#tagging this as hamlet because why not it works well enough anyway

[kookykuni]

Hamlet WISHES he had a skull half as cool as this for his soliloquy.

[sugar-petals]

♡ måneskin scenario: getting to know ethan 

↳ NOTE. by popular demand and because i’m entirely enthralled by the phenomenon that is ethan torchio myself, here we go givin’ the gorgeous drummer some love.

word count. 5.5k

TAGS. no warnings all fluff, fem!oc, slice of life, photographer!reader, first date-ish, shy flirting, ot4 is part of the plot, ethan being sexy in heels

Jacob had enough of that twilight bullshit and joined a glam rock band. At least that’s what you thought seeing Ethan around for the first time. Setting up the kit, carrying his whiny band members around, fixing his ruffle shirt, chugging some water: Big gig tonight, extra long setlist. Five minutes later, complaining about his brocade shoes being hard to kick the bass drum with. Even later, silently nodding along to an impassioned Damiano speech crafted to boost the morale, and posing for your camera in his silver jumpsuit. Friendly to approach all the way, but without initiating stable eye contact even once.

One thing’s for sure. As your favorite professor said back at university: Someone may be photogenic and unearthly as hell in terms of looks, and even be intimidating — but also so damn shy, you won’t see their eyes a single time. „Gotta work with it and not against. Then it gets interesting“. In essence, the takeaway from that course. Which does come in handy now. Ethan seems like the kind of guy you really have to get into for a more intimate-feeling picture.

Sure, many people in front of your camera have all kinds of introverted personalities anyway, wearing sunglasses in particular. So much about eye contact in the first place. And the aesthetic is priority, not studying character. Although you really are a fan of that, it’s a huge part of photography if anything. Alas, you’re here to „capture nothing more but the spirit of italo-rock, the attitude, the hedonism!“ (the exact words of your boss) for a music magazine after all. Really, nothing more? You paid attention to how he worded it. Fair enough. Rock spirit, that’s all, the exciting parts.

Ethan surely has it. Drumming on everything he can find during rehearsal breaks („music is everywhere“) with his sticks, even Thomas’ amplifier. He’s actually dorkier than you thought, less composed when he’s in his element. First impressions do deceive. The hair’s hard to miss, too. It’s the central motif that attracts you. You may or may not have taken over 50 shots of it just because. Ethan is a bad bitch and he better know. You climb around the venue to get any salient angle of Måneskin you can think of. Even from all the way back, last row. You don’t want to annoy them being all up in their face constantly. You’re hired to get all the good shots, they’ve been a band for seven years already, professionals in the making. Doesn’t mean you have to stand below the edge of the stage and never change position.

Even from back there, the silver reflects beautifully at the back of the stage. The fashion’s all designer and it shows, but Ethan couldn’t look bad in any of the shots even if he tried or wore the plainest black suit (hell, that would be just as beautiful in fact). Just how long is that hair anyway. All the way down to the solar plexus, must be 24 inches or more. 25, even. Many rockers would wear it that way, but Ethan seems particularly interesting with how he touches it, how he behaves with it. There we go again with the character study, you can’t help wondering.

But really. It’s any photographer’s dream when someone moves their hair around so damn naturally. Gives a great variety to how it frames and shades the face. You like to play with light all the time. And hey, why ask for eye contact when he does even better posing in other ways. The body, too, Ethan’s posture is great. Victoria and Thomas often bend to really get into their power chords, Damiano frequently hunches forward for a belt. But Ethan’s throned at his kit like some royals taught him to be a good boy. Back straighter than a pole, how the hell.

No glance in your direction still, even if you return from your last row spot to move around on stage with the camera. Which gives the band a motivation boost and chances to try out gestures up close, too, so even better. Hey, maybe it doesn’t annoy them. You can actually get used to it, this way of photographing them is all dynamic. Nearing the end of the first rehearsal, you’re all busy maneuvering between Thomas and Damiano to get a nice semi-profile from Ethan’s left side. Gotta work with it not against, you chant to yourself as a mantra, and it seems easier to stick to than you thought.

How glossy all that hair is commands all the attention of your shutter release in and of itself. That he takes good care of it and has been growing it since forever shows a dedicated guy. It’s actually quite wavy. The band arrived in the pouring rain and Ethan’s curly strands at the crown and nape of the head were definitely showing — super cute. An army of stylists took on the resulting humidity frizz. They whipped out the straightening iron and protective spray, and even now before the big performance, Ethan brushes his hair out in front of you, and sweeps it around with his fingers anyway. You take pictures of the bits you find most candid, and decide to rather perfect single shots instead of making several in a row. The more you photograph him, the more you want to discover his essence in one picture. His sheer presence almost begs for it, it’s ridiculous.

Victoria on the other hand has no problems with rapid-fire releases and comes close to your lens to pull funny faces. She’s got some of the coolest poses you’ve ever seen with her bass, and hops around the stage like a bunny to the beat. Thomas is a virtuoso and pro who keeps on doing what he does when you make him pose, and Damiano can flirt with any camera ever. He even lowers his red leather jacket off his collar bones for you to have a great shot. He’s promising and most definitely a born divo, your boss will be happy with those pictures most definitely.

Then again. Behind that supposed hedonism is so much hard work and thought. Damiano even gives you ideas for angles during the second rehearsal. „Hm, maybe stand on the amplifier?“ Eagle perspective, not a bad idea at all. After trying out said suggestions with the help of triggered stage security making sure you don’t fall off the construction („eh, Damiano always suggests the most reckless things to staff, don’t mind him“), you find yourself concentrating on what goes on at the back of the stage all over again.

Ethan is busy practicing a new solo which has you curious about whether it’s for an upcoming album. Though again — the shoes cause trouble. Ethan complains again, the music stops. That could very well be the reason why he seems so preoccupied today, or is it? The manager tells the stylist, and the stylist hurries, voilà, Ethan has a new pair of shoes brought in. Ones with a thicker sole, bit of a chunky heel, and laced up rather than being slippers, a drummer’s worst nightmare as you have learned today.

You wait until he changed. Then snap some more pictures how he continues practicing calmly, and the sound did improve since he can kick the bass drum better now. Now you position yourself across the stage all over, in the empty audience ranks. Ethan is the most radiant and confident when you just take a step back. But well, he still sweeps his hair around a whole lot and looks even more tense-looking than Damiano who’s doing vocal warmups and jumping jacks, „Come on guys, come on, we’re starting in 30 minutes!“.

You can tell he does it more often when he’s nervous. And that means he does it very often. People would probably assume it’s vanity, or the fact that the hair gets in the way. You can see that for him it’s a place of distraction, maybe safety. A gesture like an anchor. He’s used to it being long just like his eye shadow being dark and smoky all day. He knows the drums by heart, if it falls in his face no need to shake it away. And besides. The strands reach below his shoulder blades, it stays down his back if he doesn’t move around too much. He could easily tie it up as well. All those things go through your mind without you even knowing why.

To switch things up a little, you photograph Thomas fooling around with Victoria at the snack bar, stuffing fries up their noses, and already see the lighting technicians do their final check. Some of them you know briefly, you made shots at this venue before, last year for a Shakespeare theatre play. You did some freelance work in the scene, but now you’re put to the test for more involved jobs. Hard to complain though, Måneskin are amazing in front of the camera. If Damiano is not the ideal Hamlet, you don’t know anymore.

Something new happens all the time, the expressions are priceless. Ethan’s in particular, when he does his wide-eyed surprise faces learning that there’s actually healthy food at the snack bar. „Vitamins, how nice.“ — Thomas, pokerfaced, reacts with eating a mayonnaise-dripping sandwich. Ethan, unfazed. Headed straight to the fruits. You’ve never seen a tall silver glitter tower like him walking around biting a bright red apple. Well, you can take Jacob out of twilight, but not the twilight out of Jacob. Snap, another picture. Clash of words, that’s a nice theme.

The concert of this evening seems particularly energetic and leaves your camera roll with some brilliant, tweet-worthy material. Damiano covered in confetti, eyeliner running. Victoria on the shoulders of Ethan while he’s playing her bass.  Thomas, stagediving. Fans waving banners and chanting along to Seven Nation Army. Your ears are ringing when the light technicians close down the stage two hours later. Thomas really played his soul out with the solos, and your feet seem to vibrate. That’s your body thinking Victoria’s bass is still playing, but the magazine is very happy with how the pictures turned out after you send the whole batch to them as soon as you can.

Little to no retouching, zooming, or cropping necessary. Ethan is just perfect as he is, you feel like you captured him well. After swiping through the gallery on your tablet, you think Victoria has some great ant’s eye perspective shots as well. Those go right on your own blog, she’s just amazing. The magazine has an enthusiastic article typed out already. Damiano’s mid-air split on beat for the final song makes the cover story on Monday, and Måneskin’s manager comes back to you a week later. „What would you think about doing some behind the scenes stuff for us? We’re planning a music video!“

And that’s how you end up in a Sicilian restaurant with Måneskin and crew a week later, stuffed with Calzone and mind filled with Damiano’s inspiring words (and the occasional catchy freestyle rap). The MV is as good as finished. Thomas had shown you around the mansion they were shooting at, and you could convince a taciturn  Ethan to walk between the marble statues and boxwood trees in the garden. With his black cape on, a rhinestone choker, and the low-cut lacey blouse that the MV director was obsessed with as well, asking you to focus on it. Your best shot even ends up in the thumbnail of the Youtube video without you even expecting it would.

All the garden pictures turned out mindblowing. If not iconic, the best project you had so far. Gets to show you the best things are often improvised. Ethan, stoic as always, sat at the base of armor-clad Emperor Augustus twisting into the blue sky in a large gesture. The marble was a perfect contrast. Ethan ate a ripe pear from a tree, even that was aesthetically pleasing, then leaned against a hunting Apollo, and you also framed him from the back next to Aphrodite and Cesar. He put on his sunglasses underneath Achilles, and knelt at the feet of a Pietà replica. Marvelous panorama shots, with him the shining center. Well, we know since Queen that the drummer is the unrealistically pretty one.

The whole picture series is blowing up on your blog for the whole afternoon. „Count Dracula on a stroll in Versailles — eugh, begone sunlight!“ is what a comment neatly sums it up as. People seem to especially like the shot where Ethan playfully put his cape over Pallas Athena’s spear with a blurry Thomas having a laughing fit in the background. Well, even Count Drac gets photobombed sometimes. Your phone buzzes with notifications every other minute, you do notice it against your thigh. But the insalata of the restaurant is good and the night is young. Victoria and the manager tell old stories of Thomas snapping a guitar string while he was trying to serenade a highschool crush. Ethan scolds them for making fun of it.

Damiano gets drunk and dances on the table, the MV director discusses new ideas, some walk-in fans take pictures. The temperature is still unbearable. You order a dessert to share with Victoria and Ethan. A large tiramisu that the waiter cuts in three pieces, and it’s truly delectable. The chocolate, so crunchy, melty. The cream, fluffy and cool, making for a funny white beard that makes Ethan look like an arctic scientist returning from an expedition.

Of course, you take pictures, all the food is documented. As are late night restaurant shots with Damiano’s heels peaking into the frame when you photograph the band’s friendship bracelets, hand-made by Victoria on a tour bus last year. Damiano’s back down on the table soon, singing, while Ethan creates a beat with two forks. Thomas also agrees to take your camera for a while so you’d be in the frame for a change, too.

You pose for a group picture, or rather a group hug, and being in the middle …Ethan’s arm wraps around your shoulder loosely, hair dangling into his face, but also brushing yours. He focuses on the camera, facing away from you. The schooled eye could catch you breaking a sweat in the resulting photo. Ironically, the tiramisu doesn’t cool you down the way you thought. Thomas is too busy trying to figure out your camera dials and yelling „hey eyebrow king, smile!“ at Ethan.

A round of even more gelato goes down in spoons and spoons. The band members eat like they ran a marathon. Ethan clinches a third round because he can, unhealthy be damned, he needs some sugar and refreshment. And it’s true the MV shooting was strenuous in the heat, and had lots of intense performing parts. Even an invisible rope suspension were Thomas would descend from a ceiling during the chorus with little cherub wings attached to his back because why not. If the manager agreed to recreate this on tour some day, the pictures would be amazing.

You can’t help but think what kind of special effect would suit Ethan the most, and you come to the conclusion that a bridge lift would be the coolest thing ever. A rising part of the stage letting him emerge like an elevator from the underground.  Maybe using smoke machines, too. The idea twirls around in your mind so intensely, Damiano asks if you’re wasted. You’re always getting carried away with all kinds of fantasies like that for over a week now. A dreamy photographer? Not unusual, but it’s seriously distracting you from the present moment.

The crew slowly heads home, and the band decides (translation: Victoria’s mood is) to head to the movies. Just when the waiter arrives with the bill, Damiano spills panna cotta all over Ethan by accident. So bad he’s all sticky from the shoulders down, making Ethan opt for the hotel instead. Besides, he’s been drumming his soul out, sleep is so needed now. Since the group is already gone and there’s still a forgotten cymbal left to carry back to the equipment bus by the hotel, you help Ethan maneuver it around. The heat is making either of you sweat, even with the full dark of the night coming up.

The gaffer lady you’re sharing a hotel room with is already fast asleep. Damn it. You want to cut a video and make screenshots with the laptop being decently bright. And with some volume if possible, you don’t find headphones in the darkness of the room. Ethan clears the desk in his own room for you after removing his make-up. He looks so young and beautiful and tired.

You type and drag and double click yourself through the video and do some last blog updates to deal with all the notifications. Ethan lends you some headphones, but you only keep them on one ear. The humming is too nice to ignore. Nor do you know what to even expect. The bathroom door is open, Ethan is topless washing the lace blouse by hand. Only wearing bellbottom pants and his lace choker — nothing else. He’s fully immersed in his task. He even adds some other shirts and silk scarves into the soap water along the way while he’s at it.

You’ve never seen someone do their own laundry so systematically. Ethan looks like Prince Caspian at the sink, wielding the almond soap bar like his weapon of choice against the enemies of Narnia (the devious panna cotta that’s still sticking to everything). He might be all mysterious, but he’s well able to curse all kinds of things. You tease Ethan for dropping his gentlemanly behavior for a stain of dessert. Ethan insists you sound like Thomas trying to test him with his slick comebacks, which makes you laugh. The blog has calmed down a little and your eyes hurt from editing, so you call it a day and send one last e-mail.

Ethan is drowning in bubbles at this point. The whole room smells like fabric softener. He thanks you for helping him carry around the equipment earlier. In return, you say grazie for him being your perfect muse in the garden today. Philosopher he is, Ethan remarks how Måneskin is usually the one searching for muses, now he ended up one himself — „Maybe not a bad thing, eh. Become the thing you want or something.“ That’s way too deep for a summer night in Sicily, and both of you need a huge portion of sleep. Tomorrow, lots of schedule. You do find yourself wanting to help lick that dessert off his chest. No way you’d tell him.

Ethan waddles off to shower after a crooked, reserved smile for a good night departure. When you close the door to your room and start brushing your teeth, the other members’ voices emerge in the hotel corridor — they’ve returned from the movies. Damiano is even more wasted than before and audibly sings. „You’ve looked at the photographer lady in a certain way earlier, huh. I saw, I saw!“ Victoria does a loud ‚shh‘ noise, and the stoic reply is a simple „Sleep, Damiano, you’ve had too much.“ Thomas giggles, and four doors click shut. Damiano’s singing is now muffled for two minutes until it’s silent. How the fuck can you even sleep after hearing that.

You assumed that Ethan would treat you differently the next morning, in whatever shape or form. But he doesn’t. The greeting is short as it would always be, and he informs you that he did manage to wash out the sugary clay from his clothes as he puts it. Damiano says nothing, adjusts his rings. Thomas randomly pulls zippers at his packed-up equipment. Victoria headed to the car already. Downtown to a studio it goes. The group gets styled to perfection, twenty minutes later they make a reaction video to the newly released MV teaser. Ethan talks about enjoying the sculptures in the garden.

Three hours down the line, you shoot some promotional pictures of them at a pool. Thomas has the time of his life perfecting his diving board skills, and Damiano creates the musical background, singing and prancing. The aerials would make literal perfect editorial-in-VOGUE material. In the meantime, Victoria dozes in the sun. Ethan dives. Sometimes just sitting at the bottom of the pool, othertimes swimming back and forth. The art director suggests you to go into the water, too. He’s right, the perspective works out well this way.

You’re basically standing in there with your flowy pantalon pants and camisole, using a waterproof camera. Your bikini is back at the hotel. It doesn’t matter, everything will dry quickly, the others went in the pool with clothes as well. And you’re all too wrapped up in your passion in the first place. You marvel at how fun the whole scenery looks through your lens. Their outfits are cropped and luminous, today’s color is bright red. You order the lighting assistant back and forth, get some more great Thomas frames where he tosses around a volleyball that the manager brought along. Less rock than usual, but it works. Måneskin at a pool in Sicily.

Damiano splashes water around like crazy. Victoria joins the fun as well, splashing right back. It’s infernal. Well, those are going to be dynamic pictures, you think, and the cameraman never dies, so. Ethan resurfaces every other minute, wiping the chlorine from his eyes. He slicks his hair back with both hands, looking down his body learning how his shirt has become completely transparent. He covers his chest with his hair, quickly, then submerges again. It’s strange. Being topless is usually no big deal in Måneskin.

Almost 12 o’clock. Thomas and Damiano wander off to work on some lyrics, probably the title that the drum solo is part of. All top secret. Victoria returns to her sun lounger, checking her phone. The crew heads for lunch, but you stay in the water, gladly you put sunscreen on earlier. You ask Ethan to try some seated or floating poses at the bottom of the pool that you saw him practice earlier. „No worries, keep your eyes closed.“

What unfolds before you is the most beautiful thing. Ethan’s shirt fans out like a red jellyfish underwater, playing around his body. His figure is just enviable. He gets the hang of it and knows quite how to move. Or rather, to remain stable when the pose is perfect. Hands above his head, horizontal, or seated, only one foot  lightly sweeping over the pool floor, or on one knee, as if he proposed.

Raising his arms helps him sink down and settle, as if he immersed himself in deep meditation. Although the purpose of meditating is to be present, isn’t it. And that’s what he feels like. Ethan would normally switch on autopilot for most of his public interactions, now he’s alive and fully in the concentrated movements of the photoshoot. So much about improvising all over again. The hair creates the most incredible shapes like a black, wide brushstroke, clearly outlined. Thank god you have the waterproof camera. These are moments you’ll never forget.

Your blog notifications keep on bleeping throughout the afternoon. The promotional pictures are a hit. Måneskin’s manager is basically waving five new contracts in front of your face at dinner, but you’re kind of spaced out again. The cozy, rose-ranked atmosphere of the street café you went to is inspiring, and the members dressed up in the most fancy suitwear. Men in Black? Måneskin in Black. It’s almost as if fate read your mind. Ethan is looking at you very intently from across the table when the minestrone is served.

