirra, that it just so happens that you are the chosen of the Hist, isn’t it? You, who have thwarted the Dominion at every turn, just happen to be the same cat that magically can now talk to the Hist? You and that naked lizard over there made this whole thing up, didn’t you?! Why on earth would the Hist pick you? Of all the Khajiits, why you?”

‘Because, Altmer,” said the Hist through Ra’Jirra, “she knows you best. She is the right person, at the right time and the right place.”

Oddly, Number One sat back down, though his eyes still flared. Ra’Jirra felt more than saw the Histess rise from her seat while she continued translating...

“She knows why you can never be taken. Some Mer may become gentle enough in time, but not the Altmer. You are too proud.”

“Is she the only Khajiitmother then?” Number One asked, while whispering to the female Altmer to his right. “Is she to hold a privileged rank among the Khajiit as the herald of this new Hist-Khajiit race? Maybe you’d better think twice, Mane, before she usurps your position!”

“She is enough. Generations will pass. Her posterity will be many. Some may rise to the rank of Mane, but they will remain wholly Khajiit. We will not cause a rift in a race we admire so.”

The Histess was standing beside her now.

“And now, Number One,” Ra’Jirra said, opening her eyes again. “Do what you must do.”

She was no longer translating. Instead, the Hist had just provided her with their vision of the future in a flash. The immediate future. The outcome was unclear, but there was no time to act. She knew what was about to happen. She braced for impact.

The magic users were on their feet, hands outstretched, and a powerful glow indicated an imminent release of power.  She heard Isdra scream for the guards as the Prime Concubine fell over the Mane protectively. But the blast was already on its way and it’s target was Ra’Jirra’s unprotected breast.

“Then die, Khajiitmother!”

[amuerion]

Meihem SFW Valentine’s Day Headcanons Incoming!

Hello to everyone out there! 

Final uni exams and presentations will be over for me in a few days. So, I thought I take a little break from studying and join in the fun of sharing Valentine’s Day headcanons about Meihem – and friends - to give this tag some love!

For compactness’ sake, you will find them all beneath the “read more” link!

Basis: Overwatch Joined Forces AU

Mei never believed that she would get very excited about Valentine’s Day at some point in her life. That changed as soon as Junkrat’s enthusiasm for it rubbed off on her. He loves the idea of a day dedicated to being especially thankful for how far the two of them have come with their relationship - not to mention that he and Mei come up with countless nice surprises for the other people who enrich their lives, with or without a special someone.

Nowadays, Mei’s Valentine’s Day usually starts with being woken up by Junkrat in the morning over the communicator. He rings her up, in order to just quickly tell her something he adores about her and hangs up again - only to repeat that around every full hour with another fact, until the two finally meet in person.

Flowers have been removed from future Valentine’s Day plans for Mei, at least until further changes of mind. There was tohubohu enough, when Junkrat surprised her with an HQ meeting hall that was neatly decorated with the most vibrantly-coloured flowers - only to find out that he stole these all by himself from the King’s Row Garden Festival Plaza, beaming with pride.

Mei has made it a habit of hers to already prepare Valentine’s Day cards at least a month in advance. Not only for Junkrat, but as a thank you for everybody on the team. She loves drawing things on it that the recipient likes, decorating it and even writing small verses of motivational poetry. She doesn’t consider her skills for making these to be all that fantastic. Junkrat certainly knows that he will keep all of them safe in a fire-proof box, though. He can’t stop himself from dancing whenever he gets a new one. He is amazed by how great Mei handles animals in her drawings and the frilled neck lizard with his frill of fireworks is by far his favourite.

Junkrat however is happy to know that he can gift Mei with something that makes her just as excited. She loves the lucky charms and trinkets he makes for her, because she can use them for absolutely everything. Junkrat made her a little mail penguin that keeps all of her to-do notes in order in his beak and bag, a snowman to hang from her car keys and a little fluffy yeti that hangs from the zipper of her bag. Mei likes to play around with it and how warm it gets in her hands, whenever she is nervous before important job meetings.

Mei on the other hand loves to surprise Junkrat with gifts that ensure a feel-good time. She loves to surprise him with bath bombs and let specialists help her to choose ingredients that would make a nice mix and remind him of places and events they learned to love together - much to his excitement of seeing the “brewing of a witch’s potion” unfold. Mei even got into sewing and made a pillow cover with bomber rats. She filled it herself and left little pockets inside the cover to fill with sweet herb bags that encourage a soothing sleep with their smell. 

