#talking about how they hadn't set anything in stone

[strqyr]

sorry to spring this on you. Never think about Adam much because I never thought about him as a complete character, just an obstacle for Blake and to some extent Yang to overcome. That would bring the overzealous types from both sides out and I don't wanna deal with them. That being said I don't hate him because there really nothing there for me to hate. It's more like I nothing him. does that make sense? sorry for rambling

makes perfect sense to me, at least. tbh, i was pretty much in the same boat as you, but with long enough hiatuses i ran out of things to think about and unexpectedly. adam happened. and now he won't leave lmao

i'm like, running through multiple tripwires with this one, but being real here for a sec: adam really was underutilized while also being too many things at the same time. unfocused. like, he really came across more as a plot device than a character in his own right, popping up every now and then to be menacing and then disappearing until it was time to be menacing again, inexplicably developing off-screen like it's not exactly explained why he "didn't seem well", he just did. the thread is practically non-existent there; sure, i could make an explanation for it, but it wouldn't be satisfying (to me) based on what is actually on screen, etc.

which is a shame, because there's plenty of interesting stuff in canon that could be taken further with him, given more focus and all, but as he was written, at its core adam's character is being pulled in two different directions: is he a former, branded child slave with tragic story you're supposed to feel sorry for, or is he blake's abusive ex you're supposed to hate?

at some point, you need to commit to the bit, and with adam, that never really happened, and his character suffered for it.

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the river. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: the day you met

Warnings:  a little bit of angst, guns, Ellie

A/N: I talked to wonderful @underneath-the-sky-againabout how they could meet. I didn't want anything dangerous so this part is rather boring.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

This kid was either stupid or just careless. You watched in disbelief as the young girl took off her jacket, threw it on a nearby rock, and then carefully walked towards the river. It was a cloudy day and the sun was slowly setting. The area was peaceful and quiet. Almost.

You had noticed this kid a while ago, she was wandering between the trees as if aimlessly. You watched her from behind a tree, she put her hands in the cool water and began to wash herself. Hands, arms, then neck and face. She was so absorbed that she didn't notice the two men on the other side.

Thank God, they hadn't seen her yet either. You slowly crept towards her. The stones crunched quietly under your shoes, but the sound of the water effectively drowned it out. You stood behind her almost silently. 

She froze when you placed your hand over her mouth and quietly whispered. "Look to the other side. Do you see them?" she nodded "Be quiet and follow me."

You both slowly retreated behind a nearby boulder that completely covered you. You let go of the girl, she couldn't have been more than fourteen, and carefully leaned out to take a look at the other side. The men were still standing there, but it seemed like they were about to disappear into the thicket of trees. They were probably looking for a place to spend the night.

Something clicked and you looked over your shoulder. The girl's pale face showed fear but also determination, she was holding a knife in her hands.

"Who are you?" she asked in a trembling voice "What are you doing here?"

"I think I'm saving your life, right?" you replied calmly.

"You came up behind me." she hissed, her hand trembling "What do you want?"

You glanced at the other side, it was already empty. You leaned against the boulder and looked at the young girl. "If I wanted to kill you I could have done it three times already. You were pretty careless."

She shrugged. "I just wanted to wash up."

"I understand that, but them? I don't think so." You raised your hands to show that you had peaceful intentions. "What's your name?"

She hesitated for a moment, but finally snapped, "Ellie. And you?"

You gave her your name. "Are you alone here?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd be impressed if it turned out that you ended up here all alone. I have a camp nearby, it's safe. If you don't have a place to sleep..."

You looked at each other carefully. The hand that Ellie was holding the knife in slowly dropped. 

"And you're alone too?"

You nodded.

"And you're offering me a place to stay?"

"I can also offer you something to eat, but if you don't want to..."

"No!" she protested quickly. “I mean… Shit! I’m hungry as hell.”

Ellie asked you to go back with her to get her stuff. So you set off into the forest, carefully looking around. You had already learned that she had gotten out of Boston, but you didn't know how she had gotten here. It had been a long way, and not very safe. But it was Ellie who was mostly asking you questions, and she had a lot of them.

"You must be doing great since you're all alone."

"Sometimes you have no choice." you replied.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. And have you thought about... Joel!"

You froze. Suddenly, a tall man appeared right in front of you. He had furrowed brows, a prominent nose, and his dark hair was interwoven with gray strands. He was holding a gun, so you reached for yours, instinctively covering Ellie with yourself.

His face twitched strangely.

"No! This is..." Ellie wanted to say something, but the guy raised his hand and she fell silent.

"You weren't supposed to go away," he growled. 

"I wanted to wash up." The girl replied.

"Do you know him?" You asked.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Ellie sighed, and the guy raised an eyebrow. The girl gave him your name, then said his name was Joel. "She helped me. There were two assholes not far from here. If it wasn't for her, they would have noticed me."

"You should have been careful." Joel hissed.

"Hey! Don't talk to her like that." You shot back.

"No, he's okay."

"He doesn't look like it."

"Yeah, he's not a ray of sunshine." Ellie chuckled. "Joel, put the gun down. She's cool. She promised to feed me, and I can sleep at her camp too."

Joel grimaced, his dark eyes never leaving your face. "Maybe she'll also take you to an amusement park, huh?"

"I'd rather go to the movies and bowling." You replied.

Eventually, you both put your guns away, and Ellie grabbed her backpack. She pretended not to notice the menacing glances you and Joel were giving each other. Now all you could hear was her chattering as you walked towards your camp. 

After a few minutes, a small cabin appeared in front of you, completely hidden in the thicket of trees and bushes. If you hadn't pointed it out to them, they probably would never have guessed it was there. 

"It's an old hunters' cabin, I found it a few days ago." You explained as they entered. "You'll be able to sleep in peace."

Joel watched reluctantly as Ellie happily settled down on the bed, then gratefully accepted the meal you had given her. They had been eating rather little for the past few days, saving their rations. He also accepted a bowl of stew from a can from you.

"Are you alone here?"

You looked at Joel. He didn't take his eyes off you, clearly caring about Ellie's safety.

"Yes, I am." You replied. "I left one of the zones, with a group of people."

"What happened to them?" Ellie asked with difficulty, her mouth full of stew and crackers.

You shrugged. "They're gone. I've been alone since then."

For a while, the only sounds were the clatter of spoons and swallowing. Finally, you were the one who asked the next question. "Where are you going?"

"To Jackson." Ellie blurted out, and you noticed that Joel immediately straightened up as if to stop her.

"Jackson?" you repeated after her, "That's far."

"Were you there?" Joel mumbled.

"A while ago." You put down the bowl and reached for the cup of tea, taking a few sips, "Long way ahead of you."

After a few minutes, Ellie wrapped herself in her sleeping bag and curled up on your bed. It was already dark. Although Joel protested, you told him that he should also get some sleep.

"I'll keep watch. Don't worry." You said, taking one of the blankets and heading for the door. "You need to get some sleep before you set off again."

The night was peaceful. The quiet rustles of night creatures sometimes reached your ears, but it wasn't a threat. For a moment, you let your thoughts wander, but then you started thinking about Ellie and felt uneasy.

You jumped slightly when you heard the cabin door open. Joel's dark figure stepped out. He looked around uncertainly, and then he spotted you.

"I can't sleep." He mumbled. "It's too quiet."

"You should get some sleep. Lack of sleep means less alertness." You replied, he just nodded. Something was clearly bothering him.

"Listen..." he started again after a moment "I was talking to Ellie. We're wondering..." you looked at him expectantly, Joel cleared his throat "Maybe you'd like to go to Jackson with us? You know how to get there. We could all help each other." 

You watched him carefully. Ellie had to force him to ask you, or maybe he rarely asked for anything himself.

"I don't know..."

"I know, the movies and bowling are probably more tempting." he sighed, and you laughed quietly "I saw how you shielded Ellie when I met you. Why did you do that?"

You were silent for a moment. "I've seen a lot of bad things happen to girls like her." you finally answered "If I could stop it..."

Joel nodded. He understood what you meant. However, the move made an impression on him. Ellie was a stranger to you, but despite everything you wanted to take care of her safety. It was impressive, and maybe a little stupid.

"We could use someone like you," he continued, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "And you wouldn't be alone."

"Do you think I miss company?"

"Everyone needs it sometimes, right?"

You considered his words for a moment. It was a good offer. Jackson would give you shelter for a while, you could rest, gather your thoughts and plan your next steps. You stood up and took the blanket off your shoulders, then pressed it into Joel's hands. 

"If I'm going with you, I could use some sleep." You said, a small smile playing on his lips and you smiled back.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[the-badger-mole]

She knows

She knows

She knows

Zuko had thought his feelings for Katara were his secret. He'd never spoken to anyone about them, and he hadn't been treating her any differently since he'd figured himself out. His feelings were his burden alone, and he intended to keep it that way. Still, she knows ricocheted through his mind. His heart seemed to beat in time to words in his brain as he tried to process everything. The clamoring of the soldiers rushing up the stone stairs; the sound of the stolen air ship coming up behind him; the feel of Katara's lips on his.