Pasta shells, parsley, vegetables and basil leaves. The scent surrounds the entire table. Damiano, in serious mode tonight, is too busy finding new rhymes and an alternative chorus with Thomas who wildly brainstorms. Victoria drinks, loudly chats with the gaffer lady that you share a room with, and they use a leaf of a palm tree pot plant to tickle Damiano. Thomas plays the acoustic guitar. Ethan and you end up smiling briefly at another. „Bon apetit,“ you say. It’s almost 34° celsius. That’s going to be an entire pile of cheesecake gelato tonight.

Five signed contracts later and halfway through a hefty caprese cake, the title song is finished. An ode to Marlena, fierce like the Mediterranean sea. The piece certainly sounds exactly like this place. Strangers listen to Damiano performing bits and pieces, but you decide to disperse when too many cellphones come out. Damiano wants to go to a bar, Thomas and Victoria carry home their guitars, or to the hotel to be exact, and bags of newly shopped vintage clothes. You ask Ethan if there are any cinemas around the area. „We missed out last time, remember.“

The Palazzo Theater is a small and hidden insider tip far from the main street with its busy beach tourists. Under bulbous metal balconies and peach-colored facades, a small entrance with lanterns on each side guides you inward. Ethan almost hits his head, it’s so low. He’s wearing glossy red bottoms under his suit pants, you’re out and about with a 6’2 giant after all — a statue by himself. A small man with a pipe sells you cheap tickets for a Mads Mikkelsen movie and lemonade, Ethan picks up an XXXL caramel popcorn bucket. You think he’s flexing, but you get a sudden heureka by looking at it twice.

Unlike the S, M, and L bags, it’s thick cardboard and drum-shaped. Oh my god, obviously. Which fine percussionist could ever resist such temptation striped in red and white, the sound deep and dull? It makes you smile how Ethan pursues his instrument even when he seemingly doesn’t, it really has to be a hobby at heart. That’s how a job becomes a profession, and a profession a vocation, your uni professor’s other favorite words all over again. The latter’s words have gotten you far so you again trust the insight that came to you through that quote.

Seeing Ethan standing there, you can almost see the childlike joy at imagining it being empty and ready to get turned around. A tuxedo Italian with Louboutin heels and a ginormous popcorn drum, half past eleven somewhere in Palermo: Ingenious combination, you snap a picture. Ethan makes a cute face, posing like a pinup of the 50s. Who knows how many vintage store posters he’s seen during tours, he must have picked it up there. And— Is he blushing? Must be the dim lights in here.

Off you go to the auditorium. Ethan, who balance the popcorn with all care in the world like it’s his baby, walks the aisle slower than you. The slim steps don’t have any floor lighting. Not very heel-friendly, but since it’s not a huge budget theater and few people dare spike heels on those cobblestones outside anyway, the stairs shall be forgiven. You take out your phone and offer your arm. For every gentleman it takes a gentlewoman, duh. Like rock’n’roll and the camera staff, chivalry (or shevalry as Damiano calls it when Vic holds the door open) never dies. He mumbles a thanks, you climb upward to the fourth-last row, Ethan holds on tight.

No ankles twisted and not one popcorn spilled, you get seated on red velvet. The chairs are dated, but nevertheless ultra comfortable. Nobody else is here. The adverts roll, Ethan cracks open the lemonade bottle caps with his chunky golden lighter because he can. You toast to Mads Mikkelsen’s bone structure and good minestrone, Måneskin’s finished title track, the promo pics, and the discovery of Ethan’s favorite new drum. A whopping five things to toast about? The night’s going to be great.

Damiano catwalking across the screen, wearing a Versace skirt in the middle of otherwise-boring commercials does shake you up. He was picked as a testimonial recently. Though, your pulse is high enough. Ethan’s hair is brushing against your shoulders, not to mention his goddamn massive arms. He can’t get out a single word either for the entirety of the ads, avoiding eye contact all over again. Just how much suspense can starting to eat the first popcorn have. Well, you pick two  from the very top and start munching.

Mads does a great job opening the movie as one would expect, but you just can’t concentrate. Instead, you stress-eat popcorn. Which makes Ethan do the same thing, at least he’s somewhat fixated on the screen. After the first ten minutes, he shakes his head. „That makes no sense at all,“ he clears his throat. „Yeah, yeah it  clearly doesn’t,“ you agree, basically on Torchio-autopilot yourself for the lack of a better reply. You were too busy figuring out the components of his aftershave rather than the thin plot. Shifting in your seat, chugging lemonade…

The air conditioning is scarce, but at least the screen is quite large and proper. You try to focus on the cinematography and do small talk about it. If there’s something you can comment on without having followed the string of action, it’s at least this.  You might be nervous, but you’re still a photographer. „Um, isn’t this chainmail nice in the closeup?“ — „Hm, I guess it works. We should ask Damiano to request something like this from Versace.“ — „Medieval Måneskin Rockers?“ — „Something like that.“ — „Hilarious.“

By the twenty-minute mark, the popcorn drum is almost empty. Gladly, that stuff just shrinks to bits in the stomach. The lemonade just has to galvanize it. You might be able to distract yourself with the camera shots and the last caramel chunks, but that doesn’t change Ethan’s long legs and Acqua di Parma perfume next to you. Yep, you finally figured out what it was, it wasn’t the aftershave. And well. Ethan smells like hotel soap from Milano to Napoli and back.

That scent basically dominates all the others besides a hint of cigar and basil and citrus-y deodorant mixed with runny sweat. God fuck, you can barely stand it. And the almond scent. You take a chance to at least jokingly point it out to him. The random movie flashback sequence is boring — and just as nonsensical as before, no offense to Mads though, he’s just walking around in chain mail — enough to deviate from whatever choppy convo you had going on before.

„I actually washed it twice,“ Ethan pulls off the silky scarf that functions as his current tie, and you recognize it. „The strawberry sauce was hard, but the cranberries… God no, I’ll never go near pana cotta again. Nothing against cream desserts.“ You take the scarf, smell it. Did he literally just hand it to you? Figures, he’s sweating bullets, too. And oh shit, he hasn’t talked that much all evening.

You slowly shift from bodies turned to the screen to facing each other. So up close, so up front, only God can help you know. His eyes are dark and reflective of the film’s flickering lights and changing scenes. You wish you could photograph them on sight. It would be as glimmering as your view from the hotel room, overwatching the unobstructed stars of the Mediterranean bay down the boulevard.

But it’s like you’re stuck in your position this way, feverishly thinking about a reply. What to pick up on, what to pick up on. You think about today, the evening where you edited things in his room. „Uh well, drop your laundry in the pool next time,“ you laugh, more than tentative, with your fingers randomly curling around the scarf. „The chlorine stuff will do the job for you. It’s so aggressive, it bleached by pants one shade lighter.“

Saved. Smooth transaction. Phew. „Oh, the pool was horrible. Not the photos, I mean… I don’t know how you can poison water that way.“ — „I know right? It’s still in my nose. But yeah, was a good idea with the underwater thing. The photos turned out really well.“ — „I really haven’t done something like that before but I guess it turned out hm, nice?“ — „Come on! Nice is understated. Are you fishing for compliments?“ — „No no, by all means!“ — „The one kneeling. It’s my favorite. I don’t even know what to do with all these pictures.“

„I don’t know. Maybe keep them?“ — „Keep… for what?“ — „It’s a separate series, right. The art director didn’t request it. Maybe they can be used for something later on during promotions.“ — „Yeah. We’re always a little extracurricular,“ you laugh again, tense in your voice, and empty your lemonade completely. „This, too,“ Ethan points at the theatre in general. „You’re good to talk to. The better version of alone time.“ — „Thank you. You’re great to go out with. I… really like it.“ Beautiful nature scenes show on screen, but they’re nothing but a blur. You take Ethan’s hands in the dark and smile. „Maybe we should do it more often.“

masterlist | bookmark/read it on ao3

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

romeo must die

this one-shot is based on the song Romeo Must Die by Gabrielle Aplin, I highly recommend listening to it! shout out to @eugeniaslongsword for introducing me to it :) i even borrowed some lyrics from it haha. it is also inspired by the entire playlist I made, "being treated badly by someone doesn't make you love them more"

content warnings: past toxic/unhealthy relationship, the uncomfy 6-year age gap between Alastair and Charles

Masterlist | Read on AO3

"Alastair, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Alastair looked up from what he was working on. He was in the library of the Institute, along with Cordelia, Thomas, James, Matthew, and Christopher. They were searching for any clue as to how Lucie had done what she’d done or what Tatiana and Belial were planning. Alastair wasn't entirely sure how he got roped into the ordeal, but it seemed as though Thomas suggested him as an extra set of eyes, and Cordelia latched onto the idea.

"No," he said curtly, returning to his reading.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. I'm quite busy at the moment." Alastair spoke under his breath, not wanting to draw the others' attention. How many times had Charles barked the same words at him, swatting him away, hacking away at paperwork or planning his next step in his career? The words sat bittersweet in his chest.

"Surely you could spare a few moments."

"I certainly could. But I do not wish to." Charles had a way of getting into his head and twisting his words and his feelings. It was not an experience he wished to revisit. It was better here, with an audience. It had also been easier in the infirmary, knowing that he held all of the power. His father had made him feel the same way, he thought bitterly. He understood now that what he'd done at school was not only to protect himself from the bullies. He wanted to reclaim the power stolen from him by his father; he wanted for once in his life to hold power himself. He hadn't yet come to the realization that holding that kind of power did nothing but harm. It was of no use, anyways, because it didn't matter how much he perfected his tongue and his wit on the other students at the Academy, he was never able to use it when it counted. Not with Elias, and not with Charles.

"It's fine if you need to take a few minutes, Alastair,” Cordelia said gently. All of the eyes in the room had come to rest on the two of them. Now he wished he’d spoken louder.

“It’s alright, Charles was just leaving.”

He had hoped that Charles would give up and leave knowing that everyone was watching him, but he was determined. He grabbed Alastair’s arm. “It’ll just be-”

Alastair stood, but pulled his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

In a flicker, Alastair saw it: the anxiety began to set in. Charles began to realize that he would not be able to play his usual tricks. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I believe I was quite clear when I told you I don’t wish to speak with you. You’re the one who can’t let this go.”

“Must you act so childish?”

He rolled his eyes. “Must you always call me childish for thinking for myself instead of catering to your every whim?”

“I don’t understand. You said we were fine.”

Alastair sighed. Perhaps for a moment, he thought that was true. For just a second, he thought there was a world where he and Charles could be friends. But Alastair had decided that he would no longer call people who hurt him his friends. “Yes, well, I lied. I wanted to let you down gently, but it’s clear to me now that it must be spelled out for you. How shall I put this? You and I are past our dancing days, Charles.”

“But-” He stammered, searching for words. “What happened with Grace Blackthorn wasn’t my fault.”

“Maybe not. But what of Miss Bridgestock? Am I to pretend that what happened with Miss Blackthorn was not the same as what happened two years earlier?”

“You told me many times that you took no issue with that, that you understood.”

“I understood what you told me, which we both know was never the full truth. I was a sixteen year old desperate for your affections, and the fact that you truly believe I never had any issue with your arrangement is proof that you never genuinely cared about me or listened to my thoughts. I told you in the infirmary that this wasn’t your fault because I thought it’d ease the pain, but I lied. And I don’t have time to sit here and watch you cry over it.”

Alastair wished that watching Charles become flustered would have been more enjoyable. Instead, all he wanted was for this to end. “You- you’re different than when we met. You’ve changed. You’re cruel and callous, I don’t understand how I could not see how heartless you were until now. You are everything that everyone claims you to be. How am I to even know what the truth is when it comes from your lips?”

There was a time when those words would have cut deeply into him, eating at his every insecurity, but Charles mistakenly assumed that Alastair was the same person he was last July, with the same insecurities. “When we met, I was fourteen years old. I’ve grown up, and it is time for you to do the same. It’s been six months, Charles. You need to stop writing me. If that makes me heartless, I don’t care. And if you wish to know the truth, the truth is that the moment you leave here, if I never see your face again, it still will not be long enough.”

Charles stared at him for a long while, unable to find a proper retort. In the end, it was Matthew who stepped in. “Charles, I believe it’s time for you to go.”

He obliged, finally turning to leave the library. As he began to walk away, however, Alastair knew that he was not finished. His heart beat a little bit faster at the thought of such a confession, and faster again when he realized who would hear it, but there was no piece of parting with Charles that he wished to regret.

“Wait,” he said. Charles froze and turned to look at him. “I know it’s unlikely that you have it in the cold depths of your soul to care, but let the record show that I would have given you everything. I would have given you my life, all of the love and trust that I had to give, and then I would have given more. And you gave me nothing. So the next time you’re pondering my heartlessness, you ought to wonder what that means for you.”

Finally satisfied, Alastair did not wait for Charles to turn and leave again to return to his seat and pick his reading back up. He waited for a moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him. He stood once more, opening his mouth to speak, but the words were caught in his throat. Instead, he walked out of the library in silence.

Finding the nearest balcony, he attempted to steady his breath.

“Are you alright?” He heard from behind him. Thomas. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He shook his head. “I just needed some air.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Alastair sighed. He backed up against the window and slid down to the floor of the balcony. “I know- I know that everyone sort of knew already, but… by the Angel, I feel so pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Thomas told him, sitting down beside him.

“You were right, of course you were. I was so… taken with him, back in Paris. I couldn’t see him for what he was. I was so naive, so foolish. I just- After everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve been through, how did I not realize-”

Thomas put his hand on Alastair’s knee. “You wanted to see the best in him. After everything you’d seen and been through, you wanted to believe that there were still good and honest people in the world. And there are. I’m sorry that he was not one of them, but that does not make you foolish or pathetic. It makes you… kind.”

“I bet you’d never imagined describing me as such before.”

“It seems you’re full of surprises,” Thomas teased. “But that’s not true. I always saw the kindness in you, even back at school, when you did everything to keep it hidden.”

“As you can see, my ‘kindness’ has never gotten me very far.”

“You were out of practice. Following me on my reckless nighttime patrols, that was kind. More than kind. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that, for risking your life to protect mine.”

“I didn’t do it for gratitude.”

“And yet I owe you mine nonetheless.”

“I can’t go back in there, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can tolerate you and your friends hating me just fine. But if any of your friends give me even an ounce of pity- well, we’ll see just where the limits of my kindness lie, won’t we?”

Thomas stood up, offering Alastair his hand. “Pity comes from those who cannot even begin to understand what you’ve experienced. For what it’s worth, I don’t think my friends will pity you. But if they do, you can ignore them. For Lucie.”

Alastair sighed and allowed Thomas to pull him to his feet. “Fine. Let’s get back to reading.”

“Speaking of reading, do you have the entirety of Shakespeare’s canon memorized, or only the lines you believe may pop up in conversation?”

“Excuse me?”

“‘For you and I are past our dancing days,’ it’s Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it? It’s the only one of his works that I got through.”

Alastair froze. “You haven’t read Hamlet?”

���I tried.”

“Othello? King Lear? Macbeth? Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

He shook his head.

“That’s impossible. And James is friends with you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wait until my sister finds out you haven’t read Hamlet,” he warned, starting towards the library with urgency in his step.

“Wait, don’t- I just don’t like Shakespeare! What’s so wrong with that?” Thomas’ attempts at reasoning were futile, however, a welcome distraction from all of their recent sorrows finally taking hold.

Thanks for reading!! This was self indulgent af lol. I'm not to sure whether some people only wanted to be tagged in my social media AU, so if that's the case I'm sorry & please tell me!: @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @thecodexsays @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @icouldnotask @shadowhunting-hooligans @melanielocke @clarys-heosphoros @kiwichaeng @lightwoodsimp @thecrimsonsorceresss @theenchanteddreamer @adams-left-hand @yozinha-z @ipromiseiwillwrite @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Hey, everyone! I’ve been saying for a bit I want to get some fics from prompts I’ve written onto AO3 but...it’s so hard...ok it’s not hard, Executive Dysfunction is just kicking my butt. I’m going to post some of them to Tumblr today. If you want to help these babies get on AO3, they need: titles, tags, you pestering me in the comments. If you don’t think they’re good enough for AO3 - fair enough, just hit the little heart if they make you smile!

Prompt: Aziraphale reading to Crowley

(Requested by @zadusk and @lyricwritesprose)

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the innkeeper said, “just rented out our last room.”

“What?” Crowley crossed his arms, huffing through his nose. This was Bethlehem all over again. “This town is in the middle of nowhere, it has three inns, how can they all be sold out?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The innkeeper shut the ledger. “Everyone’s headed down to London, and we’re on the way. Now. I can offer you a hot meal, and for, let’s say, half the price of a room you can sleep in the stables. The hay loft is clean, apart from the mice—”

“Stablesss!” Crowley hissed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Do I look like someone who sleeps in stables?”

The innkeeper didn’t appear remotely impressed. “You look like someone who is going to be sleeping in a hedge. Looks like a storm tonight. Good evening.” And he spun away, calling out to the cook in the back room.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Get back here, you—!”

“Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?” The familiar voice was half delighted, half scolding. Aziraphale appeared beside him, same white suit as the last time they’d met, top hat tucked under his arm. “I thought I made it clear we shouldn’t see each other so often. Since I opened the shop, it’s been—”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley waved a hand and turned away. “I’m not here for you, Angel, I have actual business in York.”

“Really?” Despite his words, Aziraphale trailed behind him. “How interesting. I’m just returning from York – oh, no, you don’t think they’ve sent you to undo all my work again, do you?”

Crowley snorted. “No bet.” He dropped his voice into a low whisper. “This is why we need to meet up more often. Look at all this time we’re wasting! And now I have to march through the bloody night in the rain because there’s no place to sleep—”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t dream of it. You can share my room.”

“Ngk?!” Crowley’s brain crashed into his skull with all the speed and grace of a train wreck. “Mf. Yk. No I can’t – Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my word – obviously, I’m not planning – that!” His voice dropped even lower and he tugged on Crowley’s elbow. “Don’t be crude, dear fellow. I have a room with a bed that I’m not intending to use. You can have it. I just need a chair to sit in while I read.”

“Jgk.” Crowley turned away, taking a deep breath through his nose. It made sense. He could sleep. Aziraphale could read. No getting soaked, or lost in the dark, or needing to fight off highwaymen or anything of the sort. “Fffine. We can. Er. Do that.”

“Jolly good.” He could practically hear the angel straightening his waistcoat. “Now that’s settled. I’ve already had my supper and was about to head up. Unless you’re hungry—”

“No, no, now is fine.” He still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

The room, it turned out, was nearly as advertised.

A double-sized bed with a straw-tick and a quilt. A little stand with a pitcher of water and bowl for washing up. Windows that could be tightly shuttered to block out some of the city noise.

The only thing missing, really, was the chair.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers tapped on his book and he glanced around, as if a seat might be hiding in the corner. “Well, er…”

“It’s fine. I can leave.” Crowley turned on his heel and reached for the latch.

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it. You get settled and I’ll – ah – I’ll miracle in a chair.” He peered around the narrow room. “Somewhere.”

“Look, I can—”

“No. Miracle yourself a nightgown or whatever it is you need.”

“I—”

“Hush!”

Resigning himself, Crowley waved his clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping and crawled under the blanket. It was…slightly better than sleeping in the stables, he supposed. The straw was lumpy and the sheet covering it coarse, but the pillow was well-stuffed with goose-down, a luxury he could get used to. He shifted onto his back, trying to find a comfortable angle.

