#stops you whenever something gay is about to happen only to speed run the rest of the text boxes

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t know if this is a controversial hot take or something a lot of people feel, but I’m tired of hearing people unironically describe Ace Attorney as being “about gay lawyers”. Because it’s not. Do the lawyers act gay? Yes. But that’s not what 99% of the playtime is about.

At the end of the day, Ace Attorney is a satirical story about the corrupt justice system in Japan as represented by a kind-hearted defense attorney protecting (mostly) innocent defendants from having their lives ruined by misguided prosecutors. Its goal was to flip the cultural narrative that defense attorneys are trashy scum who make money off of sympathizing with criminals. And they did this through episodic, goofy murder mysteries.

So where does the gay come in? They wrote some accidentally romantically-charged dialogue, fans were obsessed, and the writers decided, yeah it’s pretty good, let’s do more of that. So they proceeded to toss in more gay side-banter and whatnot amongst the homicide investigations and court sessions.

Now, it’s not like Ace Attorney is the deepest, most poetic social commentary ever written, but it still has a meaningful theme inspired by a real life issue, so it’s pretty discouraging seeing people either not process it or straight up ignore it in favor of “the gay lawyers”. And that’s not even getting into all the other meaningful, non-romantic character relationships that have way more presence in the plot.

I know there will always be uncritical, shipping-brained people in every fandom, but what gets me about how bad it is here is that people who only know as much about AA as what they’ve heard really think it’s “about gay lawyers”. I was watching Drawfee recently, and genuinely all they know about the games is contextualized by Karina’s gay lawyer ship art and brief plot description of how gay the lawyers are. My friend recently told my other friend that Ace Attorney is about gay lawyers to which he was like oh yeah I heard about the unnecessary feelings scene. This is all he knows about the games.

I don’t want to make this sound like a bigger deal than it is, but damn. It truly feels like a lot of people refuse to engage with media in any way that doesn’t involve smashing male characters together like dolls. If you comb through the entirety of the Ace Attorney franchise, you’ll see that such a small fragment of everything that happens is homosexual law, yet that’s the thing that gets amplified to ridiculous proportions. All I can do for now is focus on the posts from fans that love the games themselves just as much if not more than they love the ships.

[zachsreaderinserts]

sleepy boys inc x gn!teen! reader headcannons

trying something new! i like bbs and all, but i wanted to write for other youtubers! lemme know if yall wanna see more content like this lol.

this takes place in a minecraft au!!! also, mentions of bad parenting/abusive parents

wc: 2,319

okay the sleepy boys

chaos incarnated, all of them. you can’t deny it

so, when tommy invites a friend from a local village, at first, everyone else is skeptical. since when has tommy made a friend who didn’t hate him within 20 minutes from all the screaming and insults he spewed?

unlike his friends, phil is more excited than anything. though he isn’t tommy’s dad, he feels like it sometimes, so he really wants to meet this new person who has caught the youngest’s attention

techno is very much not on board. he has a hard time trusting people at first glance and having been friends with tommy for the longest, he knows that tommy readily jumps the gun and attempts to befriend literally anything just because he can

and wilbur? indifferent for the most part. yes, he feels the need to make sure tommy is protected and cared for, but he also recognizes that this situation is out of his hands. the best he can do is hope that their friend isn’t an absolute asshole

so, it’s saturday. all three men are sitting on the couch in phil’s cottage, talking amongst themselves as they wait for tommy to come back. techno makes a joke about murdering them, which leads to phil scolding him about his violent tendencies

“you haven’t even met them yet, techno, what the fuck.”

wilbur is simply adding fuel to the fire, making little remarks here and there and watching the whole thing escalate to phil lecturing the piglin hybrid.

because of this, not one of them had noticed that tommy returned, with his newest friend. they both stopped at the sight of phil in dad mode, tommy considering just turning around and taking his friend as far away as physically possible

too late, since techno’s sixth sense made him whip around and stare at the newcomer. this made phil stop lecturing and wilbur quit giggling long enough for tommy to introduce his friend

after saying their name, the friend lifted their hand shyly, face burning from slight embarrassment. their other hand was latched onto tommy’s, feeling intimidated.

can you blame them? the fucking blood god looks like they wanna skewer them and cook them over a campfire.

tommy took notice of their shyness and cleared his throat, “we were planning on going to the carnival in their village if you three assholes feel like tagging along.”

like there was any way they were gonna let tommy and his friend go out without chaperones.

tommy turned back to his friend, “give me a second, i’m gonna go grab my sword just in case.” and proceeded to run up the stairs and towards the guest bedroom in phil’s house that he claimed.

the millisecond he was out of earshot, techno grabbed his friend by the front of the shirt.

“what are your intentions with tommy?”

the friend blinked once, twice, then bit back a smile. “you’re asking that as if i’m about to date that motherfucker.”

this time, it was wilbur who bit back a grin of his own. who would’ve expected the originally shy kid to have replied like that????

techno’s brain short circuited and his grip on their shirt loosened slightly. did.... did this kid just brush off his question???

“can you put me down? you’re gonna stretch my shirt.”

techno’s brain blinked back into focus and he gripped the kid’s shirt harder, shoving them against the nearest wall. “i asked a question, kid.”

“you know, tommy told me something like this would happen. i’m glad i came prepared.” and then, tommy’s friend sucked in a deep breath. techno leaned back, expecting the worst...

“MWISTER TECHNWOBWADE, PWEASE PUT MWE DOWN BEFWORE I SCWEAM”

oh god, this was far worse than anything he thought of.

he dropped the teen out of disgust more than anything, reeling backwards. if there was one thing that haunted his dreams, it was uwu-speak.

phil started howling of laughter, clutching his stomach and hunching over. originally he was going to stop techno from threatening a literal child but this outcome was so much better than anything he was anticipating

wilbur was no better, already tearing up from how hard he was snickering. he started choking on his own spit at one point, smacking his arm against the couch.

tommy was so fucking confused when he came back down the stairs, seeing the mayhem that was, for once, not caused by him. he glanced at his friend, who had the world’s biggest shiteating grin.

yeah, they were gonna fit in just fine.

and they did! phil took them under his wing (both physically and metaphorically) and allowed them to come visit his home whenever they wished. and whenever they did, phil was the first to ask how they’ve been and what they were up to

to phil’s surprise, the kid was overall calm in their choice of activities. things like playing soccer or drawing or figuring out how to learn instruments in their free time. it seemed like they were desperate to get their hands on anything and everything just to learn

he found it funny, though, when their chaotic side shone through. they easily were on tommy’s level when they got into that headspace and it was so hilarious to him.

his favorite memory of the kid was when they walked into the house and marched right up to where techno was reading idly in the corner. planting their hands on their hips, they spoke.

“if you were to fuck a clone of yourself, would it be masturbation or would you be considered gay?”

phil, who was washing the dishes six feet away from them, just about crumbled into a ball on the floor from how hard he was laughing and sobbing.

of all questions, that was the one that came out.

but he had no idea that the chaos was a coping mechanism. he just thought they were naturally like that in their free time.

he soon found out the truth when they came home with tommy, who was cursing up a fit, visibly angry. his friend was slumped over, as if trying to hide themselves from the world

when phil asked what had happened, tommy exploded.

“their fucking dad took all their money from their savings! said he needed it more than them and when they asked for it back, he called them a fucking disappointment! that fucking bitch--”

phil can count very few times when he felt true anger and he can confirm that when tommy had told him what had gone down, he saw red.

but he knew better than to outwardly show it. judging by how hunched over and defeated the kid was, what they needed was a stable support system

so he walked over and shut tommy up with a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t we take the rest of the night to build up that game room you wanted in the basement. i’m sure if we knock it out before techno and wil are supposed to be back, we can all play something like monopoly.”

seeing where phil was headed, tommy nodded and brushed away his anger. he knew that what his friend needed was a serious cheering up. tommy ran towards his guest bedroom, claiming that he was going to find his blocks.

phil crouched in front of the teen, tilting their head up to look him in the eyes. “you’re not a disappointment. you’re an amazing person with a chaotic joke machine going 120 kilos over the speed limit in your head and you are talented. your dad doesn’t know shit about what you’re capable of doing.”

oh boy, the kid’s crying. those are tears, full on tears.

that night was one of the best nights of their life, however. they enjoyed the entire three hour long game of monopoly where they watched the light leave everyone’s eyes. it was funny when wilbur lunged across the table when he landed on a railroad, out for phil’s blood.

speaking of wilbur, he enjoyed every minute in the kid’s presence. they often asked creative and random questions and went along with the abstract jokes he made, the two of them laughing heartily the entire time.

when the kid first mentioned wanting to learn how to play the guitar, he practically burst through the wall of the room next door, breathing heavily and exaggeratedly.

“did someone say guitar”

yeah, he’s feral. that’s canon.

they proceeded to spend the entire day in phil’s garden, each of them equipped with a guitar. despite their outwardly smooth brain and stupid demeanor, the teen was a fast learner and could play the most basic chords by the time the sun was setting.

wilbur’s favorite moment was the first night they met, when they went to the carnival. there was the game where you shoot the water and fill up the balloons and the kid was going head to head against techno and tommy.

it was when techno won that the teen turned to techno with murder in their eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone of voice,

“you’re lucky you won this time, you gentrified mayo monkey.”

wilbur’s jaw dropped, as did techno and phil’s. tommy was already in hysterics, smacking his hand against the counter that held the guns.

needless to say, wilbur found his favorite, not-quite sibling in a heartbeat.

techno was the last to come around with the child. can you blame him? every time he tried to threaten them or had beaten them at something, they would respond in a cryptic threat--

“i’m going to pee your pants if you don’t let me win”

or just brushed him off. without a second thought.

“anyways, i was murdering a chicken the other day, and the fucker had the audacity to ribbit at me.”

to say he was confused was an understatement. he was terrified of the fact that a literal child held so much power and disinterest in things like their own life. so for the first few months, he avoided them.

but he had seen past that when it was around midnight on a weekday. tommy was hanging out with tubbo and ranboo in their village miles away from the area. wilbur was out drinking with schlatt, niki, and fundy, and phil was already asleep.

techno wasn’t too far behind, sitting in front of the fireplace and staring out of the window that showed the front yard. it was only then when he saw the flash of a familiar face and looked closer as the teen walked up to the house quietly. their head was down and they carried a small bag with them.

techno opened the front door with a long creak as they reached the porch steps. it was only when they jumped and looked up in surprise that techno had noticed a deep bruise on their left cheek in the moonlight.

despite the fact that he kept away from them, techno was very protective and territorial of tommy, phil, and wilbur. and since they were attached to the teen, he became protective of them as well.

so all the voices in his head went quiet for a second. before exploding into a mixture of screams and threats, all leading back to protecting the child in front of him.

without thinking, he reached forward and cupped their face for a better view of the bruise. at the warm and soft touch, tears slipped down the kid’s cheeks and they sniffed pathetically.

the voices quickly took a 180, all screaming to take care of them. make them feel better. so, techno led the kid inside and let them spend the night in his room, with them falling asleep on the bed and him falling asleep on the rocking chair in his room.

phil did not hesitate to officially declare himself as the teen’s official father, saying that their biological father was a “little bitch”

now somewhat living with the teen, techno found an appreciation for their quieter moments, when they were reading or simply daydreaming. it was cute, in his eyes. but he also grew to enjoy when they were absolutely feral, especially toward tommy.

his favorite moment with them was when they had gifted tommy a music disc for his birthday. it was sweet and sentimental and tommy just about burst into tears when he saw it.

all of the sappiness quickly vanished when tommy put it into a jukebox.

“FUCK THIS PUSSY, BOY, FUCK. FUCK IT RIGHT, BOY--”

tommy had let out the most terrified scream and it practically engrained itself into techno’s brain. it was the first time he ever laughed at something the teen had done and the teen felt proud of themselves.

and finally, tommy. he was already happy to call himself a friend of the teen’s. they were like peas in a pod, working together.

tommy came to them when his insecurity felt heavy and they came to him whenever their dad’s words got to them. they had a nice system of dependency on one another and neither of them would trade it for the world.

tommy’s favorite moment of being friends with them was during their first birthday living in phil’s house. it was a birthday befitting their personality, with brightly color streamers hung and confetti all over the floor. he knew that they enjoyed it severely and once the cake was cut, the kid turned to phil.

“phil, where’s the big tiddy strippers i requested?”

tommy was GONE

he all but choked on his slice of cake and walked away, shaking his head while trying to stifle his giggles. but when he heard phil’s scream of “WHAT”, he just lost it.

all in all, his friend had made a fine part of the sleepy boys. they were a happy face in an otherwise somewhat bleak and dangerous world. and all four men appreciated it.

[stomp-that-ho-regard]

I typically don’t do asks (I've only ever gotten a few), but a recent one got my gears turning and I wanted to reply.

(This is a secondary blog, so I can’t answer asks in the usual way.)

Your post about the retcon is so fucking good, I wish every critter saw it and actually thought about how shitty it was done, but then their belief in the cast and show would probably start cracking.

Thank you for liking the retcon post. I’ve seen various people in the tags thank me for making that post and have said that it’s helped them ‘feel less insane’. None of us are insane. We are not delusional. We didn’t experience a mass hallucination. These things happened, and they’ve been thoroughly documented. Hundreds of hours of material over the course of three years.

The people who should read that post won’t ever see it because I have all those assholes blocked lol. If they did manage to find it somehow, I know they would just mock it, as they’re wont to do with any of our criticisms. They’re so far up CR’s ass, they’ve convinced themselves that a retcon didn’t happen. Even shoving the literal definition of the word in their faces wouldn’t wake them up.

It's just so fucking weird to see how the group is acting now, and I'm pretty sure we're never gonna get a Laura&Marisha episode picture and a TM episode with those 2 for the rest of the campaign. It feels like when a non-canon wlw ship gets big on a TV show and suddenly the actresses can't be seen or interact with each other anymore🙄 it's the same fucking pattern and like you, I thought I wouldn't have to deal with this on a d&d show.

I specifically want to address the “It feels like when a non-canon wlw ship gets big on a TV show and suddenly the actresses can't be seen or interact with each other anymore” because I’ve thought about that pattern too. (Not so much with Marisha/Laura ‘cause them being on TM together is already a rare combo. If they don’t appear much or at all going forward, I don’t think it’s because of this, though it really wouldn’t surprise me. But, I have been thinking about that specific pattern in regard to their characters.)

I can make a comparison between this situation and what happened with the show A/gent Carter and the way the ship Cart/inelli was handled.

I know that might sound weird, but stay with me here lol...

I want to make it clear that I’m not comparing the relationships at all. Cart/inelli did not have nearly the same amount of build-up and depth as Beaujester, (or quite frankly, their level of possibility.) What I am comparing is the creators over-the-top reactions to these characters being shipped so hard and the extreme measures they went to in order to ‘remedy’ that.

The ship included P/eggy Carter and A/ngie Martinelli. The show was set in New York. Angie was a waitress (who wanted to be an actress/be on Broadway) at the diner that Peggy frequented. They ended up talking quite a bit and became fairly close. That ended up kind of becoming the core relationship in the entire first season, and LOTS of people started shipping it.

At the time, no one was calling us crazy or delusional. At most it was, “This is ABC! They’re not gonna pair her with a woman!” and of course the obligatory “But Peggy’s not gay!”. But no one was calling us names or being generally cruel. And anyone who tried it was ignored because everyone else drowned them out. The ship became extremely popular on Tumblr and Twitter. Both actresses were very positive and supportive. They regularly liked/retweeted romantic Cart/inelli fanart on Twitter. Even one of the female writers on the show got behind it too. It was asked about frequently at conventions and no one booed or rolled their eyes. The questions were never dismissed or made into a joke. (Honestly, this was one of the better overall fandom experiences I’ve had on here.)

And all of us were super excited for S2. Not just because of all the support, but because they had ended S1 with Peggy and Angie moving in together. Peggy had purchased, either it was a really fancy apartment or house (my memory is fuzzy on this), and she literally asked Angie to stay with her. Needless to say, that fueled the flames even more.

But despite the actresses and at least one writer being on board, between S1 and S2, something shifted.

Clearly, the showrunner and/or the execs, took a look at all of this and deemed it a ‘problem’. When S2 finally came around, suddenly everything was different. Instead of both of them living together in New York, instead of it being an organic (I’m beginning to hate that word) continuation from where they left off, Peggy decided to move to Los Angeles to do work for some agency out there or something, and Angie stayed in New York. It’s never explained why. It’s never explained why a woman who so badly wanted to be an actress would NOT want to go to LA, where Hollywood is. LA was never mentioned in S1. There were no hints that Peggy might want to fly out to the West Coast at some point. She seemed perfectly happy in NY, basically setting up house with Angie.

And they didn’t even ease into the change. They just got rid of the character. The actress was bummed about it and Cart/inelli fans tried to put pressure on the showrunner/writers to bring Angie back, which the actress completely supported, but even that fell on deaf ears. So, Angie was simply no longer an entity on that show. Conveniently removed. All the excitement we had was crushed. And of course, the second that Peggy got out to LA, she suddenly had a very obvious male love interest. What a surprise.

The showrunner/writers were not subtle about what they thought about our ship and us. They made the most extreme, nonsensical writing decision in order to permanently separate these two characters. Because, hey, that’s the only way to get the shippers to STOP, right?

This was what I was reminded of when I started seeing the turn that post-hiatus CR was taking. It ended up being a weird combination of kneejerk erasure (BJ) and heavy-handed overcompensation (BY).

But of course, CR is not a TV show, it’s D&D. And they can’t force one of their PCs to just disappear, so what do they have to resort to? Not interacting.

We all know how severely neutered Beau and Jester’s general relationship has become. It’s clear to me that both Marisha and Laura felt they had to do that. They had to suddenly have their characters stay away from each other as much as possible so they could prioritize Fjord and Yasha, and speed-run into romances with them. They started acting as if either of them giving the other one ounce of affectionate attention (like they had been doing so often and so naturally before), would be breaking some sort of hidden ‘relationship code’. Almost like if they ever hugged again, the studio would go down in flames.

The very obvious fact that they went to these lengths, to me, proves two things...

One, it proves the retcon even more, because you can tell that the way they behaved with each other DID in fact change. The frequency of interactions and the way those interactions would play out. Whenever they interact now, it seems like they’re trying to keep it as short, thin, and almost comedic (to the point of goofiness, and not in a good way) as possible. Their engagement seems half-assed and dull. The sounds of their voices, their facial expressions... completely sanitized. Even all the physicality they had is gone; the touches, the hugs, the cuddling. Every single aspect is different and they absolutely did that intentionally. This had to happen because they needed to dupe the viewers into believing that despite overall interest waning, their threadbare connections to Fjord and Yasha are more important, and were always more important then their connection to each other, that we all watched them steadily build. (And watched them pick up steam from about ep70 onwards.)

And two, that whole intentional decision to cut themselves off from each other, proves to me that their interactions pre-hiatus were indeed tinged with ‘something extra’, that was more than just friendship. They both recognized it and that’s why they pulled back so hard. That’s why soft touches and hugs and cuddling are no longer ‘allowed’. That’s why quiet, heartfelt conversations are no longer ‘allowed’. Because if there was absolutely nothing there, if they didn’t see/feel any romantic chemistry simmering underneath, and it was all just platonic BFF stuff, why would they suppress their behavior so drastically?

I think that all of this really does cement what I said in my retcon post: That there are disingenuous patterns being used here that I’ve seen far too often in media. In A/gent Carter, it was a character separation, in CR it was a character dynamic separation. Both done on purpose, to make the shippers shut up, and to push a different plot.

One is scripted, the other is unscripted, but the situations feel disgustingly similar, don’t they?

[finleyfray]

Bittersweet Memories part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Huge thanks to @captain-josslett for helping me.

TW: some past abuse, mention of suicide, smut(ish) just a little, laguage

Finley sat on their bed looking at the door. She was mad at her girlfriends. She didn’t want them to know, not like that, she was not ready yet. Her past was fucked up, and she has spent previous years trying to forget about it. No need to touch these memories when she was doing okay now.

But now Alex knows and Maggie too.

God knows what Alex saw in her head. She felt so exposed. She knows she has to tell them at some point, that she can’t run from it forever. Especially while her girlfriends told her about their past.

How Maggie’s father threw her out and she had to live with her aunt. How she tried to make it work between them, but he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his daughter was gay.

How Alex’s father passed away, or at least that was what they were told, then two years ago he came back, turned out that he was a traitor working for Cadmus. It had happened early in their relationship. Alex was officially dating Maggie at the time, and they weren’t out as polyamorous yet.

The redhead was devastated and they both held her close while she cried.

“Finley can we please talk?” There was a knock on the door and Maggie opened it. “Please, we need to talk this through.” She came to sit beside Fin, and Alex followed her, sitting on the other side of her girlfriend.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into your head like that.” Alex begins. “But hear me out. After they disconnected you from the ventilator, you were technically supposed to wake up. But then the days went by, and you were still asleep. We were starting to become hopeless. And one day Brainy comes in and says that you’re deep in your dreams, and he can help us wake you up. The only way for that was to go to your mind. And once I was in your mind, I had zero control, your memories were just flowing by. Until I found you, and tried to wake you up. But that somehow ended bad and we almost lost you... Again.” Alex looked at Maggie, they both had tears in their eyes.

“We can’t lose you...” Finley hugged her crying girlfriends and sighed.

They were right. If she ever was in this situation, she would do exactly the same. Finley feels bad now. She yelled at them, but they were just taking the chance to wake her up.

“I’m sorry I yelled. I just wished you didn’t have to see that. And it’s not like I didn’t want to tell you. It’s more like, I don’t want to think about it that much.”

“You can still tell us...” Maggie whispered. “Alex refused to tell me anything after she was taken out of your mind. She had a huge panic attack, it took me an hour to calm her down. But she just said that she wants you to tell us. Whenever you’re ready.” Her girlfriend kissed her cheek. “I hate how I’m the only one missing this.”

“All right.” Finley sighed. “I’ll keep it short though, if you don’t mind, I really don’t like getting into the details. When my mom died, my father began drinking. He became more and more aggressive, he used to yell at me a lot, and always ended up beating me. One day, after he hit me, police knocked on our door. They took me to the orphanage. And I was actually happy, I thought it’s going to be better now. But orphanage wasn’t fun. Everyone kept to themselves, trying to survive as the workers there didn’t give a shit about us, we just often walked around hungry and dirty. Because of that, school was also hard, dealing with bullies that claimed to be better cause they had parents. But the years just flew by, and when I became eighteen they kicked me out. I was homeless for a while, but finally I was allowed into University, and they gave me a place to live and offered a job. It was really a miracle, I applied there with the last money I had, and just passed their exam with 100%. But it was hard. I had to pay for my room and all the bills, work and go to classes every day. Sometimes I didn’t have enough money to eat and that’s why I just often forget to do that. What makes you mad is something that made me survive for so long.” Finley stopped for a second, wiped her tears, she was tearing up, she needed to speed this up, otherwise she won’t finish. “And just, you know, I finished college, but then couldn’t find any work, it was hard to find something considering my past. And one time I just wanted to end it all. But then out of nowhere J’onn appeared, offered me a chance so I took it. Yeah, so the rest you already know.” She sobs as her girlfriends hold her close.