Another reason why Junkrat settled on these smaller gifts is because he has a rather unusual style of wrapping presents. He doesn’t know how Mei does it with those perfect edges and cute figurines folded out of paper. He certainly cannot make it look any less like an UFO traveller creature of those alien conspirancy movies they sometimes watch together...and on their very first Valentine’s Day, he got Mei’s gift wrapped just in time for her to walk in...and realize that he was so focused on getting it right that one of his hands got stuck in it.

They love to make ice cream and slushies together with the help of Mei’s drone Snowball. A lot of experiments with countless fruits are done and perfected with chocolate sauce and sprinkles in heart shape. Often they even share the delicious results with the team.

Speaking of fruit, Junkrat gets incredibly excited whenever Mei lets him add flambéed fruit to the ice cream as a larger dessert. As usual, through many trials and errors, with Snowball to the rescue in the HQ roof garden, he has become exceptionally good at it.

Sometimes Mei and Junkrat also lend Mercy a hand at baking her legendary guardian angel buns on Valentine’s Day. They come in cupid shape that Mercy takes care of, Mei decorates them with raisins, while Junkrat powers them up with lots of strawberry jam. Then, the doctor is on her way to gift anyone who could use a sweet treat in transparent, ribboned bags. No payment required. A warm smile will do. 

No, not even on Valentine’s Day Mei and Junkrat stop it with the puns. What is worse however is the fact that they expand the puntests also with pickup line contests: Who manages to come up withe the most cringe-worthy ones until the day is done wins. As soon as things like “Damn it, seem ta have lost me phone number...Can Oi borrow yours, by any chance?” and “You hear that? The airport lady just told me to not leave my valuables unattended...Guess it is my duty to not take my eyes off you ever again now.” are uttered from their mouths, their friends know it is time to run for self-protection.

Both of them enjoy to come up with dress up prompts for Valentine’s Day. That can range from serious things, like matching outfits, to downright goofy things, like “The most hideous Christmas sweater you did not dare to show off at the party last year” and “Setting trends with my new bin bag hat”, that confuse everyone else.

Mei loves writing old-fashioned love letters to Junkrat on Valentine’s Day. It helps her to cover absolutely everything that she considered to be outstanding in their prior relationship year and to show gratitude and pride in how much both of them grew together as people until now.

Junkrat loves doing standup comedy shows with his steel trap for Mei on Valentine’s Day. It took some getting used to to this unusual hand puppet, but it’s now one of her favourite things to watch - it just baffles her how Junkrat uses his diversity in vocal range and comes up with good punchlines quickly.

Junkrat can’t help but be very affectionate towards Mei when his love for her overflows. He couldn’t care less who sees it and what they think of it, if there is something she says or does that is too adorable for him to handle, he will lift her up, hug and squeeze her and kiss her until her cheeks glow from all the giggling.

Mei gets him back for that with a smooch-a-thon. When her love overflows and both of them are in the middle of a conversation, she will determine the flow of it by kissing Junkrat after every word she utters. Junkrat has never forced himself to make a discussion about where to go for dinner as lengthy as possible and with a respectful consideration of any munching palace in reach - until that happened. 

As for Valentine’s dates, one of Junkrat’s favourite things to do is to drive way out into nature with Mei. They go hiking and camping together, while Mei gets to tell him a lot of fascinating things about their surroundings. Junkrat’s highlight however is to enjoy a nice view on the landscape cuddled into Mei, after a delicious and satisfying barbecue for such a long trip.

Sometimes, when they stay the night in nature, Mei and Junkrat team up to make a movie night for themselves. As Mei gets to attach a huge fabric to use as a screen from the HQ attic to the trees with the help of her ice walls, Junkrat gets an old projector he found in the same place to work. There is something magical about seeing Olivia Rai in action, surrounded by the cries of owls and the crackling camp fire together in a large sleeping bag.

If the weather does not want to assist them, though, they take it easy or find a way to make fond memories with their friends indoors. There is nothing like enjoying a hot chocolate together and sinking deep into adventures of the past, turning the night into day at the arcade with D. Va and Lúcio, or visiting the sanctuary and petting café for pigs with Roadhog.

Mei’s favourite place to use for a date experience on Valentine’s Day is the Winter’s End Fair that is hosted every year. The ice rink of the fair is also their training area for Junkrat’s new prosthetic skating leg. Junkrat can’t get enough of the fireworks whenever they stay for dinner on the boats of the lake tour and the most horrifying rollercoasters.

As much as Mei isn’t fond of extreme rides by intuition, Junkrat begged her to give it a shot at least once in her lifetime to find out whether they could still enjoy them together, after all. Half an hour of persistent encouragement talk later, he successfully convinced her to step into a half full “Sombrero”. From the first gentle swinging side to side until the highest circular spins, Mei screamed her lungs out. She was never that happy to have solid ground beneath her feet before, but Junkrat couldn’t stop laughing when he saw how many new customers to the horizon line her reaction had drawn to them, after the ride was over. “If she gets so much out of this, this must be one heck of a rad ride!” they thought, leaving the bucks at the counter. Mei however was certain that this was the first and last time she pirouetted in the sky.