Her fingers were clenched tight around the collar of his shirt. Zuko had just come to his senses enough to reach for her waist, intent on pulling her closer, when suddenly Katara shoved him backwards off of the ledge of the broken balcony. An airbender would've caught themselves and vaulted back onto the stone legdge. Zuko was no airbender, though. Their airbender was...someplace else. Zuko wasn't entirely sure of where. So when Zuko landed on the deck of the airship with a bone rattling thump, shock kept him there for the time it took him to refill his lungs. By the time he scrambled to his feet, the ship was already pulling away. Zuko had just enough time to see Katara turn from him to face his father's soldiers. She was outnumbered by at least a dozen, but she stood tall and firm, and even from behind, Zuko could see the determination in her stance. She would fight and die to make sure that he got away safely.

"No!" Zuko shouted. He threw himself at the railing, intent on getting back to her by any means necessary. He would leap from the deck and figure out the rest on his way back. Two sets of strong hands kept him from enacting his plan.

"Let me go!" he demanded pulling against the hold on him. "I'm not leaving her!"

"Zuko!" Sokka shouted. He and Suki pulled hard throwing him against the wall of the ship. "Stop!"

"Turn back!" Zuko half demanded, half pleaded. "We have to go back for her!" He was met with Sokka and Suki's twin grimaces.

"We can't," Suki said, grimly. "We have to get you to safety."

"I don't care about my safety!" Zuko insisted. "I can't leave her behind! Sokka, she's your sister! How can you just-oof!" Sokka's punch didn't hurt so much as it caught Zuko off guard.

"Don't you dare!" Sokka growled. He stood over Zuko, rage radiating from him almost tangibly. "Don't you dare imply I'm not just as worried about Katara as you are. If it wasn't for the fact that we need you to survive the war, I would've thrown you back to them to save her in a heartbeat. But the next best thing I can do is make sure my sister's sacrifice isn't in vain. That mean's getting you to safety and making sure you don't do anything stupid like trying to take on a whole troop of firebending soldiers.

A thousand arguments flew through Zuko's mind. They were superimposed over the image of Katara facing those same solders in his mind. Everything in him was demanding they turn around that instant and rescue Katara. His gambit for the throne was meaningless in comparison to Katara's safety. So what if she had willingly sacrificed herself? So what if he were summarily executed by his father, or even his sister? His own life meant nothing if Katara weren't in it.

Sokka was right, though. Zuko was loathe to admit it, but he was right. Katara knew what she was doing, even if Zuko was certain she didn't understand the full consequence. She'd saved his life. Again. Impotent and helpless as he felt watching her do it, she'd done it willingly. She'd done it strategically. His heart railed against it, but his mind knew why she'd done it. He had the best claim to the throne, after all. They'd talked about it to exhaustion. He'd told Katara all his worries, and she'd calmed them with her certainty that he was the Fire Lord his nation deserved. He'd never gotten the chance to tell her that he though she was the Fire Lady his nation needed, though they didn't deserve her by a long shot. He'd never told her that though he didn't deserve her, he needed her. Like he needed water.

She knew, though. She knew his weakness, and she'd used it. Zuko could still feel the pressure of her lips on his. Could still feel the way her hand tightened on his collar as she prepared to shove him away even while she was pulling him closer. She knew what she could do to him even in the midst of battle.

"They probably won't kill her," Suki said quietly. Both Sokka and Zuko looked up sharply.

"What?" Sokka gasped.

"They probably won't kill her," Suki repeated. "She's too valuable a prisoner. The daughter of the Southern Water Tribe chief? The... the friend of Prince Zuko? She's useful. If she surrenders, she will have a fighting chance." Suki's mouth was pressed into a thin, grim line. She was upset, too, Zuko realized. Maybe almost as upset as Sokka and Zuko were. Only almost, though. Zuko couldn't imagine his future without Katara in it, and Sokka had always been his sister's protector. As Zuko met Sokka's eye across the deck, he knew the Water Tribe warrior had made the same decision he had. If Katara was alive, neither would rest until she was safe again. The details of their rescue mission would have to wait until they could discuss them in private, but they would be going after her.

Part 2

[luveline]

what about reader being stressed and feeling really bad due the amount of blood and how wild the murder happened in a mission and hotch comforts her?? i really love your work and i hope you write but of course it's okay if you are not comfortable with it!! though i crave some hurt/comfort right now 🥹 take care, we love you 🫶��🫶🏻

ty for requesting, i love u! fem!reader

You're used to depravity, but the body cannot truly desensitise itself from carnage. You shouldn't know the inside of a person like that, shouldn't be able to pinpoint gore with the accuracy of a mortician. You feel sick knowing what was supposed to be where. Enough blood to kick down the door and have it flood the hallway, stain your shoes with a permanent rust. 

You turn away from the scene, sirens and shouting white noise, and leave blood footsteps like a breadcrumb trail down the paving stones, huge slabs of white grey printed by wet soles. You're just past the red flash of the ambulances when you freeze, your legs won't carry you. You've no choice but to sit down hard in the road. 

There's just blood everywhere. No metaphor to soften the blow, no explanation. There was blood everywhere in the crime scene and it took less than ten minutes inside of it to be plastered with it too. 

Blood and cold floor. The road is cold, maybe wet, seeping into your trousers. You put your hand down and feel the dirty bite of it pressing into your palm.

Considering his duties, Hotch finds you quickly. You'd know him from presence alone, but hiding hand is familiar on your back. He crouches down behind you. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, second hand curling around your shirt. "You can't sit here. Can I help you up?" 

You manage to get to your feet by yourself. Hotch walks you to a car like you're injured, leaning you against the hood. "What's wrong?" he asks. 

You shake your head. This isn't some slasher flick where the blood is sugar syrup and everyone goes home, this is your life, that was somebody's life, and to be killed in such a violent way… nobody deserves that. Your arms twist around your stomach as your stomach twists into itself, churning. 

Hotch watches you severely. Anyone might think he was pissed with your behaviour, but he isn't like that. He's probably pissed he can't immediately fix the problem, arms crossed against his chest, the font of his SWAT vest glaringly white. He's neat and official as always, but there's blood on his shoes. 

You try to talk and it's like your lips are gummed shut, a hum with nothing intelligible as you lean forward. 

Hotch gives in. He breathes out, the barest ghost of his cologne distracting you from the smell of rust as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You curl your fingers into the strap of his vest, quick to press your face into his side, wherever you can that's softest. 

"I know," he says quietly, his arms tightening around you. The slide of his sleeves against your shirt, the sound that it makes, feels loud as a bell. 

You hadn't realised you were shaking. Hotch tries to wring it out of you one steady stroke of his hand at a time. You can imagine his viewpoint, your feeble position on the car and the white washed crime scene behind you. They'll be setting up the flood lights and taking photographs soon enough, no bodies to lay to rest, only gore to wash away. 

"I didn't think we could save them," you confess into his shirt, ashamed.

When he replies, it's measured, as though he's thought about his response carefully in little time. "That's realistic. This case has been… heavy from the beginning." 

Heavy isn't the word he would usually choose. He's talking to you, he knows exactly how you're feeling because he knows you well, and cares about you more, if his cheek pressed to your temple is anything to go off of. "I have to go coordinate," he says, his thumb rubbing with pressure into your shoulder blade, "I'm sorry. I'll get Reid to come sit with you in the SUV… Y/N, listen to me…" Hotch leans back, meeting your eyes. "There was nothing more we could do. I'm confident that you performed to the best of your ability. This outcome– this isn't what anyone wanted, and I'm sorry we couldn't fix it this time." 

"I just don't get how you can do that to another person," you say. Why you'd want to. You're a profiler, and you know a wealth of information about what makes certain people act as they do, but you still can't empathise with the killer. It's too much; it's beyond explanation.

"That's a good thing." His hands squeeze the tops of your arms. "It is." 

You look down at his shirt collar, thinking you probably don't deserve his comforting. This is your job, and tonight you couldn't do it. "Sorry I– I freaked out. I shouldn't have walked away." 

"That's a good thing, too, in a way."

He offers you a small smile. You can't smile back, but Hotch doesn't mind, his hands falling down the lengths of your arms. His fingers tangle momentarily with yours. 

Reid comes around to sit with you when Hotch leaves. He probably wouldn't have needed telling, your friend's hand curling over your shoulder protectively.

"You okay?" he asks. 

You watch Hotch lead his jurisdiction of operations. Things aren't okay, you're far from it, but you trust that it'll get better with Hotch at the helm. Still, a bitter taste lingers. 

"They won't be," you say, nodding to the crowd of people behind the rapidly erected barricade. At the very front is someone's mom. 

"Not for a while." Spencer tries to lighten the mood, throwing you a life jacket. "You're his favourite, you know?" 

You recall the subtle strength of Hotch's arms around you, the lean length of his torso and the warmth of his breath as he'd spoken in your ear. Without trying for it, your pulse calms. Your despair dulls to an ache. 

"You think so?" you ask. 

Hotch looks in your direction, checking on you. Spencer nods. "Definitely." He has a list of interrelated BAU statistics to prove it.

[lilithinstarlight]

Freminet x SeaCreature!Reader

Hi hi! I just happened to stumble across your account as of today and read through the f.f you had of ao3! I really liked it btw!

I wasn’t sure which fandom to request for but I’ve been craving some new content for Freminet x reader

———————————————————————

Imagine;

Frem is arriving to a tent he set up after he just went diving but sees a pile of shells appears beside. He doesn’t question much of it and pockets some. Next time he goes diving it appears again, and then again, etc. Of course he’s confused but doesn’t worry about it to much seeing as if the person was trying to harm him he figures they wouldn’t waste an entire month collecting shell for him.