It was hard telling them about her past. But she’s glad she did. Cause now she feels as if some weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

She feels safe. And that’s what she dreamed about her whole life.

***

Alex wakes up to knocking on their door. She sleepily looks around seeing her girlfriends still asleep so she went to open the door.

“Mom! Hi.” She frowns, she forgot her mother was coming for breakfast. “Shit, we overslept.” The redhead yawns and leads her mom to their apartment.

“And Merry Christmas to you.” Eliza chuckles but then looks at her daughter. “Alex, are you okay sweetie? Is everything alright? You look like you’ve been crying all night. Is Finley okay?” Alex sobs and goes to hug her mother.

Maybe they didn’t have the best relationship in the past, but hearing everything from Fin made her really appreciate her mother.

“Oh, okay.” Eliza hugs her daughter in surprise. “Honey talk to me, I’m worried.”

“Finley’s all right. Physically. We’re good. I’m just happy I have you. Love you mom.” The older woman smiles at her daughter.

“Love you too sweetie. What brought this?”

“I just... We talked yesterday about Finley’s time at the orphanage. And I am just really grateful I had you. Even after dad disappeared, you still took care of Kara and I. And Finley told us how her father became violent after her mom died. Just I’m glad you didn’t.” The redhead wipes her tears and looks at her mom.

“Oh sweetie, I would never hurt you.” Eliza gently grabs her cheek and wipes her tears away. She kisses the redhead forehead. “Go wake your sleepyheads up. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Thank you mom.” Alex beams and goes to wake her girlfriends up. She gently lay beside Fin and placed small kisses on her face until she opened her eyes.

“Merry Christmas baby.” She smiles as Finley sleepily greets her back. She looks into her girlfriend's blue eyes and kisses her softly. The younger woman smiles into the kiss and embraces Alex in a hug.

Maggie turns around and hugs them too. She looks at her girlfriends with a huge grin.

“Merry Christmas baby.” The redhead smiles at her and reaches over Finley to kiss her.

“Your boob’s on my face.” Fin laughs.

“I fail to see a problem with that.” The raven-haired woman remarks.

“Well... It’s still clothed.”

“Dorks, stop. Mom’s here. We overslept.” Alex stands up. “I’m going to shower.”

“Can I...” Maggie began, only to be interrupted.

“No. We all know how that ends.” The raven-haired woman pouts. Finley laughs and kisses her as the redhead leaves the room.

***

Later that day Finley was sitting on the couch with Alex. Maggie was out to get her Aunt from the airport, and Eliza decided to take a nap in the guest room. They didn’t mind and decided to watch some TV.

Finley thought about how she met her girlfriends.

After J’onn offered her a job she gladly took it. He told her he’ll pick her up next Monday, to show her around and begin training her. What surprised her, and she soon learned that it also was a shock for all her new co-workers, the man decided to train her himself. As her apartment was being sold, she was offered a room in the DEO. Each day she arrived punctually for her training. They trained all day which Fin loved. It gave Fin no time to think about her life, being so exhausted from it all. About a week after arriving, she met Alex. Fin thought Alex was the most beautiful human being she ever met.

Sadly Fin soon learned that the agent was taken. That was until she had the chance to meet her girlfriend, Maggie. Finley then decided Alex and Maggie were both the most beautiful women ever. It was a shock, she didn’t ever have time to think about any relationship in her life, she was simply too busy to. And now not only had she had a crush on a woman, but on two. It took her a lot of time and research to figure it out.

Nevertheless the fact that she had a crush on these two women, Finley never thought that they could like her.

That was until one day they approached her and asked her out for dinner. One became two, and after the third date, they talked about their relationship. It took them a bit of time to come out to their friends and family but Finley was patient. It took her a long time to figure this out, so she gave them their time too. It was adventurous, sneaking around to give each other kisses. She felt like a teenager being in love for the first time.

“You okay? You zoned out.” The redhead asks, looking at her. The shorter woman smiles and guided the redhead to sit on her lap. She would rather sit on Alex’s, but her plaster was making that impossible.

“I’m okay. I was just thinking about how it all began. The day you asked me on a date.” She smiles and kisses the redhead. Her girlfriend kisses her back and Finley slips her tongue in Alex’s mouth. The woman on her moans quietly.

“Hi... Oh Rao, I’m sorry.” They part and look at Kara and Lena as they stand in the doorway. “T...the door was unlocked!” The superhero cheeks were as red as he cape.

Finley begins laughing and all three of them look at her surprised.

“I just remembered the first time this happened.”

Alex, Maggie and Finley had been sitting on the couch watching ‘Avengers’. They were enjoying their free evening as they weren’t out as polyamorous yet, so that excluded any attention outside their apartment.

Finley was sitting between them, her head on the raven-haired woman lap, and her legs tangled with redheads. Her girlfriends learned pretty soon that the youngest woman was touch deprived.

They didn’t mind that seeing how even small touches of Finley’s hand made her smile like the happiest being on earth. They made sure to give her a lot of cuddles. Maggie bended her head to give her black-haired woman a kiss.

“I’m going to grab us some drinks. You mind moving?” Finley pouted and gently bit her girlfriend's lip. The raven-haired woman gasped.

“Fin...” she looked at her with a playful smirk.

“Whatcha gonna do bout it?”

“I’m just...” Maggie smiled and lifted her girlfriend up, making her sit in Alex’s lap. “Here. Stay there.” She winked at Alex as the red head embraced Finley in a strong hug.

Fin took her chance and decided to kiss the redhead. Her girlfriend was very enthusiastic about it. Alex slipped her tongue in Finley’s mouth and placed her hands on her hips and guided her to move back and forth.

Finley broke the kiss and moaned suddenly feeling hot. Her red-haired girlfriend took off her shirt and tossed it in the corner. She kissed Fin’s neck, sucking it hard.

“Alex...! Oh RAO, I’M SO SORRY!” They heard Kara yell and jumped from each other. They were breathing hard, looking at the blonde who had her eyes covered. “Wait a second...” She looked at them in shock. “Alex! That ain’t Maggie!!” Kara yelled.

“Hi, little Danvers!” Maggie came with their drinks and looked at the scene before her.

Finley was standing there with only her bra on and Alex was standing next to her. Both her girlfriends looked uncomfortable, their cheeks were red, and they were breathing hard. Well they had been busy.

Then there was Kara. Standing there looking at them and then at Maggie, she was confused and flustered.

“Kara it is not what it looks like" Alex rushed to grab a sheet and covered Finley with it. “I didn’t cheat on Maggie, we’re in a polyamorous relationship!”

“Maggie! They were kissing.”

“Yeah, I know that.” The Detective laughed. “What’s the problem?”

“Oh...” The blonde became more confused, but nodded her head. “Alright I’m going to go...” She flew away and Maggie laughed hard.

“Oh God...” Alex whined.

“She flew to me after that and asked what’s a polyamorous relationship. I almost had a heart attack. It was as if a toddler came up to me and asked how kids are made.” Lena laughs looking at her fiancé, who turns her head away embarrassed.

“How was I supposed to know that! I thought Alex was cheating on Maggie.” She stutters.

“Don’t worry little Danvers. We weren’t doing anything nasty this time. Just kissing. I’m sure you can handle that.” Finley laughs.

Alex stands up from her girlfriend and looks at her sister in disbelief.

“I would never cheat on Maggie. Or Fin. But I understand your confusion. We should’ve talked with you about it sooner.” She admits. “I would say that I’ll make sure of it next time, but there wouldn’t be one. Staying with these two forever.”

***

After the Christmas dinner, Alex, Maggie, Kara and Lena decided to go for a walk. They wanted to take Finley along, but she said that wheeling around is not a walk, so she’s going to pass and help Eliza in the kitchen. Vivian went to unpack her things in the guest room. After that they sat by the dinner table, Eliza made them coffee and Finley put the sweets on the table.

“Can I ask you both something?” Fin begins looking hesitantly at both women. She specifically chose to sit against them to be able to see both their reactions.

“Of course darling.” Vivian smiles at her. Even though she was Maggie’s aunt, they both looked very alike. Both had brown hairs and brown eyes. They even had the same dimpled smile.

Finley looked at Eliza and the older woman nodded her head encouraging her to continue.

“Well before the accident I was planning something... And I know it isn’t possible yet, and we don’t even know if it’ll ever be, but I just wanted to, and I…” Finley spoke really fast, she was stressed.

‘This was a stupid idea. What if they laugh. What if they say no?!’

“Take a deep breath sweetie.” Eliza gently squeezes her hand, making her calm down. “Tell us slowly what’s going on.” Finley took a deep breath.

‘It’s now or never.’

“I love your daughters very much. I want to propose to them soon. And I know it’s not possible yet to marry them legally. But when the possibility will come, I want them to be my wives. And I wanted to ask you both for permission.” She looks at them scared.

“Ohh, Finley.” Eliza stands up and goes to hug her. “Of course you have my permission to marry Alex. I could never imagine better wives for her. You three are so amazing together.” She smiles and kisses Finley on the forehead. She pulls away and Vivian takes her place.

“I agree with Eliza. I couldn’t imagine anyone that could make my girl happier than you and Alex. You have my blessing, darling.” She hugs her and Finley beams.

“Thank you. This means so much to me. I can’t even imagine my life without them, so I have to make sure they stick around as long as it’s possible. Now I just need to have a fully working leg to get down on one knee” She jokes. Things are going perfect right now. **

Later that evening as their family left and Vivian went to the guest room to rest, Finley was lying comfortably with her girlfriends.

“We met J’onn earlier.” Alex begins. “He asked about you. We told him that Maggie takes care of you. He didn’t know Maggie resigned.”

“Oh?” Fin looked at the redhead. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I kind of forgot. And since he’s afraid to read my mind anymore...”

“That’s cause you're a pervert.” Maggie laughs. “Thinking bout the nasty 24/7”

“Hey! Don’t mind me, those are my thoughts, can’t do anything about it!” Alex pouts.

“Well back to the main point, he offered me a job at the DEO.” The raven-haired woman said, looking at Finley. “Starting January 2nd.” “That’s amazing!” Fin hugs her girlfriend. “Congrats baby, you can work with us now.”

“She didn’t accept it yet.” Alex murmured.

“Wait why?” The black-haired woman frowned. It was an amazing opportunity, why didn’t Maggie say yes?

“I want to take care of you.” The raven-haired woman kissed her girlfriend.

“I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself! They are taking my plaster off soon and replacing it with the brace. I’m really better. You need to accept the job darling.” She looked into her girlfriend's eyes. “Accept it.”

“But...”

“No buts. Accept it. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Okay.” Maggie sighs. She wanted the job, but also wanted to look after her still healing girlfriend.

“But we’ll need some ground rules. Like you calling us every hour. And if something is wrong, you’ll tell us immediately. And you take care of yourself, taking your medicine, eating and drinking. And you’ll take it easy.”

“I promise. I’ll be fine.” Finley smiles and kisses her. “You okay with it?” She turned to look at Alex.

“Well, I think so. But also if it won’t work out I know that J’onn will just give us days off.”

“That won’t be needed.” Fin kisses the redhead. “I’ll be just fine.” She snuggles into her girlfriend's arm and was soon sleeping.

[am-imagines]

Love Guard. - Alex Morgan Imagine.

Prompt:  Hey, could you do one where r is a lifeguard and the uswnt spends a day at the beach. Something happens to one of the players that requires r’s help. Maybe combined with flirting from Alex or kelley

A/N: When I received this prompt, I saw the same one in different blogs, so I decided to give it a spin. I hope you’re still around, anon. I know I’ve been taking forever and being MIA more than I’d like, but I didn’t forget. I have all of your prompts and I’m steadily working on them, I promise.

Any and all mistakes are mine. I hope you like it!

You’ve spent a thousand days on that beach; countless afternoons after school enjoying the water, and a handful of summers watching sunsets from the lifeguard tower. That place was your life before you moved out to college. It was your sanctuary when the world hadn’t discovered you yet and your skills were polished in the sand instead of a pitch.

Being there after so many years; days spent training with your club and summers conquering every tournament in existence with the USWNT, is quite an odd thing.

You’re not the same person you were back then; now you have Gold Medals and World Cups to speak for. And yet, you’re not so different; still in love with the sea and that piece of paradise with calm waves and water that barely gets to your waist for a hundred feet.

That beach is still somewhat private, a secret not many know and therefore, just a few people are there when you walk in.

The sand is as golden as you remember and the ocean awaits for you.

“How did you discover this place?”

You’re pulled back into the moment, your attention goes back to Pinoe as the woman waits for an answer, but the question isn’t directed at you.

“I used to come here every weekend when I was younger,” says Alex.

A beach day in L.A. was in the agenda and since Alex is home, she took on the guide role. You went along just to see what the forward had in mind, but you certainly weren’t expecting to be in a place that meant so much to you once upon a time.

You find it hilarious. You have so many memories there and yet you almost forgot about it completely. It’s a good thing they don’t know much about your past or the times you worked as a lifeguard in that very same place. You’re pretty sure someone would ask you to run in slow-motion just because they’re brats.

“This is amazing!”

You agree with Kelley and Sonnett as your group marches decidedly to what they claimed to be the best spot. What makes it the best spot? You’re not quite sure but help Ali and Christen to lay down enough towels for all your teammates.

Even then, you leave sunbathing to Rose, Carli and some others. The sea is calling you. The volleyball game that Alex and Kelley are starting in the water is too good to pass out and soon enough half of the team is ready to play, and the other half watches intently as they drink on all that vitamin D.

Someone turns up the music on a bluetooth speaker and that’s pretty much how madness begins. Pinoe is supposed to be your ref, but then Ash is shouting the score and confusing the hell out of everyone, Tobin changes teams at least three times, a ball hits Sam directly on the face and you’re laughing until your sides hurt.

At some point Ash, Alyssa and AD start tossing people into the water and you find it unfair when Franch zeroes on you as her next target. You try to fight her until Alex is behind you; holding you in place until the goalie can toss you over her shoulder.

“Traitor!” You shout to Alex before going underwater.

It’s not the first time Alex does something like that and you’re sure it won’t be the last. You blush whenever she’s around; your gay shows along with the crush you’ve tried to hide for months. But that woman drives you crazy, and maybe she knows it a bit too well.

You blame everything on her smile, on her eyes as blue as the sea around you. They shine with mischief every so often, and you know you’re in trouble the next time she smirks at you.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” She asks with the sweetest and most innocent look.

“I don’t like that face.”

“Really? You don’t like my face?”

Alex bats her eyelashes and pouts. By then, it’s obvious she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s just playing with you. But you’re not quite sure if she’s just being playful because she knows you fancy her or if she likes you too.

Before you can argue your case, she splashes you in the face.

“You did not!” You exclaim in mock shock as you wipe your cheek. “This is war, Morgan!”

With the most ridiculous war cry you can muster; one you’re sure Xena would be proud of, you chase after her.

Alex is a good swimmer and a cheeky woman with the nerve to splash you again before squirming away. It’s easy to be part of her game even when she dares to splash you a third time.

You follow her deeper into the sea until the water is at your chest level and you can actually swim. The rest of the team is far behind you; the sound of their laughter faint and all your focus on the woman that has unknowingly won your heart.

“You’re going to pay for this,” you tell her once she’s within reach.

Your arms sneak around her waist and she struggles to find her footing for a second. With your help, Alex finds her balance and you smile sheepishly at her.

“I thought you were supposed to help me instead of trying to kill me.”

She says it as a joke; the kind of light jabs and playful banter you’re used to, but there’s something about the way Alex says those words that make your heart stop for a second. Alex still has that same mischievous look while you become a deer caught in the headlights.

“What?” You ask dumbfounded.

“You know,” Alex starts while her harms wrap around your neck. “There was a reason why I came to this place as often as possible.”

All the clues are tight there. The pieces of the puzzle are there for you to pick, and yet, you can’t really think straight when Alex is so close. You blame it on her eyes and how blue they are with the ocean all around you. Or maybe it’s the softness of her sun-kissed skin as she pulls you closer.

Whatever the case, you barely register that she’s talking to you.

“There was this one lifeguard,” she continues. “The cutest girl I’ve ever seen. I remember stealing glances here and there, but she was always too busy taking care of the shore. She would help anyone that asked for it. It’s just...I never had the courage to talk to her.”

“Why not?”

To you, Alex Morgan is the most confident woman in the world. In and out of the field, she radiates confidence. It’s one of the many reasons that make her a team captain. You can’t think of any circumstance where she´d shy away from something or someone.

“I’m not sure. I was embarrassed for having a crush on her. But to be honest, I think I fell a bit in love with her back then.”

“Just a bit?”

“Yes. Then another bit years later when she walked into the room as the newest member of the National Team. And maybe a little bit more every day since then.”

You remember your youth and the passion you had for the sea. You remember the lifeguard tower and everyone in there; all boys except for you. They became your family, and leaving them behind for college was hard. Still, it was the right decision.

It was in college that you found a new passion.

You discovered your speed and the mean way you could kick a ball. Talent, your coach called it, but you worked day and night to develop skills. And ultimately, those were the ones that got you into the USWNT.

Life works in funny ways.

You’re back at the start; in the same beach, with the same blue eyes following your every move. But now you have a World Cup championship under your belt, and maybe enough confidence to be with the girl of your dreams.

“Hi, I’m Y/n. I’m a Lifeguard, don’t fret. I’m here to help.”

A flash of confusion crosses Alex’s face for only a second before she understands exactly what you’re doing. She chuckles at your antics but is willing to play your game.

“Yes, please. I swam all the way here and now I can’t get back. I’m a little out of breath.”

“Is that so?”

This whole thing is silly, but the kind of silly that will make you look back with a fond smile. You have trouble trying not to laugh as you speak, but hey, Alex can’t blame you when she’s fighting her own laughter.

“We should take you back to the shore then.”

“I had a different idea,” she intercedes.

You have half a second to react before she cups your face and her lips meet yours.

It’s impossible to fight the smile off even when she’s kissing you. It’s the perfect kiss; soft, gentle and yet enough to surpass every dream you’ve ever had of this moment.

You never saw Alex on that beach; too high on the freedom the water gave you to notice anything else. Even when you were focused on the job, you were trained to pay attention to the signs of drowning and not the faces, so you barely remembered anyone.

But you saw Alex when you joined the National Team. You saw her from the moment you entered the soccer world, and maybe you also fell a bit in love with her from that day.

“Should we go back?” You ask when you finally break apart.

“Guess we have to deal with the team now.”

“So it seems.”

It doesn’t matter if Alex is a great swimmer, you use your training to guide her closer to the shore until the water is only at waist level. Instead of letting her go, you carry her bridal style to the safety of the sandy beach.

“Now you’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” She asks clingling a bit tighter to you.

“What else do you want from me, woman?”

“Another kiss.”

That’s a request you’re all too happy to comply with. 

You see Alex as she truly is; beautiful and strong, resilient, capable to make the world kneel at her feet. She’s an extraordinary human being, and you love every bit of her.

[katelynn-a-fan]

hey sweet darling, you offered fluff? could i request dukeceit, or if you don't like dukeceit then any other janus ship? it was very kind of you to offer - imlovethomasssanders

(no prob. who knows? this might even revamp my creativity! Also, I am a multishipper, so I can absolutely do dukeceit! And I apologize if the brief tension/angst? hurt/comfort? makes it just a little too much over into not fluff. An idea took hold...) @imlovethomassanders​ 

Janus was... helplessly in love with Remus. It was just a fact. Janus could almost say he wanted to change that, but then he would always think of Remus’s stupid grin and be right back in pining city (hell).

And other than the fact that whenever Remus lobbed that grin at him he swears he’s on the verge of a heart attack and he can’t stop thinking of his jaw... it would’ve been manageable if it weren’t for Roman.

At first Roman was none to keen to have the ‘snake in the garden’ pining after his brother, because come on, Janus was a helpless gay and wasn’t subtle at all when it came to actual feelings. But once Janus had apparently shown he wasn’t a bad influence on Thomas, Roman had actually started to....

Ahem. 

Set Janus up in.... situations.

The latest way Roman tried to get them together involved way too much glitter for Janus’s liking, which was to say, basically any at all, and Janus was now just bidding his time until the next one. He had already caught Roman staring at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, which Janus had made sure to excuse himself as quickly as he could nonchalantly do, just to make sure Roman had not somehow done something to Janus’s face.

But as he sat on the couch, lounging across it with no regard for anyone coming to sit on it, dozing, Janus heard Roman scream from down the hall.

Now this wasn’t just a normal Roman scream, it was raw and grief filled.

Immediately, Janus was running, he didn’t remember getting up, just that he was now running to the source of the sound.

But when he turned the corner, his blood turned ice cold.

Roman was staggering out of his room, an unconscious Remus in his arms. This wasn’t unusual for Remus, to be knocked out like this, but Janus immediately saw his eyes, they were open and blank, there was no life in them, not even sleep looked like how Remus’s eyes looked. His body looked strange in Roman’s arms.

Roman was haggard, his princely uniform disheveled and unbuttoned, tears rolling down his face and his expression was pure anguish. Roman blubbered, “Spell, true love’s kiss, help!!”

And Janus didn’t question it, surging forward just knowing  Remus needed help and he love Remus and-

They were kissing.

God how Janus wished this had happened in a more romantic way, but when he started to pull back, all his doubts stopped as he felt Remus grip the back of his shirt, but instead of addressing Janus, Remus immediately looked at Roman, who still had Remus in his arms.

“You ASSHOLE!” Remus shrieked, punching Roman in the jaw, but even Janus could tell it was only to get him to drop him from how light the punch was.

Janus was confused at Remus’s reaction, letting out an uncharacteristic “Wh-Wha?”

Remus whipped back to face Janus when he spoke, fire in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at him.

“Roman, the assprince, decided to speed our relationship along apparently!” Remus yelled at a pouting Roman who was nursing where Remus’s punched him.

“What- What do you mean? Wait-” Janus blushed, realizing what Remus said.

“Roman apparently decided that if you weren’t going to confess your feelings for me, that he would trick me into pricking my finger on a stupid sleeping beauty flower, ya know it has the same ability spindle on the spinning wheel but instead it’s a flower? Anyways! You know the rest, a true love’s kiss blah blah blah. I’m furious with him because I was letting you take your time to come to me!!! The hopeless romantic doesn’t know when someone needs to take their time apparently!” Remus growled, Roman having the decency to deflate a little, avoiding eye contact.

“Wait, so you- you-” Janus floundered.

“I love you, Jan, yeah.” Janus sobered at those 3 words, those words helping him focus on other more important matters at the moment.

Janus smirked.

“Well, my first act as your lover is totally not going to be getting Roman back for what he did.” 