Instead, he found Aziraphale, standing beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “There…well…it would appear there isn’t room for a chair,” he confessed. “Not one that will fit my, er…my current corporation comfortably, that is.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. He could sleep up there, but it would mean abandoning the pillow. Or. Or.

“Look, Angel,” he said as casually as he could. You can, um, you can sit on the bed. I’m not going to be offended or anything. It’s fine.”

“No, I couldn’t – couldn’t possibly—”

“Aziraphale. It’s really fine.”

The quilt tugged, folded back, and with a rustle of straw Aziraphale settled into the mattress. He sat straight, stiff, and so close to the edge he might topple off.

Even so, he was alarmingly close.

“You, um. You need the candle?”

“No, my own light will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Crowley tossed his glasses onto the little table and waved a finger at the candle, which immediately snuffed out, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of Aziraphale, gently illuminating his book.

Crowley closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He turned onto one side. No good, too close to the edge.

He turned the other way, or started to, freezing when he felt how close the angel’s warmth was.

Then he lay on his back again. The whole room fell very, very still.

“Bless it, Aziraphale, will you relax?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can practically hear your muscles creaking. How am I supposed to all asleep with all that – that tension barely six inches away!”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to. I am – am perfectly relaxed here, reading my book and you – you interrupt with these – these pointless accusations.”

Crowley gave up and turned on his side, facing Aziraphale, giving him as hard a stare as he could manage. “Your book is upside down, Angel.”

“Is it?” He swallowed. “I mean, of course it is. I am training myself to read upside-down text, a highly useful skill, which I’m sure—”

Crowley shut his eyes. “This was a terrible idea.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, Aziraphale, neither of us is actually comfortable with this. So I’m just going to head out. If I leave now, I might make it to the next town before the rain starts, and maybe they’ll have a room. You can have this one and—”

“Crowley,” he said, voice much softer than expected. “My dear fellow. I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out there. I know you won’t be in – in any real danger but…I would rather know that you’re safe.”

He stared ahead, sitting perfectly still in the way that only beings who aren’t really alive can – no breath, no heartbeat, no tiny motions.

Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his legs back under the quilt and lay on his back.

“What’s this book about, anyway?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“It’ll help. Trust me. What is it – poetry? Ancient epics about glorious wars? Not Hamlet again, I hope, that play is a gloomy mess of—”

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s…well, it’s a sort of love story.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Sort of?”

“Well, yes, it’s more a – a study of the manners and traditions of courtship. Our heroine is the second of five sisters, and there’s a great deal riding on finding them suitable husbands, but her choices are, well…not especially appealing.”

“Does she tell them to go jump in a lake?”

“Not in so many words,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “But yes, she has so far turned down two proposals quite bitingly. Although I think she was a bit hasty in her judgement of one of the young men.”

“I like it.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and found the angel had relaxed, and moved just a little closer. “What’s it called, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” His fingers tapped against it. “Just released last year. I must try and find the author’s other work when I finish.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, are you…interested?”

“Hmm,” Crowley settled his head a little further into the pillow. “I do like a good drawing room drama. Perhaps I should pick out a few dresses and spend a year or two back in those circles.”

“As I recall, you were always deceitful and wicked and caused many a scandal.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, and it made Crowley feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “Then I imagine you’ll be brilliant at it.” He suddenly turned away, looking at the shuttered window. “Oh! Do you hear that? The rain has started.” The first drops were tapping against the shutters fitfully.

“Good thing I didn’t go out.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the book again. “Er, would you like me to…to read it to you? Just the first part, until you fall asleep.”

“I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, your voice puts me to sleep half the time anyway, so…”

“Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Let me just get the first volume.” He hopped out of bed and hurried over to his jacket, rummaging in the pocket to pull out another hardcover book. When he returned to the bed, it was with almost no self-consciousness, wriggling comfortably against his pillow only a few inches away from Crowley.

“Now, let’s see…yes, here. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’”

It was strange, seeing the angel from this angle, round face slightly lit by his own glow, little smile curving up his lips as the words bubbled out excitedly. His voice rose and fell as he read, trying to paint a picture of Longbourne and Netherfield and the lives of the Bennet sisters. Crowley could get used to it, the look, the sound, the soft familiarity of it all. Not that he was likely to have an opportunity.

He didn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

--

“‘But I can assure you,’ she added,” Aziraphale was quite enjoying the voice he had chosen for Mrs. Bennet, raising it now in slightly erratic excitement. “‘that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.’” He shifted again, raising his arm to better articulate the dialogue. “‘So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!’” He dropped his voice into a vicious hiss. “‘I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.’”

He glanced to his left, grinning, hoping to see Crowley’s reaction to his bit of acting, but the demon had at some point fallen asleep. He lay half on his back, still facing Aziraphale, shock of red hair across the white pillow. His mouth hung slightly open and something emerged that was almost a snore, but rather too small to really qualify. It was drowned out by the wind and rain outside, rattling the shutters. Now and then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Well. I suppose…yes, you sleep now.” Aziraphale turned to put the book down, thinking to find the second volume and pick up where he’d left off.

“Nf.” Crowley turned onto his side, one arm flinging out towards Aziraphale’s waist. “D’n stp,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gettn gud.”

“Er, are you…awake?” The arm tightened slightly, and Crowley pulled closer, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s side. “Crowley, er, dear…you’re…”

“M’fine.” He sighed, not seeming aware of the world at all. “S’nice.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at the demon who had – had invaded his space. Had settled against him in a most – most awkward and undignified way.

Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Aziraphale slid a little lower against the pillow, until he’d surrounded Crowley in the crook of his arm. “Is that better, dear?”

“St’ry.” But he settled into that space between Aziraphale’s side and his arm with a content sigh, arm now draped across the angel’s chest.

Oh, dear. This is not going to be easy to explain when he wakes up. But that wouldn’t be for several hours, at least, and right now, there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips.

“Well. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him…’”

--

Thanks for reading! Pride and Prejudice was initially published in three volumes, in 1813, attributed simply to “The Author of Sense and Sensibility.” I have no idea what was going on in York in 1814 - I mostly needed someplace they could walk to but would take several days - so feel free to attribute whatever historical events you can think of to these dummies! 

[shsl-otaku]

Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 13

Y/N: Raven Sin of Despair

Pairing: Ban & Y/N

Anime: Seven Deadly Sins

Genre: Adventure, Romance

Warnings: hints of a breakdown

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @supremetodoroki @happynoodle @remikay313 @milkysamu @kageyamis

•••

'I love you so much. I can’t believe this is finally happening.'

'I love you too. I think I’m probably the luckiest girl in the world!'

'Me too. I’m so happy!'

'This is almost like a dream that I never want to wake up from.'

'Y/N... You know, my dream is that maybe... maybe we can get married? Have kids? Live our lives and dreams together in love.'

'Wow... I’d love that.'

'Hey, EX/N? (your ex’s name. If you don’t have one, then you can use a random name lol) What’s your biggest fear when it comes to us?'

'My biggest fear? It would be losing you.'

'Well, I’ll always love you. So don’t worry. You’ll never lose me.'

'I love you, Y/N.'

'I love you too, EX/N.'

'Y/N, he... I’m so sorry.'

'Why? What happened?'

'He... He said he wants to end it.'

'...'

'Why? Did I do something wrong? Please, what did I do?'

'Y/N, I don't want to talk about this right now. Can we talk about this tomorrow?'

'EX/N, you p̵̖͛r̴̪̀o̷̳͛m̷̼̋i̸̗̔s̷̢͒ë̵͔d̴̼̅.'

Why? Why me? What did I do wrong? I thought he said he was scared of losing me? Am I not good enough? What did I do? Why does it hurt to much? Make it stop. Someone make it stop. Please. It hurts so much. I want to die. I want to die. It hurts. I̷̻͝T̶̖̍ Ḣ̷̟͎̯Ǘ̵̠̺͍͓̈̒͠R̷̞̙̖̓͊T̵̳̳͋S̵̫̊̐̕—

Your eyes flashed opened and you bolted upward, breathing heavily. Your eyes were wide as tears began dripping from them.

You covered your mouth before you could make any noise. You threw the blankets off of you and staggered to a far corner of your room. You sat there, holding your hand tightly over your mouth as tears streamed down your face.

'Why did I have to dream about him? I thought I was over this already. Why now?' You let out a muffled sob.

'Ban’s sleeping out on the floor of the bar. I don’t want to wake him up just because I had some stupid nightmare about my stupid problems. It hurts so badly. I wish I didn’t have to feel this anymore.'

You stared at the window, looking at your reflection in the glass. Tears ran down your flushed cheeks. You saw a glowing red eye look back at you.

You turned away, looking at the rays of moonlight that streamed through your window.

'I just want the sun to be up already.'

•••

"Um, Hawk? About Sir Meliodas, perhaps you could tie him up a bit looser next time?" Elizabeth said meekly. “He can’t get a good night’s sleep like that.”

"It defeats the whole purpose if he’s not tied up like that," Hawk yelled. "He’s gonna get all gropey if he’s in the same bed as you! Precautions are needed!"

Elizabeth furrowed her brows. "But I-"

"If you think of it as foreplay, it’s actually pretty pleasant," Meliodas said, chewing his food.

"Foreplay?" Elizabeth asked.

"Maybe I’ll have you tie me up starting next time," Meliodas suggested. Elizabeth blushed.

"You sleaze," Hawk grumbled.

"What’s that? Tie who up? Hawk?" Diane asked, looking in through the window.

"No! Not me," Hawk shrieked.

"Captain, I need a drink," Ban said, sitting at one of the bar stools.

You silently walked in and sat on the stool farthest from Ban. "Pour me a drink too."

"Ban, isn’t it a little early?" Diane said, raising an eyebrow. "And Y/N, you never drink this early either!"

"It’s fine," you said, resting your head in your hands. Ban looked at you, confused.

"Sir Ban, Y/N, would you like some breakfast?" Elizabeth asked politely.

"No, thank you,” you said, sounding tired.

Ban raised a brow at you, then looked away. "You expect me to eat the Captain’s lousy cooking?" He teased.

"Make it yourself, then," Meliodas said, tossing a bottle of ale to Ban. "Hey, Y/N! Catch!" He tossed another bottle of ale to you, which you caught with your left hand.

"Thanks," you mumbled, trying to open the bottle.

Ban looked at you from the corner of his eye and saw that your hands were shaking. He noticed that your eyes and nose were slightly red, as if you were recently crying. He felt a wave of concern wash over him, until he remembered his dream of Elaine last night. He shook his head.

You felt a slight aura of despair rippling off Ban and decided to look into it. Your eyes widened in realization when you saw glimpses of his dream last night. 'He dreamt about Elaine.'

You took a shaky breath but then felt your throat start to close in on itself. You stood up and walked back to your room, trying to keep the others from seeing your face.

"Let me know when we get there. I’m going to sleep," you said, closing your door before anyone could say anything.

•••

"We’re here," Meliodas said, standing out on Hawk’s mom. You stood silently, wearing your black cloak. You had your hood on so that no one would be able to see your eyes and flushed face.

"This is the Necropolis?" Diane asked, standing next to Hawk’s mom. She scanned the rundown, abandoned, tiny village.

"How can they call a rundown hamlet like this a city?" Hawk said.

"Rumor has it that this is the place that’s closest to the Necropolis," Meliodas replied.

You all got off of Hawk’s mom and stood on the dirt road that ran through the village.

"We’ll start by gathering intel on King and the Necropolis," Meliodas said. "We also need money to feed ourselves. Okay! Let’s get ready for business!"

"You seriously gonna run the bar, Captain?" Ban said, smirking at him.

"He’s seriously cute when he’s working," Diane squealed. You just stared off into the distance, tuning out the others.

"You guys are gonna work too," Meliodas said, pointing at everyone.

He pointed to Diane. "Start attracting us some customers, jumbo billboard girl," he said.

"Me?!" Diane said, sparkles in her eyes.

"And you cook up some some tasty grub, jailbird cook," Meliodas said, pointing to Ban.

"Me?" Ban asked.

"You sure you don’t mean 'smelly'?" Hawk commented, catching your attention and making you smile.

"I want to be sarcastic and say it’s skillfully made, but it’s generally tasty," Meliodas said.

"Hey, hang on—" Ban started.

"And you," Meliodas said, pointing at you. "You’ll join Elizabeth as a waitress!"

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at him. "I’m sorry, you want me to what—?"

"To work, then," Meliodas exclaimed. "Put your backs into it, people!"

You groaned and started walking into the village. You felt your heart grow heavy as you heard Diane hugging and exclaiming her glee to Meliodas. You heard footsteps nearby you and turned in surprise to see Ban walking next to you.

"That’s not even funny, Captain," Ban mumbled your himself. "Anyway, what kind of intel does he expect us to get in a gloomy dump like this?" You sighed, still drained and exhausted from last night.

"Whatever," you mumbled to yourself.

"Oi, Y/N. What was wrong with you earlier? Your hands were shaking," Ban said, looking at you.

You felt your eye twitch before turning and glaring at him, right eye glowing red in the shadow of your hood. "It’s none of your business," you snarled. Ban’s eyes widened. You walked ahead, wanting to put some distance between you two.

You heard him stop behind you and his breath hitch in his throat. "Elaine—?"

You sighed to yourself and turned to look at him and then the little girl who was looking at you two.

Ban shook his head and mumbled to himself. You tilted your head. Suddenly, you both heard the girl fall onto the ground.

You walked and knelt by her, Ban following. You checked her pulse and looked up at Ban.

"She’s breathing," you said. He placed her on his lap.

"Hey. Hey, missy," he said, gently patting her check. "You awake?" Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the two of you.

"Get your hands off Ellen," a little boy shouted.

You both looked up to see a little dirty-blond boy holding a pitchfork.

"What are you doing to my sister?" He shouted.

"Hey, kid. If you’re her big brother, shouldn’t you be making sure she’s fed?" Ban asked.

"Ban," you whispered, giving him a look.

"Shut up," the little boy yelled, pointing the pitchfork at you. “Get away from my sister!”

"I said, are you keeping her fed?" Ban repeated. "I’ll take her away from you."

“Ban!” you whisper-yelled, almost shocked that he would say something like that to a kid.

The little boy had tears gather at the corners of his eyes. He screamed and ran towards Ban, pointing the pitchfork at him.

"Ban—" You started, eyes widening in realization. The pitchfork stabbed into Ban’s chest. The boy shook in fear. The girl ran to her brother.

"Brother! They were tending to me," she said, crying.

"B-But I thought..." The boy trailed off.

Ban grabbed the pitchfork and pulled it out from his chest. You crossed your arms over your chest, mentally chastising yourself for worrying.

"I-I’m sorry," The boy said, crying. "How can I stoke for my sin?" You raised a brow.

"Atone? Atone for what, kid?" Ban asked, getting up.

"But I—" The boy gasped, looking at Ban. "The wound," he exclaimed, seeing that Ban's chest was perfectly healed.

"Let me tell you something," Ban said, tilting his head. "Genuine sins can’t be atoned for." You let out a chuckle at that statement. Suddenly, you heard the clang of metal and Ban gasping.

You turned to see a spear stabbed through Ban’s chest.

"Ban," you screamed.

"That’s very observant of you," a voice said. A boy with orange hair and irises laid on the long spear that was impaled into Ban’s chest.

Ban spat out blood. The two siblings clinged to each other in fear. Your eyes widened in recognition.

"Hey, Ban," King said, smirking at him.

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [1/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America's back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that's just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m pleased to present my contribution to the CS Rewrite-a-thon! Big thanks to the organizers at the @captainswanbigbang​ for organizing this. This is an expansion of a oneshot I wrote a couple of years back called A Sunlit Night, and I loved the chance to get back into the feel of that piece. The fic title is from “Moon River”, which didn’t exist in 1952, but some things are about the aesthetic and it fit too well to resist.

Special thanks to my beta, @thejollyroger-writer​, and to @snidgetsafan​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ for the extra eyes and helping me work through some hurdles along the way. 

Tagging the usuals. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list! 

@kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @spartanguard​, @scientificapricot​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Storybrooke, Maine could be any town in America — just as picturesque as the name suggests in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. The houses have picket fences and boats bob in the harbor and there's an honest-to-god Main Street, lined with a diner and a general store and a pharmacy with advertisements for Ovaltine in the window. It's every picture of America that's ever made its way across the pond, every stereotype of small town life made real. It makes his presence all the more jarring; loners on motorcycles don’t belong in this picture-perfect magazine print town. 

He never meant to stop here — in fact, it’s the kind of little hamlet Killian doubts anyone ever means to find themselves in. Though he may not have planned on stopping — not here, not anywhere, not for anything — he also hadn’t planned on the noise his bike’s engine had started making as he cruised down backroads under the emerald canopy that is rural Maine in June. Killian is used to making minor repairs to the machine — it’s inevitable with the miles he’s putting on the motorcycle, and besides, there’s things you pick up in a war, especially when he spend much of World War II criss-crossing Europe in his plane — but for all of his handy skills, he still can’t make parts materialize out of thin air.

And so, he finds himself in Storybrooke — the nearest town, according to the road map he’d picked up at a welcome center on his way into the state. He’ll find a garage, he’ll work for parts, he’ll be on his way. It should be simple; a few days, a week at most, and then he’s gone again.

(The sooner, the better, in his opinion; a woman wiping down tables outside of the diner shoots him a dirty look, and Killian can’t help but feel like he deserves it for disrupting this idyll they’re living in.)

Blessedly, there is a garage attached to the town’s service station — NOLAN'S REPAIR, a large painted sign advertises across the top of the panelled door — but there's no sign of life inside. A quick glance at his watch, one of the few relics of the war that Killian willingly carries with him, reveals that it's already past seven. That's fine; he doesn’t mind waiting until the morning. 

It's easy enough to find space to park his motorcycle, conveniently alongside a park bench Killian suspects that he'll be spending the night on. As uncomfortable as it might sound to others, he barely thinks twice about the prospect anymore; he's spent plenty of nights on worse, both during the war and after it. His bedroll does more to counter the hard ground than anyone would expect. 

(Sleep is hard to come by these days anyways, and when it does, it only brings nightmares — visions of falling and flames, reminders that there’s no real good reason why he was pulled out of the Atlantic when so many others weren’t.)

(It should have been Liam who was saved, not you, a terrible voice in his mind whispers. It’s easier to drown out during the daytime; at night he’s too tired to deny the truth of it.)

Satisfied that he's got a plan until tomorrow, Killian unbuckles the satchel containing his few important belongings from the body of his bike and sets out to locate the diner. He remembers the sign promising the establishment was open 24 hours a day, and he intends to take advantage of at least a few of them.

Sure enough, the lights of the diner still shine brightly as Killian approaches. Granny's, the neon letters out front read. By all appearances, it's typical of family-type joints across the nation (or at least the parts of the nation he's seen so far). A bell jingles merrily as he pulls open the door; inside, the diner is adorned with a busily patterned wallpaper that somehow avoids looking suffocatingly dark like he would have expected when paired with the red vinyl upholstery of the booths, chairs, and barstools. The jukebox plays faintly at the edge of his hearing, just low enough for him to ignore the sound. Not that he could place the song anyways. Even if there is something of a feeling that the establishment could have been located anywhere and he wouldn't have known the difference, there's a comfortable aura in the air as well. 