Eventually he ends up having to make a quick stop to his tent because he ran out of space to carry items, and that’s when he sees it. Something that he didn’t know even existed before (be it something simple like a mermaid or maybe a shark hybrid? Up for you to decide!) to say he isn’t interested is a lie!

———————————————————————

Im actually going to end the idea right here because I’m quite interested to see what you come up with next!

I haven’t gotten a chance to check when/how long it might take for you to respond to requests so for now I’ll just be stalking your page every so often to see! >:3

tysm!!!! this request is actually so cute btw

With a grunt, Freminet pulled himself out of the clear blue ocean waters. The sun was beating down, giving the liquid an almost lustrous quality, and reflecting off of anything that cared to shine.

He walked over to the mustard yellow tent he'd set up a few hours ago as water dripped from his suit. He reached down to pull the zipper open, looked around to ensure there weren't any bugs about to get in, and --

Oh? What was that?

Sat just beside the zipper was a pile of pearlescent shells. Beautiful, but slightly strange, since those most definitely weren't there when he left in the early morning to go diving.

Though he would normally have been scared off, thinking the shells were left as a warning, there was a sort of comforting aura emanating from the shells. Instead of a sign of danger, he knew they were a sign of protection.

Unsure of what to do with them, he carefully picked them up and gently placed them inside the tent.

--

What was this man trying to do? You had clearly left the shells out as a message to convey your interest in whoever that trespassing cute diver was. Was he playing hard to get? Maybe he was waiting for you to collect more, to show that you really liked him. That must be it.

--

The next morning, Freminet woke up to an even larger pile of shells sat outside his tent's door. Maybe they had just been washing up? He kicked them to the side as he stepped back onto the dew-soaked grass and into the strangely beautiful waters.

Day after day, shells appeared at his tent. Generally they were placed near the door, sometimes they were carefully arranged on top of it, and occasionally they were set inside.

That first day must have been a fluke... these are clearly being left as a warning...

The day after he came to that conclusion, he set out on what he decided was to be his last journey in this section of the ocean. Though he was completely invested in the palace-like architectural monument he had been exploring, whoever lived there clearly didn't want him there.

--

You swam in circles around your mossy stone room. Did he really dislike you that much? You wondered if you had done something wrong, something to offend him.

Shaking your head, you decided that this would be your last attempt at talking to him. You swam to the pile of shells that you had collected the night before, then with determination set in your face, began to swim back up to the surface.

--

Oh Archons. He had forgotten his waterproof Kamera, hadn't he?

Freminet had decided to document as much of the stone palace as he could before he left. Which was why he was currently swimming back up to his tent, since he had somehow forgotten his Kamera, the only tool he actually needed.

The moment his helmet broke the surface, a wave of panic set in.

Who was that? Scratch that, what was that? A water lizard?

"I'm sorry for trespassing! Um, please forgive me! I'm leaving now!"

--

You turned around, mid-shell placement, to find the cute diver boy floating behind you. Finally!

"Don't be sorry! Wait, can you take off your helmet?"

"Um, sure..." The boy shyly reached up to pull the iron bubble off his head.

A faint blush spread across your bluish cheeks despite your best efforts. His soft blonde hair... the coral-lavender eyes... no way his real face was even cuter?!

"You can come up here, if you like!" you called to him. He nodded, and pulled himself onto land, sopping wet.

"So, Mr. Diver - what's your name?"

"F-Freminet..."

"Freminet. I'll be blunt here - why don't you like me?"

"Um! What?" Freminet (even his name was cute!) looked caught incredibly off-guard.

"You've been ignoring all my advances. Whenever I try to give you shells, you either take them into the tent without doing anything or kick them away. You haven't even left me a rejection note!"

"Advances...?" Something clicked in his eyes as he tried to avoid yours. "Uh, I didn't really consider you were trying to, um, flirt with me..."

"How? Do humans not do collection-courting?"

"Not really..." He was starting to sink into himself. Not on your watch!

You strode over to him, trying to exude confidence you only halfway had. You wrapped your scaly tail around his back, and his entire face turned red.

"Then, you're interested?"

He opened his mouth and tried to stutter out an answer, which failed, so he simply nodded his head.

"Wait, actually?" You stepped back and felt your face heat up. No, you were supposed to be the one making him blush!

"Yeah..."

With a squeal of joy, you threw your arms around him. You were completely out of control right now, and you weren't hating it!

"Hey, um, if you don't mind me asking... for, um, you guys, do the shells have, like, a meaning?" He turned away immediately, like he regretted asking.

"Well, traditionally, it's a sort of marriage proposal..."

"Ah?!"

[mc-lukanette]

"I sent you a twenty-page document on Jagged's requests. You can't tell me you didn't get it," Penny told the person on the phone. Putting her free hand over the lower half of it to keep them from hearing her, she glanced over her shoulder at Marinette on the couch and said, "I'm sorry. We'll talk about designs as soon as I'm done."

Marinette waved away the concern, understanding the struggle of changed plans. She'd already gathered enough information based on the call they'd had inviting her to their hotel room that she could stay occupied by doing some experimental sketches anyway.

However, realizing how much she may have underestimated the time she was going to spend there, she set her sketchpad aside and pulled out her phone. Navigating to her text conversation with Luka, she typed out a couple messages to update him on what was going on.

Got stuck here a little longer. Penny seems swamped. We could do this any other time, so I'm surprised she didn't send me home yet.

She got a reply less than a minute later.

I'm not. Everyone loves you and wants your talent, Marinette. They're probably making sure no one else can steal you away.

She shook her head in disbelief at such a bold statement, but smiled. Luka was never afraid to say exactly what was on his mind and, while she didn't agree with him, it did make her happy.

She was about to message him back when she caught movement out of the corner of her vision. She looked past her phone to check, nearly screaming when she saw Jagged's face mere inches away from her.

"W-what?!" she asked, stiff. "What's wrong? Did I zone out?!"

"You were smiling," he stated.

"I'm sorry! I'll stop smiling!"

He snorted, then plopped down next to her on the couch, resting both arms along the backrest. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with smiling! A rock star's smile is one of their best assets!" He smirked for emphasis. "But you looked like you were texting your boyfriend."

"H-huh?"

He tilted his head. "Girlfriend?"

"No! I was texting Luka!"

"So his name's Luka!" Jagged brightened, leaning in with interest. "What's he into besides you?"

"Besides—" Marinette choked. "No, h-he's a musician? He plays guitar!"

"Guitar!" he exclaimed, and which was clearly the only word he'd heard. He jumped to his feet, strolling over to Penny and wrapping an arm around her. "Hear that? Our frockstar's got herself a rock star boyfriend!"

Penny ignored him briefly to talk into the phone, "If you can't take the requests, you can always find a different number one music star to book your venue," then covered the lower half again to address Marinette. "Congratulations."

"But—!"

"I told you," Jagged boasted, though to no one in particular, "our designer deserves the best and has the best taste!"

—————

Luka was on his way home when he heard a familiar sound of pounding footsteps behind him. Stopping in place, he turned to look at the source, bracing himself as Marinette practically plowed into him.

It would've been delightful had she not looked so distressed.

"Luka, I'm so sorry!" she burst, gripping his sleeves. "I swear I'll make it up to you!"

"Easy, Marinette," he soothed, taking her wrists and gently pulling her hands away. "What happened?"

"Nggh." She pouted, then hung her head in shame and replied, "Jagged Stone thinks we're dating."

That—

...huh.

He kept on a poker face, not wanting to freak her out further with his potential reaction. Something must've happened to make Jagged think that they were dating, and while he recalled sending Marinette an affectionate text earlier, that alone shouldn't have been enough to make any assumptions.

Did that mean that it was something Marinette did? And it had been convincing evidence for someone to think they were dating? Granted, Jagged Stone wasn't known for being a perceptive guy and Luka was content with the friendship he had with her. He hadn't confessed for that very reason, but—

Oh, she was still talking.

"Sorry," he interrupted, having caught none of it, "what were you saying?"

She rubbed an arm, embarrassed, her hand slipping under her sleeve to rub at her shoulder. "I...I was asking if we could pretend to date? He seemed so happy for me and I didn't want to disappoint him and neither of us are dating anyone—but if you're uncomfortable or you already like someone then I'll think of something else!"

Huh.

On one hand, it was charming in a way how much she wanted to please everyone, if a bit concerning, but he didn't miss the amusement of her talking about him "already liking someone" when she was the one he liked. Perhaps ironically, he might've even agreed to the proposa—suggestion if it hadn't been for that fact. He simply didn't have it in him to date her if it wasn't real.

"...I can't," he admitted reluctantly, as tempting as it might've been to say otherwise. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he frowned and explained, "It's not your fault, Marinette, and I'm not uncomfortable. I just couldn't fake date you."

She pursed her lips, disappointed but not upset with him. He looked away, feeling bad anyway but not so much to where it'd change his stance; it wouldn't be right. He would, however, be willing to help break the news to Jagged to make it a little easier for her, especially if his text was at all responsible for what happened.

The silence started to drag on. Luka debated on breaking it by asking her if she wanted to go somewhere or do something, but hesitated when he considered that it might seem insensitive after having just rejected her.

"Ah, then—!" Marinette, surprisingly, spoke up first, stepping forward and clutching Luka's forearms to get his attention back. "Then we'll real date! That's okay, right?"