Remus cackled. “Oh, I love a nice protective lover, how about we make some moves.

Janus summoned his cane, and Remus summoned his morning star, both of them turning to Roman, who gulped at the look they were giving him.

“Let’s have some fun.”

(They aren’t gonna beat him up... well, maybe a bonk or two, but he’ll be in one piece, just unconscious) 

[angstalottle]

Blue Feather

Part 3- Final

As time passed these blue feathers seemed to appear more and more just lying around the castle.

Some seemed to have been dropped by accident but most looked to have been placed purposely, waiting to be found by the other members of the team.

Everyone took this as a sign that Lance was starting to take care of his wings again, that the fistfulls in the bathroom trash had to mean he was preparing to show off his wings to his friends.

As the days passed the team only grew more and more excited by the idea of seeing them. Keith especially wanted to know what his ‘rival’ was working with so he could challenge him to a race.

Hunk was great and all but his big wings were made more for long slow glides with the occasional burst of speed while Keith was constantly zipping around him.

The idea of dancing around the air together made his heart rate pick up, his hands get sweaty and his knees feel weak…

So maybe Keith had some repressed emotions he needed help figuring out.

The idea of actually talking to anyone about these was well nothing short of terrifying, but as he found himself distracted by every little thing Lance did from how he would grin excitedly whenever they found a new planet or would gently bump his shoulder against his when they were about to enter a battle… or how he would so gently run his fingers through his wings while he hummed old songs and the two would just spend hours sat together in a comfortable closeness that Keith never imagined he would have.

It all really came to head when the two were sent on a mission alone together and they ended up spending a night cuddled up close by a fire waiting for a storm to pass.

Lance even called it their makeup bonding moment.

Keith didn't sleep at all that night, he just watched Lance softly breathing taking the time to memorise every detail of his beautiful face…

Soon as they got back Keith went right to Shiro's door and kept banging on it until he opened up.

The door slid open to a half asleep Shiro looking down at Keith in confusion.

“Did i miss the alarm?” he asked followed by a yawn.

“No!” Keith looked down the hallway before shoving Shiro back into his room. “Somthings wrong, Lance.”

That certainly woke him up.

“What happened? Did he get hurt on your mission? Was he captured?!” Shiro was already mentally preparing a plan of action when he heard Keith let out a frustrated groan.

“He's too pretty and it's distracting me and i don't know why!” he tugged at his hair as he sat on the edge of the unmade bed, the blankets still on the floor from when Shiro bolted for the door.

He stared at his adopted little brother for a moment before bursting out laughing.

Keith glared blushing bright red “It's not funny! There's clearly something wrong with me!”

That just made Shiro laugh even harder.

“Shiro!”

“There's nothing wrong, you just have a crush on Lance.” He finally managed to get out between gasps for air.

This was the funniest thing that had happened since Hunk made mac and cheese that turned everyone purple for a week.

Keith stared at him like he had just told him the secret to the entire universe. “Oh...Oh.”

With the dawning realisiation of having his first crush hitting him Keith decided his brain was stupid and it needed to stop existing in a constant state of gay panic whenever he saw Lance.

“Fuck what do i do?” he asked hopelessly.

Shiro sat down next to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder “well with these kinds of things you can either confess or wait till it goes away.”

“How long would that take?”

“In your case I'd say never.” Shiro smirked at him as Keith flopped back onto the bed defeated “i don't think this is just a normal crush, i think it's the start of something special that began when you cradled him in your arms.”

“I… i was just impressed that he could shoot a guy while being super concussed.” Keith was quiet for a moment “fuck i practically shoved Pidge and you out of the way to hold him.”

“Yeah poor Pidge nearly had to go in a pod from that too.” Shiro sighed, it had been hard times recently, it was nice to be able to talk like normal people for once and not soldiers.

“You should talk to him, see if he feels the same way and then go from there.”

“He doesn't even trust us to see his wings, how could he ever want to be in a relationship with me?”

That one was admittedly trickier.

It wasn't like Shiro could just tell him that didn't mean anything, he may be wingless but Adam was not.

God just thinking of his fiance made his heart ache. He longed to hold him in his arms and have his beautiful green wings wrap around him letting him know he's home, that the wars over and he can finally be safe.

A person's wings were an extension of who they are, and without showing them Lance was essentially keeping a part of himself secret.

And that hurt.

“Give him time.” Shiro finally said after a few tense silent moments. “I'm sure he will come around eventually.”

Keith sighed “I hope you're right.”

It turned out that they wouldn't have to wait all that long.

Only a week after that interaction Lance came quietly into the kitchen while the rest of the team were sitting eating breakfast.

“I want to talk to you guys”

“Sure buddy whats up?” Hunk asked between serving pancakes.

“It's about my wings.”

That certainly got everyone's attention.

“I know you've all been curious about why i keep them hidden and well i think i owe it to all of you to tell you why.”

Lance pulled a handful of blue feathers out of his pocket and placed them on the table.

“My family have peacock wings but these aren't peacock feathers.”

Pidge picked one up and examined it in the light “these are fake.”

Lance nodded as he turned around and dropped his robe to the ground and stretched his wings out for all to see.

They had many theories about what could be wrong with his wings to make Lance hide them for so long.

They never expected it to be because he had two perfectly formed wings… that happened to be a dull brown.

“Those are female wings...oh” Hunk said what they were all thinking as a realisation filled the room.

And suddenly it all made sense.

All the secrecy and nervousness that seemed to slowly melt away as he realised he was around people he could trust and was safe to be himself around.

“Im trans.”

It was unsurprisingly Hunk that first tackled Lance to the ground in a hug, quickly followed by the rest of the team.

They all sat there for what seemed like hours just hugging and assuring Lance that everything was ok, that he was loved and accepted no matter what.

More than a few tears were shed by all involved, but eventually everyone parted ways, with Hunk going to the kitchen to prepare for a coming out party.

That just left Keith and Lance alone together.

“I think your wings are really beautiful… just like you”

Lance started as a blush creeped its way onto Keith's cheeks as a smile spread out on his own face.

“We have some time now, would you maybe want to go for a fly?”

And so the two spent the rest of the day exploring the peaceful planet together, racing, talking and come sunset perched atop the large trees they kissed.

Lance never saw the need to hide his wings again, why would he when he was loved by people that saw him and his wings and nothing less than Lance, blue paladin of voltron and a man.

[vikingsarememes]

Pairing: Y/N x Ragnarssons

summary: you and your mother are visiting her best friend Aslaug in her country house as a Christmas tradition! you get reunited with your childhood friends; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd and Ivar, too many good memories and they’re definitely more dramatic than you remember

warnings: light bullying

word count: 2712

A/N: this is a little messy but hopefully it will lighten up your holidays! requests are pretty open so feel free to do that, but nothing smutty though, I personally believe I’ll suck at writing smut, oh and Merry Christmas!

Your mother and Aslaug Lothbrok had been friends ever since you could remember, you were raised with ِAslaug’s boys as one of them, you were treated as a family, your father died when you were an infant while Aslaug’s husband disappeared shortly after her youngest son was born, Christmas was a lonely time for both women, that’s why they made it a tradition to celebrate it together even though time sent each in a different path.

Every year, you’d speed a weekend at the Lothbrok’s country house, all the boys would fly and drop whatever they were doing and go there, and this year was no different.

You and mother arrived, knocked on the door, Aslaug was the one to open it, she immediately greeted you both with a hug “Elvi! My dearest friend, you are finally here! Y/N! Look at you! You grew into becoming such a lovely woman! Come in, your rooms are ready if you want to rest and the boys are already here” she announced after both of you entered the house, Aslaug was ridiculously rich, and the country house showed that well. 

Aslaug and your mother instantly ignored your existence and headed to the kitchen to catch up with each other, while you put your bags aside then headed to the living room, where you could hear loud screams, laughter, and noises, once you set a foot in the room, it went soundless, the four boys looked at you as if they saw a ghost, “uh… Hi?” you said uncertain of their reaction. 

“Y/N?” Ubbe asked confused, perhaps a year could change someone more than they think “of course it’s Y/N! Who else could make us go quiet like that” Hvitserk rolled his eyes and got up, he walked to you and hugged you “it’s been so long! We almost forgot you existed” he chuckled and his brothers followed, hugging you one after another, welcoming you among them “excuse us for not recognizing you, last year you had glasses on and braces!” Ubbe clarified and you rolled your eyes “thank you for reminding me Ubbe” you scoffed.

You sat down on one of the empty couches “so… Y/N tell us! How’s New York treating you?” Ivar asked curiously “very well, I’m a photographer for TIMES magazine now, and things are great, I love the city, it’s not as beautiful as it is here, not as calm but it has its own beauty, you guys should visit me there someday! I’ll take you to my favorite spots and introduce you to amazing people!” you beamed “any boys we should beat?” Sigurd grinned “No, unless you count my colleague Karan, he’s an asshole, but other than that, I’m as single as I could ever be” you explained, Ivar laughed, while his brothers looked at each other as if they just heard that they were nominated for an award.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

Aslaug called you in as her and your mother prepared a table, it was time for dinner, the five of you took your usual seats, the ones that were decided ever since you were children, Aslaug and your mother excelled themselves this year; turkey, pumpkin pie, ham, a feast made for ten at least, you wondered how you’d finish all the food but then Hvitserk started eating.

Small talks filled the air, mostly your mother asking about the boys’ life now, Ubbe’s been married to a woman named Margrethe, she ran away and returned after many months but he divorced her, Hvitserk had been the same player he is, Sigurd was discreet, no one knew what’s new with him, and Ivar moved out of his mother’s house and he’s seeing a physician to treat his ongoing condition, he can walk now, with the use of crutches, of course, last time you saw him he used a wheelchair.

“And this woman, she knocked on my door in the middle of the night and stripped! She said she wanted to get back at her ex! I closed the door and went back to eating the chicken legs on the bed!” Hvitserk exclaimed the others laughed, Aslaug and your mother seemed more interested in whispering between the two of them.

“It’s so unlike you to refuse a woman brother!” Ivar noted as he picked a piece of turkey meat in his fork and ate it “I love women, yes, but no one can interrupt my binge eating after midnight on a weekend! It’s the holy laws of my household, besides, there will be next times, don’t worry about me, I’m quite charming” he smirked and sipped some wine.

“Excuse Ivar, he’s nineteen and hadn’t gotten laid yet, he doesn’t possibly understand pussies can be replaced” Sigurd mocked, everyone but Ivar laughed and with that, you knew it wasn’t a dinner anymore, it was a warzone “I doubt you know more than I do Sigurd” Ivar responded, he was angry you could tell, even if he hid it well behind a calm tone and a fake smile.

“I know my dick works, can you say the same?” Sigurd replied, seeming offended by Ivar “Jesus Christ Sigurd! Enough! we’re trying to eat!” Ubbe finally said and their little conversation died like that, an awkward silence fell upon the table, besides the whispers of your mothers of course.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

The five of you decided to sit and watch a movie, like the good old days when you used to be children, it was night and you were bored, after all, Hvitserk brought a popcorn bowl for everyone, Sigurd took responsibility for the drinks, while Ivar set up the movies mode on the television while you and Ubbe brought the blankets and pillows for everyone.

“We are not watching Ready or Not Ivar! It’s Christmas! We will watch a Christmas movie!” Ubbe bickered, “just because its Christmas doesn’t mean we have to watch some romantic bullshit with tacky writing!” Ivar protested “I thought we were watching a comedy” Hvitserk pouted, “we agreed we’ll watch a musical!” Sigurd said annoyed. 

With that everyone started arguing and screaming at each other, as much as you love these boys, you hated it when that happens, you took a deep breath then whistled, grabbing everyone’s attention “we’ll watch the lion king, and that’s final, it has horror aka Scar, Comedy aka Timon and Bomba, Romance Simba and Nala, and of course amazing music!” you listed and didn’t wait for anyone to complain, one thing you remember clearly about the boys, they’d leave their differences aside for a good Disney Classical gem.

No one said anything during the film, all of you were so concentrated, and even though you saw the movie thousands of times, you all cried at the sad parts, laughed at the funny parts, and awed at the lovely parts, Hvitserk finished his popcorn before the end of the first half, he then started stealing from everyone else’s, you ended up sharing yours with him since you couldn’t really finish it by your own, it only made him last for another thirty minutes.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

After the movie was over, and the crying had stopped, you all decided to revive an old Christmas ritual of yours, which is playing spin the bottle, thanks to Hvitserk you already had an empty bottle to spin, the five of you sat in a circle, and Ubbe span it first.

The bottle’s neck stopped on Sigurd and the bottom on Ubbe, Ubbe was to ask, and if the person didn’t want to answer they must drink a shot of vodka that was already prepared by you, Ubbe snickered a little “Sigurd, my little brother! What should I ask you?” he said thinking, even though part of you suspected he already had something in mind “Sigurd when will you bring us a man to the house?” Ubbe asked with a wicked smirk, rumors have it, Sigurd was gay but no one can confirm it “why? You’re not man yourself you need a manlier man?” Sigurd replied playing dumb “he’s asking whether you are gay or not” Ivar jumped, Sigurd rolled his eyes and took a shot.

Next, it was you and Hvitserk, your turn to ask him “how is it even possible that you don’t get fat? You eat so much!” you said “is this a question or a personal assault?” he frowned “a question man! I need your diet tips” you answered “well, I move a lot usually, not now but back in my place it’s not rare to see me running around the house screaming at three in the morning, I just move a lot, also sex helps lose weight” he shrugged.

Later it was Sigurd and Ivar “how come you’re a spoiled brat at the age of nineteen?” Sigurd asked him, mainly to piss him off “because mother was disappointed enough by the time I was born and she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t end up an annoying turd like you” he replied with a grin on his face that declares he won this round of sarcasm.

“Ubbe, tell us, who’s the mysterious woman you’ve been texting whenever you had a chance?” Hvitserk asked when it was his turn to ask a question “oh, it’s no mysterious woman, it’s Torvi, we are sending dog memes to each other” he responded “Bjorn’s Torvi?” you asked shocked, almost as shocked as everyone, the four of you exchanged a look, Ubbe looked at you all confused, letting a what but no one answered.

And for the final spin, it was Ivar’s turn to ask you a question “Y/N, tell us, now that you are a lovely grown woman, which one of us would you rather date if you have a chance?” he asked with a prying look on his face “well Ivar, you are mean, Hvitserk’s head on the cloud all the time, Sigurd is basically a bully, Ubbe is too old for me, so that leaves me with no one unless you guys have a secret ideal brother?” you grinned, the four boys were left speechless.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You all agreed to ditch the rooms and have a sleepover in front of the TV, you agreed on watching Lilo and Stitch’s two movies until you fall asleep, Sigurd and Ivar went upstairs to their rooms to grab few things, Ivar hated the stairs, you know that cause he kept cursing with every few steps he took, you also heard the sound of something falling but no one really paid any attention.

Later, the blue-eyed rascal returned, holding a blanket and another pillow, with a big grin on his face “why are you smiling?” you asked as you were the first to notice something was up, “what? Can’t I be happy for a change?” he replied, he can of course, but you were familiar with this mischievous smile too well “no, not really, what’s up?” 

“I just saw Sigurd roll down the stairs” he chuckled, his brothers looked at him as if it was the most normal thing ever, Ubbe quickly got up and went to check on Sigurd while Hvitserk just sighed and focused on the screen instead. 

“You bastard! What’s wrong with you? I told you to hold me!” a shouting, angry, injured Sigurd stormed in “I can’t, I’m nothing but a useless cripple remember?” Ivar said giving him the most innocent look ever while Sigurd glared at him non stop. 

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You were the first to wake up, you went to the kitchen and prepared coffee for yourself and everyone else, Ivar followed next, the two of you sat and ate your breakfast together, it was quite nice, Ivar was a nice guy when his brothers weren’t around.

“So… tell me about the physical therapy, is it actually working?” you asked, he nodded “yes, it’s extreme though, I thought I’ve experienced all kind of pain but apparently I’m wrong, nothing is more painful than taking your first step, I could hear my bones cracking, that’s why the physician had to give me those braces and stings attaching my bones together” he explained, Ivar was okay to tell you about this kind of things, he trusted you enough to know he’s in pain.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” you said comforting “it’s alright, I can walk now and It’s not as painful as it used to be, I’m almost numb in the legs anyways unless I try to use them”  he shrugged, Sigurd woke up next, he came to the kitchen and poured himself coffee in his mug, he took few sips “numb in the leg you say?” he snickered and spilled the rest of his coffee on Ivar’s leg, Ivar didn’t say much but you knew this hurt from his facial expressions even though he was hiding it well.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you shouted and ran to Ivar, helping him get up “what? He feels nothing! He said it himself!” Sigurd bickered “you can be such an asshole sometimes” you muttered and then you took Ivar to the downstairs bathroom, helping him clean up.

The skin was red from the heat, you reached for the first aid box in the mirrored cabin and treated his burn “I’m okay Y/N, you can stop worrying” he mumbled, you rolled your eyes “you’re welcome” you said sarcastically.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You spent the whole day playing video games, or watching the Lothbroks play video games, or fight over video games,  all but Ubbe who was deep in his phone, after a while, Hvitserk decided he’d lay his head on your lap and play sims on his phone instead, so it was only Ivar and Sigurd and you knew this would escalate sooner than it should.

“Would you play with my hair? I’ll share my stash with you” Hvitserk suggested, you nodded and started playing with his blond braids, he enjoyed it, then you decided it would be for the best to ignore Ivar and Sigurd this time, and get involved with the elder brothers.

“Why didn’t Bjorn and Torvi come?” you finally asked  Ubbe, he shrugged, “Torvi says Assa is sick, that’s why they can’t make it on the road, Bjorn thinks it’s best to skip and go to Lagartha’s this year instead, it’s closer” you were really looking forward to meeting Bjorn, you weren’t very close but he was eye candy, you had a crush on him growing up.

Nothing serious but you simply liked looking at him, Ubbe knew, he’d always teased you about it, but this time he didn’t, he knew you’d tease him about Torvi if he does.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

“For christ’s sake, Hvitserk slow down on eating! This is no manners!” Aslaug shouted in the middle of the lunch after her son ate his second plate “I’m hungry” he protested, “maybe if you ate slower, you wouldn’t be this hungry!” she argued “oh come on Aslaug! Let the poor boy eat, he’s a developing boy!” your mother giggled “he’s twenty-five, he passed the level of being a developing boy instead he’s a food monster!” the two women laughed.

Hvitserk brushed them off and moved to the dessert instead, your mother’s famous krumkake, one that no one could resist or hate.

Ivar and Sigurd exchanged hateful glances every now and then, but they didn’t say a word to each other.

֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎֎

You and your mother decided to leave in the evening, your brother, Havard was visiting tomorrow with his wife and two children, so you had to be home to prepare a meal and gifts, your mother and Aslaug spent what seemed like forever saying goodbyes, the uber driver hated you both for the delay.

The brothers said their farewells, already missing you, you invited them to your photography exhibition next month, you thought it would be a good idea for them to see your city, especially since they thought New York was nothing more than trash, they all promised to come.

You both got into the car and the man drove you to the airport “It was good seeing them no?” your mother asked, you were looking through the window, you wanted to stay there longer but your stupid brother had to ruin this for you “it was” you mumbled.

tags: @youbloodymadgenius

[ma-sulevin]

Chapter two is here! I did say it’s a slow burn, right?

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E, but mostly for swearing Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 4717, chapter two of twelve

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

---

She hasn’t spent any significant time in the Whitetails since moving to Hope County. The area is -- was -- mostly controlled by a handful of park rangers with the deputies only called in for the occasional problem too big for the rangers to handle, and Mattie hadn’t had enough time off to make camping in the mountains worth it.

It is beautiful, though. If she hadn’t been walking through the woods on the side of the road in someone else’s shoes, she’d be happy to be up here, maybe looking forward to a three-day weekend to relax after a hard few weeks at work.

Now she’s had a hard week and no rest in sight. She’s had the hardest week and no rest in sight, the evening she spent passed out in the abandoned trailer notwithstanding.

She and Boomer fall back into their habits from Holland Valley, sneaking through the trees that line the road and hiding from pickups carrying a handful of peggies to whatever peggie business they have to get up to, mostly staying out of trouble even after stealing another little car that had been left abandoned on the side of the winding mountain road.

When hunger makes itself known and jerky and old granola bars won’t cut it, she stops at the dock to poke around. She finds a fishing pole, like she hoped she would, and spends a couple hours fishing from the end of the pier with Boomer sleeping at her feet. It’s almost peaceful, if she ignores the occasional helicopter flying overhead and the occasional fast pop pop pop of automatic gunfire from deeper in the mountains.

She catches two salmon and cooks them over a fire, eating one and giving the second to Boomer when she can’t finish it. She curls up inside the boathouse and falls asleep to the gentle lapping of the water and Boomer’s heat against her back.

When she wakes with a pain low in her belly, she’s afraid for half a second she’s given herself food poisoning until she remembers how long it’s been since the last time she woke up with pain low in her belly (29 days, maybe 28, the dying has made it a little confusing) and then she’s sneaking to the closest gas station to see if she can loot any Tampax, guilt at taking from dead shop owners long forgotten.

Dutch passes along a mayday from the FANG Center while she’s drinking a warm Gatorade and waiting for her stolen Advil to kick in, a message from a man she hasn’t met because she never bothered to go see the local attraction, and she heads that way as directly as she dares. Boomer seems excited by the direction they’re going, sniffing the ground with his tail going fast enough to blur as soon as she abandons the car.

Boomer hears it first, head tilting first to one side then the other in adorable canine confusion. After careful consideration, he takes off at speed, leaving Mattie to just curse and follow him, pistol in hand, head low.

She recognizes Staci’s voice before she recognizes his words, and she freezes in place even though none of the peggies are looking even in her general direction, cold horror slithering up her spine and lodging deep, deep in her brain.

“I never wanted any of this to happen. I was brought here under false pre-- pretenses and fed lies about Joseph Seed and his family.”

He stumbles over his words. She’s never, ever heard him sound like that. She’s heard him slurring his words, drunk out of his mind; she’s heard him crying, mourning the loss of a lover; she’s heard him happy and tired and cocky and being a general little shit.

She’s never, ever heard him sound so… broken.

“Oh, Staci.”

She kills every peggie in the FANG Center without a moment of hesitation, without a moment of guilt. She punches a white wolf in the face when it bites her weapon hand, then shoots it between the eyes.

She doesn’t feel bad about that either.

She doesn’t die once.

---

Boomer and Cheeseburger get along better than she was expecting. They took a minute to sniff each other once the last of Jacob’s men died under their combined efforts, then Boomer licked the bear’s face and they took off running together.

She accepts having a bear as a companion (she can’t think of Cheeseburger as a pet, despite the collar and the way he asks for belly rubs) easier than she would have before Everything Went to Shit, and it’s nice having him around to chase off wild animals and keep her warm as the nights turn cold.