Mei prefers the world’s hugest chair swing and the ferris wheel, but gets an adrenaline rush of her own for becoming extremely competitive at the shooting galleries and prize booths. One cannot deny however that both of them are the most aggressive bumper cars participants far and wide.

They aren’t sure how often they could repeat it, but they once felt dangerous enough to sneak backstage onto the dark boat bridges inside the fair’s Tunnel of Love. The ride itself didn’t thrill them. However, they surprised the couples they heard passing by on their boats in the dark. Mei would sometimes throw little boxes of chocolate onto their laps a the boat stopped before the waterfall. It wasn’t easy to keep their cover, since Junkrat couldn’t help but whistle or throw in a cheeky joke from time to time. They are waiting for the reviews online - once the guests think this is all part of the ride, they’ll have to come back.

Sometimes however, it is even for the better to not split from the team even on this special day. It took a bit of overcoming to suggest it, but Mei and Junkrat really wanted to launch “Appreciation Pigeon Holes” at the HQ. After long thinking, they came to the conclusion that you can indeed also love someone without loving them romantically and they hate how days like these pressure certain people or make them feel left out. They are all in this together, which is why they launched the pigeon holes to be filled with thank you cards and small gifts from one Overwatch member to another for the great teamwork and strong bonds.

This project was a big success, everyone got something out of it and some members even grew fonder of one another. The members who found the most content in their pigeon holes were Winston, Mercy and - by far - Roadhog. The cards literally fell towards him just by looking at the collection. They hid letters, almost entire articles about how the senders were thankful that one could always rely on him, how often his approaches to problems and his calm self had saved them time and time again and how much they wished for him to stay with them for many years to come and feel at home, at least to some extent, in their extraordinary and large crew. There was a lot to say to someone who does mind-blowing things on a weekly basis, but never gives you a chance to talk properly about it - and there is something mind-blowing in so many people wishing you well and making a genuine effort to get to know your person even when you convinced yourself this would not happen again for as long as you live.

Celebratory meals have become quite a nice tradition at the HQ, too. Even when they do not work as heroes on the missionary job, it is always great for Mei, Junkrat and the others to have Emily brought over by Tracer, or experience the halls ten times livelier with Torbjörn’s wife and their kids around. Some stories and feelings fully blossom only in the understanding and experience from couple to couple and so far their shared but rare time has been charming. It is reward enough for preparing the enormous lunch for everyone else together, before everyone is up and away to enjoy their respective bonds.

A small act of kindness and lucky chance that D. Va came up with for Valentine’s Day was to send out “The Swarm”. She worked on little messenger bird postcards with Mei together and with their Oversquad, they were determined to send hundreds of them flying, attached to helium balloons, for as long as their luck would carry them. This way, anyone out there who might needed it could stumble across some uplifting words. Junkrat could only focus and be of help to the noble cause, until he figured out what helium did to his voice by accident. It can be guaranteed that none of the balloons came down faster than the squad passed out from laughing, once Junkrat made use of his self-proclaimed, new found rat voice to still deliver accurate impressions of every single person present.

The biggest Valentine’s Day project Mei and Junkrat were involved in so far was something that Lúcio had set up, though. He and D. Va have been members of the “Heart’s Content Foundation” for quite some time now. Members of said foundations are mainly celebrities, who sometimes are willing to offer their talents and crafts for charity events, in which all earnings go to several groups of disadvantaged people and into donations for groups of people that try to make the world a better place. Lúcio has been a massive help for raising awareness for this by bringing together countless of artists, who wished to work on collaborations with him and even support him on the “Audio Medic Tour”. The massive popularity of the projects allowed for all profit to be split under the collaborators to help their world-improvers of choice little by little. When a Valentine’s Day themed album was considered for the future, Lúcio threw the topic into discussion with Mei and Junkrat. Upon hearing their suggestions on what to spend the earnings on, he immediately supported the idea of working on songs with them. Under pseudonyms both of them were fine with it and this chance of a lifetime was more than intriguing. 

The ambient chillout, yet adventurous tracks, which were inspired by how Mei and Junkrat see one another individually, are treasured by them forever and also by many fans. Mei decided to donate her earnings to a team of revolutionary inventors that were in search of funds to give their ocean-cleaning technology a kickstart. Junkrat’s earnings turned out to be a financial boost to an initiative, whose teams were travelling from town to town by bus to serve free meals, clean drinking-water and showering possibilities to homeless people, whose struggles went unseen by the political authorities.