His mouth fell open without a sound.

"I'm okay with it, and I'll take really good care of you! I've already been all over Paris, so I know all the best date spots, and I could always ask my parents where they like to go if we run out of ideas! So..."

She trailed off, the situation slowly dawning on the both of them. Luka's mind was still stuck somewhere at "I'm okay with it" and was making unsteady progress to get past it. The thought that the whole fake dating may have been a substitute for what she felt was the most she could get out of their relationship was something that'd have to come later.

Marinette's fingers twitched against his skin, then pulled away as her face flushed red. She couldn't look at him anymore, but her eyes were unable to decide on anything interesting enough to focus on. One foot shifted against the ground, and he realized what it meant before anything actually happened.

"Wait."

He reached out to grab her wrist, but it was too late. Marinette turned and bolted, leading into a full-on chase as he ran after her. If he'd had his bike then he could've caught up to her easily, but as things were, he was just barely keeping pace with her.

The problem was that he wasn't really a runner, and he knew without having seen it himself that Marinette had all sorts of experiences getting away from awkward situations or going somewhere in a hurry. Out of all the people he'd ever met that he could've fallen in love with...

She sped down the sidewalk, nearly bumping into someone on the way, then turned a corner. Luka followed, smoothly slipping past the same someone, but his eyes never left his destination. As he took the same bend that Marinette did, he caught sight of her just as she ducked between two buildings.

He hurried to go after her, only to find when he reached the alley that she'd seemingly disappeared. He looked left, right, then around the sidewalk he'd stood on in case his eyes had played a trick on him, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

A noise from somewhere up on the rooftops caught his attention. He stepped back as far as he could without tripping onto the road, eyes scanning the sky just in time to catch Ladybug throwing her yoyo out and swinging off into the distance.

Face slightly flushed, not entirely from the exertion, Luka snorted and put a hand to his mouth, his other hand feeling the phone in his pocket. He resolved to talk to her later when they both had cooled off, but it didn't stop the song that desperately wanted to be sung playing up a storm in his chest.

That's cheating, Marinette, he thought affectionately.

[whenlostinthedarkness]

Tis The Damn Season | Pt.1

Ellie Williams x Reader

Summary: You swore you'd never end up in Jackson again unless it was a life or death situation, but when that very thing happens, you find yourself back in the place you used to call home before it was tainted by her.

Rating: M [mentions of illness in a parent, weed usage, & talk of past relationship]

WC: 3.6k

A/N: Inspired by the song Tis The Damn Season by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoy it! Pt 2 coming soon.

Masterlist How You Can Help Palestine

----------------

The snow was covering the beaten-up road just as it did every time around this year. Traces of your existence were left via the horse hoof prints now stamped in the fresh layer of white, a physical reminder that you were actually here even though you said you'd never come back unless you were needed for a life or death situation. Sadly, that's exactly why you were here.

Your mother had fallen ill. Not with just some minor cough or sniffle, but chills and a fever that hadn't lessened at all in the past two weeks. Everyone feared the worst for your mother, which left them no other choice but to spread the word until it reached you in the next civilization over from Jackson.

When word about your mother's condition finally reached you, you didn't hesitate to start grabbing your essentials and stuffing them all in a barely usable backpack as you set off on your horse and endured the two-day travel in the harsh winter conditions that only the month of December could bring.

During your journey you barely slept, you barely ate, you barely did anything for yourself because the only thing that you could think about was your mother laid up in bed in the infirmary, a place you had been a time or two with...her.

Of course, you knew it was severely possible you would have to come in contact with the very reason you left Jackson to begin with. That's when the fresh hatred that you felt when you left Jackson started to boil over again.

If Ellie didn't have to be a stupid, idiotic, ill-tempered, non-communicative piece of shit, you could've been near your mother by now. You would've been the first person to know when she was ill and, though you knew it was illogical adrenaline thinking, somehow you kept arguing with yourself that you could've prevented her from getting sick.

Even if it didn't make sense and even if you knew that wasn't necessarily true, you did know that if your ex-girlfriend hadn't driven you out of this town, to begin with, you would be with your mother right this second.

These thoughts swirled around your brain all throughout the journey to Jackson and didn't quit until you stopped at the massive front gates that separated the safe civilization from the outside realm that didn't promise safety or protection from those infected with the cordyceps virus.

Two men stood on guard-same as it always has been even though a few years separated you from the last time you were here. You recognized both of them and they must've as well as they nodded in your direction before pulling the chains that opened one of the gate's massive doors to allow you entry.

Jackson was lit up by string lights and barrels filled with orange fire that lined the main road. It hadn't stirred far away from the Jackson you knew years ago-this brought you comfort and discomfort all swirled into one.

You patted the side of your horse as you swiftly jumped down from the saddle, making your boots crunch against the snow-covered dirt path.

Slowly, your feet moved as your eyes took in everything from the new crack that was set directly down the center of the stone chapel, all the way to the tree that seemed to have grown two feet since the last you saw it. Things had changed, even if it was only slightly, yet everything still felt so familiar and untouched, as if you had only been gone on a month-long journey. Except it had been two years.

Two years ago you were a child. Two years ago the only thing on your mind was how hopelessly in love you were with Ellie. The daydreams were never-ending; you pictured having a house with her, getting married with her, growing old with her-everything was with her.

This was the problem, rather, she was the problem.

You had managed to entangle your life so much in Ellie that you had lost sight of your own hobbies, your own friends, and your own life. So, when you and Ellie had one of the largest fights in your relationship, you ran.

You ran so far and so fast that you didn't give Ellie the slightest chance to protest or apologize. Instead, she began to notice your absence around town until she started asking about you. Nobody else had known of your whereabouts either, except for your mom.

Ellie nodded as your mother spoke of your departure. She wasn't given many details about where you were going and why you were going. All she knew was that you left with your backpack, your horse, and a bow and arrow thrown over your shoulder.

It's funny how things come full circle. Now, two years later, with your backpack, horse, and trusty bow and arrow, you were back in the very place you had tried so desperately to erase from your mind.

But you didn't have time to dwell on this town and that girl-you had your mother who needed you. Thankfully, the infirmary didn't stray too far from the downtown area of Jackson, and before long, you were tying your horse to the post just outside of the main door.

Immediately, you were greeted by an unfamiliar face.

"Can I help you?"

"My mom," you spoke with a racing heart, "my mom is here."

Quickly, the confusion faded from the stranger's face and a look of sadness was quick to replace.

"Oh, oh right. We've been expecting you... she's right over here."

The walk was short yet agonizing as you passed beds, both empty and filled, until you saw the very person who gave you life.

Settled underneath a hand-knitted blanket, your mother laid. Her eyes were sunken, her jaw was sharp and lacking any facial muscle; She looked like a corpse.

You whispered, "mama", as your hand came to lightly brush against the cold skin of her cheek.

—--

You'd sat with your mother for nearly two hours before the night nurse came around and thought it would be best if you headed home and got some rest. She wasn't wrong, yet you still took offense, but begrudgingly went along with her request.

The heavy wooden door swung open with force due to the icy wind that had taken over the state of Wyoming. You felt yourself shiver, but you weren't sure if it was because of your nerves or the cold hitting your face.

"Holding up alright girl?" You said as your hand came to pat along the blanket you had placed on top of your horse before going into the infirmary. "We're heading home now...well, it used to be my home."

With your horse's lead in hand, you walked through the new inch of snow that piled itself on top of the inch you had ridden through hours ago. Setting off on a familiar path to the home you grew up in felt just as mysterious as the fog that was beginning to gradient the dark sky with gray.

"Is that who I think it is?"

The rough, deep voice nearly startled you as you spun around on your heels. It couldn't be...could it?

"Joel?"

Gray hairs stuck to Joel's forehead as he sat high and mighty on the top of his horse. He looked as if he was fresh off of patrol.

"Never thought I would see you around here again. How've you been?"

Your eyes diverted as Joel swung his leg over his horse before his feet met the same graveled-covered snow as you.

"Ah, none of my business anyway," he said once several seconds of silence had passed, "just glad to see again."

Your eyes finally met him as your lips spread into a soft, yet genuine smile.

You muttered, "Nice to see you too Joel", and you meant it with every fiber of your being. Though Ellie had tainted so many things for you, you knew she could never pour a glaze of hate over the one man who you thought to be the closest thing to a father that you'd ever had.

The both of you started walking down the road towards the direction of your home in such a natural state, it felt as if the years you had lived an entirely different life weren't real-as if you had never left. It nearly made you forget about the very reason why you became so close with Joel in the first place...but she would never be hard to forget for you.

"How've you been?"

Joel shrugged, "Same old, same old. Still killing clickers and working on guitars when I can."

"You're still doing patrols?", you asked genuinely. Not that Joel was ancient, but it was clear that he was beginning to show his age.

He chuckled with bright eyes staring straight ahead, "You didn't think a couple years would have me bedridden did ya darlin". His words were spoken with an amusement that had you embarrassed that you'd asked such a crass thing to begin with.

"I'd never imagine anything could keep you bed ridden, Joel."

Joel chuckled and peered over in your direction, "I knew I always liked you."

The both of you turned down another path in silence as your conversation naturally tapered off, thankfully, without a word spoken about Ellie. Joel knew better.