She doesn’t even mind when Dutch radios her again and tells her his niece is in trouble at the lumber mill, just heads over that way as soon as she finishes the rabbit she managed to catch and skin for lunch.

She hasn’t been to the lumber mill either, doesn’t quite judge its location right on her map, and she sees it from the top of a hill to the west. She sits on the rocks and watches through her pilfered binoculars for a while, watching the peggies walking around and listening to some bullshit about culling the herd playing over the speakers.

She’ll have to knock those out first. She’s already tired of his voice.

In the end, she’s happy she has Cheeseburger with her. Almost no one notices her sneaking around to kill the alarms when there’s a fucking bear roaring on the other side of the compound. She only has to snap one guy’s neck and gets two more from farther away with her sniper rifle and then… she’s done, the lumber mill is out of the cult’s hands and she’s able to walk around letting people out of the cages they’d been put in.

People.

In cages .

She doesn’t even feel bad for the lives she took. They fucking deserved it.

She wasn’t expecting to round the corner and run right into Jess Black, wasn’t expecting to find such an angry woman staring back at her, wasn’t expecting to suddenly find herself tongue tied and in the middle of what her college friends had called gay panic, but she did and she is and that’s the only thing she actually feels guilty about, especially when Jess starts explaining about the Cook and delves right into a thinly veiled story about her own life.

Mattie decides not to ask Jess about the scars, just follows her silently through the Whitetails, killing peggies and liberating normal people who should never have been put through what they’ve been put through. She tries not to show it outwardly, but Jess’ description of how human meat smells like pork makes her stomach turn.

She silently resolves never to eat pork again.

She doesn’t feel bad for killing the Cook, not even when Cheeseburger rushes in at the last minute and bites the man’s throat out.

Man? He’s a monster . He’s as much of a monster as Joseph and his siblings.

Jess looks miserable when she says, “I thought I’d feel better. Dutch was right.”

Mattie’s instinct is to reach out a comforting hand, it always has been, even when she was little. Joey and Staci had teased her relentlessly about her need for human contact, how she was always in their personal space, but when she took their words to heart and tried to hold back… they’d complained. They liked it.

Jess doesn’t. She steps away, offers to help fight back against Jacob whenever Mattie needs her, then… she leaves.

As soon as Mattie’s alone, an unfamiliar voice crackles over her radio. 

“There's someone out there pretending to be a soldier. They are killing our brothers and sisters and putting this project in jeopardy . ”

Mattie stares up at the paint on the exposed side of the mountain that says SACRIFICE THE WEAK and makes a face. She wonders if Jacob can see her, if he waited for her to be alone specifically to harass her with his unique brand of Seed bullshit.

“I want this coward to know they have my attention.”

“That’s me,” Mattie mutters, a half smile on her face despite everything. Boomer blinks up at her and lolls is tongue out; she scratches him behind his ear to thank him for laughing at her joke.

“My hunters are coming for you,” Jacob continues, heedless of her interruption. “There's nowhere you can run.”

Her radio clicks as he signs off.

Okay?

She’s still rifling through the pockets of the dead peggies for cash when a sharp pain lances up her leg and she looks down to see a whole-ass arrow sticking out of her thigh. She barely has time to wrap her fingers around the shaft when her vision sparks around the edges and she collapses.

Fuckin’ bliss.

---

She wakes up again tied  to a chair, groggy, nauseated, with pain radiating up from the arrow wound in her leg and the still-healing bite mark on her wrist. Wherever she is absolutely stinks, it smells like piss and sweat, and she’s coughing and gagging before she realizes it.

A cold hand touches her face, briefly, a caress of familiarity that’s gone before she can fully register it. It calms her down though, no threat in it, and she blinks her eyes open to see Staci standing in front of her.

For half a second she thinks he’s untying her, but…

No.

He’s making sure her bonds are secure.

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” he says, and what the fuck does that mean, of course she was going to come for him, was she supposed to let him stay up here by himself? After what she heard at the FANG Center?

His face is bruised and bloody, and part of the smell in the room is coming from him, and she doesn’t really want to cry right now but the residual bliss in her system is making that hard. He looks like he’s been beaten within an inch of his life, and if it wasn’t for the look of absolute sorrow in his eyes, she’d be convinced he fully abandoned the county in favor of the cult.

“You should have run.” He tightens the rope holding her left hand down so much that her fingers start to tingle, blood cut off, and then he looks over her shoulder and scurries away.

The light in the room goes off, something clicks beside her, and there’s a picture of a dead deer on the wall.

Jacob Seed starts in on his bullshit again, about how the world is weak and soft. There are two other people in the room with her, tied to other chairs, staring at the wall as the deer becomes a wolf and Jacob walks into view.

She jerks in her chair like she’ll be able to kill him right now, and… oh, that’s probably why her ropes are so goddamn tight.

Jacob stands in front of the room, looking for all the world like a college professor on the first day of class, and Staci stands on the other side of the screen like the world’s unhappiest TA.

She’s not watching the slides as they click from one photo of wolves to the next (and, okay, fucking slides? A slide projector? Is this the 70s? What the fuck?); instead, she stares at her friend. He stares right back, hands clasped together in front of the belt buckle he was so proud of, shoulders bowed.

She mouths his name. He shakes his head imperceptibly.

Jacob notices anyway and makes his way to her with steady steps, not pausing in his lecture. This is not the first time he’s given this lecture, in this room, in front of this slideshow.

He leans down so his face is level with hers, rests his weight with his hands on the arms of her chair, fingers bruising over her wrists. If he was any closer, she could headbutt him. She’d probably die for it, but at least she’d go down breaking his nose. He doesn’t move closer.

“The Collapse is upon us,” he says, and he says it just like that, like the C should be capitalized, like it’s the name of an event that will change the whole world. “And this time, the lives of the few outweigh the lives of the many.” She tries to kick at him, an aborted movement that lets her know her ankles are tied up too. His eyebrow quirks in what might be amusement, but it doesn’t break his concentration. “And when a nation that’s never known hunger or desperation descends into madness… we’ll be ready.”

Fuck him and his high horse. God damn fucking fuckface.

There must still be bliss in his system, or she’d be saying all this outloud. Consequences be damned.

Jacob stands and picks something up, winding it up in his hands. “We will cull the herd. We will do what needs to be done.”

He opens what turns out to be a music box and she fucking loses it. It hurts. It hurts more than the arrow and more than the bite and she howls with it, her head splitting apart. She loses Staci, she loses Jacob, she loses her own goddamn self.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the f

She’d prefer falling into the painful black-white-red that comes after she dies than this , that same song playing, Jacob’s voice crooning in her ear every time she clears a room, killing militia member after militia member in an attempt to escape the hotel.

Why are they attacking her?

Is that Pratt’s voice saying cull the herd I’m gonna fucking cull him what the fuck what the fuck what th

---

She’s still tied to the chair when she wakes up, but she’s tipped over on her side like she’s fallen over. There are two other bodies, also tied to chairs, and she wants to call for help but her throat is raw. 

Someone’s checking the bodies. Someone’s checking her body, wholly convinced she’s already dead, and he’s so startled to see her looking back at him that he drops her and her already aching head cracks against the floor again.

She’d swear, but she’s too tired.

She passes out as soon as it’s convenient and lets the men carry her wherever they want.

Who the fuck cares.

---

She leaves the Wolf’s Den as soon as she’s able to walk around without feeling like she’s going to faint. Jacob didn’t have her in the cage for that long, but she was running on not enough food anyway. The extra couple days of starvation made her feel… awful.

She’s still waking up with Staci’s face behind her eyes but she doesn’t know what she can do about it.

She needs more help.

She turns east as soon as she can, heading back toward the center of the county, maybe towards Faith’s region. She’s heard there are some survivors over at the jail, maybe she can get some of them to help her fight Jacob?

Christ. She needs someone who’s better at strategy than she is.

She’s been an adult for years but she’s still not ready for this.

She gets a somewhat frantic call on her radio as she gets closer to the eastern edge of Jacob’s region, has to slow her liberated ATV to a stop before she can really make out the words over the staticky line. Once she parses out the message, she almost turns her radio off and keeps heading for the bridge. Dealing with anything coming from Hurk Jr. is going to involve dealing with Hurk Sr., and she’s not sure she’s emotionally ready to handle the Drubmans today.

Boomer whines, though, panting by her side, and she figures that at least helping Hurk will earn her enough favor to borrow a car, or something. She’s been to the property before, and they have more than enough to spare one.

She scratches Boomer’s ears and adjusts her course, heading for the (very nice) house on the lake. It’s beautiful, too beautiful for someone like Mr. Drubman with his general shittiness to deserve, but she pulls into the drive anyway and steels herself for whatever’s about to happen.

She’s survived this far, right?

---

Okay, so liberating a modified campaign vehicle wasn’t really what she was expecting, and Mr. Drubman is exactly as awful as she remembers him being, but Hurk is so goddamn cheerful that she can’t bear to tell him to stay behind with his dad. Even his stories of traveling in India are sort of uplifting instead of irritating, and so she drives the campaign car and lets Hurk sit shotgun while Boomer stretches out across the backseat.

There’s a roadblock at the bridge leading from the Whitetails into the Henbane, but there’s enough of a space between two of the trucks that she doesn’t hesitate to push the accelerator to the floor and fly right through it, ignoring the screams and bullets whizzing past them, laughing along with Hurk when he starts cheering.

He tosses a grenade out the window back toward them and whoops from the moment it lands (miraculously) square in the middle of the bed of bliss flowers to the moment it explodes, taking the flowers and the truck and at least one cultist with it.

“That was fuckin’ awesome, I tell you what.” He grins at her as he hauls himself fully inside the car and settles heavily in the passenger seat. “Those assholes deserved it, too, trying to take those fuckin’ flowers over the river.”

Mattie eases off the accelerator when no more peggies appear in front of her, dares to take one hand off the wheel to turn the oldies station on low. “That was a great toss. I might need you to give me lessons; most of the time I throw something, it goes pretty wide.”

“Oh, man, well, mostly it was a lucky shot, I guess,” he says, apparently embarrassed, but when she glances over at him he’s absolutely preening under her compliment. “I can try to help though; we can probably find some baseballs or rocks or somethin’ that are about the right size for you to practice with, when the peggies are leavin’ us alone at least.”

She nods at him and rests her right hand on the gear shift, fingernails tapping to the beat of the music. “I haven’t done anything to Faith yet, so hopefully they won’t know me as well over here. Seemed like I couldn’t get anything done in the Whitetails without tripping over some of Jacob’s Chosen.”

“Sure, sure. You just gotta look out for the bliss fields over--”

Mattie’s radio squawks to life and cuts Hurk off mid-warning, shutting him up almost as effectively as the hand she holds up to silence him.

“ It’s Adelaide at the marina, honey, ” says the voice, and Hurk lights up with recognition. “ The peggies are all over us! I don’t know how long we can keep these sonuvabitches out! ”

The transmission clicks off. Mattie and Hurk sit silently, the only sound the low rumble of the engine and the almost too-quiet music coming from the car’s speaker, and then they both burst into action at the same time.

“Holy chimpanzee butts, they’ve got Mama’s marina too!” Hurk sounds a little panicked, leaning forward to grab the dashboard as Mattie grabs the steering wheel with both hands and accelerates again. “Deputy, we’ve gotta do something. We’re almost there, it’s just--” He points straight ahead, then to the right, then waves his hand helplessly. “We gotta help her!”

“It’ll be okay, Hurk,” Mattie says, already settling down into that headspace she’s created since Dutch pushed her out of his bunker, the one that lets her kill without remorse and jump into situations she shouldn’t, just because she’ll wake back up before them if something does go wrong.

Their smiles are gone.

Hurk switches off the radio.

The drive really is short, just a few more minutes and they round the last curve before the marina comes into view. Mattie’s been here once or twice, always on official business, but she’s been wanting to come out once Adelaide finishes the cabins she’s building on the property. That might not happen now, but Mattie refuses to think about it.

Now’s not the time.

She parks the car a little ways away, just off the side of the road, and climbs out. Boomer jumps from the back when she opens the door, and they meet Hurk up at the front. He’s holding a RAT4 over one shoulder and, while Mattie’s not sure that’s the best weapon for close combat, she can’t bring herself to care. Her 1911 is on her hip, her knife is on her thigh, and her AR-C is in her hands. 

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

“If you keep an eye on Boomer, he’ll let you know where peggies are hiding. Otherwise, good luck, don’t get shot, try to take out the radio towers before they call for backup, because that’s just a pain in the ass.”

“Cool, cool, very cool, man,” he says, basically bouncing in his eagerness to run ahead. “Can we, uh…” He trails off, eager but polite, and Mattie nods at him. He takes off, running straight ahead without any sort of subtlety -- but what was she expecting, really? -- and she takes the opportunity created by his distraction to sneak around the other side to yank some wires out of the radio towers set up to broadcast both Faith’s music and instructions from outpost to outpost.

The first thing Hurk makes explode earns him the attention of every goddamn peggie in the area, so she breaks the first radio without anyone noticing her, and the second radio is broken after only killing one peggie with a clean shot through the skull before he manages to get his fingers all the way around the mouthpiece.

It’s disgusting how easy killing is now. She doesn’t even flinch when she has to touch the splashes of blood on the radio to disable it. 

She hates what she’s become.

Almost the second the last peggie falls, the marina starts spinning around her, a sickening case of vertigo that has her leaning against the closest fence rail for support. A breeze tickles her face, pushing sweaty hair back from her forehead and cheeks, and it almost feels like a caress.

“I see you searching. Oh, you look lost.”

She sinks to the ground, still holding onto the post, as a woman’s voice she doesn’t know rings in her ears. She wobbles but doesn’t fall, twisting to see who’s speaking to her -- it doesn’t sound like Adelaide, doesn’t sound like anyone in particular, but… 

“When I was younger, I spent years searching. I was a rat in a maze always chasing the same rancid cheese. The Father was the first person to help me realize there’s a life beyond the maze.”

No. No. It can’t be… Faith?

“Hey, Deputy, buddy, I want you to meet my mama!” Hurk’s voice, always too loud, cuts over whatever Faith is saying, making the ringing in Mattie’s ears get louder as the vertigo spins faster. “She’s the best real estate agent in the whole county, probably the world, and -- hey, you okay, man?”

“Are you hurt, honey?” Okay, that’s Adelaide’s voice, closer than Hurk’s, close enough for cool hands to cup her face. Mattie lets her turn her face from side to side but doesn’t open her eyes, still hearing Faith’s voice under everyone else’s overlapping chatter. “Hurk, baby, help Xander get the Deputy to the office so she can sit down. I don’t think she’s bleeding, but we need to check her out.”

Two pairs of hands grip Mattie’s forearms, lifting her to her feet and then slightly higher so she doesn’t have to bear her own weight. She struggles a bit, then more as Faith’s voice drifts away and her head starts to really clear.

“ ‘m fine, I swear,” Mattie says, then repeats herself in a firmer, more official tone once the world is done spinning and she’s reasonably sure she won’t throw up if she has to move under her own power. “Hey, I said I’m fine , I just got dizzy.”

The boys don’t listen until she’s safely deposited in Adelaide’s desk chair, though, not until she has a glass of water in her hand and Adelaide’s full attention. Adelaide is sitting on the edge of her desk, one booted food resting on the chair by Mattie’s thigh, her hands pushing Mattie’s hair out of her face once more.

“You look like you just got blissed, honey,” she says, not without sympathy. “You sure you’re okay?”

She feels like she’s been blissed. She must have been blissed, because what else would explain fucking hallucinating Faith’s voice in the middle of Drubman Marina?

Maybe this whole goddamn thing has been one big bliss hallucination. Maybe she and the rest of the officers got dosed trying to leave Joseph’s compound, and none of this is really happening, and she’ll wake up completely fine soon. She’s pretty sure her insurance covers mental healthcare.

That’s kind of the ideal scenario, here.

“I’m fine, promise. Probably just got grazed by a bliss bullet, or something. That stuff always makes me feel sick.”

Adelaide nods. “Good, because those peggie shitbirds took my Tulip.”

“Your what now?”

“Mama’s helicopter!” Hurk is back in her space, bumping up against Adelaide and resting his cheek against her shoulder while she pats at him absently. “She’s the best helicopter pilot in the County.”

Mattie blinks at them both, silently adding up what Hurk has said about Adelaide. So far, he’s said she’s the best realtor and the best helicopter pilot in Hope County, but she’s getting the suspicion that Hurk would say Adelaide’s the best anything she tries to do.

“She’s the nimblest goddamn bird this side of Montana, and I’ll be goddamned if those fucktrumpets are going to take her from me. I won that bird in my divorce fair and square!”

Mattie blinks again and listens silently as Adelaide finishes explaining the problem (track down her helicopter out of three options, don’t crash it, kill the pilot) with Hurk hanging off her every word. This is slightly more in line with her technical job role, something she’d be expected to do as deputy regardless of the cult situation -- they’d probably send her out with Pratt to track it down, and Pratt would leave her alone in the cruiser so he could fly it back to the marina. He’d come back to the station and complain about Adelaide flirting with him and Joey would say he should take her up on it because no one else wants in his pants.

Christ. Shit. Joey’s locked up tight in John’s bunker, unwillingly the star of some fuckin’ creepy commercials. Staci’s up in Jacob’s compound, brainwashed and barely hanging on. Burke is with Faith, probably, blissed out of his mind, and who the fuck knows where Earl is. 

And what’s she doing? Sitting in a comfy chair in the marina, like she’s on a vacation, resting on her ass while they’re fighting to stay alive.

“I’ll see what I can do about your helicopter, ma’am,” she says. She tries to stand, too, puts the water down on the desk and pushes up on the arms of the chair, but Adelaide gives her a sharp look and clucks her tongue.

“You don’t have to go right now, honey,” she says, sounding absolutely motherly for once instead of flirtatious bordering on sexual harassment. “It’s late, you should sleep here for the night. Let me, let me get Xander to make you something to eat, okay, sweetheart?”

Mattie wants to say no, wants to move as fast as she can to save as many people as she can, but… the temptation of food is too much, and she gives in before she can do more than draw a deep breath to argue.

She’s so tired.

[how-to-survive-a-factory-tour]

How To Survive A Factory Tour - Chapter 11

A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Fanfiction

PREVIOUS

----------

I wipe as much ice cream and icing from my hoodie as I can as we head to the beach. By the time we arrive, I haven’t made much difference. Hopefully Mom’ll have some free time to clean it when I get home…

Wonka’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s stood just down the beach, gesturing and calling for us to all come closer. We all head down to meet him, Patton practically running thanks to his sugar high. Where Wonka’s stood is raised up, and when we arrive, we find ourselves overlooking the ocean on the edge of a cliff. “You all came just in time! They should be coming around here any moment…”

“Who?” Roman asks.

“You’ll see.”

We all watch the lemonade, waiting for whatever he’s talking about. While we wait, I can’t help but notice, out of the corner of my eye, Logan slip his hand into Patton’s. The other turns to Logan, smiling at the gesture. I nudge Roman’s side, drawing his attention to the two of them. He smirks, before whispering to me.

“Took their time.”

“Took their time? They met yesterday, Roman. If anything, they’re rushing into it. I’d at least want to know the guy for a bit longer.”

“I guess I understand… I mean, as they say in Frozen, ‘You can’t marry a man you just met’. I guess the same could apply to dating… But still. They’re just holding hands, Virge. Wouldn’t exactly say that’s a high level relationship. Heck, it’s not even a relationship! I’d be willing to bet all my theatre awards that is just Logan’s confession, and they aren’t even a proper thing yet.”

“What? Who would ever confess by simply holding the other person’s hand? Isn’t that kinda weird?”

“Apparently Logan, and it’s worked for him.”

Which I can’t deny. Patton’s looking at Logan with hearts in his eyes, and Logan has obviously noticed, blushing harshly as he awkwardly avoids eye contact. They’re so gay, they’re practically oozing rainbows. It’s sickening how cute they are. The pastel colours of the desserts in the room are not helping the atmosphere. I feel like I need to just curl up in a dark corner, scroll through Tumblr and listen to MCR for an hour just to recover to my dark and edgy self.

 SPLASH!

My head snaps back to look at the ocean. There are two dark shadows darting around in the lemonade. I’m about to ask Wonka what they are, when one jumps out of the water.

“Is that an orca?!” Roman gasps.

“Yup!” Wonka smiles. “Two of our resident killer whales. They’re free to swim between here and their enclosures. We pride ourselves on taking good care of them.”

“Why on earth do you have orcas in the factory?” Logan inquires, a confused eyebrow raised.

“Well, you see, these are no ordinary whales. They are in fact made of marshmallow and liquorice. Well, except their teeth, those are made from very strong rock candy. If their teeth had been made out of marshmallow, they wouldn’t be able to properly chew their food after all.”

“That’s so cool!” Patton steps forward, a little closer to the edge, his hand slipping from Logan’s as he goes to get a closer look.

Logan doesn’t even notice Patton’s hand leaving his, looking too shocked. “Hold on… you created sentient life… out of sweets… and you haven’t told anyone?! This… This is revolutionary! Creating life… You’ve done something man has only ever dreamed of doing. Something the whole world has wondered about since Mary Shelley first published the first editions of Frankenstein! I… How? How did you do it?”

“Well, it was quite simply actually, all I had to do was-”

CRACK!

He’s interrupted by a loud noise. There’s a moment of confusion, all of us trying to figure out where it came from. But then there’s two more sounds: another crack, and a scream. The edge of the cliff where Patton had been stood has disappeared, and he goes soon after, plummeting down and falling from our view.

“PATTON!” Logan runs up to the edge, looking over, terror plastered on his face. The rest of us quickly join him, just in time to see Patton hit the lemonade with a loud splash.

“And here I was thinking there weren’t going to be any incidents…” I hear Wonka mutter, voice a mix worry and disappointment.

Patton’s head breaks back to the surface, and he takes a deep breath as he treads water. He giggles a little. "Whoopsie..."

“Patton, are you okay?!” Logan calls down.

“Yeah, I’m good! I landed feet first and kept my legs straight, so I didn’t belly flop and get hurt or anything. I’ll just swim over to the sandy part of the beach and get out there. Not sure I’ll be able to climb up the cliff.”

Logan lets out a sigh of relief, and we walk along, following Patton as he swims around the island. However, my eye catches a dark shadow in the lemonade. I pause for a moment, watching it swim around playfully. But then it slows down, near stopping. It pauses, before speeding up again, turning around.

It’s darting right towards Patton.

“PAT, LOOK OUT!”

Patton pauses, looking up at me. I don’t even have time to yell at him to run - or I guess swim - away, before the shadow reaches him, and he suddenly disappears under the surface.

“PATTON!” Logan cries again.

“One of the whales got him!” Roman realises. It’s confirmed when Patton’s pulled back up to the surface, his ankle in the teeth of one of the orcas. It keeps dragging him up and down in the lemonade, almost like it’s playing with him. Patton’s its toy. The constant dragging only gives Patton small windows of time to breathe, and he gasps whenever he gets the chance.