"Seat yourself," an older woman calls from behind the counter without looking his way, apparently apprised of his entrance by the aforementioned bell. Considering the diner’s moniker, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the eponymous Granny. It’s probably for the best that she hasn’t turned to face him; he can’t imagine the woman would be as welcoming had she seen his face. He’s a bad influence, they say wherever he goes in voices too loud to be a whisper, too loud to ignore. On a Tuesday night, the crowds here are minimal, a small blessing; after surveying his options, Killian chooses a booth in the back corner where he can watch everyone but hopefully not be disturbed. Already, his unfamiliar face is drawing attention from the few other diners. They’re not used to outsiders, he can tell, and he’s not surprised about it in a town this small. Already, he can feel an unnatural hush in the air as suspicious and in some cases curious faces follow him as he makes his way across the room.

Maybe, in another life, Killian might have stared back, daring his spectators with a look to do something about their staring. That life slipped away when he crossed the ocean in search of anonymity, however, and he makes a show of ignoring the stares, rustling in his satchel instead. From the cluttered depths, he extracts two books; one for his own reading, picked up from the last used bookshop he ran across, and one blank for his own use. Once upon a time, the sights he’s seen and the faces he’s met would have inspired verses, the words tripping over his fingers and across the page in a quest for life, but it’s been a long while since that’s been the case. There are many reasons Killian forges ahead on his endless, aimless ride — some of them tangible, some of them unknown even to him — but his pursuit of his words is part of it. The closest he comes these days is behind the controls of his bike, once more racing through the open sky; it’s only then that the guilt quiets somewhat and he feels like inspiration could be dancing along the breeze, like a bit of dandelion fluff. 

This diner, however, is not the open air or the world rushing past him without a care, and his notebook will once again go to waste.

"Can I get you something?" a different voice asks — feminine, but a little deep and throaty. Killian glances up, expecting to order tea and a ham sandwich and turn back to his own distractions. He expects a passing, forgettable interaction.

He does not expect to look up and find himself faced with an angel.

It's far too fanciful to call her that, especially when she stands in front of him, flesh and blood and bone, but it's all he can come up with when faced with such perfection. Her hair is a shade of gold that painters and pirates must have coveted in times long past, shining and catching in the light with every movement. Though her tresses are pinned back, a few tendrils have still worked themselves loose to frame her face and model the slight curl to the lustrous strands. The way it's swept and pinned makes her eyes shine brighter than any he's ever seen, highlighting their green in a way she can't possibly be oblivious to. There's an aura about her that he can sense but not quite see that practically makes her glow, even in a blue uniform dress and stained apron that's less than flattering. She's somehow entirely separate from the drab surroundings of this small town diner, yet simultaneously he knows she must be an integral part — like the purest diamond embedded in the dingiest mine.

(Maybe there's a verse in there, somewhere. It's been too long for him to even tell anymore.)

He must be gaping like a fish, because she arches an elegant eyebrow at whatever expression graces his face, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her own mouth. It ruins the goddess effect a little bit, but makes her look more human instead — someone with a sense of humor, perhaps even a bit mischievous. "Sorry?" he finally manages to stutter out, though whether that's an apology or a request for clarification is anyone's guess. 

"Would you like to order?" she repeats. "Or would you like some more time to look at the menu?"

"Just some tea, please." It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't trip over his own tongue, though not enough of one to remember that ordering tea in this country is a fool’s errand. "And a ham and cheese sandwich."

"Earl Grey alright?" she asks, surprising him, quickly scratching his order down on her notepad. From Killian's vantage point, he can just see her handwriting — a messy kind of script that fits his impression of her, casual and hurried and somehow still elegant. 

"That's fine." Better than, really; he’d expected that terrible facsimile Americans insist on calling tea. He keeps drinking it anyways, for some indiscernible reason, like a last-ditch grab to hang onto a piece of who he used to be.

The waitress must see some of his surprise on his face, as she smiles knowingly. “Granny spent some time in England in her youth, and came back with very specific opinions about tea. None of the Lipton stuff here.” That would explain it — though it’s still unexpected in a tiny Maine hamlet. “Now, do you want that sandwich grilled or cold?"

"Grilled, please." The mere act of ordering a meal constitutes the most decisions he's had to make in a long time, and certainly the most he's spoken to anyone; his voice feels scratchy with disuse, which can't make the good impression his ego desperately needs. He was considered quite the catch once, if anyone could believe it; Killian wouldn't blame those who called him a liar, to see him now. 

As he grimaces at his own ineptitude, the waitress finishes scribbling out his preferences and tucks her order pad back away in the pocket of that awful apron again. "We'll get that going for you then," she smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

(A name would be nice, for one, but it feels like overstepping to demand that particular snippet of information. He'd caught an E at the corner of her breast pocket, but that could be so many things. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Etta?)

"Wait, lass," he cuts in as she turns to disappear back behind the counter. Her head tilts in a sign of her attention — an adorable one at that. If he were a braver man, he might ask her a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he is not a braver man. "Is there a telephone somewhere I could use?"

"All the way down the hall," she nods. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you, lass," he murmurs as Ella-Ernestine-Elsie walks away again. There's no telling if she heard him or not, but Killian is almost afraid to bring any more attention to himself. 

Sure enough, the payphone is just down the hallway. It's far enough away to offer Killian a modicum of privacy, which is more than he's come to expect in many places. It's dimly lit, and right next to the bathrooms, but he's not here for the ambiance anyways. 

There’s a calming ritual to making the phone calls to New York, even if they’re only sporadic. He’s accustomed by now to speaking with the operator, inserting the change when directed, waiting for the shrill ring as the call connects across hundreds of miles. He doesn't make these calls very often, but it's been several weeks — somewhere in upstate New York was his last call, he thinks — and this unexpected pit stop is as good an excuse as any.

It doesn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Scarlet residence," declares the softly accented voice on the other end of the line, familiar and comforting even across such a distance. 

"Hello, Belle, it's me." Killian leans into the corner formed by the wall and phone as he settles in for the conversation, propping his forearm on the top of the telephone's boxy structure. Belle just might be the last family he has left — certainly the last family he’s aware of — some sort of distant cousin on his late mother’s side. The details of it don’t particularly matter; what does matter is that she’d opened her heart and home when Killian had left, nay, fled England without any plan to speak of. London had still been in shambles, even after hostilities had long since ceased; Killian had found it impossible to live every day surrounded by ghosts and memories, all decaying and obliterated. Belle had offered to let him stay, too, help him get back on his feet again, but the itch to keep moving had been too strong under his skin.

(One thing they don’t tell you when you enlist in the Air Force is this: the solid ground will lose its appeal in a way you can’t imagine, and the world will start to move too slow everywhere else when you’ve spent enough time in a cockpit.)

Besides, Belle has a family of her own, a husband who loves her and two small boys; as kind as she is to offer, and as hard as she has tried to include him, Killian would inevitably always be an outsider in that tableau. It was for the best that he left, to try and settle his demons and rediscover who he can be on his own. 

"Killian!" It's easy to hear the warmth and excitement in his cousin's voice. "How are you? I was just thinking about you today." Just worrying about you is what she means, but Belle's always been too much of a lady to say it out loud. Besides, she understands why he's doing what he's doing; as settled as she is, he hadn't expected her to understand the itch to move that's settled beneath his skin, impossible to ever truly alleviate, but she'd just smiled and asked what she could do when he'd told her his plans. It's how she wound up the custodian not only of Killian's scant belongings, but also his savings account in his absence. 

"I'm fine," he assures her as best he can. "I'm in Maine. I'll be here a few days, I think."

"A few days?" The worry isn't back in her voice yet, but he knows it's coming, just as soon as he shares his reason for stopping. 

"Aye. There’s a nail in my tire. I’ll get it checked out at the shop tomorrow, but I assume they’ll need to order in the new tire. I doubt they’ve got the right ones for the bike on hand."

"But you're alright?" Ah, there's the worry. "You don't need anything? I can wire you money, if you like —"

"I'm fine, Belle, truly," he hastens to assure her. "I'm hoping to trade my labor for parts, help out around the shop if the owner will let me. I'll need something to do around here anyways, it's a pretty small town. I'll let you know if you need to wire me money, don't worry."

"If you're sure..." Belle tries to start, but Killian cuts her off. 

"I'm sure."

"I suppose I'll have to be fine with that. But now, Killian, how are you? Not your motorcycle or the roads — how are you?"

"I'm okay," he says truthfully. It's the best he can give most days; he hasn't quite found what he's looking for, can't even put his finger on what that might be, but he knows it's still out there, still out of reach. Still, it feels better than being cooped up in some office job, forcing himself into the boxes polite society wants him to inhabit that are slowly smothering him. It lets him try to figure out who he is now without Liam and without a clear purpose.

"But are you happy?" It's not the same thing, she doesn't say, but Killian hears it anyways. 

"Enough." It's the best he can give her. "Listen, I just wanted to call and let you know where I am. If it seems like I'll be here more than a few days, I'll give you a number you can reach me at. Tell Will and the boys hello for me."

"I will," Belle promises. "If you need anything at all, if there’s anything I can do, promise you'll call me, Killian. Promise."

"I promise. Love you."

"We love you too, Killian. You can always come here, even if it's not home."

She says that every time, and every time, Killian hangs up to avoid responding. The truth is, he still doesn't have a good answer, and as much as he loves his cousin and her family, their apartment just isn't home. That's something he's not yet sure he'll find again. 

He's barely returned to his seat before a steaming pot of tea is placed before him, the cup following in its wake. "Your sandwich will be ready shortly," the blonde angel assures him. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, lass," he tries to smile. At least his voice is audible this time after his conversation with Belle. 

As Killian lifts the pot to pour himself a cup, he’s thrilled to see the genuine article trickle out. Even with the waitress’ explanation, his expectations of the promised tea had been low. This, though, is steaming and hot and just the right strength. It tastes like a little cup of the home he’d left behind, and infuses him with a warmth and comfort that he hasn’t felt in… years. Not since before the war, just he and Liam sitting at the kitchen table with a cuppa and the radio. 

(It’s a feeling he’s long since lost, and one he didn’t expect to find again in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Everyday miracles can still sprout anywhere, he’s learning, as long as you’re looking for them.)

His dinner arrives as quickly as promised, and time begins to blur together in between warm bites and crisp pages and his thoughts. At some point, the empty plate is whisked away and another cup of tea is brought for him to enjoy. Killian is so used to entertaining himself that he doesn't truly notice any movement around him — that is, until a new plate is placed on his table and nudged into his hand. Glancing at the clock, Killian is surprised to find that the time is now just before ten; he'd been at the diner over two hours, far longer than he’d intended. Blame it on a good book and intriguing, if passing, company, he supposes.

Another quick glance reveals the small plate that the waitress had deposited to display a slice of pie — blueberry, if he's not mistaken. The thing is, he’s certain that he’d never ordered it.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls before she can walk away, "I believe you delivered this to the wrong table."

"No, I didn't," she smiles back, before glancing towards the door. It must be time for her to go home; Killian will regret her absence once she departs, though he knows he doesn't have any true right to do so.

Still, he must insist. Good form and all that. "I didn't order this, I'm afraid." I'm not sure I can afford it, he doesn't say, though that's what he means.

"I know," she replies. "You like pie?"

"I do," he assures her, still confused.

"Then it's on the house. Granny's got a soft spot for the lonely ones." As she tears his ticket off from her order pad, Killian wonders if the woman in front of him might have a soft spot, too. Maybe she was a lonely one herself, once; something in her eyes speaks to the kind of understanding you just can't fake. "If you'd like some more tea, Ruby will be happy to help you," she nods towards a smiling brunette behind the counter. "Have a good night."

"You as well, lass." 

The pie is delicious; he should have expected such just from the look of that flaky crust, but the confirmation is its own revelation. He can't say any of this was what he expected when he set out for dinner — not the blonde angel, and certainly not her unexpected kindness towards him. The more he thinks about it around bites of pie, the more he thinks the diner's proprietress had nothing to do with the sweet treat in front of him — especially since he hasn't even seen her on the premises since his server made that claim. No, he thinks that the pie must have come from the waitress herself, though he can't fathom for what reason.

He finally pays his bill and leaves, letting the diner's bell ring behind him as he exits, but it's not until he's nearly halfway back to the garage and the bench out front that he realizes:

He never actually learned her name.

[croc-odette]

i love ds9 and here are some episode premises that i wish had happened

DND EPISODE: already talked about this but a dungeons and dragons holosuite episode. jake is the overly prepared DM obviously, nog, ziyal, and alexander are players. nog’s player is clearly his idea of sisko, a lawful good paladin; ziyal plays as a cardassian rogue (played by dukat, but clearly based in personality on kira); alexander plays a mage who is kind-of worf kind-of jadzia and keeps switching between them through the game). there’s an NPC version that’s clearly also based on sisko at one point, but from jake’s point of view knowing him as his dad to compare how differently jake and nog, a cadet, see him.

as the game progresses, it becomes clear that the Big Bad is based on a combo of dukat/winn (corrupt government/religious figure). ziyal struggles with the classic DND question of ‘just because i would do this, does that mean my character would?’ except she’s realizing that her dad wouldn’t do any of the selfless things she wants her character to do. alexander keeps trying to solve shit through weird cantrips or puzzle solving instead of fighting and jake is like ‘it’s not deep it’s just a cave bat please roll initiative’. bashir and garak show up as like, the old couple from the princess bride and everyone has to be like ‘jake they’re not dating in real life this rpf shit is kind of inappropriate’ and he’s like ‘wait what? i thought they were dating’. miles is an NPC and dies. nog thinks jake’s-sisko-npc is too silly and disrespectful and jake is like ‘he’s MY dad’ and they have to take a break to argue about it and jake is like ‘your dad is cool too’. nog’s character changes to lawful good paladin rom. actually this whole game is ‘arguing about dads’ time now that i think about it, which jake is not really equipped to jump in on since he has a normal cool dad who he basically just thinks is embarrassing because he’s the ~messiah~ or some goofy bullshit. ends with them calling it a day after the final boss battle and then jake and nog privately talking about whether or not they can trust ziyal if she has to choose between ds9 and dukat, which was an ulterior motive of the game. ziyal is clearly clearly rattled by what the game made her realize and goes to see kira, who she doesn’t tell about the game but who still gives her a hug, and ziyal realizes that kira’s her hero (and like, her mom). alexander tells worf and dax about the game and dax thinks it sounds fun as hell and asks alexander if they can come next time, and worf is like ‘....... only if i can be a blood mage’. nog and jake go home and tell their dads they love them. 

shit i blacked out

PRANK WAR EPISODE: escalating series of pranks starting with jadzia putting hair dye in bashir’s shampoo and ending with the space station accidentally going into a meltdown self destruct scenario. garak is torn between helping jadzia and quark, who are clearly the better pranksters, or helping julian and odo, who suck at pranks but are his lunch friends. everyone has to tell garak that he’s way too intense about ‘pranks’ which are actually just really dangerous booby traps he puts in people’s quarters. sisko ends the episode by grounding everyone; no holosuites for a month!! yes even dax

GREAT RACE EPISODE: there’s some kind of macguffin resource on a planet (a klingon escape pod with a survivor with crucial intelligence information?), but they can’t teleport directly to it. a vorta and jem h’dar team and a ds9 team beam down on opposite sides of its location and are both racing to get there first, having to macgyver together vehicles and tools on the way. lots of excellent outdoor on-location settings and comparison of the jem h’dar/vorta dynamic and the ds9 federation dynamic. ends with the jem h’dar almost winning but turning on the vorta at the last few yards, and sisko’s team beams out as the jem h’dar chant victory. no i refuse to think this is same plot as ‘the ship’ or whatever

KASIDY EPISODE: set earlier in kasidy/sisko’s relationship, kasidy agrees to go with jadzia as a third-party observer to negotiations with a nearby bajoran colony over a trade agreement with the federation. jadzia and kasidy bond over gossiping about sisko on the way, but once they get there kasidy disagrees with the starfleet’s contract during negotiations which causes tensions, and recommends that the bajorans reject it. she and jadzia get into an argument about starfleet and its ideals, and why kasidy chose to be an independent captain rather than a starfleet captain, and how that doesn’t make her lesser than starfleet captains. jadzia realizes that kasidy is right and petitions superiors for a new contract, which kasidy approves of. they go home tenser then when they left, but when sisko asks jadzia what she thinks of kasidy, she very seriously says that she has incredible compassion, intelligence, and integrity, and that she doesn’t need or want jadzia’s approval. but has it anyway

MUSICAL EPISODE: someone already outlined a great musical ep where lwaxana comes in with a betazoid cold and it makes everyone burst into song in another text post and like 100% cosigned

SHAKESPEARE EP: holosuite shenanigans; every character is suddenly stuck as someone from a different shakespeare play. garak is an enthusiastically combative beatrice, kira is cordelia, worf is hamlet, jadzia is a very amused katerina, julian is puck, miles is duncan (”i get MURDERED?”), odo is benvolio and kind of bummed he’s not romeo, etc. i actually don’t know any shakespeare play that well but i think it could be neat. julian is the only fucking person on ds9 who actually knows any of it well enough to figure out what’s going on, except for sisko who doesn’t really care for shakespeare but generally knows about the plays (maybe a good opportunity to talk about the racism in most ‘classic Earth’ pop culture that star trek tends to uphold without criticism). i don’t know shit about the 40 plays that shakespeare wrote about british kings but i could see sisko ending up in that kind of intense role and refusing to play into it, as do the rest of the characters who refuse to fulfill their respective roles and instead find another way to end the program.