The house you'd grown up in was getting closer and closer - a weight of anxiety began to till up your lungs as your breath started becoming heavy.

What if the second you walked in that door, you'd be met with all those feelings you chose to leave behind in Jackson? What if you weren't as okay as you had been telling yourself? You'd never been so scared of silence and seclusion.

"Here we are," Joel spoke while he watched the way you looked at the home as if it were something repulsive and poisonous. He could sense your uneasy feelings.

"You know, you're always welcome at mine.” 

The moment the words left his mouth, Joel nearly regretted the option he gave just by looking at the way your face turned downwards. 

Softly, his hand fell to the top of your shoulder as you looked down at you. “I’ll make sure no one comes around and bothers you too.” 

You knew exactly who this “no one” was and you were grateful that despite Joel being Ellie’s father, he still knew to reassure you of your emotional safety.

“Think about it. Alright?” 

You nod at his words as he smiles in a way that is both sympathetic and kind. He viewed you as fragile- you hated it, but you also knew you weren’t feeling the strongest right now either. Your mother was usually your comfort and with that comfort not being available, Joel and his parental care was exactly what you needed right now.

“Tomorrow.”

Joel nodded, his smile turning up a couple inches more. “I’ll get a room prepared for ya then. It’ll be nice to have some new company..well, not entirely new, but..oh there I go again yapping. You know what I’m saying.”

You nodded with a hint of a laugh, “goodnight Joel. See you tomorrow.”

With that, he turned his back and walked the five extra minutes to his home. Meanwhile, you tucked your beloved horse inside the barn right next to your old home, ensuring it had all of its essentials before you made your way into your old home.

It was identical to how you’d left it. The same photo of you and your mom was framed on the living room wall. And.. ”oh god Mom”, you sighed at the 5x7 framed photo of you and Ellie that was from maybe five or so years ago. Back when everything wasn’t complicated and when you’d never thought that your best friend would be the person to make you leave this town.

You walked around the rest of the home examining various similarities and new items until a massive yawn pried itself out of your jaw. At that, you walked yourself into your old bedroom, which was left untouched, and got into much comfier clothes before slipping under the covers and trying your best to fall asleep.

If only your mind would shut up.

After tossing and turning for god knows how long, you decided getting up and having a reset could prove to be the cure for your momentary insomnia. So, with a heavy and aching head and shoulders, you stood up with a sigh.

As your eyes squinted and glanced around the room, Your eyes landed on a match. The small wooden stick sat between your fingers until it lit up with bright orange light.

The tall candle illuminated the room, giving you a better look at the nostalgic pieces of paper and pictures you’d tapped onto your wall from teenagehood and beyond. It's crazy how time went past, yet in this room, things seemed to keep the world from spinning on its axis.

As you shook the now extinguished match stick, the familiar smell of smoke made you remember something- you had a pre-rolled joint in your bag that you knew would come in handy and look at just how right you were.

After pulling your coat over your shoulders and securing the match box in your pocket, you set off for the front porch.

It was dark and deathly quiet, just how you liked it. The only faint, distant noise you could decipher was the light thump of a bass-heavy tune that you assumed was coming from a busy, Saturday night at the Tipsy Bison. You smiled thinking back to your past nights at the local town bar. So many memories…most of them spent with Ellie and other friends.

Your mom also loved the tipsy bison on any given night. She was often the type to greet everyone with a smile and friendly hello regardless of whether you were her best friend or an acquaintance. God, you missed her.

Before you could get too deep into anxiety and sadness over your mom's health, you decided a joint was in order. You weren’t about to process anything major without some sort of sedative especially when you were sleep deprived and being reminded of past pain nearly everywhere you went in this damn town.

Just as you did with the candle, a match stick was lit and touched to the tip of your pre-roll as you inhaled the smoke slowly…. Damn, did it feel good.

Instantly, you felt your shoulders slump downwards with every inhale you took until your eyes were properly heavy. But there was that music again, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued to see if it was still the same old place that, much like your old bedroom, seemed to make time stand still.

Without much thought, you began walking in the direction of the bar you knew and used to love oh so much. You wondered if it still held that barley and wood smell or if they still served Maria’s fresh bread. Oh, and if Seth was still a prick, though, you really already knew the answer to that.

The lights you’d seen hours ago were now hanging above your head like small little halos that almost felt like a shield from the outside world. It felt safe.

Your joint was nearly gone, with maybe a few more puffs left to it, as you continued walking until you were outside of the bustling wooden building. From the outside, the music was much more prevalent, along with the giggles and chatter from the rest of the townsfolk that were tucked inside.

Before you could decide on going inside the establishment or not, a loud group of people came bursting through the front doors. This group looked a little too familiar for your liking.

Dina and Jesse wore matching, drunken smiles as the entire group dove deep into a conversation about something that seemed rather amusing. There were a couple others that you weren’t quick to recognize except for the person to the right of Jesse who nearly made you run to your mother's home at top speed.

Ellie’s presence didn’t catch your eye at first, something you blamed on the substance tucked between your fingers, but when you did put the visual together with all the past memories, it felt like an avalanche. Thankfully, you were able to take her in first before she made eye contact with you. 

Her hair was down and a plain colored shirt and army green jacket covered her upper half. She looked good, but you weren’t about to let your mind entertain any other thoughts of her before you turned away and hoped that she would somehow miss your figure in the middle of the walkway. Sadly, your hopes were dashed. 

Though you were quick to move your eyes, focus on your feet and the joint you were currently inhaling, you could feel Ellie’s eyes boring a hole into the side of your head as if she were trying to decide if seeing you was real or a hallucination. And who's to say she wasn’t doing exactly that. However, a squealing voice broke both of you out of your objectives.

Your name was yelled from a person in the group whose voice you knew all too well. Your disguise had been recognized and it wasn’t easy for you to ignore it…and some part of you didn’t want to either.

You closed your eyes as you took one last hit, breathed in-then out, and lifted your head.

Dina was barreling towards you with flimsy legs that were much more clumsy than when she was sober. This made you smile somehow, despite the oncoming reunion with your ex that you were dreading.

“Hey Dina”, you said just before her arms enveloped your shoulders in possibly the tightest hug you’ve ever felt.

“What are you doing here?!” She slurred as both of her hands moved to cup both sides of your cheeks. You were both putting on quite a show for the group, especially the ones who, you assumed, had no idea who you were.

“I couldn’t sleep so i thought-”

“No, no! I mean here-In Jackson. What are you doing here?”

Your smile instantly dropped as you thought of your ill-stricken mother who almost looked like a stranger to you. You kicked your feet causing a puff of dust to whirl through the air. “My mom.”

Dina’s glossy eyes remained, but her gleeful expression shifted the instant you said the two words. “God, I'm sorry. Of course, that’s why you’re here.” Her voice trailed off as her hand brushed your upper arm.

“How are you holding up?”

You shrugged and it was honest. “I don’t know. I’m finding it hard to feel anything right now.”

Dina made an understanding nod just as Jesse came into your line of view with arms held open wide.

“Bring it in stranger.” 

A familiar smoky, leather scent encircled the both of you as you allowed yourself to fully embrace your old friend. Jesse smelt the same as he always had which brought a comfort that you didn’t know you were in need of.

His large arms squeezed you briefly before pulling his body backward and greeting you with a sympathetic smile.

“Never thought I would see you again.”

You smiled timidly, “I didn’t think I'd see you again either.”

“Not that I'm complaining.”

“Better not be,” you joked as your hand lightly smacked along his coat-covered arm in faux scolding.

Just then, the figure directly behind Jesse cleared their throat in a successful attempt at gaining the group's attention.

Your eyes met hers and it was instant chaos. The best you could do was press your lips together and nod in her direction. The silence between the both of you was pathetic and sad.

“If you feel like it, we’ll be around. Come say hi if you can.” Dina said with a nurturing tone that was trying its best to cover up the obvious tension and awkwardness that Ellie’s close proximity was causing.

Your eyes felt like weights that you had to force away from hers as you pulled eye contact from Ellie and looked toward your friend with a nod. “I’ll try to see you again before I head back home.”

You swore you saw Ellie flinch in the background at the mention of your departure. You tried your best not to care or question.

“One more hug please?” Dina held out her arms- Jesse mimicked her as well. 

“You guys are ridiculous”, you teased with a smile as you allowed a group hug between the three of you to seal your interaction for the night. 

After the embraces, you were left to watch the group walk off further into the distance as their descent morphed more and more with the darkness of the night. As if she could feel the weight of your glance on her back, Ellie peered over her shoulder and looked straight at you just before the group's bodies became dark. And even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she would’ve been quick to turn herself back around and pretend that you meant nothing to her.

What a good liar she could be to herself and others when she wanted to be.

[jerreeeeeee]

It was only a blur. A flash of a face. A familiar silhouette. The way the man moved as he walked away down the street. Barry almost hesitated, almost didn't turn around. It was hard to see in the waning evening light, and he could nearly remember someone teasing him about his bad eyes. A voice he couldn't hear. It slipped from his mind as soon as he tried to grasp it.

The man went into a tavern. Barry followed him. It was a loud and crowded place, swanky, not what he would've chosen. There was a big stone hearth with a roaring fire that lit the place warmly, a nicely polished bar, tables full of people. There was a pool table in the back, in a way that made a kind of sense to him, even though he didn't know why it felt right, like weird, comforting, and deeply unsettling deja vu. The man he was following hadn't gone back there yet, but he was eyeing it from his seat. Barry went to the bar, put down the gold for a room and a drink, and before he could think better of it, sat right next to him.