Every time he’s brought up, he starts to call out to us for help. When we catch sight of his ankle, I notice it’s bloody from the whale’s rock candy teeth being dug into it, and as he struggles to escape, the wounds get bigger and deeper, more blood seeping out and dyeing the lemonade around him orange as the yellow and red mix. 

The longer it goes on, the more Patton’s voice wavers as he yells, sobs breaking through. If I wasn’t so much of an anxious mess, I’d want to dive in and help him. Thank god I am, though, because I’d undoubtedly be ripped into shreds.

Too bad Roman isn’t, and I quickly catch his arm the second I see him inch forward. “Don’t you fucking dare, you’re not dying on me.”

My voice seems to snap Logan back to the present, and turns to Wonka. “Do something! You have to help him!”

“Give me a moment, I need to think…”

“I don’t think Patton has a moment,” I hiss, getting frustrated at his lack of action. Like, seriously?! Is he seeing what we are seeing?! Patton is screeching, desperate for help, Wonka can’t just stand around!

“Yeah, I’ve seen the documentary Blackfish, and this is a lot like the incidents that have happened at SeaWorld,” Roman adds. “Incidents that usually led to staff dying, or at least getting very seriously injured!”

Logan’s trembling at this point. “I never even got to tell him how I feel… All I did was hold his hand! That’s, like, the pussiest thing I could have done! Is pussiest a word? I don’t even usually use that kind of language! Oh god, I think I’m having a breakdown...”

I take his hand and put it on my chest, talking him through breathing exercises I use during my own panic attacks. He seems to start to calm down, as do I as I count with him. Ethan, however, just rolls his eyes. “Look, you can’t all rush Mr Wonka into doing something. If he acts without thinking, the situation could get even worse.”

“If Patton isn’t saved soon, the situation could get worse!” I growl before resuming the counting.

Before Ethan can retort, Wonka’s head snaps up. “I got it! The Oompa Loompas have a bell they ring signalling the whales’ feeding time. If I get them to ring it, the whales should let go of Patton and head back into their enclosure, believing it’s feeding time. We’ll then close the door between there and this room so Patton won’t be grabbed again as he swims back to the shore. Bingo! He’ll be safe and sound, and we can continue.”

“Do it!” Logan, Roman and myself all command in synchronisation. Wonka reaches into his pocket, pulling out a walkie-talkie, and repeats the orders into it.

A couple seconds go by after, before there’s a loud ringing. The orcas pause where they are for a moment, Patton taking the chance to finally start to get his breath back, before the whales quickly swim off through a hatch in the wall. The hatch closes behind them, cutting them off from coming back in.

The problem is, they pulled Patton with them instead of letting go,

“Oh god, he’s dead…” Logan mumbles, eyes not leaving the hatch.

“No he’s not, he’ll be okay,” I reassure, even if I’m not too sure myself.

Wonka turns back to his walkie-talkie. “The boy was pulled in with them unfortunately. You think you can save him?” There’s a pause before a high-pitched voice speaks back through.

“Can do! We’ll lure the orcas away with food, we’ll get him out the lemonade, patch up his wounds, and he’ll be A-Okay!"

“Excellent!” Wonka turns back to us. “See? He’ll be perfectly fine!”

“Told you we just needed to wait,” Ethan smiles.

“You’re sure?” Logan asks, still sounding very uncertain.

“Positive. The Oompa Loompas are very dedicated to their work, they won’t stop until he’s safe.”

���Okay…” Logan takes a deep breath. “Um, sorry for panicking so much… I, um, I usually can keep my cool during tense situations…”

“Don’t worry about it, Microsoft Nerd,” Roman replies. A small smile tugs at my lips at the nickname, even if it is pretty harsh to call him names given the situation. “People do weird things when in love. Especially when their loved one is on the brink of death… Not that Patton is!”

I roll my eyes. “Good save…”

“Oh, shut up, Brad Pitiful!”

"What's that noise?" Ethan suddenly asks. That's when I notice it: a drum beat. It starts getting louder and louder, and other instruments come in. A float appears gliding across the ocean, a band of Oompa Loompas on it, some with instruments, others without. As the instrumental builds to a crescendo, they burst into song.

"Oompa Loompa doop-a-dee-doo  I've got a perfect puzzle for you  Oompa Loompa doop-a-da-dee  If you are wise, you'll listen to me!"

We all turn to look at Wonka, confused as to what is going on. He explains, "They're always making up songs and singing. Very creative they are, and song is their favourite means of communication."

"What do you get when emotions run high? And you trust everyone who you ever come by? Put others first, never care for yourself? Bottle up all your bad feelings? I don't like the look of it."

Whoa, they are really digging deep to insult Patton and bring up his flaws... They could not be more insensitive. I'm glad he isn't here to hear it.

"Oompa Loompa doop-a-dee-da  If you aren't naïve, you will go far  You will live in happiness too  Like the Oompa Loompa doop-a-dee-doo!"

As the song closes and the Oompa Loompas float away, Wonka applauds. Roman does the same, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

"What? Improvising an entire song on the spot is the most difficult thing I can ever imagining have to do! They deserve to be praised for it, no matter how... mean spirited it was."

“I assume we’re going to move on with the tour?” Ethan asks Wonka. “Or are we going to wait for Patton to be rescued and then carry on with him?”

“I think it’s best we continue on,” Wonka responds. “Once he’s rescued, Patton will likely be spending the rest of the tour in the hospital wing of the factory. His leg wasn’t in the best condition, but I’m sure the Oompa Loompas will be able to fix that right up. We have trained doctors on the staff, of course. Now, come along you four! Logan, you wanted to see the Inventing Room, correct? We’ll head there next!”

He skips off, leading us all the way back to the south beach, where the row boat that we came in rests. We walk behind Wonka, Roman attempting to raise the mood, but my anxiety is playing up now, and Logan is in a sort of catatonic state, preventing us from really playing along with the happy mood he’s trying to set.

We reach the boat, and retake our seats. Wonka starts to row us back across the lemonade ocean. I can’t help but look over the edge of the boat. I keep expecting to see the red of Patton’s blood from his wound dispersing out amongst the lemonade, and blending with it.

Safe to say Wonka won’t be able to sell any of this now.

As we drift back to the door of the room, I see Logan’s eyes never waver from the empty seat beside him.

It seems Patton’s the Augustus of our tour. I pray the rest of us don’t become the Violet, Veruca and Mike.

----------

NEXT

Patton is no longer available for asks

Taglist: @clone-number-1, @pumpkinminette, @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing, @jessicakennedy957, @why-should-i-tell-youu2

[veridium]

just stay here tonight

HEY SO, FRIDAY NIGHT CHAPTER FOR FRIDAY NIGHT? WHO’S WITH ME FOR SOME MAGIC? COLLEGE AU UPDATE COMING AT YOU LIVE!

Get your kleenex out just in case...because...I needed mine...

Episode title brought to you by Augustana and one of my favorite songs from them. :)

fic episode masterpost

--

Thursday is forgettable, with the exception of the mildly entertaining but all-out cringe of Cullen’s appearance in the dorms. Friday, on the other hand? Non-stop anguish. Not the Greek tragedy kind, per se, but wondering: wondering if she knows just exactly what the fuck she’s doing, primarily. For too long, Olivia has gotten used to people chasing her down for exactly what they want from her, and what she wants from them, and nothing else. Indulging people rather than engaging has been her modus operandi since she was on the edge of seventeen.

So, understandably, Friday evening in preparation for her gambit is...interesting.

After spending a couple hours getting it all ready, and packing up the teeny trunk of her vehicle, the task at hand becomes getting her own ass together. Something that everyone wants to have a say in, apparently. Or, if you’re Sera, a knock on her door followed by a “knock her dead, Liv, wear the spiked stilettos! They’d make a clean kill!”

Then, there are the texts:

Ellinor: Hey dude, let me know how it goes, okay? I wish you’d tell me what you’re doing.

Ellinor: Okay I know you have your own life but it’s also like ⅓ mine so…

Ellinor: Fuck I think Cullen might be one of those people who unironically likes raisinettes…

Ellinor: oh my god I’m sorry this is about you but I’m nervous so I keep blabbering WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE DOING SO I DON’T HAVE TO PULL APART THESE RED VINES LIKE A MASOCHIST??

Theia: It doesn’t matter what happens I’m still killing her ok. The bitch has it coming.

Theia: [ CHICAGO . GIF]

Josie: NO YOU ARE NOT. WE HAVE DISCUSSED THIS.

Theia: That...was not meant for group chat. Yikes, sorry babe.

Josie: Right.

Lace: Lol another one for the fuck-up screenshots

Lace: Good gay mojo your way, Liv.

The sentiments are all appreciated, but they don’t really hit home. All alone in her room, putting on makeup and feeling like Mulan in the montage before she rides off to the army, it’s all a wonder as to why Cassandra agreed to go on this escapade. It’s as if she’s been fooled into thinking Olivia has a clue. Or, maybe she’s riding along to witness the impending crash-and-burn. A final act of karmic vindication, perhaps.

She picks out a black tank bodysuit and high-waisted, blue skinny jeans. Besides, where they are going isn’t exactly ‘fine goth attire required.’ However, the one staple that will not be left behind is her black leather jacket. Lacing up her converse and slapping on some gloss, and a hair tie on her wrist, and she’s ready to go.

The walk to their suite is an unfamiliar one, but one Ellinor did enough to be able to tell her off memory where to go. Right down to the number on their door. She should ask Ellinor to make a map, just in case, for teasing purposes -- but she looked too busy on cloud 9 earlier that day thinking about her own plans with Rutherphallus. One day, maybe, she’ll stop calling him by demeaning euphemisms. One day. But that day is not today.

Olivia paces in a weird circle a couple of times just outside the suite, hands on her hips as she does her best to remember she has lungs to breathe with. The actual door, the nice door, the one that looks like it works well and is nicely painted. Dorm room doors aren’t this nice. Crap. She’s quietly holding off an implosion. What if she says no after all this? What if she doesn’t like her outfit? What if she’s mean again? God, she can be mean. But then, she stops. Remembers when Cassandra was cornered in the library, and said with such earnest relief in her face that she felt like she could be herself around her. That Liv didn’t make a big deal of things. Psh, well, that was a misinformed belief. Misinformed but...kind.

Taking one last deep breath, she wipes her palms against her denim and knocks on the door. Within ten seconds, it opens. No monsters or ghosts or natural disasters -- no, it’s her, just her, on her other side. Cassandra, in black jeans and a grey v-neck sweater, and all-black tennis shoes like the ones Olivia would wear in high school, except nicer.

Her heart jumps into her throat as Cassandra grins and steps back. “Hey,” she says, all calm and collected and...and...just...fine.

“Hey,” Olivia gets out, her brows lifted along with her pulse rate. “You...you are awake still!”

“Yeah...you said 11.”

“I did. I did say...11. 11 in the evening. PM. Night...time…” she shakes her head and cuts herself off before she sounds too ridiculous. Maybe it’s too late, though. “Um, yeah. You...ready to head out?”

Cassandra, who’s been watching her feud with herself, only smiles and breaks away from the door. Bless her. “Yeah, I’m good, I just need to grab my coat.’

“Right! Yeah, good idea. Night is cold, and...yep, good call. Smart--”

“Liv.”

She blinks, and realizes she’s been looking off into space while talking. Dammit. “Yeah?”

“You’re not very good this, are you?”

“This...this what?”

Cassandra chuckles, and turns back toward the inside of the suite. “I’ll be right back. Try not to scare the neighbors.” She is back quickly, sliding a dark purple duffle jacket on, keys dangling in her hand as she pulls the door shut behind her and locks it. Olivia rocks on her heels in the meantime, looking down either end of the hall -- not a soul to be seen, for a Friday night -- before Cassandra faces her again.

“Alright, where to?”

“Oh, yeah, my car. It’s...gonna be a little bit of a walk to the parking lot, but, you know the parking pass prices are just...bullshit.”

“Yeah.”

They stand there for another awkward few seconds before Olivia once again has it dawn on her she has to lead the way. Fuck. She kicks herself into gear, and Cassandra follows, staring at her like she’s an animal planet show host taking notes on a creature’s behavior. Or, maybe she’s just...fine...and Olivia feels that. Whatever, same difference, right?

The walk happens silently, save for a few polite smiles whenever one of them opens a door for the other. Oh, and Olivia patting her back pocket to make sure she brought her keys. When they get to the lot, and she sees her valiant steed parked, she feels more at home.

“So, ever ride in a mini with muscle?”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra glances at her as they step onto the asphalt.

Olivia giggles under her breath. “A mini with muscle. You know, one with some….like, ‘oomph’ under the hood?”

“I would not know what ‘oomph’ means, but in your hands, I have my concerns.”

“Hah! Funny, very funny.” They diverge from one another, Cassandra going to the passenger door while Olivia goes around the back. She pulls out her keys and unlocks, sliding in nice and smooth. Cassandra is more polite and careful, but she settles in next to her. She probably doesn't spend much time in small cars. Olivia gets more giddy with anticipation, putting up her hair into a simple ponytail.

“...many concerns,” Cassandra reiterates.

“Psh, what?” Olivia scrunches her nose, her hands falling into her lap. “You think I don’t walk what I talk?”

“No, in fact I’m wondering quite the opposite.”

“Why be afraid of a woman who knows how to handle a good car? I wasn’t afraid of you when we rode on your bike.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, grabbing for the seat belt. “I am going to go ahead and prepare myself the way I should, since I have a feeling as to how this is going to go should I tease you further. Or if I dare ask where it is you’re taking me at this hour.”

Olivia watches her, and she can’t help but smile. She leans forward with one arm on the wheel, and she sticks the key into the ignition. Turning the car on, she can’t help but love the way the engine purrs.

“Don’t worry, Cass. If I did want to murder you, I’d think of something far more theatrical. Public, with live music and dancing, or something.” she sits back, pulling her own seat-belt on. After that, her hand goes to the stick and her foot to the pedal. In response, Cassandra rests the side of her thigh against her door and plants an elbow on it. She looks unconvinced, or intrigued by something.

“What?”

Cassandra raises a brow. “That is the first time you’ve ever called me Cass. Not Cassandra. Or Pentaghast, for that matter.”

Olivia scoffs, and checks her mirror real quick. “No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“...Uh, okay, so what? I mean, you want me not to?” she looks over, brow cocked.

Cassandra shrugs and settles in. It’s impossible to know whether she is pleased or displeased by it. Ellinor’s called her Cass, so has Cullen. But it’s a mystery as to whether either of them ever asked about it. But, to her credit, Cassandra looks ahead.

“Do your worst, Olivia.”

Her tongue presses against her smiling teeth, and Olivia feels the engine warm up at last. “With pleasure.”

--

They drive through town, get on the freeway and past a few exits until Olivia finds the one she’s after. The whole time she is either on par with the speed limits or past them, but once she gets to the outskirts of the county, the traffic goes scarce. Even for a Friday night. A few turns and twists, and she’s on a highway winding incline, up one of the few canyon peaks in the nearby area of rolling hills and flat valleys.

She knows she’s getting close when mostly barren trees start to heavily line the two-lane path, and her mini as always runs like a dream. She has her spotify playing low on the radio, something with a heavy guitar but she can’t quite make out the vocals.

“Well, what do you think?” she asks, as she pulls and hugs tight another sharp turn in the road, engine growling as she accelerates out of it.

Cassandra as far as she has seen, keeps her gaze out the window or on her. Sitting still, but not on edge. “You are asking me for my opinion on your driving?”

Olivia smirks. “I was thinking more about the car, but, I had prepared myself emotionally for your scathing review.” Another turn, this time to the left, and she handles it beautifully. These roads are like the back of her hand, a sight she’s known at all hours and all seasons. Headlights are all she needs.

Cassandra bends her knees a bit more. “I think…” she pauses, while Olivia pulls into what appears to be a destination. Or, rather, a parking lot. “You broke at least three laws in the process, but, I can’t say you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Agh! Bullshit,” Olivia challenges, a subtle laugh in her tone, “I only broke one. Near the turnpike, that’s it.”

“No, you broke three, the second was speeding, and the third was speeding and--”

“Ohoho,” her laugh continues to bubble as she pulls into a parking spot, the only car in the lot by the looks of it, “I sped? No fucking way!” she gasps, pretending to be astonished.

She pushes the stick into place and yanks up the parking brake. They look at each other, now stopped and still, the car lulling. Cassandra doesn’t look flushed or nervous like other people she’s taken along for rides. Maybe she’s been well-conditioned by everything else; too well-conditioned, to be frightened of a fast car and even faster driver. Olivia can only turn the key back and turn off the car; the headlights go out, and the one above their heads comes on.

“Well,” she exhales, adrenaline still surging in her veins, “we’re here.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?”

“A park.”

“A...park?” she looks around, through the windows. Not much to see, though.

“Heh,” Olivia unbuckles herself, “come on, you’ll see what I mean. But I have stuff in the trunk for us.”

“Does it happen to be a shovel and body bag? Or even better, a driver’s ed manual?”

Olivia groans and shoves her door open. “No, I’m afraid those are both in my Barbie pink jeep at home. Resting on the squeaky horn rather comfortably like you are on my last nerve.” She gets out, and Cassandra does too, and for a moment they look at each other over the car roof.

Cassandra unzips her jacket but keeps it on. “Fair enough,” she concedes, and they shut their doors. Venturing into the back trunk, Olivia pulls up the door and finds what she left in there: a basket, with its contents covered by a draped, folded heavy blanket. A two-hand job, but not too bad. She picks it up and manages to pull the door back down, all the while Cassandra stands back somewhat looking like a woman of action left without a an action to commit.

“You need help?”

“No, no,” Olivia teases, hitting the button on her car alarm. The lights flicker and she turns to face her. “I am a capable person, capable of many things besides blatant crime. You just need to trust me.”

“You don’t know what you ask,” Cassandra counters, hands going into her jacket pockets, “but fine, I go where you go.”

“Yes,” Olivia closes in on her, until she’s about a foot away, “and tonight, I go there, over that small bridge and up the trail. Come on!”

More walking, and more silence. It’s weird, just a tad, to be acting so congenial after so much heartache. But on the other hand, it’s something she’s craved the whole time: for them to be as they were, as they could have been, had not her pride or her defenses squandered her good graces. The more time they spend not arguing, or ditching each other, the more Olivia dares to hope it can all be redeemed. As they walk on the dirt and wood chip path with only so much as one iPhone flashlight for a little less than a ¼ mile, she appreciates all Cassandra did to open up to her: all the plans, all the exposure. Because the closer they get to where she wants them to end up, the more nerve-wracking it all becomes. Maybe that’s what’s been making Cassandra chuckle and eye her all evening: she’s watching Liv get a taste of her own medicine.

At last, they come to the top of a hillside, where the view is clear over the city below. The spot is all grass and trail, and what looks to be an old rusty playground at the base of it. No lamp posts, no bike racks, no sidewalk. It’s a bit creepy, if you’re a normal person with the usual and healthy fear of coyotes and forest cryptics. But if you’re Olivia Sinclair, it’s anything but.

“Ah, perfect!” She sighs when they come to a stop. “We can stick it here.”

Cassandra looks around, vigilant. “Are you...sure?”

“Yes, sure as any mediocre man.” She sets down the basket on the ground and picks up the blanket. “Don’t worry, I did bring a source of light for you, a mere mortal.”

“Pfft,” Cassandra comes closer, and takes the opposite pair of edges on the blanket so as to help her spread it out. “What, is this where you tell me you’re a vampire? Make me say it while you breathe down my back?”

“Well, shit, now that the rest of the evening’s plans has lost its mystery…”

“Ugh! Do not even!”

Olivia laughs, and with the blanket all out she gets to work with the array of items she’s brought. Four small mason jars with with small white candles in them that she plants on each blanket corner. She gets out a lighter and goes to work on all of them, Cassandra still standing by, loyal but suspicious, as if one could be both at the same time.

“You brought candles?”

Olivia finishes the last one, setting it back down. “Yeah, I need hot wax. You know, for summoning Satan.”

“Olivia!” Cassandra huffs, before stepping onto the woolen fabric and taking a seat. “You’re lucky I’m not one of my peers from my Bible Study. They would start spraying their travel-sized holy water all over you.”

Olivia laughs again, and pulls out some more items from the basket behind her, before she, too, sits down. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Old habits.”

“Summoning Satan?”

“Nah, teasing you.”

First, Cassandra gives a side-eye, but when Olivia meets her gaze with a warm smile and an offer of peanut M&M’s she softens. She takes the box from her and opens it. “You brought sustenance for our off-grid affair.”

“Yes, I did. Admittedly, it is mostly stuff I was going to bring with me to the movies with Ellinor tonight. I’m a candy smuggler.”

Cassandra smirks. “You had plans tonight with Ellinor?”

“Yeah, she wanted to go see Star Tr--Wars! Dammit, I always get those confused,” she admonishes herself while getting into her own package of sour patch kids. “Anyways, she’s gone with Cullen, so I doubt there’s love lost.”

“I’m sure he’s loving every minute. He’s a huge fan,” Cassandra knocks the first few pieces back. She looks beautiful, with the way her face and neck are illuminated sparsely by firelight. It’s mesmerizing, especially when her eyes light up in their subtle glow. “You broke plans just to...to bring me here?”

Olivia pulls her knees up against her chest. She’s sitting close enough to talk low, hushed and sweet, but far enough for deniability as to her desires. She sucks on a sour piece of candy and looks out at the landscape. “This place is important to me. I go whenever I need to clear my head. Mostly at night, since I go on drives. Ellinor’s been here, and so has Theia. But I don’t bring anyone else here. Not...well, not until tonight, I suppose.”

Cassandra sets down her box, still chewing. “Theia. Is she your friend, the one you were with at the gala?”

“Yes,” she smiles, reaching and taking her hair out of its ponytail. “We’ve been thick as thieves for years.”

“So,” Cassandra chuckles to herself, “that explains it.”

Oh? Olivia looks at her, eyes narrowed unevenly with confused intrigue. “What?” She looks on as Cassandra squirms a bit, in her own kind of way: shoulders tensing, but her expression otherwise hard to read. Her palms clasping together in her criss-crossed lap.

“She looked like she wanted to fight me. That, and...ugh, I shouldn’t say it. It’s ridiculous of me.”

Olivia shrugged. “Cassandra, if anything is welcome around me, it’s being ridiculous. You should know better than anyone at this point.”

She grins crookedly. Reluctance, coming from someone who has the premium on being mature and logical. “I...I noticed how comfortable you were with her. When you came down the stairs, with your arm in hers. I had no idea who she was but I...I got jealous.”

Olivia sucked on her teeth, holding back the urge to laugh from the ludicrous nature of it all, and instead reached for a few more sour patch kids. Fucking hell, Theia was right. Theia and her weird, weird hunches about social cues. God dammit, she would never hear the end of it if she told her that it worked.