KLINGON OPERA EPISODE: goodddddddd can we see some klingon opera, mac. i’ve been dying to see some klingon opera. premise is they believe that someone is assassinating ambassadors and so they tag along with a andorian ambassador who loves opera to see if they can figure out who the assassin is, however the andorian plays it down as over-worrying and that they should use it as an excuse to enjoy themselves. worf and jadzia go and have a lovey dovey time, sisko and kasidy go and have a lovey dovey time watching worf and jadzia get super into the opera together. julian is asked to go in case there’s poison used or first aid needed, and miles is like ‘the last time i went undercover i came home with trauma and someone’s cat so no thanks i hate klingon opera’ and after some increasingly overt passive aggressive implications that julian should take HIM, julian asks garak to go with him. bonus points if for some reason they are wearing the stupid tuxedos from doctor bashir i presume. a lot of loud arguing about the opera which almost gets them kicked out. at the end of the first act, one of the actors DOES try to kill the andorian but jadzia jumps in front of the phaser beam (cue worf being very concerned and annoyed that she could have gotten killed, jadzia being very smug and pleased with herself, her head in his lap, in a pose mirroring an earlier couple in the opera). julian feels like he would have noticed if he hadn’t been distracted by garak, and when it turns out the andorian ambassador has sensitive info about cardassia’s civilian government, julian accuses garak of intentionally trying to distract him to make sure the andorian actually died, which turns into a huge argument (ideally in a very opulent klingon opera house bathroom). during the argument, julian realizes that garak was trying to hint to him that something about the assassination attempt was off; he pieces together aloud that the andorian and the actor must have been in league together, to fake the andorian’s assassination so they could not be tried for profiteering by illegally selling weapons to the cardassian central control during bajoran occupation, which they are currently under investigation for. the other ambassador assasinations were planned by the andorian to cover their tracks. the andorian is arrested, as is the actor. at the ballroom afterparty, sisko and kasidy, in a good mood that everything worked out, agree to join in on traditional klingon dancing. worf and jadzia take a peaceful walk through the gardens and worf recites some really lovely klingon poetry about how sometimes it’s NOT a good day to die if someone loves you, that none of us fucking understand without looking it up. julian and garak talk on the balcony, and julian posits that garak is loyal to cardassia, but which part of it? garak answers, very close and meaningfully looking at julian, ‘like most things... it’s complicated.’

i was about to say ‘fake wedding episode’ but literally LITERALLY that was the shotgun wedding lwaxana/odo ep. i love star trek

KEIKO BOTANIST EPISODE: kira accompanies keiko to bajor to help find a medicinal plant that was thought to be wiped out during the occupation but might still exist in a remote mountain region based on local reports. a nice episode where we learn more about bajor and see how bajorans are coping and healing. over a campfire, kira thanks keiko for accepting her into their family. keiko tells kira that she was really intimidated by her when they first met, and then realized she’s one of the most loving people she knows. just a nice episode, maybe some mild nature survival conflict, but ends on a hopeful note of them finding the plant. miles beams down with the kids to have a picnic with keiko and kira, and kira’s happy to see children playing carelessly on bajor again.

JAKE AND ZIYAL EPISODE: everyone thinks jake and ziyal are dating because they’ve been hanging out. julian’s an idiot and mentions to sisko ‘must be hard, huh’ and sisko’s like ‘WHAT must be hard’ and julian’s like oh my god were we not supposed to talk to him about this. jake and ziyal aren’t dating but as soon as sisko tries to talk to jake about it jake is like ‘i’m not but actually maybe i SHOULD ask her out’ and sisko is like fuck. okay no that’s fine. this is more of a B-plot but basically give jake and ziyal age-appropriate love interests they’re both RIGHT there

[fencesandfrogs]

an abridged history/explanation of warrior cats if you didn’t read them as a kid and have questions (a primer)

welcome. i’m going to keep things to the point, this is not a plot summary, just, well, its a pandemic and people are seeking items of childhood comfort and its come to my attention that a lot of people didn’t read these books as kids and then they come up in conversation and they act shocked so! i felt compelled to write this.

[2.5k words, 10min read. section headers, no pictures. not a ton of helpful formatting. i don’t want to say don’t read this because obviously i wrote it and think it’s worth reading, but i’ll be honest, this is a lot.]

section one: about me

i was an avid reader as a child, most of which fits solidly into “stories for another time,” and some of which would necessitate me adding tags onto this post that are, well, not necessary. so i will skip over that backstory but for those aware of lexile scores, i had one that was too high for literally any book that was appropriate to give me. so reading in school was torture and reading for fun was excellent.

now because i was a first-ish grader and my mom was trying to keep the fifth harry potter out of my hands, she looked desperately for something else to pass to me. her friend, who had a daughter a year or two older than me, was into these cat books, and my mom was like “here honey you like cats” without thinking too much about it.

which is good, because as i’ll get into, it was a really good fit for me. but like a dozen books later she asked me about the plot and well. i think at that moment she realized that it might have been better to just let me read harry potter.

but yeah i continued to read them long past the recommended reading ages and still as a Young Adult will return to them for nostalgia, and also as i will get into, some really good books. (see a list of books for “morbidly curious but i don’t want to spend 56 to 168 hours reading this”)

i’m not fully caught up on the series but this is not a plot summary so that should not impact my ability to discuss this

section two: content warnings

these books (not this post) includes the following:

discussion of castration (1.1 series 1, book 1, i’m not including this on every item/discussion because this is a complicated series but i want to demo how up front some of this is)

teenage romance/sex/pregnancy (1.1ish-1.3 or 4, continues throughout the series quite a lot, comes up again in 3.4/5, 4.4-5, and a bit in 5)

death from childbirth (1.can’t remember which book, many others)

unwanted pregnancy (se super edition, or a longer one off novel, discussed in 4&5)

sex/implied, discussed, and very very very heavily hinted but never directly said/shown (1.1-3ish, se, other)

murder (constantly, 1.1, 1.4, literally every book, 3.5, i’m just listing the ones i remember off the top of my head that were particularly graphic)

disability/illness, esp. the debilitating and/or deadly nature of it (1.3-5ish, 3.1, but all of 3, 3.4ish)

dementia (1.3-5, i’ve heard in some of the later series?)

abuse (7/8 this is reported i haven’t read these books but based on what i know it’s def there)

child abandonment (1.4-5, 3.4/5, it’s also all over the place but i think those are the only major character incidents of it)

treason (1.3-5, all over the place)

the horror/tragedy of war (background, but pretty constant)

disagreeing with an integral religion/tradition (3, based on the series title, 8, and generally scattered)

the corrupting influence of power (1.4/5, possibly 7/8, others)

racism (1, 3-5, possibly others)

sexism (se, background)

patriarchal societies (se, seems to be somewhat softened based on what i’ve heard but i’m not entirely sure about this)

and more! but it starts to get stranger and this is enough to prove my point

basically everything that could go wrong does

oh yeah! child abuse also child abuse that’s a very major theme in the first series as well as during other points. and elder abuse in the first series.

okay i’ve made my point.

section three: the appeal

look. so. i think we’re kind of pastel-ify children’s literature based on movies. see, parents have to watch children’s movies with their kids, so they can’t be gritty and intense because a lot of parents will say “not for my nine year old! they can’t deal with treason!” and that seems to be bleeding into children’s literature.

but warriors is not that. it’s intense, it borders on “too gruesome for children,” and it’s from a time where kids books got to be serious and heavy and dark because they were about animals. which was great because i couldn’t find books at my reading level that weren’t too thematically difficult, so i got to read something below my reading level, but thematically too hard, so it kind of balanced out.

and then well. so. the series grows with the audience, but the books don’t grow in terms of like difficulty so new readers start deep into it and it’s a complicated thing, the fandom history is complex, but.

the appeal is that parents don’t usually read the books their kids read and so they see a book about cats and assume it’s fluff, and kids who are starved of complex content get to read hamlet-for-kids.

section four: worldbuilding/lore

oh yeah also there’s some really deep lore to explore. so there’s two bits of appeal.

i’m not doing a full world/plot summary, but i’ll explain some common elements here.

thunder/shadow/wind/riverclan: harry potter houses for cats (gryffindor, slytherin, hufflepuff, ravenclaw, except this doesn’t work for the last two but that’s fine because no one cares about them despite riverclan being pretty important in most of the books)

-kit/-paw/-star: naming conventions. everyone has a two part name. (we’ll use cinder as an example because i like the two cinders we know, even tho neither of them get to be cinderstar.) babies are -kit (cinderkit), then when they’re apprentices, which is like being a student, you know, elementary through high school, you’re paw, so cinderpaw. then you get an Official Name from ur clan leader (cinderheart). if you become clan leader, you get to be -star (cinderstar). i know i haven’t explained clan leaders bear with me. this is kind of important because i have the names burned into my memory so i cannot simply always call firestar firestar if he was firepaw at the time of the events i’m describing. it won’t be ambiguous, cinderheart/cinderpelt are a special case. if this is tricky for you it’s fine just only read the first part of the name.

clan (leader, deputy, medicine cat, elder): roles with in the clan. leaders literally have nine lives. deputies are next in line and chosen by the leader. leaders usually go through several deputies, because deputies don’t have nine lives. medicine cats are doctors. they also have an apprentice. those are all one per clan. elders are just retired cats. they’re not a special category per say, but i wanted to mention them.

warrior: adult.

warrior code: laws.

star clan: dead cats. this ties into the religion which is pretty important to the books but for the most part if you understand that dead cats get to give guidance and send their approval, you have the gist of it.

section five: so um, what the fuck

so we start with a cat named rusty who runs into the woods to join thunderclan and then his name is firepaw and we all forget that he’s named rusty except for like that one time it comes up again. bluestar is a great leader with some corrupt deputies but fireheart eventually takes care of it and becomes clan leader which is a big deal.

then a bunch of other shit happens and suddenly ashfur is possessing brackenstar and being (more) abusive to squirrelflight (who is on the outs with brackenstar anyway for lying about their kits jayfeather, hollyleaf, and lionheart because they’re actually the children of firestar’s other daughter leafpool who had them with crowfeather after she fell in love with him but he’s from windclan and she’s a medicine cat so that’s double illegal and apparently hollyleaf is alive even though she yeeted herself into a pit and died because she killed ashfur when he threatened to reveal this but couldn’t live with being the product of an illegal meeting and then it was all pointless because leafpool stopped being a medicine cat out of guilt anyway and jayfeather is just an ornery bitch about everything but especially all of this)

i’m not explaining any of that.

section six: i repeat: so um, what the fuck

so the thing about these books is they’re soap operas and dramas about cats and that means they get just as strange and chaotic as anything else in the genre. i think a lot of people like me, who read them as children, regard the series we knew as a child (usually either the first three or the first five, plus super editions) as something good and warm and comforting (despite being dark and gruesome) because they made us feel good.

they were also a breeding ground for young fandom because of all the the drama that exists and the nature of the books providing that.

section seven: super editions

the simple answer to what a super edition is has already been given (it’s a novel length one-off about a single character, and its usually either a side character - bluestar, crowfeather - or a event/perspective we don’t get to see - firestar, skyclan, greystripe - and they’re generally more mature)

my favorite super edition is bluestar’s prophecy. i read it at like 16, slinking into the children’s library with a stack of other ya fiction and a “children’s book” which dealt with unwanted pregnancy, grief, forbidden love, and more. still not sure why that’s in the children’s section.

section eight: about the drama

so there’s been a lot of fandom drama about these books. i can’t tell you about the nuances, because i am an old fan, so i watched but didn’t partake. the highlights reel that i can recall goes as follows (please note i will refer to characters by name without explanation. it’s fine. the point of this section is to convey the pettiness of this drama):

tigerstar: did he do anything wrong? (the answer is holy shit yes, this isn’t discourse, it’s okay to like a villain)

scourge: did he do anything wrong, also what color is his collar? (also yes, doesn’t matter)

was the new prophecy (2)/omen of the stars (3)/etc good? (yes, eh, no, yes, no comment, no comment)

should jaypaw or hollypaw be medicine cat apprentice (neither of them, but jaypaw’s employment opportunities are limited because he’s blind, so its gotta b him)

uhh a massive tangle around this parentage drama between squirrelflight, leafpool, brackenfur, and crowfeather, which i used as the crux of humor for how batshit the plots can get, so i’m not even going to pretend i can make it funny, but just know that it’s batshit and the correct opinion is as follows: no one is right, but squirrelflight has done the least wrong, brackenfur is an asshole to her where it’s unwarrented, and hollyleaf is an idiot

and the current drama centers around brackenstar and ashfur and is tied directly to the point above, which is why i’ve kind of given up trying to make jokes about this because this is the culmination of like 35 novels.

section nine: i feel like i need to have some conclusive point to justify writing all of this

but i don’t have one, because this was really an excuse to ramble about an old passion for like half an hour. i mean i guess i can say, like, i think younger fans are sort of embroiled in this drama they don’t really have context for, because i’m not kidding, the current drama centers around the grandchildren of our original cast.

it’s kind of hard to know why, say, mistystar matters if you don’t know that she’s the child of bluefur and oakheart and if you don’t remember the drama that surrounded that when bluestar was dying and tigerstar and leopardstar were ruling a combined shadow/riverclan.

(i really hope that’s intelligible i tried to lay the groundwork for it. basically, there’s a biracial kid in a very segregated society who becomes the leader of one of the clans. which is obviously drama, especially considering that that clan was part of a weird supremacy movement a while back.)

& you know? i really hope one of the new series gets to be like, a soft reboot. just. end the current drama and pick up again with the latest generation. a) we’re starting to run out of names, and b) i think that it’s kind of tipped over the edge of sane.

the series also used to be very low fantasy. the cat societies are reasonably close to feral cat colonies (the biggest detail is that toms don’t all have their own territory, but there’s honestly in-universe discussion of this and it’s basically a culture thing), and while star clan/religion is a real and legitimate thing, there’s also a discussion of its abuse and most of the early books don’t really use star clan/related ideas as a physical force so much as a plot device, barring, like, when a new leader gets their nine lives.

honestly, i’ll always adore these books for serving the role they did, and a lot of the series is fantastically well written. but the fandom surrounding it can be, uh, not great because 9-14 year olds don’t really have good brains to understand this.

also, i’m very sad that i can’t find the flash game that was for the great prophecy. it was not very fun, but i enjoyed playing it, so if anyone knows the url so i can search the internet archive for it, please let me know.

section ten: i’m morbidly curious but there are 56 hours of books to read, assuming a very fast reading pace, so is there something i can start with to experience this without dedicating 4 days to it?

yes, there is.

it’s called bluestar’s prophecy. it’s standalone, and i should have given you enough of a background on the lore that you don’t need to know anything else. i’ve already given away the twist in series 1 that it would spoil, so you’re all good on that front.

if you want more, or want the original experience, the first series is self contained and quite good. i’ve given the broad outlines of the plot, but trust me, there’s a lot of surprises and all sorts of things i skipped over because while i like it, it’s not exactly fandom primer material

i also enjoy firestar’s quest and skyclan’s destiny for super editions, but you’ll need to read the first series to understand FQ and FQ to understand SD, so it’s not exactly a starting point. also, SD especially deals with a very different set of themes as the other books.

also, if you were to, say, search “readwarriorcats” (no spaces) on duckduckgo, and then click on one of the first links, you know, not the official site, the one hosted on one of those free website things, you know, not wix, not wordpress, the other one, you would only find lists of the books with hyperlinks.

;3

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG Day 5: Nyr

Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @clocksandchaos, @maple-writes, @rhikasa (also thanks for Guin!), @onceuponanaromantic, @nightskywriter, @pied-piper-of-hamlet, and @spacebrick3 for Snow!

I tensed when I heard movement through the trees. It wasn’t even sunrise yet, and Yana was sleeping.

But I didn’t have to worry. It was just Guin. She smiled at me and sat down next to me. “I decided to check on all of the groups to make sure they were doing okay, and I thought it would be best to check while most people are still asleep.”

I nodded. “Well, thanks. We’re doing fine.”

“And why are you awake? Have you been keeping watch all night?”

I nodded. “Why not? I’m used to being awake a lot longer anyway.”

She frowned. “But you need your sleep too. Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

I shook my head. “I’m not. I just want to protect anyone I can.” I clenched my fists. “And there are so many that I wasn’t able to protect. It’s not fair.”

She laughed. “Well, you should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch. Surely, the other groups can wait for a couple hours.”

“No. That’s not fair. You should go check to see if they need any help.”

“But I think this group needs my help the most. I heard some whispers that you were hurt yesterday. Do you need help?”

I instinctively turned away from her. It was just a knife slash to my side. I was handling it well. There were just some tributes who didn’t want anything to do with escaping the arena. “I also heard that your magic drains you. I’m not going to let you tire yourself for me.”

She shook her head with a smile and pulled out some clean bandages from her pack. “How did I know you were going to say that? Let me clean your wound and bandage it again, please.”

I tensed as she walked toward me, but I held up my shirt enough to reveal the makeshift bandage I had put over it. She scoffed and got to work. I stayed tense, even though it was such a kind touch. My parents hadn’t been this concerned about me in years. I wasn’t used to it.

She glanced up at me as she kept cleaning my wound. “I’ll be getting rid of my tracker today. That will leave you and now two others.” She glanced over at Yana, who was still sleeping even as the sun rose. “When are you planning on taking it out?”

I looked away from her with a frown. “I don’t know if I will,” I mumbled.

She frowned. “What? Why not?”

I swallowed hard, but I trusted her enough to explain. “I was sent to Panem as a representative of my people. If I show that I willingly joined a rebellion, the Capitol will retaliate on my people. They’ll all die if I make one wrong step. It was a risk joining this group, but I can at least give an excuse that you made me join. I won’t be able to run away from Panem like you will after this. I have to stay and do what they want so they will leave my people alone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. She was going to say how stupid of an excuse that was. There was  a pause before she responded. “I understand. And it’s a noble cause. Protect everyone you can, dear. That means yourself too.” I looked at her with wide eyes, and she smiled at me. “Done. I’ll be heading out. I think I’ve done everything I can here.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant. How could I protect myself when doing that would hurt my people? At least she had given me something to think about.

 I messed with my pair of knives as I waited for everyone to escape safely. Tara, The Chronicler, and Adri called everyone together so that we could escape. I watched the group as people started to leave. I would wait and make sure that everyone was safe as they left. Yana and Indigo decided to stay as well, but they had gone off somewhere.

There was a rustle of leaves, and I tensed as someone walked out of the foliage. Everyone else was farther up, not in eyesight, but still.

It was Snow. She had a haunted look in her eyes. I frowned. I had heard Begonia talk about the memorial he found today. I had to try to recruit her. I had to do anything I could. For Begonia’s sake. He cared about her.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to relax and look unthreatening. “Snow? Would you like to join us? We’re escaping from the arena right now. You’d be able to escape safely without the Capitol seeing you. We hacked into the cameras around the arena. You’d be safe.” I tried to sound as nice as I could. Come on. She had to join. Begonia would be so happy.

She shook her head. “No.”

I frowned. What did she want? “I—what? What do you mean, no?”

That haunted look hadn’t left her eyes. “No. I don’t care. I don’t want any part of it. Fight your own fight somewhere else.”

I stared straight in her eyes. “You’ll die if you stay.” Snow nodded. I hissed out a breath. “Listen, I know you have something to go back to, because we all do. You really want to throw that away—throw them away?”

“Snow was the doctor, and she’s dead. Zoe Hopewell is the killer, and she didn’t even last a day. What is there left now? What will I be when I go back to District 8?”

Crap. This wasn’t the time for an existential crisis. “Sounds to me like you’ve got something of a blank slate, then.”

She tried to square her shoulders, but they just fell back down. “Listen, I killed someone. I threw away everything I was and then, just to be sure, I threw that person away too. That can’t be meaningless! If I survive—if I join this wild, reckless plan, then what was it all for?”

Well, that made up my mind. She had to see that Begonia was alive. I sighed and crossed my arms. “…alright then.” I allowed a smirk to tug at my lips. “Let’s pretend this is the real Games. The funny thing about that is, you don’t particularly get a choice in what happens to you.” I slipped a knife into my hand and aimed it at her. All my training to fight against Panem had to amount to something. “If it helps, I can say I’m sorry about this.”

The first spark of life lit up her eyes as fear flooded them. So, she didn’t really want to die. “Wait—”

I threw the knife, and the hilt slammed into her forehead. I grinned. Perfect. Begonia shouldn’t be too far away yet.

I grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into the hole Tara had made. I left her there as I asked someone to at least disable her tracker without cutting it out and then searched for Begonia.

[neshabeingchildish]

T'is Now the Very Witching Time of Night

Nobody asked for this, but here goes, anyway. TW for mentions of blood and death. @chenoahchantel @adorkable-blackgirl @henryhearts @henry-p-fart @up-the-tube @ciara-knightly @cactus-con @chenryontop @riebellion @kiddangers @oof--musicals  @rorythevambire (I know I don’t normally tag you, but hell, Happy Halloween Lil’ Suga)

"'Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out contagion to this world."

- William Shakespeare, Hamlet

She sensed them, but she wasn’t yet sure where they were making their entrance. There was a lot of evil in Swellview… Not like Derry, but there was enough, that each Halloween season, she had another battle. Oftentimes, she just barely won. At least once, she lost. That was the Year of the Werewolves. And now, Swellview was teeming with them. Werewolves. She didn’t mind werewolves so much, most of the time. Most of them were nice people who just wanted to function… But, Nature had spoken. The full moon made them someone else and when they were, not only were humans in danger, but witches were generally blamed and targeted for the inexplicable nature of those werewolf crimes. But this… This was much worse than the Year of the Werewolves. 

Swellview had a few vampire families, more than its fair share of werewolf clans and now… demons threatened to slip through the veil. She sensed that a dark witch had summoned them, but she was unsure if that was accurate, or her mind trying to rectify the fact that she could feel an impending demonic presence rushing towards her town.

She’d passed several types, all night, as was usually the case. But, the number of ghouls was alarming… and she expected that they were drawn to the presence, too… They knew that they may soon have dead bodies to feed on. This better not bring in a new awakening of zombies! She thought. Because demons taking over people, some dying as a result, ghouls feeding on them… when the veil is open, during the witching hour on Samhain? That could lead to freakin’ zombies, and she didn’t want to be stuck on necromancer duties tonight! She turned suddenly towards two boys, walking behind her and lifted a hand, prepared to defend herself. 

The werewolf was most likely harmless. Witches and werewolves rarely warred. But, the vampire… he was still quite young, probably quite hungry, because she hadn’t seen any reports of changed ones or gotten any wind of robbed blood banks, missing persons, or increase of sanguinated animals. He was in a Kid Danger outfit… He looked just the frick like Kid Danger. He pushed the werewolf behind him and held out a hand towards Charlotte, the witch. “Hey… No need for a fight tonight. It’s our time to just relax. You should try it,” he said.

She frowned and didn’t lower her hand, “What are a vampire and a werewolf doing fraternizing? You’re young. Your brood should know better to let you roam freely tonight, especially with this in the air,” she pointed towards the sky with her free hand. “Are you TRYING to give the demons additional dark energy to saturate this place with their evil?”

“What?” he said and folded his arms, “There’s no such things as demons. That’s just a word that humans use when they can’t identify children of the night or undead entities.”

She sighed and shook her head, “Get back to your den, and you too, especially. Don’t you know that there will be a full moon tonight? Am I the only freakin’ knowledgeable mystic that cares about the laws of nature and the dangers of interrupting them?”

“Uh, YEAH! You’re the only servant of nature in town and you think that you’re better than us because of it.”

“Why are you talking like you know me?” She wondered. 

“Ummm, I’m not. I’m just presuming, because you’re a witch and every vampire knows that witches believe us to be an abomination…” She made a clenching gesture and removed his mask. He clicked his teeth. “Well… You knew that I was a vampire, anyway,” Henry Hart said.

“Yeah, I did,” she finally lowered her hand. Henry Hart was harmless. Well… Not harmless. All vampires were dangerous, because their “nature” was to feed on humans. They called themselves Children of the Night. The witches called them Children of Hell. Their creation was not of this world, but in a dark place, of those that nature created and those that Lilith created. They were basically demons in human form, and she almost couldn’t believe that Henry didn’t know that his kind hailed from demons, but… he wasn’t that smart. She left he and Jasper to whatever crap they would get into tonight and continued on her path, but they continued too. “Stop following me.”

Jasper offered, “We were heading this way already!” He caught up with her and wondered, “Do… You need help with the demons?”

“Jasper, you’re no match for any type of demon, even at your strongest, much less a legion of them.”

“Well, you know that Henry is Kid Danger, so maybe we can help that way!”

“Jasp… Dude!”

“What, she just ripped your mask off. She knows that it’s you!” 

“She ripped off my mask ON HALLOWEEN!” Henry said.

Charlotte waved a hand and said, “Have your couples quarrel elsewhere, please?” She held out her arm and an owl flew in from the sky and perched itself on it. Charlotte removed a satchel from the bird and looked inside of it. She sighed, communicating with it and then said to the boys, “On second thought, you’d better come with me.” She shook her arm one good time and the owl flew away again. “I may need your help, after all.”

“What can we do?” Jasper had asked. 

While Henry wondered, “Why should we help you?” 

“Because… I just figured out something. Captain Man must be a vampire. He’s indestructible. He’s not a witch, or I would have sensed him here, and he has a vampire sidekick who only recently changed… like this year, I’m guessing?”

“Vampires have a whole lot more going for them than being indestructible!” Henry defended. 

“They do… But, being either a daywalker or having some type of powerful protection against the sun, he’d still have to keep up pretenses. An irresponsible science accident is a pretty good cover, because he could always blame any vampire characteristics on side effects, should they ever show up. But, he’d hide most of them - superspeed, shapeshifting - if he’s old enough or skilled enough to pull that off, flight, if that’s still a vampire feature… He’d keep the rest of us as in the dark as possible. Now that I’m convinced, all I would have to do is get within eyesight of him and she clenched her fist and Henry toppled over, holding himself.

“Henry? Henry??? Charlotte! Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” 

She stopped hurting Henry, but kept walking and said, “And now that I know that Captain Man is a vampire, you’re gonna want me to keep that to myself, right? I just need a favor, and it kinda keeps a demon army from storming Swellview!” 

Henry found his footing again and muttered, “All you had to do was ask!” Jasper cupped his face, checking to see that he was okay. He had a little blood coming from his eyes, which he wiped away. 

“This is what I need from the two of you… I need the power of three, each an equal portion, thee - the blood of one who is cursed by the sun, next and soon, the blood of one cursed of the full moon. Finally, from the last creature, one who is blessed by Mother Nature.” 

“You want our blood???” Henry and Jasper both asked, incredulously. 

She looked desperately at them and practically whimpered, “I need it.” She looked at the ground, “Look, I know that I’m not a nice girl. I’m not friendly and I can be judgmental and harsh… But… while Captain Man and Kid Danger have pledged to punch a few stupid humans in the face, I’m the one that has to ward off evil, at least once a year, but definitely usually more frequently. My failures result in things like… Jasper being bitten when he was left in the woods by his parents on the night of a full moon. I couldn’t stop the werewolf increase… But, I can stop THIS; Just… not without your help…” 

Henry wasn’t used to Charlotte asking for anything. She was a genius and a magician, what she couldn’t find a scientific solution to, she usually used magic. This was new, and he felt soft for her and her plight. 

“Wait… I’m a werewolf because of you?” Jasper asked.

“You’re a werewolf because she didn’t have help trying to stop the werewolves… but, she’s got us for this, at least.” Henry held out his arm and said, “I don’t really know how this works…” She opened her satchel and removed a small goblet, which she held forward and her owl returned and scratched Henry’s forearm. He hissed and Charlotte collected the blood. Jasper looked nervous, but held his arm out too. He was the one who volunteered to help Charlotte in the first place and Henry was right, if they could help, they needed to. The owl circled around and came back for Jasper’s blood next. Then, Charlotte raised her own arm and simply opened a slash and levitated the blood into the cup. With the mixture, she covered the goblet, put it in her satchel and summoned her broom. “Follow me,” she said. Jasper transformed and chased after her while Henry speedily ran, right on her trail as she glistened in the moonlight, her curls blowing in the wind. She stopped and handed her broom off to the owl, which transformed into a girl that looked a lot like Henry’s dead sister. “Piper?” He whispered.

“This is simply a form,” the girl said. 

“Shhh. Leave my familiar alone,” Charlotte said, and began to take things out of her satchel. 

Jasper caught up, turned back into himself and caught his breath. “Werewolves really didn’t get a good deal on speed,” he complained. They witnessed the ground shattering open and Charlotte began to chant something as Henry and Jasper held on to each other. She sprinkled something, drew on the ground, and uncovered the goblet to pour into the crack in the Earth while others were running away, terrified. She backed away and joined hands with Jasper and Henry, “Take this offering of those who would stand against each other, and those who would stand against you, should you attempt to enter this plane…”

“I’m sorry, what? That’s an offering?” Henry asked.

“Shhh,” she said. “Power of three. It is a huge offering. Werewolves, vampires and witches don’t stand together and against demons, that is a very bold statement. They could try to call my bluff, but that seal would be our first line of defense, if they do. But, I’m hoping that our unity scares them off…” And… it did. There were the wails of demons who apparently were not allowed to cross the barrier and soon, the ground closed. Charlotte released the guys’ hands and dusted hers off. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said and grabbed her broom. 

“Wait… That’s it? What, we go back to being enemies or I don’t know… opponents or whatever? We just saved Swellview together. You don’t wanna celebrate?” Henry wondered.

“We don’t have much time. Jasper’s gonna be changing in like… half an hour,” she said. 

“Yeah, yeah… But… I thought maybe the science geek in you would wanna see the Man Cave?” She did wonder about some of their gadgets. She looked into her familiar’s eyes and the girl transformed into an owl and took the broom away. 

“Yeah… Okay. That sounds cool. But, what about Jasper?” 

“I’ll introduce you to Schwoz. He’s made a pretty cool serum that helps Jasper not to transform from the full moon.”

“A magic serum?”

“Nope. Strictly science!” 

“Wow! I DO have to meet that guy!” 

“Legend has it that he comes from the family of Dr. Frankenstein!”

“WHAT? Can he make a whole man… out of like spare parts and stuff?” She asked, excitedly.

“Yeah! One so impressive… you thought he might be a vampire!” Henry said. She gasped long and hard and within moments, they were going into Junk N’ Stuff, a place she’d passed numerous times and not sensed a single thing… and as she glanced up at the full moon and heard howling in the distance, she knew that she didn’t have the strength for any more fight tonight, but maybe in the future… she had allies.

[amuseoffyre]

Fic: Inverse Omens - 1601 – The Globe

Notes: omg this is my favourite chapter. I am frigging dying. Other note-wise, previous chapters are in the tag or on A03 and the substituted quote is from Coriolanus, because Crowley gets poetrical sometimes.

1601AD – The Globe

Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to the south bank of the city. Generally, if he had to meet up with his… associate, they found some kind of neutral spot in a park. He tried to stay closer to the hub around St. Paul’s as an anchor and a reminder of what he was there to do.

Of course, sometimes an anchor came loose and that was why he was hurrying across the bridge towards the hive of theatres and gaming dens and taverns. His destination was a white-washed round building, a stone’s throw from the river.

To his surprise, he was waved through the doors at once by a bored-looking boy, but as soon as he entered the theatre, he could see why: the place was almost empty, except for a couple of people in the seats and – of course – Aziraphale in all his opulent glory only a few feet from the stage. Honestly, with the amount of gold threading in his clothing and the size of his purse, he was just asking for trouble.

And, again, it was no surprise to see the demon plucking grapes from a cloth in his hand and popping them in his mouth.

Crowley glanced around warily, but as far as he could sense, there was no divine interference, so he hurried closer. “You said we’d blend in with the crowds!” he whispered accusingly, as soon as he reached the demon. “That’s the only reason I agreed to come!”

Aziraphale gave him a sunny smile. “But we couldn’t miss Burbage’s new role.”

Crowley stared at him, then up at the young man on the stage. “That’s it? That’s the reason you got me all the way over here?”

The demon shrugged, holding out his little cloth of grapes to Crowley. “Well, two birds and one stone, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley tried to glare at him, which only made the demon grin even more, pale eyes dancing. “So what are you up to?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest, feeling woefully underdressed, his doublet and hose plain and serviceable black with white beneath.

The demon gave a snake-like wiggle of satisfaction. “The usual.” He held up his empty hand to stop Crowley from speaking as another man approached. “William, darling, this may be one of your best.”

The human beamed proudly. “I’m glad you think so, Ezra. I only wish more people did.” He glanced back at the stage. “Do you mind being… a little more vocal?”

“You know I always am,” Aziraphale purred and Crowley had to look away, flushing.

“Oh, tush!” Shakespeare snorted, but he sounded pleased. Crowley cautiously looked back at them in time to see the fond smile on the writer’s face. “You know what I mean, you filthy creature. Poor Burbage works best with a responsive audience.”

Aziraphale patted his arm. “Of course, my dear.” His eyes danced. “But you know you need only ask if you require more… vocal stimulation of your own.”

If Crowley was pink, then Shakespeare was shading towards scarlet, his eyes darting between the demon and Crowley. The poor human stammered out a few words of apology to Crowley, then hurried back towards the edge of the auditorium.

“Do you always have to tease them like that?” Crowley muttered, giving him a stern look.

The demon slanted a look at him. “Who said I was just teasing?”

Crowley sputtered, swatting his arm. “Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale laughed. It was a big, warm sound and he nodded towards the stage. “Just a minute. I need to pay attention.”

The young man was performing a soliloquy and despite himself, Crowley listened. Shakespeare did have a way with words, there was no denying it, and while Aziraphale was crying out enthusiastic interjections, he listened to what was being said.

An elbow in the ribs brought him back to reality. “Enjoying it?” Aziraphale inquired, looking pleased.

Crowley nodded, his mouth dry and his eyes surprisingly damp. Something about the speech had struck a chord, though he couldn’t work out why. “It’s no little thing to make my eyes sweat compassion.”

A smaller and somehow more genuine smile slipped across Aziraphale’s face. “I knew you’d like it,” he said, then popped another grape in his mouth. He offered the pouch again, shrugging when Crowley waved it away.

“Why did you want me to come anyway?” Crowley asked. “I mean, apart from…” He motioned to the stage.

“Well, it seems I need to go to Edinburgh next week.” The demon made a face. “Why the clans can’t leave one another’s cattle alone for five minutes, I don’t know, but apparently, one of them needs to be urged to do some rustling.”

Crowley eyed him. “That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“I know.” Aziraphale gave him a convincingly innocent wide-eyed stared. “Any chance you’re heading north any time soon?”

He tried to look stern, but with the demon batting his eyelashes like a milkmaid, his lips twitching, it was almost impossible. “Actually, yes.” He held up a finger. “For a blessing. That’s all. Nothing else.”

He almost missed the tiny roll of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh come on, my dear. What’s the point of both of us trekking all the way up there and all the way back, when you know it would only take the one of us to do the jobs?”

Crowley bit his lip. Not again. Every time, every time, they’d met like this before, he’d told himself it would be the last time. “I told you before that I wouldn’t do it again.”

Aziraphale slid a little closer to him. “And then,” he reminded him, with that warm, winning smile, “you did it anyway. What’s one more time?”

It was the same argument they had every time and he was right. Crowley squeezed his arms, trying to glare at the demon, which only made Aziraphale widen his eyes in wounded innocence.

“Oh, all right, fine,” he snapped, groping in his coin purse. “Toss you for Edinburgh.”

Aziraphale gave him the filthiest of leers. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Stop that!” Crowley flapped a hand, shooing him back a step. “Not that kind of… tossing. Honestly, you’re terrible.” He tried to glare again, but the demon was giggling, dimples popping in his cheeks, and Crowley couldn’t help the rueful smile that crept onto his lips. “You really are, though. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Aziraphale flung an arm around his shoulders. “Charm! Wit! A marvellous personality!”

“And an overactive imagination,” Crowley retorted before he could stop himself, then clapped his hand to his mouth.

“Angel!” Aziraphale managed to sound both appalled and delighted. “You just insulted me! All by yourself!”

Crowley knocked the demon’s elbow with his. “Oh, shut up.” He fumbled with the coin, tossing it and slapping it down on the back of his hand. “Call?”

“Tails,” the demon said, leaning closer to peer at it. Crowley uncovered the coin and Aziraphale whined. “But I don’t want to go to Edinburgh. It’s so far.”

Crowley patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you here, while you’re away?”

As if he had been cued, Aziraphale’s latest… friend sighed, “It’d take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.”

The demon’s eyes lit up and he looked hopefully at Crowley.

Crowley glanced at the stage and the young man. A line from his speech was ringing in Crowley’s ear: Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. He turned back to Aziraphale and smiled. “Well, obviously, but I meant for your side of things.”

“Oh! Right!” Aziraphale scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t… take care of William for me?” The glint in his eye gave him away. “He needs a very thorough… taking care of.”

“Really, Aziraphale?” Crowley said, giving him a stern look. “Really?”

The demon wrinkled his nose, barely hiding a grin. It was ridiculous how disarming it was. “Worth a try, eh?” He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll find something. Hang around on this side of the river long enough and something’ll turn up.”

Later, as Crowley walked back across the bridge, he smiled to himself as he turned a young pickpocket’s attentions to the purse of a very elegantly-dressed, wealthy, man-shaped person who had just come out of the Globe theatre and was on his way to dinner. He wondered if Aziraphale would appreciate the joke.

[wolfpawn]

Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 25

Chapter Summary - Tom plans a surprise for Alexianna, but it does not go according to plan.

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna

Request if you wish to be tagged

Tom planned it, saying nothing to Alexianna only that he wanted her and Lily to come over for dinner, and to bring some clothes to stay overnight, that he wanted to watch a movie after Lily went to bed, when she seemed unsure, he insisted he would not force her to stay in bed with him, he simply wanted time with them. The play had taken most of his time over the few weeks, with it ended and with Thor Ragnarok and the associated madness soon to begin, he wished to spend time with Alexianna before that started.

All through the running of the play, she had sent texts and called on occasion, just to ask him how he was and did he need anything, she even came by as she was about to clean the house a few streets over, for no other reason than to drop some cooked dinners, since he had stated that one night, after a show, he was too tired to cook. She had told him she needed to give him something, then arrived with two cooler bags of cooked meals, gave him a kiss and told him to get rested for the next show, Lily, though she would have loved to spend time with Tom, seemed to realise too that it was important not to bother him and hugged him and gave the same orders.

Now he wanted to thank her, so he arranged for them to have a nice night, including ordering a movie she had mentioned she wished she had gotten to see in the cinema in passing. He cooked a roast, ensuring to have the trimmings and smiled at his handiwork. He asked her to be there for five, but by ten past, there was no sign of her or Lily. Worried, he tried ringing her, but her phone appeared to be dead or turned off. He then started to think of different scenarios of what caused her to not come, the most worrying of which was something had happened to herself or Lily, but with no way to contact her, he could not tell. It was almost half past, and with no sign of them, Tom felt his heart sink, he thought at first they were delayed, buses could get caught in traffic, or the Tube could get delayed if there was an issue with the signals; he had thought she would at least contact him, but she had not, he felt hurt. When his phone rang a few moments later, he just ignored it; when it rang again, he cursed and looked at the caller ID, frowning to see her name. Pressing the answer button, he brought it to his ear. ‘Lexi?’