The man hardly spared him a glance, focused on tearing apart the meal in front of him. He ate like he was starving. Barry tried not to stare, but kept looking at him out of the corners of his eyes. His face was fuzzy and out of focus and almost seemed like someone Barry should know. His ears flicked back and he shot Barry a look. Caught, he tried to pretend like he'd been looking at the pool table.

The man finally looked up. He followed his gaze to the table. Looked back at him, up and down. Especially down. At his shoes. Then back at the table, and then finally met his eyes. "Hey," he said. "What's your name?"

"Barry," Barry answered. "What's yours?"

"Taako," he answered. The beginnings of a grin tugged at his face. "How's a game of pool sound?"

-

Barry wiped his mouth and set down his fifth beer. "This is it," he said. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna get this one."

"You're more fun than I gave you credit for, Bluejeans!" Taako hollered. He'd had just as much to drink as Barry, who, despite appearances, could apparently party. "But still not good at pool. Let's see it." He leaned back in his chair and smiled easily, and rested his feet on the edge of the pool table. Barry eyed his own boots enviously. He'd lost the first round. And the second. That was two chances for the two boots—no one ever said Taako was uncharitable (well, actually, many people had said that). But Barry was doing better this time, with his glasses on the line. And Taako was having fun.

There was a gaping hole where his heart should be, as long as he could remember. It wasn't filled now, certainly. It still hurt if he thought about it. But there was a small, fluttering warmth there that grew hard to ignore the longer he laughed with Barry. It had been a long time since he'd really talked to anyone. The banter between him and Barry was comfortable and easy. His laugh was rusty, but he couldn't stop it from bubbling up out of the warmth in his chest.

Barry aimed his cue, and in a rather impressive and familiar maneuver, the ball sunk. "Ha!" Barry crowed, and finished the beer. "Guess I'm not so bad!" He turned around to face Taako, who had, just a moment before, had every appearance of enjoying himself.

Taako was no longer laughing. "Who taught you how to do that?"

"Huh?" Barry asked, looking back at the table like it'd tell him what he'd done.

Taako rose angrily. "Hey, who the fuck do you think you are? Have you been following me or something?" That was his move. He'd invented it as a kid... at least, he thought so. He'd been using it for a long time, anyway. But he hadn't tonight. Now that he thought about it, Barry had been playing just like he usually did.

"What?" Barry asked stupidly.

"I'm done, man," Taako replied. "I don't—I'm leaving." Whether Barry was an overzealous fan or a family member priming him for a revenge murder, Taako didn't want anything to do with it. He'd thought he was far enough away, somewhere he'd never been before, halfway across the continent, but this just kept following him—

"Hey, what about my shoes?" Barry asked, starting to get angry as well.

"I won them, asshole!"

"We're in the middle of a game!"

"Too bad!"

"W-At least let me—look, I-I already spent all my gold on a room, but you can have it if you give me my shoes back," Barry said wretchedly. "I can't—I need shoes."

"Then you shouldn't have bet them," Taako said, but his anger dampened. The guy seemed genuinely bewildered, and anyway, Taako couldn't afford a room here. Or anywhere else. It'd been a long time since he'd slept in a bed. It wasn't nearly as good as gold, but a night's sleep... Couldn't hurt to leave it to chance. "Tell you what," he said, "we'll finish the game. If you win, I'll take the room, and you can have your shoes back."

Barry grinned. "You're on."

-

Barry eyed the ball, drinks forgotten. He kind of desperately needed a win. "So," he said, trying for conversational, "what'd you even get mad about?"

Taako, also, had given up on flippancy. "You were playing just like me. I thought you'd been watching me or something."

"I have been," Barry answered, and noticed Taako's shoulders stiffen. He blushed. "Not- not like that. We've been playing all night. And, I mean, not to say I'm giving up, but you're a lot better than me. I kinda need any pointers I can get."

"Yeah," Taako said. "That is true. Maybe that was it."

The balls clattered and the one Barry had aimed for bounced away from its pocket. "Fuck."

Taako took his place and aimed his cue. The table scattered and two balls sunk. Barry was facing down a tomorrow without shoes. The coin'd told him he only needed enough gold for the night, with extra just in case—but that was extra before all the beers, and the chicken wings, and the room at the nice, expensive inn with the pool table he'd followed Taako into on a whim. He didn't even really know why he did it. There was just something about Taako... something that made his chest ache less, just like the coin said.

The game went on late into the night. The other people in the tavern slowly trickled away, upstairs or out the door to cheaper inns, until the room was left dim and quiet. Barry's turns always took too long, but Taako never told him to hurry up. The balls clinked together and sunk into their pockets one by one, until Taako took his last shot, and his last ball disappeared. Barry stared despondently.

Taako stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly. "Well, guess that's it," he said with finality, still wearing Barry's boots. "See ya."

"Good game," Barry said hollowly, and walked to the stairs on socked feet. He made it about halfway up before he realized Taako wasn't moving that way either, or leaving.

Taako sighed. "Hang on, Bluejeans." Barry stopped. "Alright, here. Take your shoes. I don't need them. It was enough just to kick your ass."

Surprised at the offer of mercy, Barry came back down, and Taako handed his boots back, looking away, toward the empty bar.

"Thanks," Barry said.

"Sure," Taako said. "Whatever. What the hell am I gonna do with your boots? I have to be nimble, dude, and they're clunky as hell."

Barry went to go back up the stairs, but something stopped him. Taako still didn't make to leave. His clothes were awful ragged, threadbare and patched. He was still looking out at the room, and his eyes rested on the fireplace, where the fire had burned down to warm embers. It was cold at night this time of year, wasn't it?

"You can stay in my room if you don't have anywhere else to go," Barry blurted before he could think.

Taako looked back at him. "What?"

Barry flushed. He might still be a little drunk. "I-it just seemed like you weren't leaving... If you have a room somewhere else, sorry, but I was-"

"Inviting me to your room?" Taako asked incredulously. "What, are we gonna cuddle? Or are you coming on to me?"

"No," Barry said, embarrassed, even though he could tell Taako was fucking with him. Somehow, he could tell. "I just—look, you don't have to, I just thought it'd be nice to offer. Better than nothing. And you gave me my shoes back, so fair's fair."

Taako glanced back again toward the door, and the fireplace. "Alright," he said slowly, like he was surprised at himself. "You know what, why not."

-

Taako wasn't all that impressed. For a nice inn, it wasn't much. The bed was large, but other than that the room was mostly empty, and still chilly. Drafty window. Bare wooden floors. Well, he had a decent bedroll, at least, and it wouldn't be nearly as cold in there as outside. Even so, for a moment he stared longingly at the thick blankets on the bed. Then he started unfurling his bedroll in the clear space on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Barry asked.

"Going to sleep, dude. Gotta get a full eight hours." Elves were supposed to meditate, but he wasn't able to. He didn't know why. He just knew most of them did it with other elves nearby.

"On the floor?" Barry asked. Taako looked at him quizzically and he stammered, "I-I mean, it's a nice place—the bed's pretty big, y'know? I wouldn't mind."

"Thought you said you weren't coming on to me," Taako said, half joking and half uncomfortable. Not for any reason, really. He was far more comfortable than he ought to be.

"I'm not!"

Taako opened his mouth to say, I'm not spooning with a stranger, but something deep in his subconscious told him that wouldn't be quite accurate. Some part of him felt at ease. Something about this guy had compelled him to give the shoes back. He’d never given the shoes back before. He couldn't imagine why he did this time. Someone who seemed kind wasn't to be trusted. And yet...

"God," he muttered to himself, "what the hell am I doing?" Then, out loud, "Fine!" And before he could think any more about it he crawled into bed. Well, he crossed from where the bedroll on the floor was laid out, over to the left side of the bed, against the wall. Barry sat down on the right. He was between Taako and the door. No easy escape. Why the hell had he gone to a particular side at all? It wasn't like he was used to sharing. It wasn't like he'd ever had anyone to share with, enough to have a side. Whatever. He blamed it on the alcohol. Actually, he was just gonna blame all of this weird situation on the alcohol. All this warmth spilling over inside his chest. Well, what was done was done. Even if he couldn't understand why he'd done it.

Besides, Barry was a heavy sleeper. Something made him certain of that.

"Touch me and I'll curse your ass," Taako warned.

"My ass is already cursed," Barry mumbled, face buried in a pillow. "'M lactose intolerant."

That sounded right. That sounded exactly right. He didn't know how he knew these things.

Taako laid back cautiously, more out of habit than anything. He should be expecting something. He didn't have anything worth stealing, really, but there were definitely people who'd want to kill him. He should be falling asleep expecting to have his throat cut in the night.

But Barry was already snoring, and for some reason that sound made his eyes so heavy. Barry was a solid presence at his back, between him and the door, and for some reason, that made all his tensed muscles relax for the first time in a long, lonely time. Partly from the shared blanket and partly from this other, confusing feeling, Taako felt warm. The last thing he thought before he drifted off was that there was a space between them, a space that Barry had very carefully left at his request. And he wished there wasn't.