“I’m sorry that happened. It was...I don’t know, the whole night was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have gone, but, my Mom makes demands of me that are few but huge. I wasn’t lying when I said my family keeps me on a weird leash, it’s...it’s a long story.”

“No, I get it. Mine does too. No need to apologize,” Cassandra shakes her head, watching as Olivia eats some more. “It was just me being unreasonable. I am guilty of that. It’s sort of my thing.”

“I wouldn’t say…” Olivia scrunches her nose, and swallows her bite. “Well, okay.” She turns herself to face her, crossing her legs like Cassandra has, only a bit tighter. “So, like, first impression of you, alright? On the soccer field, when you and Cullen came up to ask about the Strokes concert. You were intense, and you didn’t waste any time on extra words or...you know, laughing. But you weren’t someone I’d picture when it comes to the word ‘unreasonable.’ Not even when I got to know you. Intense...focused...serious, but not unreasonable.”

Cassandra leans back on her hands, her legs stretching out with one crossing over the other. More relaxed. “Would it be a deal-breaker if I were unreasonable?”

Olivia tucks some hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to be one of yours. I wouldn’t think it’d be very fair of me to--”

“Oh, so you think you’re the unreasonable one?”

Olivia blinks, and looks towards the woods ahead of her. “I...uh, well…”

“No, no, Ms. Sinclair. You know your words. Make your case.” She’s smiling softly, in that cocky, half-arrogant sort of way. The way that makes you want to believe every word and every thought she’s thinking before she ever says it.

“Um.” Olivia rubs the back of her neck while her mind does its best to put together a coherent response. Not the easiest thing to be done. “I hate to say it, but...I don’t think it’d be nearly as effective as the case you made.”

At that, Cassandra frowns, and peers down at her lap. “Olivia, I was upset, and--”

“No, the thing is,” she takes a half-breath, “you said it yourself you don’t mistake your words. You were right. I like control...but it’s because I like detachment. I want people to like me but I don’t want to risk them letting me down. Oh, and if we need any other filler information, I’m also the Queen of Death in your local Poli Sci class. I mean, if that’s not unreasonable, then…”

Her mind trails off, getting lost in the insecurities she’s named. Once and for all, they’re no longer elephants in the room -- at least for her. In a bizarre way, here, in the middle of a blanket with only four candle jars to light up her world...her world with her...it felt the safest she had been to be herself outside of her close friendships. Far away from anything and everything that’d make her want to shut herself up. In spite of the solace, it’s also sad, and her gaze wanders down as she fiddles with blanket fabric between her fingers. There’s crickets chirping behind her, but not much else to distract.

“You know, Olivia, the soccer field was not the first time we ever came into contact.”

She looks up a bit. That can’t be right; she had never uttered a word to Cassandra before that day. Sure, she existed, and she had seen her around as another person in the crowd, maybe. But never dialogue, and certainly never introductions.

“What?”

Cassandra smiles, and leans up more. “Poli Sci 234. Social movements.”

“But...but you weren’t in that class. I don’t remember you at all--”’

“It was taught by a Professor I had my first year I grew to like a lot. I wanted to take 234, but it wouldn’t fit. I still stopped in once or twice, sat in the back of the class. I still remember...hah,” she bites back a laugh, “you were wearing this big, black bow in your hair, around your ponytail. I didn’t really know what to make of you. This guy was going on and on about his half-soaked opinions, and everyone in the class was checking out. But then you raised your hand and shut him down so mercilessly it was...like…” Cassandra’s chest heaved again with another amazed laugh. “I thought you were going to make him cry.”

Olivia listens, a bit lost at first, but the memory is too stark for her to forget. Oh, she remembers that man. That horrible, libertarian-sympathizing asshole who thought his voice was that of Jesus himself. She gasps her own laugh of disbelief.

“Payten Thompson. Ugh!” she sounds off in disgust. “We...shit! We were discussing the Gay Rights Movement. I remember. He thinks he knows everything there is to know because he’s gay and on the GSA cabinet, but he can’t name the Black trans woman who threw the first shot glass at Stonewall? Fucking bogus.” She rolls her eyes, already starting to see red just recalling the moment she looked across the desks and classmates at him and obliterated his pacifist, respectability-politic drenched opinions.

Cassandra nods. “Yes. It was...so unexpected. At least I thought so. I went to the Professor’s office after that class to visit and he brought you up. Said you were quiet, but when you had something to say, you didn’t hold back. I assumed our paths would cross in classes eventually, so I didn’t really follow up after. Then months passed, and I started seeing this girl hanging out with her friend on the grass by the field. One with a black bow in her hair.”

That bow was a good look. A very good look. Shit luck she lost it at a party and hadn’t been able to find one to replace it. It was pique aesthetic. Well, that wasn’t the point of this discussion.

Olivia finds herself blushing, and she tries to escape it by watching the city lights. “I...didn’t see you in that class. That’s so funny.”

“I’m not really someone who captures people’s attention. Not like you. But my point is, you’re not the only one who likes distance and control.”

“Yeah,” she replies, dismissive of herself, “what a valuable talent I have, getting attention. I should put it on my CV.”

Out of nowhere, or at least to Olivia, Cassandra sits up and places her fingers along the far side of Olivia’s face. With unexpected care and touch she guides Olivia’s gaze back to her. With shocked obedience she follows along, lips parting and eyes rounding.

Cassandra looks determined, assured of herself. Confident, but compassionate.

“Liv, if it’s one thing that doesn’t look good on you, and one thing only, it is being apologetic of what makes you so amazing.”

Her non-stop blush goes into sudden-fever mode. Thank goodness for the dull lighting. Olivia inhales, but is at a loss for words. Well, until she isn’t: the moment Cassandra tries to withdraw her hand.

“No,” she lets escape, voice cracked. She takes hold of it, and holds it to her lap.

Cassandra’s eyes widen but she goes along. “Liv, are you...what are--”

“Cassandra, I…” oh, crap, she’s done so little thinking about this whole night. For someone who says they love control and indifference, she’s throwing it all to the wind. “Look, can I...can I just be honest about something? About...about tonight?”

Cassandra tilts her head. “What, did you actually not forget the shovel?”

“Ugh, no! It’s...it’s not anything like that. I mean it, I’m…”

“What is it then?” 

Well, fuck. Here...goes nothing. She takes a deep breath, something she’s been doing frequently tonight, and closes her eyes for the beginning. The jumping off point. “I don’t want to be happy if it’s without you. I don’t want to be angry if it’s not with you. You...you drive me crazy, and confuse me, but...but you also make me laugh, and you eat the peanut M&M’s I hate but buy anyway because I think maybe this time around I’ll like them, but I never do so I try to pawn them off on Ellinor, and that’s insane of me, but...but you...you make the insane things I do make sense for some reason. I brought you here because I wanted...to say...I wanted to ask you…”

“Ask me...what?”

She re-opens her eyes, and they are starting to sting from the build-up of emotion. The walls are crumbling away into dust and sand, and all she has is one Hail Mary to throw before it’s all botched for good. This would be her only chance, her one chance -- there could be no more believing it could happen some other day, or in some other universe. She was done with the denial. Surrounded by cheap candles and sugar-salt on her tongue, she was going for broke.

“If...if I could...have another shot.”

Cassandra has the best poker face in the world. It’s a good listening face, though. For every second she doesn’t react, Olivia feels herself sinking a foot deeper into the ground. Asking for something she in no way deserves after all the nonsense. But she’s sick of not trying. Which is why, when Cassandra grins to one side, and tucks a leg underneath the other so as to lean further into her, it’s the closest she’ll ever come to believing in a higher power probably in her entire life.

There has to be a rejection on the wings. All the hints, all the signs that Cassandra didn’t want her anymore. Past-tense was past-tense, right? Well, not exactly.

As Cassandra’s eyes half-close, and she leans in slowly with her lips reaching towards hers, it all feels like some bittersweet recreation of a memory. The couch, in the office, when everything went wrong. Butterflies run amok in her, and she freezes. Now Olivia knows how she might have felt. How could she have had the guts to say no to this?

She just has that much integrity.

But she’s not going anywhere this time. This time, she leans in the rest of the remaining couple inches, and they kiss. They kiss. And it’s cautious, like all innocent first kisses are: far and away more docile than what Olivia’s typically gone for. There’s no clamoring, no rigor. Although, in their place is respect and relief. She’ll happily take that exchange as she closes her eyes and submits, not wanting for anything. Her hands go to either side of Cassandra’s face, sliding them against her skin until the ends of her fingers are in her hair. Her short, soft hair. So soft. Their kiss grows, but is steady in its shyness.

Then, she pulls back ever-so-slightly, and her eyes slit open.

“Um, hey...so, this is...awkward, but, I actually...I got somewhere to be…” she whispers, softly grimacing. What better way to cap off a raw moment of vulnerability than a cringey joke?

Cassandra raises a brow, and her hand slides around to the back of Olivia’s neck. “I was right, you aren’t very good at this.” Her lips graze against Olivia’s. “But fine, I dare you to leave.”

Olivia blushes some more, and arches her back against her. “No, I think I’d rather try my luck at tasting the M&M’s again…” she smiles fiendishly, and her eyes flash into Cassandra’s, before she returns her lips to hers. The way Cassandra feels, the way she kisses her, the way her hand feels sliding down her collarbone and onto her shoulder…the warmth of her breath raising, and their rhythm with each other starting to find its way...

She yearns for nothing and nowhere else.

[monstercupcake61176]

Deceit

Summary: Logan learns the truth.

Pairings: Loceit

Characters: Logan, Deceit, Virgil, Patton, Roman

Warnings: Mild Panic Attack

Previous, Beginning

Logan had received a note exactly one week later from Deceit, telling him to once again be ready at midnight. While he should’ve been relieved that he’d finally be getting answers, a part of him still doubted Deceit’s reliability to tell the truth.

I want to trust him, but how can I when he is the personification of Deceit? All of this could still be an elaborate set up in whatever scheme he’s planning…

He kept going over his last encounter with Deceit, he hadn’t detected any malice behind his actions.

Still… He is Deceit… He could easily hide his true emotions…

Speaking of hiding emotions, Logan didn’t seem to be the only one hiding his. He knew Patton was hiding something, and recently Virgil had been acting strange around him too. The only one who wasn’t hiding anything from him was Roman. Well, Roman was hiding things from Patton and Virgil. So really, everyone was keeping secrets, not just him. Which, in a strange way, made Logan feel slightly better about himself.

Then he remembered that Roman thought he was in love with Patton and that Virgil thinks he’s in love with Roman…

A part of him was screaming to tell the truth and clear everything up, but then another part shouted that it would only lead to them finding out about Deceit.

Then there was Logan himself, who had all of his own reasons why telling them would be a bad idea.

If I told Roman that I didn’t love Patton, he’d most likely forget about the whole thing. He’s the only one who doesn’t know about my crush… However, he’s been spending more time with Patton and Virgil lately so it’s only a matter of time before one them tells him about it. And if he knows by then that it’s not Patton he’ll narrow it down to himself and Virgil…

Logan began to pace back and forth. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Especially once he realized that it was the only way for him to think about this situation without becoming overwhelmed. He had to keep moving.

The same will happen with Virgil if I tell him that it’s not Roman. Except he’ll assume it’s himself or Patton. Then if Roman tells him that it’s not Patton then… Then they’ll all think I’m in love with Virgil! And once he’s ruled out then… Then maybe they’ll think I never had a crush at all?

Logan shook his head.

Unlikely, I admitted to Patton that I had one. Besides, if I told them I no longer had one they’d all think I simply gave up on it because of my nerves… Then they’d all encourage me to pursue it even more.

He gripped the sides of his head and closed his eyes.

Why did I ever say anything?! None of this would be happening if I’d just kept my thoughts to myself! I can’t think logically, all of these emotions are clouding my judgment, what am I supposed to do?!

He felt his heart beginning to pick up speed. He curled his hand into a fist and held it over his mouth.

Breathe… Breathe… Do not panic… There is no reason to panic… Breathe…

Logan closed his eyes and kept pacing. As long as he kept moving, he’d be fine. Besides, it was almost midnight, Deceit would be here soon and he wouldn’t be alone. With that in mind, Logan kept pacing and focused on taking deep breaths. Every time he checked his clock another minute had passed.

Just one more minute…

Midnight came and Logan looked around for Deceit, wondering where and how he’d appear this time. But after several seconds went by, and Deceit didn’t arrive, Logan began to worry.

Deceit is always on time. He is never late.

Logan kept pacing. It was still midnight, maybe he was just playing a joke on him. He could be mischievous whenever he wanted to be…

But then a minute passed, then two… Then three… Logan sat on his bed rocking slightly. Something was wrong, Deceit wouldn’t keep him waiting. He wouldn’t! Where was he?!

He started shaking, he couldn’t stop.

Wrong… Wrong… Deceit is supposed to be here… He’s supposed to be here… You need him… You need him… Help… Help… Deceit!

Logan curled in on himself before falling off his bed.

Breathe! Breathe! You need to breathe! Can’t… Can’t… Deceit…

His fingers were tingling, his face, his chest was tight, too tight.

Air. Breathe. Can’t. Deceit.

He tried to crawl towards the door, but his arms kept giving out.

“Help…” He whimpered, but no one was close enough to hear him. Tears fell down his face. No one was coming for him…

Then, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him, lifting him off the ground. “Logan? Can you hear me?” 

Through his tears, he could just make out the silhouette of a person wearing a bowler hat, and two mismatched eyes staring into his own. “Deceit…?” “Yeah, it’s me.”

Logan sniffled and tried to wipe his eyes, he didn’t want Deceit to see him cry. “Shh, it’s okay…” Deceit sat down on his bed, cradling him in his arms. “S-S-Sorry…” “Don’t be. It’s okay,” He wiped the tears from his eyes, “I got you.”

Logan closed his eyes and laid his head against his chest. He listened to Deceit’s heartbeat and took deep breaths. “That’s it, match your breathing with mine.” Deceit laid his hand over Logan’s heart. “Deep breaths, you’ll be okay.”

He felt himself becoming calmer. His eyes opened and met Deceit’s. The Dark Side smiled at him. “Feeling better?” Logan nodded. “Yeah… Thank you…”

Deceit kissed his forehead, instantly making Logan blush. He hummed and combed his fingers through Logan’s hair. “Um, Deceit, shouldn’t we go somewhere else?” Logan fiddled with his tie. “Hm? Oh, we will.” “But… What if someone comes in?”

Deceit didn’t answer. Logan frowned. “Deceit?”

He kept brushing his fingers through his hair, his eyes had a faraway look in them. “Deceit, you promised me answers.” “I did.” Logan jumped slightly. He could never tell if Deceit was paying attention to him or not. Deceit went silent again causing Logan to sigh.

I suppose he’ll tell me in his own time…

He stiffened when he heard his door creak open. His eyes immediately went to the doorway and saw Virgil standing there. He flicked the lights on and his eyes flooded with anger. “Deceit!”

Logan jumped to his feet and stood in front of him. “Virgil wait! Please!”

“What is he doing here Logan?!” Virgil’s voice had dropped and echoed as he spoke.

“He isn’t doing anything wrong! Virgil please-” His eyes widened when he felt own hand clamp over his mouth, a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

Deceit had silenced him.

“My, my, I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Virgil.” Deceit smirked and stood behind Logan. “So, you haven’t caught on to my little game…”

Logan closed his eyes. I knew it… I knew it… He was lying this whole time…

“Get away from him.” Virgil stepped forward.

“Of course…” Deceit wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist and pulled him up against him. Logan trembled and fought back tears.

How could I have been so foolish? You can’t trust Deceit… He can’t love…

Virgil growled. “I’ll get the others.”

“Right, because I’m so afraid of them.” Deceit rolled his eyes. Logan looked at Virgil desperately, his eyes pleading for help. Virgil faltered for a moment. Logan rarely showed any of them his raw emotions, and the fear in his eyes was heartbreaking.

“De-Deceit…” Virgil turned to face him again. “You-You can do whatever you want to me. I know I’m the one you’re after…” Deceit laughed. “Oh yes, I’m definitely after you, Virgil.”

Logan’s blood ran cold.

He has been after me… He’s been tricking me this whole time…

“Deceit please! Logan hasn’t done anything! Let him go!”

“Hm…” Deceit ran his hand over Logan’s chest, making him shudder. Virgil was almost crying. “Please…” “Alright,” Deceit grinned wickedly at Virgil, “I will.”

Logan’s scream was muffled under his hand as Deceit snapped his fingers, and Virgil could only watch in horror as they disappeared.

“Patton! Roman!” Virgil ran to each of their rooms, screaming their names and pounding on their doors. Patton was up almost instantly and ran into the hallway in his light blue pajamas. “Virgil what’s wrong?” “He took him! He took Logan!” Virgil was shaking and sobbing. His tears had caused his eyeshadow to run down his face. Patton’s eyes widened and he immediately pulled Virgil into his arms. “Who-Who took him Kiddo…?” “Deceit! They just vanished! I’m sorry it’s my fault… it’s my fault!” “Shh, shh, it’s okay Kiddo…” Patton held him close and looked to Roman’s room. Where was he?

“We-We have to save him… We have to…” “We will kiddo, we will.” Patton rubbed his back.

Roman’s door suddenly opened and he stumbled out, wearing an oversized red-shirt with a white crown on it and black shorts. “Who took Logan…?” “Deceit…” Patton whimpered. “He took him from his room…” Roman’s eyes blazed in anger. “That snake…” Virgil clung to Patton, his fingers digging into his shirt. “How will we find him…?”

“I-I don’t know Kiddo,” Patton cupped his face in his hands, “but we won’t rest until he’s safe and at home.”

Virgil sniffled and nodded. Patton smiled softly and kissed his head.

Roman turned from them to Logan’s room, his hands curling into fists.

“We’ll save you.”

Next

Tag List @self-conscious-fander @ordinaryfander @witch197 @well-love-has-failed-me @muchas-flores @elementalshadowwitch @cml-san @impatentpending @changeling-ash @thegreenmeerkat @mylovelyladyhumps @lucifer-in-my-head @bunny222 @madamedraconis @paperghastly @king-of-gay-twinkies @probablysomeproblems @ab-artist @violetmcl @dragonsight9 @miserykillme @snakeboicouldbegayer @nighteshad3

[westboast]

San Clemente

Whenever I’m home for Christmas, I go to church with my grandmother on Christmas Eve. She has always gone. It’s our family church, Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church, in Perryville, Maryland. A little town. It’s a white church plastered in stucco, surrounded by deciduous trees which go gray and leafless by December. My grandmother and I walk through the graveyard to see her brother’s grave. He died three years ago. Etched on the tombstone is the image of him and my aunt in a boat. I walk a few paces to the left and find myself on an empty rectangle of grass. Each corner is adorned with a little granite block. Etched on each of the blocks is the name AMATO. The Amato plot. I realize that if I suddenly die, this is where my body will go. I feel terrified and look to my grandmother, who recognizes my fear and waves for us to leave this place and enter the church.

On Christmas Eve in 1992, my cousin Mark, then twenty-eight, died as a result of AIDS. I was six months old at the time. My mother was nineteen years old. My grandmother and aunt went to church anyway that night. During the service, right after the Eucharist, the lights were dimmed, as they still are. Everyone turned on an electric candle, as they still do, and together they sang “Silent Night.”

The women in my family—my dad’s side—are not sentimental like the men are. My mother is sentimental, but she is from the Virginian, Lutheran side. Southerners are sappy, like molasses. The northerners are Anglican and tight-lipped. As far as my dad’s side goes, I have never seen my grandmother or aunt get emotional except during “Silent Night” on Christmas Eve at Saint Mark’s. Even then, tears form in their eyes, but they do not cry.

I think about Mark a lot, even though I was an infant when he died. He played tennis. I played tennis. He’s gay. I’m gay. He was the eldest cousin. I am the eldest cousin. He read alone on the beach while the boy cousins played in the water. Then he would return to the house to watch soap operas.

I have inherited my aunt’s and grandmother’s grief for him. This year, when “Silent Night” began and the lights dimmed, my aunt and grandmother looked dead ahead. I saw their lips moving to the lyrics. I gripped the pew in front of me and gasped. The only light in the room came from the little battery-powered candles. I forced myself not to cry, because I never even knew him and I thought it would be selfish to cry in front of the women who did. I was amazed that they were able to sing through their grief, because I could only get out every other word. I knew the words but I was choking on them in the dark. By candlelight I could see my aunt’s and grandmother’s tears and I forced out the words as best as I could, out of duty.

The next night, Christmas, at my aunt’s house, I felt a wave of jet-lag and asked if I could lie down somewhere. My aunt said yes.

“You can go rest in Mark’s room,” she says.

I walk up the hardwood stairs to his room. It is much the way it was when he died, I guess. The bed is made. His tennis rackets are there, and a Les Miserables poster. I lie on his bed and fall asleep clutching his pillow. I never knew him but I wish he was here. In my family I am walking along his path, but there is no one to lead me. I want him to lead me.

I wake up because my college-aged cousin is yelling downstairs. She has a booming voice, a commanding voice. She studies history at a college in southern Maryland. I have a feeling she’ll run for office one day.

“White privilege is a real, proven, indisputable fact!” she is shouting. “Where is David? He’ll back me up!”

At this point I am face down in Mark’s pillow, crying. This is where he slept. What? White privilege. Right. I remember being in college and having these kinds of arguments with family members. Back then I was more righteous. I was listening to my cousin and she was being mostly convincing. I didn’t want to bail her out because I thought she needed to struggle a bit. That’s part of it. Trying to argue the existence or relevance of white privilege in a place like Cecil County, Maryland, is very admirable. It’s like throwing a Tupperware party, except it’s not Tupperware but a loaded polio vaccine and the audience is Jenny McCarthy.

I come down the stairs and find my cousin, Caesar-like, commanding her Senate.

“Back me up, David!”

“One sec,” I say, giving her the thumbs up and exiting quickly. She has it under control. Mostly. She is impassioned, but she hasn’t realized that the trick is to let the other person yell themselves exhausted. At that point you swoop in with a reasoned argument once they’ve run out of steam. They’re too tired to fight back. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is quite good at this. Tammy Duckworth nailed it in her Senate campaign too, when her opponent made a racist comment about her family during a debate and she just took a drink of water as a response. Now she’s a senator and that guy isn’t.

Nice.

I make eye contact with my grandmother, wearing a tolerant half-smile that I’ve also inherited. I’m just here, it says. She is sprawled on the couch, listening. Sort of. She may or may not have her hearing aid turned on. I wonder if Mark was very political. He was probably too sick.

My aunt, in the kitchen, is wearing the same smile as my grandmother.

“Is there more mac ‘n’ cheese?” I say, bending over the counter.

“Yeah, Dave, help yourself.”