‘Tom, I am so sorry, the Underground was insane, we were stopped between Camden and Chalk Farm for forty bloody minutes, and when I tried to contact you, I realised someone used my data allowance watching Paw Patrol on Youtube.’ His glower lifted. ‘I am so so sorry.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘Outside.’

‘What?’

‘We’re outside your door, the lights are on, but we have knocked three times.’ he rushed to the door and opened it, sure enough, there was a frustrated looking Alexianna and disheartened Lily standing there, rain pouring down. ‘Hello.’

‘Get in, I am so sorry, I did not hear you.’ He ushered them in.

‘I am sorry Tom, I...Oh, Jesus, you had something cooking and everything, I am so…’ He silenced her with a kiss.

‘I am just glad you came, I was terrified something happened one of the two of you.’ Tom took the small gym bag out of her hand and put it by the stairs.

‘No, just public transport.’ Alexianna groaned, ‘That smells incredible, by the way. And, this is for you.’ She handed him a small gift bag. ‘Since you’re finished the run.’ she smiled.

Tom frowned and opened the small bag, pulling out the contents and looking at them, his eyes widening and his smile growing. ‘Wow.’

‘I know you are busy with the Thor tour coming up, but I was hoping before you go that you would want to? I have Elaine booked and everything.’

‘That is why you asked if I was free?’ Tom realised. ‘Of course, I cannot wait.’ He kissed her again. ‘Now, dinner is not as fresh as it was but…’

‘Stop, I literally have not stopped today, we decluttered, so I am starved.’

‘“Decluttered”?’

‘Yes, someone is now too big for a lot of her clothes, and we don’t have the space to hold onto every last hole filled leggings, so we did, you know that game, “Kiss, Marry, Kill”, we played “Save, Donate, Dump.’

‘How did that go?’

‘One bag for the bin, one each to Barnardos, the Cancer Society and the R.S.P.C.A. and one shopping bag of really cute things to be vacuum packed.’

‘You keep some?’

‘Yes, just a few of her favourites or ones that mean something.’

‘Do you think you’ll ever…’ she looked at him, not having a clue as to what he was implying. ‘Have another?’

‘Child?’ Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t...probably not. I don't think I can go through all that again. She was an angel, don’t get me wrong, but it was too hard, going alone like that, Daniel was incredible, but I...no, I couldn’t.’ Tom simply nodded pensively. ‘Did I…? Do you…?’

‘I think it is safe to say, I am not near ready for that, I am too dedicated to work to be any use to a woman at present with a baby.’ he replied.

‘But down the road?’

‘I don’t know.’ he replied. ‘I can’t honestly say.’ Alexianna found herself kissing her teeth as she thought through his words. ‘Why don’t we discuss this another time?’ He placed his hand on her lower back, ‘You lovely ladies need some dinner.’ Tom looked around. ‘Where is Lily?’

‘I’m in the kitchen.’ They walked in to see her sitting at the table excitedly. ‘Mommy, look what Tom got me.’ She held up a plate similar to the one she had at home. ‘It’s the one I wanted.’

‘Wow.’ She looked at Tom, who clearly looked like he was awaiting a scolding. ‘What do you say?’

Lily jumped down from the chair and rushed over to Tom, hugging his legs tightly as she jumped up and down. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘You’re welcome darling.’ She went back to the table. ‘I just got it because I didn’t want you worrying about the plates again.’ he explained quietly to Alexianna. ‘I know it was concerning you.’

Alexianna had to concede it was true, she had been terrified for Tom’s plates when they had stayed the weekend. ‘So, what’s the occasion?’

‘Well, after everything with Hamlet, and how incredibly understanding you were, I thought we would celebrate with a nice dinner, then after Lily goes to bed, you and I can settle down to watch a movie?’

‘What have you in mi?’

‘You’ll see.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘But first, how about some roast lamb, baby potatoes in garlic butter and perhaps even some veg?’

‘Tom!’ She looked at him, ‘There’s no need…’

‘No, there isn’t, but I wanted to.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled.

‘Now ladies, please take your seats and I will get the food.’ He winked at Lily who giggled in return as he brought Alexianna to the table. He organised everything he had readied and soon the trio were eating happily.

When they were done, Tom looked bemusedly at Alexianna, who insisted that she do the dishes since he had cooked. As soon as Lily realised Tom was in anyway unoccupied, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the living area, demanding to know about his favourite Disney characters.

‘I am not too up-to-date with so many. Why don’t you tell me?’

‘I love Moana.’

‘I like Maui.’ Tom smiled.

‘And HeiHei, he’s hilarious.’

‘He is.’ Tom chuckled.

‘I like Judy Hopps too, she’s a rabbit.’

‘The first ever bunny cop.’ Tom nodded.

Lily beamed in delight at his knowing it. ‘Yep, and Big Hero 6, Baymax is the best.’

‘I have not seen that one.’ he acknowledged. ‘My favourite is Baloo.’ Lily frowned. ‘You don’t know Baloo?’ She shook her head. He rose from his chair and went over to a cupboard and took out a DVD, bringing it back to the couch and showing it to her. ‘Have you not seen this?’

Lily inspected it and shook her head. ‘I have seen that teddy.’

‘That is Baloo.’ Tom smiled. ‘Lexi, what sort of rearing are you giving this daughter of yours, she does not know who Baloo is.’ there was no response, ‘Lexi?’ he walked into the kitchen to see Alexianna looking at him sadly. ‘Lexi, what’s wrong?’

‘I could never watch that movie after…’

‘After what?’

‘I grew up, I stopped seeing you. It literally is the one thing that as soon as I saw anything to do with it, I thought of you.’

‘Was that so bad, thinking of me?’

‘It hurt, I always felt saddened by not seeing you and Emma anymore.’

‘Well, that has been mended.’ He smiled. ‘I know she usually goes to bed at half seven, but I was going to ask, could we perhaps delay bedtime for…’ he checked his watch, then the back of the DVD cover, ‘about twenty minutes, I wish to educate Lily on the Jungle Book?’

‘I suppose once won’t hurt.’

‘Leave the dishes, join us.’ He encouraged, his arms snaking around her waist, ‘they can wait.’ his nose rubbed against the side of hers as his breath ghosted the side of her face.

Alexianna sighed, caught in the moment, the smell of his cologne and the fact that he seemed to know every way to drive her insane. ‘Lily....’

‘Come in and keep her company, and me.’

‘Is this the movie you had planned?’

‘No, actually, but it is a very good one.’ Tom chuckled, continuing to somehow use his nose as a way to seduce her, simply by running it next to or over hers. He kissed her slowly and chastely; when he pulled away, she nipped his bottom lip. ‘Lexi.’ He warned though there was a difference in his tone, lust or some other such thing.

‘Later.’ she smiled, causing Tom to look at her startled. ‘Or am I…?’ She asked worriedly.

‘No, Jesus, no. I am more than willing if you are, I just am somewhat startled you said that. I thought it would take longer to get you confident enough to do so.’

‘It was really good, when we…’ she leant in again and kissed him.

‘This is going to be a very long film.’ Tom groaned as he felt his body reacting.

They watched the film in relative silence, Tom interrupting to sing the Bare Necessities and Lily giggling whenever something was funny. By the end, Bagera gained a new lover.

‘Why him, he is so boring?’ Tom jokingly asked Lily.

‘Cause he’s asponsible. He looks after Mowgli without being silly.’

‘Wait, is your four year old actually choosing the adult and more responsible character?’ Tom asked Alexianna in awe.

‘It would appear so.’

‘She is your daughter, there was no mistake in that hospital, she is definitely your daughter.’ Tom laughed.

‘Hey…’

‘Lexi, I love you, but what used you say about Bagera, that he was “the voice of reason and the only adult in the situation”.’

‘He was, he still is.’

'And that is your daughter’s analysis too, I am telling you, you Hughes women are a lot alike.’

Alexianna smiled at him. ‘Lil, time for bed.’

‘Will you read me the Gruffalo?’

‘Of course.’

‘Actually, Mommy, can Tom read it?’

Alexianna stood staring at her daughter. ‘Lily Darling, that is something for you and your mum, and I don’t know the words.’

‘I brought my book, please Tom.’ She begged.

Tom, not used to glistening tear-filled eyes begging him, looking to Alexianna for assistance. Alexianna just looked at him to gauge his reaction. ‘Sweetie, Tom probably…’ Lily began to sniff as tears fell from her eyes. ‘You don’t get anything for crying Lily.’

‘But I want Tom to read to me, please Mummy.’

Alexianna looked to Tom again, noting the small smile on his face at being asked for. She silently asked him if it was alright, to which he nodded and she smiled defeatedly. ‘Fine, clearly I am not good enough anymore.’ She stated dramatically, earning a laugh from Lily. ‘Go, abandon me.’

‘No Mommy, I love you too.’

‘No, it’s fine, I’ll just have to get over it.’ She held her hand up like a damsel in distress. Lily giggled again. ‘Do I at least get a cuddle goodnight?’

‘Yes, Mommy.’ She rushed into her mother for a hug. ‘Sleep tight.’ She kissed Lily’s head.

‘Are you sleeping in with Tom tonight?’ She asked innocently.

‘I don’t know.’ Alexianna swallowed at that, not sure how to deal with her daughter’s questions on the matter.

‘So I don’t get the bed to myself?’ She frowned.

‘Do you want it?’ Lily nodded. ‘Well I am really been kicked out today, aren’t I? Go on, you better let Tom read to you.’ She instructed the pair to go upstairs.

After a few minutes, she went to the base of the stairs after hearing a high pitched noise from upstairs. Listening, she could hear Tom using his skills to bring the characters to life and Lily’s joy at it. Smiling, she finished the dishes. As she left the plate to drain on the draining board, she felt Tom’s hands on her sides.

‘Are you upset?’

‘A little, I have never had to share my daughter before. Daniel was never asked to read over me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not, as long as you are okay with it.’ she turned and looked at him. ‘I don’t want her to be too much for you, it’s not fair on you.’

‘I actually loved it.’ He admitted. ‘I...I have never realised what it is like to be wanted, but not as I usually am.’ Alexianna frowned. ‘People want photos, autographs and other things from me all the time, you and Lily want nothing of me, and Lily innocently sees nothing but me.’

‘We care about you Tom, you, not the fame or the money. I love how you make me laugh and smile, you make me feel like I can do things I have been terrified to do for so long again.’

‘You wish I didn’t have the money?’

‘No, I am delighted you have the money, you work so hard at your craft, the least that can happen is you are paid well for it.’ Alexianna commented. ‘I am so happy you made it.’ She gave a genuine smile. ‘You deserve it.’

Tom kissed her. ‘I have a present for you.’ Alexianna frowned at him. ‘I planned on giving it to you later, but I think now is the time.’ He walked over to another part of the counter and grabbed a white A4 envelope before handing it to her. Alexianna just stared at it. ‘Open it.’

Still unsure, Alexianna did as he requested, worried by the odd look on his face, a mixture of fear and excitement. She took out the papers, her eyes immediately drawn to the names boldly declaring themselves on the top of the paper before looking down. As soon as she realised what it was she was holding, a sob escaped her, her hand went her mouth and she began to shake violently as tears fell from her eyes fast and heavy.

‘Lexi?’ Tom put his hands around her. He expected many reactions, but sobbing was not one of them, she began to shake more, bent over as she shook from the crying. ‘Lexi, are you alright?’ When she tried to stand straight again, Tom felt almost scared when he realised that her shaking was not from crying, but because she was smiling and giggling like a mad person. ‘Lexi?’

‘I’m free.’ She giggled between the tears. ‘He’s gone, he’s really really gone.’

Tom swallowed at her words, she was so relieved, she was unable to contain her at it. ‘Yes, Darling, you are divorced.’ she erupted in fresh giggles. ‘He cannot come after you. You didn’t have to sign his papers and you don’t have to leave him near Lily, you are free, both of you are.’

‘Thank you.’ She sobbed as she hugged him, her grip akin to a vice. ‘Thank you so much, Tom.’

Tom hugged her close to him. ‘The least I could do,’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Just promise me you will not let him hurt you anymore. If you hear any more from him, tell me.’

‘I promise.’

‘So, was that a nice surprise for the evening?’

Alexianna looked at him in shock, ‘Wait, you did all this for…?’

‘I thought it would be nice, dinner, divorce, a movie.’ Tom smiled cheekily.

Alexianna giggled. ‘The best kind of evening. Thank you, Tom, you shouldn’t have.’ She curled in against him, inhaling deeply.

‘What are you doing?’ Tom chuckled looking down at her.

‘I love your smell.’

‘You are making me really self-conscious.’ He chuckled. ‘Now, about this movie?’

‘What one is it?’

He grinned widely at her. ‘Guess what movie you wanted to watch but did not get to see is booked on my Sky Box.’

‘What...it’s not on DVD yet.’

‘Nope, but it is on Sky Box Office.’

‘Tom...this is too much.’

Tom erupted in laughter. ‘You are going out with an actor and you see dinner and a movie in his home as “too much” God Lexi, you are incredible.’ He kissed her.

[oopsabird]

1; & 3, 5, 10 for take my heart &/so much like stars

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your  favourite and why?

Of all of my fics, that award I think would have to go to “I have loved the stars too fondly” (my Hamlet fic). Partly because I’m exceptionally pleased with how the prose and story/visuals execution turned out (in the most recent edited edition, which I think was last spruced up in 2016), and partly because since Hamlet is public domain, it technically sits on a sort of par with The Lion King in terms of canon-ness (or at least that’s what I say to boost my own ego lol). Of my WW fics (completed ones), I like “And In The Morning” best - it executes exactly the imagery and mood I intended it to, and I like it so much that I actually frequently forget that the hug it adds to the airfield aftermath scene isn’t actually canon, despite me carrying it over to all my other fics (it happened off-screen and I will take that headcanon to my grave). gambit, that wonderful whumpy collection of historical anachronisms, medical bullshitting, and tropes, is a very close second there, purely because I designed it to be a collection of things I enjoy in fic so of course I love it.

3. Which part of [title] was hardest to write?

take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat: Trying to convey exactly the physical positions and body language I was picturing in my head while maintaining prose and mood was probably the toughest. I tend to picture my fics like films in my head beforehand, complete with camera angles and cuts and mood lighting and a lot of minute physical/action detail, so trying to cram all that information into a sentence that still reads nicely and gets the intended feeling across is my most frequent struggle in writing. This was a fic that to me carried just as much of its mood and angst in things like the touch of a shoulder or the intonation of a word as it did in the prose, so it was tough, but I think I struck a pretty good balance.

so much like stars: I know the answer to this instantly, and you may know it too since I mention it in the end note of the fic: the undressing scene. Like, I basically worship Lindy Hemming for her costume design work in this movie and legitimately think she deserved to at least be nominated for an Oscar for it (product placement: the Wonder Woman Artbook is well worth its $50 price tag for the incredible insight into the crazy amount of craftmanship and work that went into making this movie. Must-have if you are fascinated by film-making and Wonder Woman. Hence why I have it.) All that being said, the (truly excellent) costumes for Sameer and Charlie have an INSANE amount of layers and pieces, and because I am a stickler for prop continuity I took it upon myself to keep track of each and every one. Except for a few I omitted because I knew nobody else is enough of a nerd about this movie to know the difference lol. It was a nightmare of my own making but in the end also a good writing exercise for managing prop pieces in a scene. But still. SO. MANY. JACKETS.

I really do go on in the rest of these answers, so please find them tucked under the cut!

5. Did you make an outline for [title], and if so did you stick to it?

I have what I would call a very ADHD writing technique, in which I will generally impulsively write the scenes I have visualized most clearly first, regardless of their place in the fic; then I spend possibly weeks jumping around and filling in the patches between scenes whenever inspiration strikes, generally working either from a vague “it will go like this overall” plan stored in my brain, or a placeholder in-text like “[they leave the bar and travel home. Charlie falls asleep in the cab]”. I almost always write my openings last, after having built the rest of the fic together bit-by-bit and now needing a way to segue the reader into it. That’s process is basically how I wrote both of these, except these were essentially written as a moment of hyperfocus rather than over a long period of time - each of them developed very quickly from initial idea to publication in a short period because I didn’t do literally anything else during that time (take my heart over a period of 12 hours, so much like stars over a period of three days). The only fic I have that really has a concretely written formal outline is The Big Fic (that mythological creature from my WIP list), and that’s because I’ve spent months actively workshopping the shit out of it and treating the damn thing like a novel (which is probably why finishing it escapes me).

10. What are some facts that readers may not know about [title]?

Ooooooo this is a delightful question, because as you can probably tell from my lengthy author’s notes on AO3, I looooove giving “director’s commentary” and spilling extra-textual info about my fics!

take my heart: 

I don’t like that this is yet another WW fic I’ve done where Diana appears but doesn’t speak, but couldn’t (yet) find a way to give her even a passing line that didn’t feel shoehorned. 

The choice to use present tense was made on a whim.

Though the fic doesn’t actually mention it explicitly (the one that I borrowed my own headcanon from does), the injury Charlie received to his shoulder and was put on leave for is that he “froze up” during their last mission and got shot (it was a graze), fell off his sniper perch and hit his head (a version of this incident is detailed in To Burn And Keep Quiet).

I worry that I write too many fics where Sameer is just a lens for processing Charlie’s trauma and emotional arcs in the text, and want to do more pieces that give Sami other plots and motivations and have him operating as a character more independently from his relationship to and feelings for Charlie.

Originally the idea was going to be Sami saying “I love you” knowing it will be forgotten in the morning, but then when I was writing it I was like “wait, I’ve thought of something worse! how delightful!”.

The “over breakfasts and newspapers” line is intended as a reference to Steve’s in-movie explanation to Diana of what people do when there are no wars to fight.

I decided to have it rain at one point because in the movie when Diana enters the pub with Steve the pavement is shown to be wet so I figure it must have been that kind of day, and also because it was raining all day while I wrote so I was really feeling it.

so much like stars: 

I went to painstaking googling lengths to find a French-language song  for the opening that was both period-accurate and suitable to the mood.

I actually omitted at least one costume piece: Sami wears these absurd-looking knit legwarmer-looking things over his boots and the bottom of his pants (these can be glimpsed in some scenes), and not only do they really look strange with just the suit (less so with all his coats and everything on), but I have no idea what they’re called and was sick of writing costume pieces, so I left them out knowing nobody else is enough of a nerd about it to notice.

I originally wanted to give this fic a fade-to-black/”soft focus” They Done Fucked romantic get-together conclusion (hence the setup with the windowless room, the creaky bed, the washbasin), but as the fic progressed I decided against it because it didn’t feel right for the tone/situation or the fact that that’s not my actual headcanon for how that night would’ve gone (and I was shooting for canon-compliant). An unfinished draft of that alternate ending does exist, but it’s not as of yet in any shape to be shown to anybody. Yet.