-

When Barry woke up to midmorning sunlight streaming through the inn room's window, for a moment the weight in his chest was light, and he felt, for the first time in years, that maybe he'd finally found a piece of his shattered self. Then he looked beside him, and the space there was empty and long cold. The ache came thundering back.

But the sheets had definitely been slept in.

[johnwickb1tsch]

you’re the worst thing (i’m addicted to)

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here...

Part 1.

“Hey, Hels.”

There is no answer, only the warbling of a bird in a distant tree. The day is bright and blue, spring has come again in all her glory. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that the sun should still shine, and the birds should still sing.

Because she is gone.

It’s been two years, but you still haven’t really wrapped your head around it.

You still have your last text message thread with her in your phone. It’s as though you could just punch a few buttons and still talk to her. Always, she would answer you, no matter what she was doing. Sometimes you want to type in I miss you and hit send, just to see what might happen.

But then, maybe it is appropriate, that today should be such a beautiful day. On this day, forty-two years ago, your sister was born. Roughly ten years later, you followed. As a direct result, your mother died of complications in childbirth.

Your father still blamed you, but Helen never did.

In a way, Helen was your mother, more than the woman who bore you.

It makes it all hurt so much more.

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

You look down at the stone, this massive granite behemoth. You find it rather ugly, to be honest, but it will certainly stand the test of time, nuclear war notwithstanding. Loving Wife, reads the epitaph below.

You know it was true.

You know that perhaps John Wick is the only person Helen loved more than you. But the inscription still seems too brief. Short changing her, somehow. 

But then, John paid for the stone, so you suppose he got to pick what it said. 

You were ensuring her memory lived on in other ways. 

“I finally did as you asked,” you tell her. “I’ve used the photos you left me in a painting. We're going to be in a show together. I wish you were here to see it.”

There is a mean part of you that suspects your submission was only accepted because it contained work from the late, great, photographer Helen Morgan-Wick, but you shove that down into the seething pit with all the rest of your fears and doubts. You didn't use them for the attention. You did it to feel close to her, and because she asked you to. One final art project, the note had said. She knew you too well, knew that the only thing that kept you from toeing the line of the abyss was a good artistic obsession.

You knew she’d planned to leave a project for John too. A puppy, she’d said. You’d shared a laugh over it, through tears, the last time you’d been together. You never found out how that had gone. John hadn’t attended a family gathering since Helen passed.

Too painful.

You didn’t blame him one bit. 

“I miss you, Hels. I feel so lost without you.”

“Amen.”

The sound of another voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You turn to find him, in one of his signature tailored black suits, looking unfairly scrumptious despite the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't made a sound in his approach. He never did. The man moved like a ghost and looked like a dark dream. You'd always found him insanely attractive.

You'd never done anything about that, of course. But goddamn, you had eyes.

“Hi, John.”

“Hello, y/n.”

You’ve never run into him at the gravesite before, though you have seen the wilted offerings of daisies left by the stone, and you always had assumed they’d come from him. You haven’t seen him since Helen’s funeral. He hasn’t changed much, really, though there is a sharpness to his aspect you’d never noticed when Helen was alive. An edge to his gaze; how can eyes so dark convey so much? Despite yourself, it sends a little thrill down your spine that you absolutely know you should not revel in.  

Maybe you haven’t seen him in person after Helen passed, but you’ve gazed at him plenty through Helen’s lens. There had been so many photographs of him in the collection of prints she’d left you. Nothing risqué, but the way he’d looked at her even through the camera had been nothing less than intimate.

There were times, late at night in your studio, when you’d pretended he’d been looking at you that way.

“How…have you been?” 

He offers a grim shadow of a smile and a shake of his head that you understand all too well. 

“Nice to be with someone you don't have to pretend with.”

“Yeah.”

You both stare down at the grave, meditating on your loss of this woman who touched you both so completely.

“Do you think she can hear us?” you ask, unable to lift your voice above a whisper.

There is a long pause from her widower, the man she left behind.

“Not really.” He lifts his face to the sun, eyes closed, as though maybe he can feel something of her presence. “But you should talk to her anyway. I might be wrong.”

You smile at that.

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“All the time,” he admits with a huff of self-deprecating laughter. “But then, I might just be losing my mind.”

“Ah well. That makes two of us then.”

You gently lay down the bouquet of Gerber daisies you'd brought for her. Helen’s favorite. If you ever have a garden, you will plant some for her. As it is, you have to buy them from the store. You remember the patch of daisies she’d cultivated in the garden of your childhood home. Their cheerful faces and soft petals. They had been your mother’s favorite too. When you were a girl Helen would sing to you and braid them in your thick hair. You couldn’t know at the time, how precious those perfect days had been.

The wave of sorrow hits you like a freight train, the weight of your loss a crushing force. You start to cry, hiding your face in your hands; you would prefer to do this alone, but you cannot stop it.

You feel an arm about your shoulders. It surprises you—John was never a touchy-feely man, never one for hugs, always preferring a wave or a handshake. Only for Helen, did he ever display any sort of affection. They had always been touching, holding hands or sitting hip to hip on the couch, his strong arm slung protectively around her shoulders. You didn’t want to say you’d been envious of that, but…perhaps you’d wondered, what it might be like, to be so cherished.

When he pulls you against him you only manage some token resistance. “I’ll mess up your suit.” You sound pitiful, even to you.

“I have an excellent dry cleaner.”

His dry wit had always amused you. This time, it breaks you, and you give in. He is solid as an oak, and as it turns out, his chest is an excellent place to cry on. Under the shelter of his chin you wring yourself dry, until it feels like you have nothing left inside you. His large hand rests lightly upon the back of your head, shielding you from the world. He is warm, and his cologne is subtle but heavenly. Sandalwood, maybe, and something spiced. Cardamom, perhaps. A hint of pepper.

You don’t particularly want to move, even though you absolutely should. Yet his hold on you has not loosened, and you tell yourself that maybe John Wick needed a hug just as badly as you did.

“People keep telling me that it gets easier, and I just want to punch them in the face,” you sniffle.

A huff of laughter escapes him. You feel it stir your hair on the top of your head. “Yeah. I get that.”

Finally you pull back, though not as far as you should. You’ve never actually been this close to him before, and you look at each other from a foot away. Sometimes proximity can shatter the illusion of someone’s attractiveness—but not this man. The impossible angle of his cheekbones, the soft scruff of his beard…is it just you, or does the edge in his gaze soften a little, when he looks at you? It makes your legs a little weak, and you kind of hate yourself for it.

It has nothing to do with you, stupid, you tell yourself. Where you and Helen weren’t exactly twins, you did resemble each other strongly. In profile, you’d been mistaken for her in public plenty of times before. If anything, it was probably unnerving for this poor man who missed his wife so much, to hold you, a sorry facsimile, in his arms. Out of pity, most likely.  

Helen had been the good sister. The upstanding one, the kind one. You? You can be such a twisted little thing.

“Sorry,” you sigh, noticing the smudge of makeup on his lapel.

He doesn’t even glance down, that intense gaze still fixed upon you. “Don’t be.”

Unbidden heat blooms from your cheeks to your toes, finding yourself the subject of that gaze. You’ve got to go, before you really embarrass yourself.

“I'll leave you alone. It was nice to see you, John.”

You turn to go, hugging yourself against the early spring chill. Why did you have to feel so bereft, without his arms around you? You take a few steps before he calls after you, “Y/n?”

You freeze in your tracks, a thrill jetting down your spine. “Yeah?” you dare, turning to half look over your shoulder.

“I…was thinking about going to Helen’s favorite restaurant tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest, as you slowly turn to face him. You should say no. There’s a thousand reasons you should say no. This was your sister’s husband. It doesn’t matter that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and that he’s been kind to you, and that he’s looking at you like he might drown if you say no.

“I would like that,” you answer, and your heartbeat thundering in your ears sounds like the hammering of nails into your own coffin.

Part 2

[northlt03]

There are five parts to this story. Five people. Like the points of a star. Five stories. Four families. Five very, very traumatized kids. Though they weren't just kids at the end of it, that's how they started.

Regulus doesn't know when it all went wrong. When everything went to the dogs. Maybe it was when he begged Kreacher to leave without him. Maybe it was when he stepped into the cave with a fake locket in hand. Maybe it was when the Dark lord asked for Kreacher specifically. Maybe it was when he got the mark burned on his arm, more of a brand than a tattoo. Maybe it was when James Potter left and all the light seemed to leave his world. Maybe it was when his brother left their home. Maybe it was before that, when they were just kids. Maybe his tragedy was written far before he was born.

Whatever the reason. He was the first to die. Certainly not the last.

So he should be the narrator. It's something poetic, he thinks. The dead watching over the living. He was the first to go and like idiots, his friends followed.

The first time Regulus Black met Evan and Pandora Rosier, he was four. Sirius was five and disruptive already. He could never sit still. Evan and Pandora could.

And though four year old Regulus held his brother in the highest regard, he also wished for peace and quiet sometimes. He was also a rule following little shit. So if his mother said he had to get to know the children of other pureblood families, that is what he intended to do.

Regulus was fascinated by Evan and Pandora the first time he met them. There was just some other-worldly quality to them. As if they hadn't been meant to live on Earth at all.

And though they shared the same features with the rest of their family- meticulously styles blond hair and blue eyes, they didn't look like they quite belonged there either.