The only people who call me Dave are my family members and my best friend in Baltimore. I never ask people to call me Dave, because it sounds like a realtor’s name. But when they elect to do so themselves it makes me feel comfortable. My mom’s nickname for me is Detour Dave, after a traffic announcer on the Baltimore radio station 98 Rock. I get myself a scoop of mac ‘n’ cheese and put it in the microwave. I would vote for my cousin, I think as I lean on the counter and the food spins in the microwave. She’d be a good Democrat. I’m too neurotic and self-absorbed for something like that.

The microwave beeps.

The white privilege shout-off, featuring exclusively white people, concludes, and people start going home. I stick around with my mac ‘n’ cheese and sit down on the couches with my aunt and grandmother. They’re lovely couches, overstuffed with checkered red upholstery.

“There was a time when a family could have Republicans and Democrats in it and it wasn’t a big deal,” my grandmother says. “Not now.”

This time last year we were walking to dinner at a crabhouse, and she said to me, “David, I’ve never seen the country like this.” She was alive and aware in the sixties, bear in mind. And so I found this statement especially unsettling. What’s going to happen, I thought. Is anyone else worried that the whole thing is going to fall apart?

I am.

Later that night we were at dinner. I had crabcakes, of course. One of my relatives walked up behind me, his cane tapping on the floor. He’s a Republican. He leaned close to me.

“How do you like your new country, David?”

Come back.

My brother sits down with us on the red couches and does most of the talking. He’s the gregarious one. He lived on Edmondson Avenue in Baltimore in 2015 and from his porch watched the National Guard roll in during the Freddie Gray uprising. I can see him on that porch now, smoking with his housemates as the tanks passed, as the smoke rolled toward the sky from downtown. At the time I was at an elementary school in Anacortes, Washington, with YouTube open and my jaw on the floor.

Come back.

When it’s time to go home I crouch down at the front door to tie my shoes. My aunt and grandmother wait for me. They are standing over me, watching me.

I stand up and say, “I really hate Donald Trump.”

“No one here is going to argue with you,” my aunt says.

I look down at the floor and see a little knot of silver under the dessert table. I pick it up.

“What’s this?” I say.

“It’s my necklace,” my aunt says. “The knot is too tight. I’m going to take it to the jeweler to get it out.”

“Let me try,” I say.

I struggle for a few minutes. They are still watching me. I’m worried that I have set myself up for failure, so I really focus. I’ve bitten my nails down, so I have to softly tease the knot apart with my fingertips. Eventually I manage to get it out. It’s a fine, delicate silver chain.

“Thanks, Dave,” my aunt says. I hand it to her and kiss her goodbye.

My brother is outside smoking. He drives us home. We smoke Newports out the windows as we fly up Route 40. There is very little on that road. He speeds, I think. Who cares. It’s Maryland, so on the radio we toggle between country and hip hop. We pass billboards. We pass an Amazon facility that was built but never staffed. Imagine that kind of money, to build something but then leave it totally empty.

We pass American flags, at half-staff for the recently-deceased George H.W. Bush. He was the president when I was born. He was the president when Mark died.

My aunt, my grandmother, and I are staunch Democrats.

***

I feel like everything has already been said about Southern California. Even the future has been documented in Southern California. It’s been imagined many times. California on fire, or underwater, mega-urban, Bladerunner-style. Why does everyone fantasize about destroying Southern California? Maybe it’s because it shouldn’t have been settled like this. Of course it should not have been colonized, but after that even—why build a city where there should not, cannot, be a city? Did anyone stop and think of that? It’s a desert, but they tried to build Eden.

Even the word California is fantastical. It is believed to come from the sixteenth century Spanish novel Las Sergas de Esplandián, by García Rodríguez de Montalvo. The novel describes a mythical island called California, “on the right hand from the Indies…very close to a side of the Earthly Paradise; and it was populated by black women, without any man existing there, because they lived in the way of the Amazons.” Their queen was named Calafia.

When I arrive in Los Angeles I take the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner from Union Station to San Juan Capistrano. I almost miss the last train. I have to run to Platform 13 and nearly suffocate trying to board in time. I sit in a dark car and watch the darkness outside.

I am going to Heidi’s house—her mom’s house—in Orange County. Heidi and I met in Japan. She has to go to work in the mornings, so when she’s gone I shuffle downstairs and make coffee in her mom’s Keurig. I feel kind of evil every time I make coffee in that thing, because every coffee “pod” represents one more little tile in the mosaic of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. But I don’t feel guilt. I’m not going to stop drinking it. Heidi and her mom don’t drink as much coffee as I do. I blow through those pods pretty fast. I think about offering to buy more, but I’m unsure of the etiquette involved. Guests get unlimited coffee, right? Like at car dealerships. I think that if I offer to buy more they will think I’m calling them cheap. But I also don’t want to seem like a mooch. I resolve to do nothing and keep drinking the coffee instead of seeking an appropriate solution.

I go outside to the patio. The sun is pouring over me. California forces you to be accurate. California looks nothing like the East Coast. On the East Coast and in Chicago the buildings look like tombstones. They are ashen fortifications against the harsh outdoors. But in California the houses are flat, adobe-inspired, stuccoed, surrounded by plants. Cacti and succulents. There are fruit trees. I remember Gretchen’s orange tree in Palo Alto, how amazing I thought it was that oranges could grow in someone’s backyard. Heidi’s patio has a palm tree in each corner, making it look like an Egyptian temple instead of a porch. The columnar trees spread their canopic fronds against the sun and the blue sky.

There is a drought in California. Heidi says not to leave the water running. There are signs in public parks which say not to drink water from the drinking fountains. Sometimes the faucet runs slow. I think twice before taking a shower and a third time before shaving.

Who will have the last drop in California?

Heidi’s mom comes downstairs. She is originally from Boston and has retained her Eastern shell, which I appreciate. One morning she makes me an omelette. In California it is standard to ask “Do you have any dietary restrictions?” before making food for someone or inviting them to dinner. Heidi’s mom asks me before she makes me the omelette. But I’ll eat anything. I am not picky. I’ll eat anything you want me to eat. The sky, the succulents.

She uses some goat cheese that Heidi and I picked up from Trader Joe’s. “This is Heidi’s cheese,” she says. “I would never buy it, but it’s great in omelettes.” She serves the omelette with buttered toast and blackberries on the side. I press my fork into the omelette but hesitate when I see her scoop hers up and place it on her toast. I follow suit, chopping mine in half and putting it on my toast.

“Remind me where you’re from one more time,” she says, biting into the omelette. “Chicago?”

“Maryland. But not Baltimore. The hillbilly part.”

She nods.

“So I guess you’ve got the travel bug like Heidi?”

“Sometimes. Right now I have the settle-down bug. But I still have seven months in Japan.”

“And you’re over it. Right? You’re over it.”

“I’m over it.”

“July’s not that far off,” she says. “You can hang in there.”

She’s right. I hope she’s right. She’s a therapist and I trust her. I have the feeling that she is reading my mind. I think all therapists are clairvoyant. Maybe she can divine the expression on my face like a fortune teller reading tea leaves. Maybe she can intuit how terrified I am of loneliness based on the shape of my mouth. Maybe she already knows everything about me. Maybe I am not as special as I think I am. Maybe I am just a predictable gumbo of neuroses.

There is no omelette the next morning. Heidi’s mom just says, “I already ate.” That’s it. It’s just a fact. I love that about people from the East Coast—their directness. I miss that. She sits down at her computer, a huge Mac desktop next to the sliding glass door. She types while I jostle the door open and shut all morning, unable to stay either inside or outside for too long.

I drink coffee and smoke on the patio. When noon hits I get to work on the box of Trader Joe’s cabernet that Heidi and I also bought. I spend the next several afternoons nursing it while Heidi is at work. Her brother and mom are either startled or impressed by this, watching this stranger sip boxed wine on their patio at noon on a weekday, day after day. They’re definitely confused. I feel kind of weird doing it, but I also feel detached enough from reality in Orange County to assume that it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know what day it is.

Heidi’s mom has two pugs. I can’t remember their names, so I just call them Grimes and Elon. She is in the kitchen doing dishes and I don’t want the smoke to bother her, so I decide to go out into the driveway. Grimes and Elon are sleeping peacefully in their little plush basket. I hope that Heidi’s mom doesn’t mind that I am leaving them unsupervised. Maybe one of them will do me the favor of eating my notebook and freeing me from the catalogue of my thoughts. I unlatch the gate and go out to the driveway that connects the houses to one another. The air is clean but looks a little bit fuzzy or sparkly. The houses all look the same, with stucco walls and red roofs. The trees are green but because of the drought the tips of the leaves are brown. They look burnt, singed. I imagine the palm fronds reaching too close to the burner on a gas stove. 

One of the houses on the next block has an American flag hanging out front, obscured a little bit by the haze. Or my imagination. For some reason I think that the flag looks out of place in Orange County. I don’t know where the “real America” is, but I don’t think it’s here. It’s not in Cecil County either though. Where the hell is it?

I look around. I didn’t grow up in the suburbs, so places like this always seem exotic to me. I feel as though I suddenly understand pop punk—the entire genre. Also Ska. I can imagine how Gwen Stefani would have been considered “edgy” in a place like this. I wonder how many pills are on this block alone. Hundreds? Thousands? How many affairs are going on? How many lawyers and therapists does it take to keep this one little block chugging along?

I hear a garage door open. I turn to my left and see an old woman with black-dyed hair wearing a red silk pajama suit shuffling into the driveway. She looks ahead vacantly and says nothing as she slowly bends down to pick up the newspaper. She turns back around just as slowly and shuffles back into the garage. The door clicks and retracts back down, sealing her inside. How long has she lived there? Heidi knows none of her neighbors’ names and has no intention of changing that, so there is no use asking her about the ghostly woman in red. Heidi’s neighbors only ever see her when she begrudgingly takes Elon and Grimes for walks, or when she exhales plumes of vaporized THC from her bedroom window at night like a stoned Rapunzel.

This morning I ate an omelette and last night I made a fire in Heidi’s fireplace. The Boy Scouts taught me to breathe fire. A fire is heat, fuel, and oxygen. I am holding a fire in my fingers. No one should try to eat fire. I take it back: fire is what I cannot eat. My dietary restriction is fire, okay? I’ve Californized. The whole state is on fire. It was, anyway. I don’t know if it is now.

I put the match to the kindling that Heidi and I have gathered from the woods near her house. I crouch toward the fireplace and ignite the kindling with my breath.

“There’s someone lucky waiting for you,” says Heidi’s boyfriend.

Maybe, I think. As long as he can breathe fire.

One night we go to dinner with Heidi’s friends, a couple. They are talking about the first time they said “I love you” to one another. I’m two drinks into happy hour and decide I might as well tell someone that I love them. Maybe this will be my big moment! So I go to the bathroom and text “Whatever I love you” to someone who I know full well does not love me back. That’ll do it, I think. I won’t be hearing from him again. An ethereal sense of relief then floats up through the heartbreak. All I really wanted was to say it.

When my grandmother was dating my grandfather in the sixties, it was kind of naughty, because she was Episcopalian and he was Catholic. “I just love bad boys,” she once said to me. She and my grandfather lived in Cecil County but his cousins lived in Baltimore. The first Amato to disembark there was named Leonardo, I think. “I would go down to Baltimore to see Bobby’s cousins. They were Catholic and lived over [wherever they lived—not somewhere nice]. They would bring me to their room, and then they would go into the closet and pull out mink coats and gin and silver cigarette stems. They couldn’t afford them. We would put on the coats and smoke out the windows.”

The stories I was told as a child are revealing themselves to be more and more intricate as the years pass. They look like the golden altar of the Serra Chapel at San Juan Capistrano Mission, “the jewel of the Missions.” You could look at that altar forever. Like the jewels of the South the Missions are testimony to slaughter.

You can get married there.

Heidi says that winter sunsets are the most spectacular in California. I don’t know why. In Japan she always longed for the sunset. She found the closest approximation possible to a California sunset at a beach on the northern coast of Oita prefecture, where we lived together for two years. The beach was barricaded by a seawall and was not really inviting of swimmers.

In San Clemente we go to a spot overlooking the ocean and find dozens of other people longing for the sunset. Heidi is home, where she is meant to be, her context. I think of my own context, my own longing. My spot is on a granite wall in North East running along the graveyard of a church near my house. When I was a teenager I would sit at the end, dangling my feet over the murky river. I still do that whenever I go home. I watch the Canada geese as they float, bob, spread their wings, and take off in formation toward the leafless trees.

In the California afternoon I will sit on the beach and read. The most interesting stories are about people who could never figure out what they wanted. Heidi drops me off at North Beach in San Clemente. I walk the beach trail along the Pacific Ocean and listen to music. The waves curl enormously and crash in huge eruptions of surf. I see teenage couples holding hands on lifeguard stands. At sunset I sit down on the sand and watch the sun dissipate through the cloud bank. The sky turns pink and orange. I try to identify what I am feeling. It’s something close to contentment but not exactly. I want to laugh. The moment feels funny for some reason. Everything feels funny and pointless, and watching the waves crash I feel like I can stop worrying so much. 

The next morning I return to the patio. I sit beneath the sun. The light dances along the leaves of the fruit trees. I drink the wine and lean back, feel myself warm and pretty. I close my eyes and pretend I am in Italy, among the mysterious groves of my ancestors.

—California

[willelbyers]

Drowning (but only for a moment)

Summary: “You love him,” El says, shutting Will’s bedroom door behind her, and it really isn’t a question.

He knows who she’s talking about.

Will tries to open his mouth, to shake his head, anything, but nothing happens. He sits down on his bed, hard, airway suddenly closing up. She’s looking at him expectantly, and then the dam breaks and he’s drowning in his lies until he can’t anymore.

“Yes,” he breathes out harshly. “I do.”

Pairings: Will/Mike, past Mike/El

Notes: It’s a future-fic, about 3,500 words, featuring gay Will Byers, bi Mike Wheeler, and pan Jane “El” Hopper! Yes, I know the title is a bit pretentious, but I like it.

Posted on Ao3 here as well as written out below the cut. Enjoy!

Present day (March, 1988)

He loves him.

And it’s not like he wants to be in love with his best friend, necessarily. Because really, it’s not a great feeling or situation. But he isn’t exactly trying to stop it from happening, either.

It’s just… whenever Mike drapes an arm over his shoulder, Will feels his heartbeat speed up. And they always somehow find a way to tangle their fingers together when their families have Byers-Hopper-Wheeler-Sinclair-Henderson-Mayfield (plus Harrington, sometimes) movie nights. And Will sometimes can’t help but feel that he was perfectly made to rest his head on Mike’s shoulder.

But Mike is with Eleven, El, his dream girl, Will’s sister. Mike will never want him like that—everything he does with Will he only views as platonic, anyway. Will knows that as a fact. So he is perfectly content to be Mike’s best friend until his feelings blow over. It’ll hurt for a while, he knows, but he’ll survive.

I love him, he thinks to himself, gazing at the side of a dark-haired head as he absently turns a page in his textbook.

“Will,” El says quietly, touching his shoulder, and he startles back to attention.

“Yeah, El?” he replies quickly, shaking the fuzziness from his head. They’re in last period math class, and Will is good enough at the subject that he doesn’t have to pay attention all the time. Mike is doodling absently on his paper next to him, squiggles and swirls that form a raging black-ink sea on his homework, and on El’s right, Max is concentratedly tearing a sheet of graph paper into neat strips that pile up on the corner of her desk like the foam caps of waves.

“Talk at home?” she asks.

He furrows his brow, because her tone sounds really serious. “Uh, yeah. Sure. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him instantly, and he can sense she isn’t lying.

He gives her a half-frown and a nod before turning back around in his seat.

“I love you. You know that, right?” El asks as they walk through the front door, and Will frowns at her.

“Yeah,” he replies easily, confused. “Thanks. I love you, too.” Because they’re siblings now, and they’ve been through a lot, and they know their minds are connected somehow so they would have to love each other even if they didn’t want to—which they do. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” El replies. “I just wanted you to know that before I say anything else.” She strides down the hall and walks into Will’s room, pulling him behind her.

“El—”

“You love him,” El says, shutting Will’s bedroom door behind her, and it really isn’t a question.

He knows who she’s talking about.

Will tries to open his mouth, to shake his head, anything, but nothing happens. He sits down on his bed, hard, airway suddenly closing up. She’s looking at him expectantly, and then the dam breaks and he’s drowning in his lies until he can’t anymore.

“Yes,” he breathes out harshly. “I do.”

She just stares at him, no judgement where there should be, and that in itself crushes him, like water pouring into his lungs. He’s different, he’s weird, he’s a freak, because he's never had a girlfriend and he doesn't want one, and because he still cries at night even though the tangible nightmares are gone, because he sees the vines as he sleeps and catches sight of people he doesn't know, and the knowledge of that haunts him—but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Her eyes bore into his soul, and he can feel their link shuddering under her need to press in and his to shut her out. “What will you do?”

He shakes his head—finally. “Nothing. I—I’m sorry.”

“For what?” El asks, and she sounds genuinely confused.

Will blinks at her. “You love him, and he loves you. I thought you would be… angry, I guess.”

“Oh, I am angry,” she says, grinning in a way that doesn’t match her words. “I’m angry you didn’t tell me sooner, because I knew.” She reaches forward, taking his hands into hers. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He doesn’t really know how to respond, so he just nods because it sounds like she wants to tell him.

She takes a breath. “Mike and I? We love each other, but not like that.”

“But you’re dating!” Will yelps, almost reflexively pulling his hands away in his shock.

She keeps her hold firm. “Were. Haven’t been for five months.”

“Five—five months?” Will is almost screeching at this point, though in his defense, it’s pretty quiet. “But—but I thought—”

“We let you think we were still together because Mike asked me to,” El says calmly. “And I would do anything he asked of me. But we’re not dating anymore.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Why? Why aren’t you dating anymore? And why did you lie?”

“No,” she says sharply. “We didn’t lie. We never said, ‘we’re still dating’, you just assumed we were and we didn’t correct you. And we realized that we don’t belong together that way.”

“But—”

“Why are you so against the idea?” El laughs, cutting him off. “Your whole problem was about you liking Mike and me still dating him, right? That’s not an issue.”

“No, I just—ugh.” He buries his face in his hands, because El is being difficult on purpose and they both know it. She doesn’t know much about social cues but she certainly must have picked up on the fact that boys only hold hands with girls. And Will is definitively not a girl. “Why did you act like you were still together?”

At that, El’s face shutters slightly. “You’ll have to ask Mike that, Will.”

Five months earlier (November, 1987)

“You love him,” El says, not looking up from her book.

Mike chokes, dropping the Han Solo action figure he’d been messing around with as he instantly glances up the stairs—Will had gone up to get snacks for their three-person movie night, and his chatter with Mike’s mother is clear even from where he and El are sitting on the couch in the basement. “What?”

“You love him,” El repeats, finally looking up from her book, resting it on her knees. “Will. You do.”

Mike swallows, because something is telling him that it’s true but he doesn’t want to listen. “El, what? We’re literally dating, and you’re telling me that I’m in love with someone else? My best friend?”

She shrugs. “Yes. I thought it was obvious.”

“El, you’re my girlfriend,” Mike emphasizes, waving his hands. “I like girls!” A pretty solid argument, he thinks, until—

She shrugs again. “You can like girls and boys, I think. I know I do. And Nancy’s talked about it.”

Mike just splutters for a minute because whoa, okay, that just happened. “Wh—okay, okay, fine. Either way, I’m still dating you.”

She looks back down at her book. “Right. About that.”

Mike understands immediately, and his heart seizes in terror. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. El…”

“Mike,” she sighs, eyes fixed to the page though she doesn’t turn it. “I love you. Really. But I don’t think I love you like that anymore, and I know the same goes for you.”

“I…” He tries to argue, but she’s psychic so she knows and he understands that she’s right anyway. “Right.” He rubs a hand over his face. “No, you’re right. I just…” He reaches out, taking her hands once she puts her book down. “I really do love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever again.”

“You won’t,” she answers instantly. “I promise.”

He smiles at her before he registers his mother’s voice upstairs, and a vise of anxiety suddenly grips his heart. “Oh, no.”

“What?” El asks, squeezing his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom,” he tells her. “My mom can’t know that we’re not dating anymore. She can’t know that I…” like Will, his mind supplies, but he can’t say it. El looks like she wants to argue, because even after all this time she still doesn’t really understand societal norms despite noticing the trends, but he shakes his head. “And he can’t know either, he won’t… no one will react well to this. El, please. We can’t tell her, we can’t tell him. We can’t tell anyone.”

The basement door creaks open and Will’s voice floods down. El glares at Mike, quickly saying, “Fine, but we’re talking more about this later!” She lets go of his hands and leans back on the couch, picking up her book once more.

“Hey,” Will greets, flopping over El’s feet and pressing up against Mike’s side, and damn, Mike is so screwed. Will grins at him, and he feels his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t realize it always had until El pointed it out to him. “Popcorn?”

Present day (March, 1988)

I love him. God, I love him. He looks up at the ceiling.

“Mike?”

They’re in the Byers-Hopper house, the windows dark and frosted with the light dusting of snow falling from the nighttime March sky. Will is sprawled out on his mattress, Mike wrapped up in a sleeping bag at the foot of the bed. El and Max are sleeping soundly in El’s room (the one that used to be Jonathan’s), while Lucas and Dustin are crashing in the living room—it is almost three in the morning, after all.

Will doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep tonight—the nightmares aren’t so bad the further he gets away from November, but his thoughts are running wild and sometimes they do flash back to that horrible place.

“Yeah?” Mike’s voice is heavy with sleep even though he hasn’t actually dozed off at all quite yet. He lowers his flashlight, dog-earing the page of the book he’s reading and closing it. “What’s up?”

Will hesitates for a moment before spitting it out. “Why didn’t you tell anyone that you and El broke up?”

He watches Mike freeze, eyes wide in a deer-in-the-headlights way. “I—I, uh…” He shakes his head as though to clear his thoughts. “How did you know about that?”

“El told me,” he admits, and Mike’s eyes darken. “It’s not her fault, though!” he continues immediately. He taps his head, quickly thinking up a believable half-truth. “We’re linked, you know?” He frowns. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

Mike sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I thought… I thought it would be easier. I don’t know. And I didn’t want my mom to know that I broke up with El—Jane. My dad, too. They’d ask why, and I wouldn’t have an answer good enough for them.”

“Well, that’s okay, Mike,” Will says softly. “But why didn’t you tell us? Lucas, Dustin, Max? Why didn’t you tell me?” Mike mumbles something that Will doesn’t catch. “What?”

“It’s complicated,” Mike repeats, a little louder.

Will laughs slightly. Try me. “Why?”

“Because I’m in love with someone else,” Mike spills, like water pouring from his lips. “And my parents wouldn’t like it. The person I like probably wouldn’t like it, either.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Will grins, genuine, though it hurts a little to know that Mike is in love with someone else, someone who isn’t El and certainly isn’t him. “Who is it?”

Mike can’t seem to meet his eyes. “Would it sound cheesy if I said it was you?”

Will’s heart stops. “That’s not funny.”

Mike’s face falls. “Huh?”