I worried while writing (still do, a bit) that this fic wouldn’t be liked/read by other fans because I know that the version of Charlie I have developed/analyzed out of my repeated close readings of the film and headcanons is a much more likable character than the impression of him you get after just one or two viewings of the film, so I worried that more casual/less obsessed fans reading this (and indeed, several of my other fics) wouldn’t be able to suspend their disbelief enough to accept me saying “yeah, Sameer is very in love with him. attacted to him, even.” without having been along for the ride on my entire crazy obsession with this movie and these characters. Luckily the way Sameer’s interactions with him in the film are acted and shot do the vast majority of the heavy lifting in-canon for this ship already, so readers are more likely to take “Sami is in love with Charlie, secretly” as read without me having to do too much extra stuff to back it up or make it plausible. “Charlie is in love with Sami” doesn’t require nearly as much work to “justify” because Sami is extremely handsome and charming and much of the fandom seems to adore him anyway, so its more like “yeah obviously, who WOULDN’T be in love with him in some way or another?”

I watched the entire “Night In Veld” set of scenes (through from Sami bringing Diana and Steve drinks to that wonderful Wondertrev fade-to-black scene) probably about 8+ times during the process of writing this fic, just to keep myself in the right frame of mind/mood; at this point I could recite it word-for-word.

Sami’s list of “Reasons Not To Tell Him” is pretty much my favourite part of the fic.

The “Sami wears undershirts with sleeves, Charlie wears sleeveless ones” distinction is my own little bit of costume design and also a headcanon that I carry through almost all of my fics.

I had a lot of trouble trying to balance my dedication to the principle “write non-English dialogue in the correct language” with “you can’t subtitle this, there is a LOT of French, and it needs to be comprehensible for an English audience”. What you see in the fic is my version of a happy medium, which I think works rather well.

Thank you for asking this!!!! And thank you to anybody who stuck it out to read this whole damn thing and indulge my infodumping!

[alex-guerin]

@raiining put in her tags:  #also has someone written a pov by them yet?#someone should#good omens And well, call it divine inspiration, this popped into my head. 

When Michael gave him this assignment, he wasn’t quite sure what it was for or why it was so important, but, he went with it anyway. After all, he was just a lowly Angel 1st class, and not exactly the best or one, either. Still, an Archangel trusted him to get this job done and he was going to do it, by jove! 

Which was how he’d found himself wandering around earth, snapping random photos or random things, not quite sure what he was supposed to be documenting, but figured best to err to the side of caution and just take pictures of mostly everything. There were several pictures taken from within the Globe Theater -- so many wonderful plays took place there, after all, so obviously that would be something Michael could be interested in. Other photos of the great ships that had begun transporting those poor religious outcasts across the waters to that vast continent where they’d meet with the Native Americans -- and in the years following, he’d go on to tearfully document the result of the Pilgrims landing; he’d been so sure that things would work between the two sides. So many photos through so many years, documenting the rise and fall of kings and empires, the birth of nations and the destruction of man. 

Yet somehow in the middle of it all, he’d fallen upon an unlikely duo. A part of him was horrified when he realized one of them was an angel and the other was a demon, a demon for Heaven’s sake! Yet, the other part of him was intrigued. There was something different about this pair. The demon wasn’t bad or evil per se, he was just bored and mischievous, desperate to get the angel’s attention it seemed. And the angel, well, the angel was of course good but he was good in a way far far different than what was the norm in Heaven. He smiled freely, for one thing, with no hidden agenda tucked away behind it. He smiled because he was genuinely happy. And he smiled the most and the brightest when the demon was near by. It didn’t take an Archangel to see the friendship between them. 

Thinking back, he could remember seeing the both of them throughout his time on Earth. Together or apart. There were times when he’d sit and watch in fascination as the angel would awkwardly go about conducting a small temptation -- the starving street urchins salivating over the fresh baked bread getting a quiet whisper in their ear to go ahead and take the top two loaves, the baker would never know -- before going off to conduct a blessing or a miracle. Other times, he’d stare in wonder as the demon drew forth a miracle -- usually involving kids, but many times just to make the angel smile...like making that dreadfully glum Hamlet play a success -- and then turn right around and watch as a wealthy merchant tripped over his own two feet and land face first in the mud. 

There was something about the two that he found intriguing, endearing, and -- as an angel and thus a being of love and easy to sense such love -- was amazed at the levels of admiration the two had for each other. Soon enough he found himself snapping pictures of them together whenever he got the chance, just to watch and document the way their love for one another grew and grew. Yet, they did nothing about it. Not a single thing. It was as if they were unaware of how the other felt about them. That was impossible, though, it was clear as air! Then it happened. The moment he’d been waiting for. And in the most unlikely of settings, during the most unsettling of times, with air raid sirens blaring, bombs dropping to form craters where buildings once stood. In the bombed out shell of what had once been a church, it happened. 

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” The demon had said, passing off a satchel of books to a dumbfounded angel. The angel had such a look on his face that it was impossible not to take a picture of it. The love that shown there, the realization that he was loved and that -- wonder of all wonders -- returned that same love. 

He’d followed them through what was left of London and caught up to them just outside the perfectly pristine bookshop the angel had set up as his base of operations -- though, after watching him for over a hundred years, it was clear to see it wasn’t so much a base of operations as it was...a home? Strange thing, that. Angel calling somewhere other than Heaven home, but that one did, and it suited him. The pair stood on the steps of the bookshop, speaking softly to one another. Then, with a tip of his hat, the demon turned to lope back down the steps only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. Oh it was too much! The suspense was killing the poor little angelic photographer! The demon took one step back up towards the angel, their bodies nearly touching. They’d both taken their hats off, or rather, miracled them off perhaps? One minute they were on, the next gone. 

And then, oh and then the most wonderful thing happened! The angel’s hands cupped the demon’s jaw gently, the glow of love shining so bright off him it could have lit up the whole of England. The demon’s hands found his angel’s waist and then their bodies moved without being told it seemed, drawn together like two atoms, and they were kissing. Their first kiss, so tender, so warm, so loving, there amidst the horrors of War and Death, Pollution and Famine, there was love. An unlikely love between two unlikely beings in the most unlikely of places. 

He’d taken a picture of that first kiss and all the love that poured out between the two and then turned to leave them in peace. They deserved time and space to navigate their newfound relationship. He’d have the picture to remember it by, though. To look back on when it felt there was no love left in Heaven or on Earth, and remember that a demon and an angel found love in each other, so perhaps all hope wasn’t completely lost. 

When Michael came to him years later, demanding the photos of the angel and demon together, he was loathe to give them up. It felt like a betrayal somehow. He didn’t know what Michael had planned to do with the photos, but whatever it was, it certainly didn’t feel good. He’d sat and gone through all the photos he’d taken, picking out only 4 of the hundreds upon hundreds he had of the pair. In the waiting area of the Archangels’ offices, he stared down at the pictures and bit his lip in thought. Was he doing the right thing? His eyes fell on the first and only photo of the two kissing. It didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do. No, the couple deserved more than having their first kiss shown to the highest ranking angels of Heaven. Besides, what would happen to the two of them if the Archangels knew? What would happen to him if they knew that he’d known and never said anything about it? That was why, when Michael finally emerged from their office and stepped before him, hand out expectantly for the photos, three were passed off instead of four. The fourth stayed safely hidden behind his back until Michael gave an unsettling false smile, nodded their head, and turned on clipped heels to go find Gabriel. 

Years later, on the day of the anniversary of their first kiss, an angel would open an unexpected package that was slipped through the slot in the door without a single person to be seen or heard from outside. Inside the package would be a simple frame and a beautifully clear black and white photo of him and his now demon husband kissing on the front steps of his shop while the world seemingly ended around them. On the back of the frame, in neat golden handwriting was the date and place the photo was taken, along with the following: Thank you. Your love for one another helped me find the strength I needed to finally do the right thing. It gave me hope when there was none to be found. Bless you both. 

 -Cameron, Former Angel of the 1st Heaven. Resident of Earth. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about whoever got assigned to take the “Earth Observation Files” photos and what they went through

[iamtrappedinsideasnowglobe]

4, 20, 29, 44? Thanks!

This is about fanfiction, so like for the most part..... please ignore me, precious followers. I'm just gonna assume that the post that I reblogged before this ask is what this is in reference to,,,, God help me. Anyway.4 -- My favorite genre to write for: Uhhhh cheesy fiction things. Like. You name an overrated fandom (that I'm also in...), and I've probably written for it..... Yeah, Supernatural included ksnankddidkd I'm sorry for disappointing everyone 😂 But I really like these fandoms cause it's easy to get into the rhythm of a character when you can instantly hear their voice in your head. Basically, when something has dragged on long enough, it just becomes easier and more fun to write for.20 -- Any stories you wish you'd ended differently: No. I usually know how things are gonna end before I even write any other parts. I write for that sweet sweet ending. That applies to like everything I write tbh, which is why I never finish anything. Middle parts can begin to drag too easily.29 -- Do you have a story you feel doesn't get as much love as it deserves: Yeah, the book I've been talking about writing since like middle school. I need to love it more, but so do the few people I've spouted about it to. But in terms of fanfiction I've written? I barely share that with anyone. I posted one to my writing blog but no one saw it (prolly because no one follows that blog and it had so many trigger warning tags adjjsjlsks) (and I really need to re-do parts of that story to make the plot more coherent, low key high key). So I guess that one.44 -- The last line I wrote??? Boy I barely remember the last meme I reblogged. I could check, but I can't remember what the last thing I worked on was. I think it was a Hamlet fanfiction. It ended dramatically, so probably something edgy.Thanks for the ask! I love telling people I have a side blog for my writing and then watching them try to find it 😂! It's impossible folks! I've hidden myself too well! But seriously, thanks. 💙💙

[jo-the-schmo]

Breaking... Ch.17

Masterlist (will update for needed parts soon)

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting this so soon were ya? Aren’t I just full of surprises? I never sleep!!!!! Also I tried something new with the tags so hopefully it works!! I regret nothing

Wordcount: 2016 (neat)

Warnings: Fluff, cute, then blood

Tags!: @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit @renae-writes @deltablue202 @literally-melonkitty@meunicorn @favouritefighting-frenchman @demi-godamit @gum-and-chips@sweaterkitty-fluff@pinkyiger7@littlemissshortcakes@msageofenlightenment@unprofessional-inhumanbeing@fandom-panda-221@hummusandchips @spoopy-piineapple@ashwolfcub@myself-and-the-madman @sweet-fate@superwholockbooknerd526@frozengal2013@lmaodedhaha@itsmikayblr@sarmar29 @arya-durin-77 @phantastic-fandoms@hoshihime98@shinigamired @martapetrovic @robotic-space@iamnotthrowingawaymyshit2(lol) @asprinkleofmermaids @pinkyiger7(I’m tagging you twice my friend!) @satellitesuga @rose-coloured-nihilism  @okie-dokie-artichokeme (I love your URL omg)

 if anyone else wants to be tagged just send me an ask!

Breaking Agreements

Johnny tugged at the bottom of your dress, trying to get your attention.

“Mama says we should give your present now, I’ll go get my drum.” It took you a moment to realize what you were talking about. Aww I did say this would be better with a drum! Angie interlocked your arms once more.

“Come on everyone! TT, Mama and I have something to you in the music room!” AJ and Jaime got up off the ground and ran toward the hall where Eliza was already heading. You saw Johnny slowly going down the stairs, his little snare and sticks in hand, being careful not to drop anything. Wow, he got that fast! He must be excited! Angie pulled on your arm. “Let’s go TT!” Alex stood up and patted his daughter on the head.

“I’ll go with you, sunshine girl, follow me.” Alex winked at Philip who was standing behind you. What was that about?

“Okay, Daddy!” Angie let go of your arm, her and Alex walked off to the hallway, well actually, Angie skipped but not the point. You felt something touch your waist, the same thing press against your back lightly.

“Have you already forgotten about me, ma petite chou?” Philip whispered in your ear. You jumped slightly, turned yourself around, your face heating up all over again.

“Why you have to go and call me a cabbage like that?” You blurted out, he chuckled softly.

“You are quite radiant when you’re flustered, my star.” He smiled. “I have a gift for you as well, but you will have to find it after I see yours.” He turned you back around, keeping his hand on your waist while leading you forward.

“I have to find it? What does that even mean?” You asked with intrigue.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He spoke softly. As you finished squealing internally you approached the music room door. The two of you walked in together, everyone already ready and waiting. Eliza was seated at the piano, Angie and Johnny were standing on opposite sides of her. Johnny already had the strap on his drum secured, the drum leaning on his side. AJ, Jamie and Alex were sitting on the small couch closest to the piano.

“Took you two long enough!” AJ exclaimed.

“What’s going on anyway?” Alexander asked.

“We just have something very special to show you all!” Eliza smiled.

“I’ll go stand by father.” Philip informed. You were suddenly struck with an idea, as he walked away you snatched his hat off his head once more. He turned around with surprise. “Do you have a thing with stealing my hats now?” He asked and you smiled deviously.

“I need it for something, I am about to do something great!” You laid the hat on top of your head and made it point up slightly. I shall now become George Washington; I’m going to make Chris Jackson proud! You trotted over to the middle of the room while Philip walked past you and sat next to Alex. You cleared your throat. “Is everyone ready?” You asked and were met with several yeses. Eliza got ready on the piano.

“Alright Angie, John; Un…deux…trois!” She stared with the first chord and you began your song.

“I was still older than you all now, when I gave myself a command. I may have led myself straight into a massacre, I have witnessed death first hand. I made every mistake and felt the shame rise in me. And even now I lie awake knowing history has its eyes on me.”

(Whoa…whoa, whoa…) Angie and Johnny sang along, Johnny tapping his drum lightly.

“History has its eyes on me…” You stepped slowly over to the couch, stopping in front of it and putting one arm behind your back. “Let me tell you what I wish I’d known, now that I know love and dream of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story!” You patted Jamie and AJ on the head, smiled at Alex and stepped toward Philip. “I know that we can win, I know that greatness lies in you! Because you’ve taught me from here on in, history has its eyes on you!”

(History has its eyes on you!) They held out. Everyone began to clap and Eliza turned her gaze toward you.

“That was our best run yet!” She exclaimed. You looked down at Philip.

“What’d you think, Sunshine?” He stared up at you, silent for a moment. “Philly?”

“I think…you have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life! And you look better in my hat than I do! And I look really good in that hat, so.” He stood up, brought his hands to both sides of your face, pushing the hair out of the way. His fingers grazed your cheeks and made your skin tingle. You saw his eyes dart from your right eyes, to your left and then down to your lips. Oh my God, is he going to…? OH MY GOD THIS IS HAPPENING! What do I do?! Do I lean in? Do I stay still?! His eyes kept moving in the triangle pattern as his face came a little closer to yours. Before you could actually do anything, you felt the hat on your head be lifted up. You looked to the side to see Angie placing it on top of her own head, it was far too big on her but the feather fit her style more than Philip’s.

“Oh, look at me! I’m Philip Hamilton! After all these years, I have found my beloved! Mon amour! Ma petite chou!” She put her hands on her cheeks and made teasing kissing noises. FUCKING SHIT! ANGIE I LOVE YOU BUT NOW WAS NOT THE TIME! “You know…I quite like this hat. It makes me look like a leader!” She put her hands on her hips proudly. She tipped the hat up and skipped away, sticking her tongue out as she went. Everyone else just sort of collectively looked at each other and got up.

“Well! Time to get some tea!” Alex clapped, almost signaling for everyone to leave, and they did, leaving you and Philip alone to stew in the awkward remnants of what just happened. Both of you simultaneously took a step back from each other, red faced and mumbling. It was terrible.

“Uh, so yeah um, that uh…”

“Yeah, um…so what did you say about needing to find a present earlier?” You laughed nervously, trying to change the topic. Make this torture end!

“Right! That! Well, you’ll have to find it! I’ll tell you which room it’s in but that’s the only hint you’ll get okay?” You nodded and followed him as he walked out of the room, into the hall. “It’s in the study, let’s go!” The two of you quickly made your way over to the study doors and let yourselves inside. If I were Philip, where would I hide a present? Considering you were the smarty pants that you were, it didn’t take much effort for you to figure it’s in Alex’s immense Shakespeare collection. You went over and examined the shelves scrupulously. All’s Well Ends Well, As You Like It, Anthony and Cleopatra, Cornelius, Hamlet, King John, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Macbeth, Merry Wives of Windsor, Midsummer Night’s Dream, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, Midsummer Night’s Dream, A Winter’s Tale- You stopped. Wait a second. You took a second look and found what made you take a double take. Two copies of Midsummer Night’s dream. The one you recognized had gold text but the new one was more silver looking. You picked it off the shelf. “Damn, you found that fast, Star!” Philip exclaimed, leaning against the bookshelf.

“You…you got me my favorite…” You whispered in disbelief.

“Yes, I thought it must be a bit annoying not being able to take it over to your room… I was buying books for school, saw this and knew you had to have it…” He scratched restlessly. “B-But that’s not all! There’s a page marked in there! Well a few actually…Go ahead and open it!” You opened the cover and the pages bump up slightly, you flipped to where this bump ended and saw something. A pressed, slightly discolored pick of baby’s breath. You looked up at Philip.

“Is…is this…?”

“The same flower from our night in the garden? Yes, it is. But that’s not the best part, look at what I marked.” He instructed, you looked back down at the page, moving the wildflower out of the way.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover and the poet

Are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,

That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt:

The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

You looked back up at Philip, slightly confused. “A lover and a madmen are quite similar, what changes them is how they are written. You have faced many madmen, and they will be written as such. However, I will never be your madman. I will write and fight and shape what I am, if it would make you smile. Someday, you will blow us all away, because you blow me away every moment I’m with you.” You look up and see Philip’s face and he is helpless. And his eyes are just helpless. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you wanted to do in that moment… You felt a ping rush through your head. No…Not now! Not again! Your head was aching and you felt your pupils dilate over and over again. You felt your hands shaking and looked down at the holding the book. The pages were now old and withered, no longer brand new but the baby’s breath looked like it had just been plucked from the garden. Looking past the book you saw grass on the ground, the wood flooring completely gone. You dropped the book and raised your gaze toward Philip. The sight was familiar but that didn’t make it any less horrifying. There was a pistol in his hand, blood all over his arms and right side, his stare looked blank.

“Phil…ip…s-sunshi….ne” You tried to yell, to cry out, to do something but the blood in your veins was boiling and it made your head feel like it was burning alive.

“I held my head up high…” He said with a gaunt expression. There was a voice, you didn’t recognize it but it sounded masculine.

“Madman, madman, madman, madman, madman, madman, madman. Lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover. Change, change, change, change, change, change, change.” It kept bouncing around in your head, it pushed through your skull and back in again.

“But even before we got to ten…” Philip whispered again. You looked past him and saw figures in black, you couldn’t identify them because they were running back and forth but you could hear the voices. You always did.

“Where is my son?”

“Who did this? Alexander did you know?”

“Stop! You won’t take me! Philip! I need you! Help me!”

“Sept, sept, sept, sept, sept, sept, sept…” Philip mulled.

“Is he alive?”

A blood curdling scream.

“I am not traumatized! I love her! RoseMary! Save me!”

You felt something wet drip down your face and felt yourself lose sight from your right eye, then your left. In this black abyss, it is the only place you’re truly safe, a place of in between. There was nothing there, no one could hurt you, no one could harm those you loved. As long as you were in that Purgatory, nothing wrong could be done. But you always had to wake up.