“Did Eleven tell you?” Will asks, voice still deathly quiet. “Did she tell you I like you? Is this all some stupid joke? Did you plan this whole thing just to… to make fun of me?” Because that would hurt more than anything, even if it sounds kind of crazy in retrospect. His sister and his best friend who he’s in love with teaming up to make him miserable would break him.

“What? No. Will,” Mike says, louder than the other boy but not loud enough to wake anyone up. “Hey. Look at me.” He catches Will’s hands, looks him in the eyes. “You like me?”

Will wants to look away, to lie, but Mike’s gaze is so dark and beautiful that he can’t. “Yes.”

Mike laughs then, loud and open. “That’s good, Will,” he tells him, “because I like you, too. And I promise I’m not making fun of you. I’m telling you the truth.”

With that, Will’s mind goes blank, and he does the only thing he can think of doing: he kisses Mike.

Three months later (June, 1988)

“I love him,” Mike says, staring down at the tablecloth. Crickets chirp outside the window in the summer heat as Nancy squeezes his hand beneath the table. “And I know you’re not gonna be happy about it, but I love him.”

It’s silent for a moment, and Mike feels his heart in his throat.

“Michael,” his father finally sighs, “I know that you’ve never quite grown out of your rebel phase—or whatever you want to call it—but this is taking it a step too far. You don’t have to invent these ridiculous lies to get us all worked up.”

Nancy’s hand tightens around his own, and Mike returns that with an equal fervor. Ridiculous lies? He believed that whole story about Russians in Hawkins! “Dad, it’s not… I’m not—I’m not making this up to… to prove something to you, or to bother you. And I don’t want to disappoint you, but it’s true. Everything they say at school, about me, about Will, it’s all true.”

His mother jumps in, and Holly purposefully tosses her peas onto the ground like a typical seven-year-old. “But, Michael, what about Jane? You two are so cute and happy. She’s so polite and sweet! You like her, we like her, you went to the dance together! What about her?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “Mom, we broke up eight months ago. Are you even listening to me? This isn’t about Jane, this is about Will!”

A sharp thud of a fist hitting the table cuts him off, and he jumps back as his father’s voice bursts out. Holly lets out a yelp. “I won’t stand for this, son. This is some silly idea that Byers boy put into your head—the Mayfield girl as well, most likely. Everyone knows they’re trouble. I told you to associate yourself with a different crowd, Michael.”

Mike’s mind goes blank for a moment out of rage—his father is acting like he doesn’t know Will at all, like he and Mike haven’t been friends for over a literal decade. He’s acting like Will is some sort of bad influence, like Max is a maliciously manipulative person, when they’re not. He can’t stand that.

Nancy tries to cut in, to defend him, thank God. She doesn’t get very far. “Dad, he—”

“We’re done here,” he says succinctly, and Mike vaguely realizes that this is the most emotive he’s ever seen his father. “Karen, make sure Holly goes to bed. Nancy, go… do your homework. Michael, go to your room and stay there until you realize how to let go of this ridiculous idea of you being ‘in love’ with the local undead weirdo.”

Nancy doesn’t even protest that it’s her summer break and she doesn’t actually have homework yet, instead she pulls Mike up the stairs and into his room. Her eyes blaze as she shuts the door. “Pack your stuff, Mike,” she says, tossing him an empty backpack sitting at the base of his closet.

“What?” he asks, fumblingly catching the bag.

She digs around in his old toy chest for a moment before pulling out the blue plug-in desk phone she’d hidden there before going to college. She finds the proper socket for it and plugs it in, dialing the Byers-Hopper’s phone number he’s very familiar with. “Pack, Mike!”

He follows her order as she begins talking on the phone, her voice low. He stuffs clothes into the bag, as well as a book and his supercom. He pulls his cap from his bookshelf and forces that in, as well. “Nance, what am I doing?”

She slams the phone down, face set into a determined glare. “You’re getting out of here. You don’t deserve this. This family is shit anyway.”

“Nancy—”

“Wait until I go back to my room,” she instructs. “Then climb out the window, take your bike out of the garage, and go to Will’s. I just talked to Mrs. Byers. She’s a little confused—you don’t have to tell her the whole story, unless you want to, but she says it’s okay for you to stay with her.”

“Nancy, I—” He cuts off when she looks at him, eyes hard and determined, and he swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Nancy grins. “Thank me when I break the news to Mom and Dad tomorrow morning, and then again when I bring you more of your stuff.”

He hugs her, overwhelmed, because he kind of knew that his parents would react the way they did but he had no way of knowing Nancy would be this prepared. “I love you, Nance.”

“Yeah,” she replies, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you, too.” She pulls away and darts out the door, sending one last grin over her shoulder before shutting the door behind her. Mike springs into action, opening the window and jumping down into the rapidly darkening street.

One month later (July, 1988)

“I love you, Michael,” his mother says, and he feels trapped, cornered against the cheese aisle of the supermarket. He just wanted some goddamn cheddar, and instead he gets an unwanted conversation with his estranged mother.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he replies truthfully. “But we both know I can’t come home because what you just said isn’t really true.”

“Michael—”

“No, Mom,” he interrupts her. “It’s true. You love me, but only if I’m exactly what you want me to be. And I can’t. I love Jane, but I won’t date her, won’t marry her. And I love Will—I can’t marry him here, but I’ll damn well try, and there isn’t anything you can do about it.” He sets his mouth into a firm line. “Now let me go.” She doesn’t move, and he glares. “Let me go.”

She finally backs up, and he strides past her. “Michael,” she says again. “I really do love you. I’m trying.”

The Star Wars nerd in him tells him, do or do not, there is no try, and frankly, he agrees. “That’s good, Mom. Tell me when you get there.”

“I love you,” Mike says against Will’s mouth, pushing him further back against the headboard of his bed. Their schoolbooks, brought out for an early start on their senior year summer homework, are scattered across the sheets, long since forgotten. “I love you I love you I love you.”

Will kisses him, too, unable to resist, but eventually draws back slightly to look Mike in the eyes. “Hey. Hey, Mike.” He puts a gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder and holds him in place. “Are you okay?” Because Mike is an open book, always, but not necessarily this open all the time.

Mike pulls back as well, and Will can see the hopelessness and desperation in the tears welling up. “Yeah,” he says, voice choked. “Yeah, I am. I just… I love you so much, and it’s… it’s so goddamn hard and it’s not fair.”

“I know,” Will agrees, and Mike knows that he does. “I know. Tell me what happened,” he says gently, and his voice is so soft and compelling that the words just flood out.

He tells Will about his mother at the supermarket, how much it hurt to see her after a month of avoiding his parents like it’s a religion, after not having anything to do with them other than what Nancy tells him or when he stops by the park to say hello to Holly. How much it hurts to know that she’ll never love him for who he is.

“That sucks,” Wills says after a beat once Mike is finished, and Mike laughs wetly because Will understands.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it does.”

“But hey,” Will grins, sunshine peeking through dark clouds; a rainbow appearing in the sky. “We’ve got one year of school left, and then we’re out of this town. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere. With El and Lucas and Dustin and Max. We’ll get out, get jobs, go to college. We’ll be together. Just think about it.”

“Trust me,” Mike replies, smiling tentatively. “I’m thinking about it.”

Will looks up at him. “I love you,” he tells him.

Mike’s heart breaks and rebuilds itself in his chest, and his heart feels like it’s frozen and on fire all at the same time. His lungs fill up with the pure love he has for this boy, and he drowns in it for a minute; flails for air until Will kisses him and breathes oxygen into his mouth.

“I love you, too,” he gasps as he pulls away to draw air in before leaning in again, savoring the words. “I love you, too.”

Hope you enjoyed, everyone!

~Logan

[exeart]

Overwatch: Moira x Reader

Hi so I’ve been really gay lately for the newest support champ in Overwatch and some of my friends wanted me to write this so... enjoy :3 - Exe

It was time for revenge. It was time you let Moira know how you felt.

You loved her, you really do, but there were some things you couldn’t forgive her for doing to you. Now, you see her strapped onto the same chair you were in many, many times…

Moira showed no signs of fear or interest. Her mouth was pressed in a thin line, her eyes slightly lidded as if she were sleepy. She was not amused, if anything. "What is this?" she asked after a long stare down between you two.

"... You know what this is about..." your voice trembled, but you were trying your best not to show it. you were angry, but you were always the one with the tiny voice. Rarely had you ever even dared to question Moira's actions.

"... I’m angry, Moira." you said, clutching onto your lab coat. You said it while looking straight back at her for once. Her face showed no change, and she didn't move an inch. "What for?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. Was she asking a legitimate question? How can she not be aware? You knew she wasn't the most empathetic person, but she wasn't a robot. How could she not comprehend this?

"What you mean, ‘what for’?!" you exclaimed, pulling your glove off your hand and showing her - she did the same thing to you... whatever she did to herself... you were like her now. The purple lines that traced out your veins on your right hand, and the strange device that clasped your left palm…

She now frowned. "... Are you unhappy with this?" she asked with tone dripping with venom.

"Of course I’m mad! You didn’t even tell me you were going to do... this!" You were intimidated by her now, considering her narrowed eyes and slightly rigid posture, but you were certain this time wasn’t going to be one time where you yield to her.

"Do you not trust me?" "How can I when you never tell me what you're doing to my body?!" you were getting angrier by the minute. Was she trying to manipulate you into being guilt again? You were so aware of her mind games, her psychopathy...

But you still fell in love with her. Why…? You had no idea...

Moira chided you, "you're being irrational, dear-" "I'm not! I’ve tolerated your experiments time and time again, and they hurt many times, but you never care, and-!"

"... Who says I don't?" You stopped your rant, and stared at her with a confused face. Was she trying to play games with you again?

No, don’t be fooled…! She’s doing it again…! You thought furiously to yourself and shook your head. Moira saw this, and sighed.

“… You should have been aware by now, that my ‘care’ is different from those who care about… morality.” Her voice had a sarcastic tone to it when she said the last word. She was still bitter about what Overwatch did to her. “You’re smarter than that, so you shouldn’t be upset if you had known about this. What you’re doing right now is rather foolish, I’d say.”

You paused, because you knew she was right. Plus, you knew what you were getting yourself into. However, you let it happen. Not once did you ever protest her experiments on you. Being a newbie in Talon, you were assigned to be one of her little errand girls, but after displaying an advanced level of genetic knowledge, she decided you could help her with her experiments on a more… in-depth level.

And you readily agreed. At first it was just because you could finally do what you wanted your whole life – genetics, and with one of Overwatch’s ex members, it was indeed a bonus! However, it was quickly obvious that Moira wasn’t any normal scientist.

Her methods and approaches to her experiments were unlike any of your ex colleagues. They were dangerous, abstract and usually deemed… cruel. You, however, were for some reason only drawn more to them, and her.

She displayed a sort of passion and interest in her work unlike anyone else you’ve ever seen. It was clear that her unquenchable thirst for advancing and making her research a reality made her different from the rest, and while many would consider her immoral and apathetic, to you, she was just a woman who was pursuing her quest to uncover all the mysteries in her field of expertise.

Besides, all the women who’ve made history were always the one who broke the rules.

Also, Moira’s attitude towards you… from the moment you first met her and shook her hand you could see the way her eyes locked in with yours… she saw you as a useful asset, and perhaps nothing more. But it made your heart skip a beat regardless.

You were probably a masochist, thinking this way, but you also enjoyed it when she treated you a little like the rabbits in her lab. She’d pat your head and whisper sweet nothings in your ear whenever you two began on your little human experimentations. On special days, Moira would run her slender fingers through your hair and brush her lips ever so slightly on your forehead or cheek, making you all hot and bothered.

You weren’t out of the loop – you knew she was luring you into her rabbit cage. You willingly went in, her treats and compliments proving to her you were easily manipulated. So why were you angry now?

“None of my experiments have ever killed you, have they? I always make sure that my calculations and my theories make sense before ever doing anything to you, my dear.” Her voiced dipped when she called you ‘dear’. You instantly felt the blood rush to your cheeks. “Would you ever doubt my research and protocols? On you, my beloved assistant? I could care less about the rabbits or other people, but you, on the other hand, have interested me.”

Lies. They had to be. Moira cared for no one in that way and you were sure of it. But the way she was looking at you, her smile, and her voice… her silky, slightly accented voice…

Moira was aware of your feelings for her. She found it strange at first and rather unprofessional, considering her and your respective positions in Talon. You and she were merely lab partners (or you were a lab rabbit, to be more accurate), for you to develop such burdens irritated her once she caught on, but she never showed it in the slightest.

Then she noticed how she could make your existence more beneficial to her when you over exerted yourself to make sure she was pleased. From making sure all the chemicals and equipment were properly arranged to ensure her cup of coffee had just the right amount of sugar, Moira knew what affect she had on you. Not emotionally, of course, but by the way you reacted to her doings. In fact, she did find it rather peculiar that you’d be drawn to her, considering how many people in the past deemed her evil for what she does.

It wasn’t cruel to let you fulfil your desires, no? If you truly wanted to be of use to your role model, why not let you take part in her experiments full time? You would agree without hesitation, and she knew this. But she knew how fragile and irrational emotions made people, so she ensured whatever experiments she did on you were 99% safe. She couldn’t really understand why you were angry if you agreed to it. If you ever felt discomfort you could have said no anytime, and she’d find another pers-

So that’s why. You didn’t want to be replaced. You didn’t want to leave Moira’s side.

… How cute.

In truth, Moira did like having you around. It was the first time she ever felt any sort of emotional connection to any of her lab partners. The way your eyes shone when she began rambling on about her recent discoveries and new hypothesis’ she came up with, the way you’d spend hours way past working hours to help her with her research… You were the first one to show real interest and understanding of her views and practices. Not once have you ever protested her experimental ideas. Was it due to fear of being fired, or just to be obedient to her, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t care less. If she had someone who would readily be at her beck and call, she’d do the same to keep you safe.

Now was no different. Sure, she didn’t ‘love’ you in that sense, but she did care. She sat up as much as she could against the restraints, and you subconsciously walked closer to her.

“My dear, I think you’ve got it wrong. I have no intention of ever harming you. I mean, you are the first one who shows genuine interest in my work. I appreciate that.” She could see your eyes widen, however slightly. “I’m not lying to you.”

… Was she really…? You really couldn’t tell anymore. If she didn’t want you, she’d have gotten rid of you long ago, wouldn’t she? But it didn’t change the fact that the recent experiments she’s conducted on you were without your full consent. You didn’t want to go through Moira’s process yet, but she drugged you and did it anyway, as a way of helping you ‘improve your cellular structure’. “My assistants need to be in the best condition,” was what she told you.

You thought about this, and regrettably began to feel your anger disappear. You clenched your modified palms, and gritted your teeth. Don’t give in! You decided to do this for a reason!

“I have no reason to lie to you, dearie,” her voice snapped you back to reality, and you looked up, only to see that beautiful smile you always admired from afar. The blood fully rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the room becoming much hotter.

“… I…” Moira was going to kill you now. You had drugged her too, and strapped her up in the chair, preparing to do something. What were you going to do? You knew deep down you could never bear to hurt Moira intentionally, so you honestly didn’t know. But after Moira’s reasoning, she wasn’t wrong. She never was.

How stupid and irrational you must have appeared to be! You would be lucky if you were just going to fired! Now you were horrified. What was she going to do? You knew she didn’t take hindrances to her work lightly.

Moira tilted her head slightly. “You understand, right? I’m only doing so for your sake, and to increase the speed of human evolution. So why don’t you release me from this chair, hmm? I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re about. In fact, I’m rather happy you’ve finally decided to stand up for yourself, though you could have been a little less… desperate with your approach.” She shifted against the leather belts.

“Ah…!” You bent down to unbuckle the first belt, then the second, avoiding her constant gaze on you. When you unbuckled the last restraint, you jumped back in case Moira grabbed for you, but the older woman calmly got off the chair, adjusting her tie and dress shirt. You stiffened as she walked over to you. Instinct told you to run, but you stayed rooted to the ground. You could see her slender clawed hand reach out. She was going to scratch your skin off for sure…!

You felt your breath get caught in your throat as Moira slowly lifted your chin, making sure you looked straight back into her beautiful duel coloured eyes. She smiled, didn’t pull you close, but she made sure to stand far closer to you than she normally did. You saw her lean in, and for a split second you thought she was going to kiss you, but she simply brushed her lips against your ear…

“I’ll let this slide… Do turn up on time tomorrow… if not I’ll make sure it causes you pain.”

[human-resourccs]

He Just Likes The Rush - Ch. 3

In which Scarecrows are born and it gets sorta gay for like a second there

~1300 words

previous chapter

next chapter

Looking back on it, Jonathan struggled to remember exactly how long it took after that first visit to his home that his research…. Escalated. He'd been well aware of his declining mental state - on some level, he had. But the warnings, the concern, the thoughts of slowing down; all of those rational things he should've been thinking had been getting locked away in the back of his mind as he redoubled his efforts on his life's work.

It had started out fairly well, to be fair. Having already become desensitized to the Riddler's…. disposition, it became fairly easy to hold a conversation when he was in a decent mood. The first thing he'd found out was that his new acquaintance's name was actually Edward Nigma - 'Common knowledge, Jonathan! Pick up a newspaper once in a while! Mister Riddler, really?' - and barely batted an eyelid at the oddity of it. Honestly, it was one of the less excessive things he'd done for his aesthetic.

The arrangement had been thusly; the Riddler had provided him with the contacts he'd been looking for, put him in a position where he could now reliably access the more shady dealings of Gotham’s underground; and in return Edward would typically bother him - either in person or over the phone - whenever it took his fancy. It was mutually agreed that this arrangement would be promptly broken with no harboured grudges if it ended up they both found each other absolutely intolerable. They both had some small amount to gain from either eventuality. For Edward, his curiosity would be at rest and an interesting addition made to the criminal scene in Gotham; for Jonathan, he would maintain his contacts regardless and end up with more time to dedicate to research.

All in all, it really wasn't a bad deal. Especially since they had found one another mutually agreeable; on good days, they'd debate various scientific, sociological, and literary-based topics. Sometimes, these discussions even became quite heated; especially where the fields of psychology were broached. Sometimes Jonathan would swear that his acquaintance was trying to goad him into throttling him.

"All I'm saying, Jon, is that- technically- technically! the ancient Greeks weren't as far off as they thought they were with regards to the humours of the body."

"That is objectively absurd. "

"Well - what are the causes of most psychiatric disorders, if not an imbalance of chemicals in the brain? Riddle me that! Sure, they undershot the number of chemicals a little, and wildly misinterpreted their identities and locations - but the core concept still stands, now, doesn't it?"

Edward, of course, knew exactly what he was doing - he just delighted in getting a rise from him.

"Edward, I am warning you..."

"Is that a begrudging admission of defeat I see through those gritted teeth?"

Neither of them were sure how that one didn't end without a trip to the emergency ward.

Though the raising of hackles was not entirely one-sided, of course. Jonathan also took great pleasure in his petty tortures.

"Jesus, Jon, how long have those dishes been there?"

"Mh? Dunno. Couple weeks, maybe. Lost count. I'll do them when I run out of clean ones."

Sometimes it took all his effort not to break the deadpan tone in his voice when the inevitable exclamations of horror from Edward soon followed.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Throw up in the corner; the mould's getting hungry."

The sight of the sheer speed with which the Riddler's face blanched - speedily exiting the room so the rogue might regain his composure - finally broke the stony expression he'd been trying to maintain; that was the first time Edward heard Jonathan laugh, and really laugh. Low and hearty, head thrown back, laughing until he was pink in the cheeks.

For some reason, Edward wasn't able to muster up the energy to be mad at the sight.

And on bad days, the Riddler would simply rant about whatever had slighted him or taken his interest in that particular instance, waving his hands in grand gestures and even getting up from where he was seated on a few occasions; Jonathan would half-listen and nod emphatically now and then. The background noise served to make it slightly easier to concentrate when he was thinking.

It was an odd arrangement, but they were odd people.

It was after that - if he concentrated, it must've been about a month, a little less - that things went sideways, as they always do. Edward seemed to have sensed the change, the slight shift in his personality - he didn't say anything. Perhaps it was out of some sense of respect, or perhaps it was for fear of the reaction. Hell - maybe he just wanted to see what would happen. Jonathan couldn't say he blamed him because that would've made him a massive, massive hypocrite; he'd have done the exact same thing, were the roles reversed.

Their talks became restricted to just phone contact; then became less frequent; then stopped altogether as the situation came to a head.

The situation. He kept dancing around the topic in his head, never thinking about it - was it because he struggled to sort through the hazy memory, or because he was scared - scared of admitting that Jonathan Crane, sanest man in the room, might've been more of a madman than he thought?

The preceding few nights, the lack of Edward's - of anyone's - presence, and his stock of resources had allowed him to work feverishly through the twilight hours until the sun came up, broken up only by his obligations as a lecturer.

It did not take a psychology doctorate to see the clear issue with this, and yet somehow Jonathan remained oblivious. Something had to give.

It had been innocent enough, such a small thing. Jonathan was no stranger to the habits of the students that his class was comprised of; they were young adults, a demographic that was always going to be known for their perceived lack of respect and general rowdiness. But for some reason, that day, they had just been so much louder than usual, he thought. So much louder - look, there, those four aren't even facing the front - and she's eating in the middle of the lecture- is that little brat napping in my class? How dare he? How dare any of them? He was here, teaching-

Oh, he would teach them, alright. It all happened so fast; nobody was really sure what Professor Crane had actually done to the boy who'd been sleeping at his desk. He just stopped, mid-sentence. He had this... weird look on his face. Walked over to the desk. Planted his hands on either side of it. Leaned in, whispering something with heated fervour;  such a dark, dark expression on his face.

The boy just…. Started screaming. flailing around like a madman. Didn't stop until the paramedics showed up and sedated the poor bastard. They didn't find any drugs in his system - they weren't to know that the chemicals had long since been metabolised - no history of mental illness, nothing. Of course, though nobody could prove that Jonathan had actually done anything to him, action still had to be taken. There were furious parents, friends of friends, all directing their anger at the university that something be done about this!

And so, Jonathan Crane, at least on paper, willingly resigned from his position at the University. This, of course, left him with a great deal of extra time on his hands. He wasn't even angry - the opposite, he was pleased, now that he could dedicate so much more time to his work.

Within the week, everyone who had been in attendance of the class that day began to have strange, inexplicable mental breakdowns. One by one - no explanation. Screaming about monsters and spiders and fire and drowning; none of them ever recovered. Not fully.

Within the month, vendetta sated, fear had closed its cruel, icy fingers around the hearts of Gotham's inhabitants - and with that fear, the first appearance of the Scarecrow, and subsequent capture after a long arduous pursuit on the part of the GCPD and the batman.

But the damage was done.  No time for regrets, nor doubts - this was the path Jonathan had set himself down and he intended to walk it to its conclusion.

His short stint in Arkham would prove to be most interesting.