Evan Rosier had always been an enigma, someone entirely impossible to miss even if one was trying. And believe him, at first, Regulus tried. If Pandora was the rose, Evan was the bush. Guarded, prickly, but once he opened up, there was no telling when he would shut up.

Regulus grew fond of his annoying rants about any and every topic.

They never did talk about their parents. that was a forbidden topic. What happened in a family stayed in a family. No matter how close the Rosiers and the Blacks were, no matter if they were actually related.

Evan saw the marks on Regulus' pale skin. Regulus saw Evan flinch when his father raised his voice. Pandora saw Regulus shrink into the corner. Regulus saw her dissociate when it all got too much.

Pandora Rosier, named after a tragedy. She had told him the myth behind her name the first time they met. It felt jarring having a four year old casually say something so tragic without blinking. Regulus grew to like her queer habits, her strange stories and her ways.

Like Regulus, their paths were set in stone. Evan would grow and have to take over from his father. He would be betrothed and marry whichever pureblood his parents chose for him.

Regulus found cracks in his acts sometimes. His father did too. Little flinches, little frowns and scowls. He never spoke up, never said anything, but made it abundantly clear he never wanted any of that.

Pandora would have to marry some pureblood as well. The best suitor their parents could find, anyone that could strengthen their ties and keep their blood pure. She had suggested getting married to Regulus once as a joke and the three of them laughed all afternoon long.

Regulus knew he wasn't normal by the time he was seven or eight. When his eyes lingered on the boys his age at the balls. He would sail though the room with Pandora in his arms, trying his best not to step on her toes as they danced. But his eyes would seek out others. Even Evan at a point (they laughed about it later when they got older).

Regulus had known about the Dark Lord far before he stepped foot into Hogwarts. The wizard was like a dark shadow over him and his family. But merely a shadow, or so Regulus thought when he was younger. A boogey man in the shadows parents told children about to scare them into obedience.

As such, before he was eleven, Regulus had only known one type of people. The ones like his family. Pureblood, racist, rich assholes his brother despised so much.

It had been made abundantly clear to him that he wasn't his brother and he should never even try to be. After the disappointment of him getting sorted into Gryffindor, his parents had started to give up him.

Which still left Regulus in their clutches.

Regulus met Barty Crouch Jr in the line to get sorted. With their names so close in alphabetical order, they ended up right after one another.

But there was something that transcended their meeting. Something inevitable. Like two stars hurtling toward each other across the universe, finally exploding in a fiery supernova.

Barty Crouch jr was insane. That is the first impression Regulus remembered having of him. Even though he was a pureblood, Regulus had been told by his parents he was of the lesser kind. His father, a muggleborn sympathizer, which made him of the same category as the muggles. Filthy and disgusting.

Regulus tried to limit their interaction. But it was impossible to ignore Barty. Not because he had something profound to say or because he was magnetic. But simply because he talked a lot.

It was sometimes like he stole all the light in the room he walked into and put it over himself until there was nothing else to see but him. Until people had no choice but to look at him.

Regulus despised that about him at first. He and Evan gossiped under their covers about him in their first year after they had all been sorted together.

Just because they were all in one dorm did not necessarily mean they would have to be friends. So Regulus and Evan stuck together, with Pandora who would walk over from her Ravenclaw table over to their Slytherin one occasionally.

Barty tried to force his way into their little group, but they were pretty tight knit. Evan took his hatred for Barty Crouch jr as seriously as his father's for muggles.

Until one day when a girl sitting next to them laughed.

Regulus had first thought of Dorcas Meadowes as someone unimportant solely because she wasn't one of them, not from a pureblood family and not rich and certainly not a blood purist.

Sometimes, he thought he wouldn't be who he was if it wasn't for Dorcas Meadowes. She was witty and charming, quick to bite back and poke fun. She never took their insults to heart, going so far as to insult them back.

Pandora befriended her first. Then Evan who got dragged into it by his sister and then eventually, yes, even Regulus.

Barty Crouch jr was the first boy Regulus ever kissed. He promptly turned around and walked out of their dorm the moment they separated, his heart beating so fast in his chest he had thought it would fall out.

He hated Barty, like Evan did. Hated him because he did things like that, wrapped Regulus around his finger with pretty words and batting his eyelashes and then kissed him. He hated Barty because he pulled Regulus deeper and deeper into a hell Regulus knew he couldn't escape.

It was second year when Regulus first saw Barty with a bruise on his jaw that he wasn't bragging about. He was quiet, which was uncharted territory for Barty. And so, despite all his common sense telling him not to, Regulus became friends with Barty.

Dorcas never bought into the whole blood supremacy, her parents weren't like theirs. Regulus was so jealous of her, though he'd never admit that aloud. Dorcas didn't have to pledge her allegiance to the dark lord, never had to suffer through dinner with families like his, never had the fear that perforated every single inch of Regulus.

Regulus and Evan had to join. They had no other choice. It was allegiance or death. It caused the first rift between them and the girls. Barty, Regulus still thinks, just joined to defy his father. Or it might have something to do with the longing glances he shared with Evan, their silent beds at night, almost as if spells had been cast to keep eavesdroppers away, their clandestine meetings, their disshelved looks as they emerged from rooms alone.

In any case, knowing their story doesn't change the ending. Regulus still lost the love of his life. He still went against the dark lord. He still died. All for nothing.

The last time he saw Evan Rosier, he had a feeling his best friend knew. Evan kept the conversation going, bringing random topics as if desperate to keep Regulus talking to him, as if that could delay the inevitable, as if he could steal time to keep his best friend a little longer.

Regulus lingered in his doorway a moment longer than needed.

The last time he saw Pandora, he sobbed in her arms. He clung like she was the only constant in his life. He sobbed in her arms like she was who Sirius was supposed to be for him.

And she held him without complaint. She sobbed with him, begging him not to go.

Regulus did not linger in her doorway.

If there was anyone who could have convinced him not to do what he was planning to, it was her.

The last time he saw Dorcas, they had a fight. Regulus wanted to shake her by her shoulders. I'm going to die. He wanted to yell at her. I'm going to die, please don't let these be my last words to you. Please don't remember me like this.

Coward, she called him.

The word replayed in his head all the way to the cave.

I'm trying to be brave. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell James.

The last time he saw Barty, they got drunk. Just two kids, laughing and giggling among themselves. Regulus was tempted to tell him what he was going to do. He didn't.

He'd find out from the papers like the others.

Barty, eyes half lidded, that troublemaker smile on his face that Regulus had hated at first, sat back and pulled out a box from his pocket.

I'm going to ask him to marry me. He said. I don't care if the preacher doesn't marry us, I'll carve his heart out for Evan. I'll carve my own out for him.

Barty was just the sort of deranged who actually would.

Regulus lingered in his doorway, staring at a passed out Barty. He walked back in, kissed his hair, closed the ring box in his hand and put it back in his pocket before he left.

Barty didn't ask Evan to marry him. Not after Regulus never came back to them. Not after they both kept waiting for their star.

Dorcas wailed like Regulus had never heard her. She clutched her chest, her lover holding her like she could protect her from the evils of the world. And Dorcas collapsed in her arms.

And Regulus knew they were all broken far before that day.

Pandora didn't cry. She didn't laugh from that day on either.

Evan died next. A battle that too. Just the sort of dramatics Barty loved. Regulus watched it all play out.

Barty was too headstrong, too obsessed with going against his father, even if it meant being on opposite sides of the wand.

He was angry, so angry. He didn't know how Regulus died, or what he died doing. Maybe he thought Regulus died because of the other side. Whatever the reason, he took his anger out on others, on anyone not Death Eaters.

He was grinning one moment, using the Cruciatus curse on some ministry employee. He was laughing, oh gods, what had they come to?

He looked away, searching for the love of his life. Evan was halfway across the room, locked in a duel with Alastor Moody. Evan was a strong wizard, Barty knew, so he laughed when Evan blasted the guy's face, blowing nearly a chunk of his face off.

Moody had lost and eye, Barty was so proud of his lover, and Evan laughed as he looked at Barty.

Evan had a ring in his pocket now. Barty's was in a box full of Regulus' things. Maybe in another life, Evan could have asked him only for Barty to pull his ring out. They'd cry and laugh as they slid their rings on.

Instead, in the split second it took for Evan to look at Barty, in love, distracted, Moody sent a killing curse. It hit him straight in the chest. Evan was dead before the grin was wiped off Barty's face.

Dorcas died next. She never did talk to Barty ever again. Not when he came sobbing on her doorstep, on his knees. He lost everything. And so had she.

Marlene had just been killed the week before. Barty pleaded and begged, told her it was Peter Pettigrew who killed her. Dorcas did not believe him.

The Dark lord himself had to kill her.

And then there were two.

Pandora died soon after. Regulus was glad she at least got to have a husband, someone she loved. Her parents were dead, her brother also gone, and her best friends. All dead. She had a daughter, a small bundle of joy with hair so blond it was almost white and with the same curiosity in her eyes Pandora always had.

It was good. Until one day it wasn't.

And Barty was left alone, to wander for years. The only one left.

He didn't join them in the after life. But the Dementor kiss isn't what stole his soul. He had died far before his mortal body did.

He died when Regulus did. He died when Evan did. He died when Dorcas did. And he died when Pandora did. So when it was his time to leave. There was nothing left in him.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

CAN YOU WRITE ANGST WHERE YOU BREAK UP WITH YOUR GREASER BOYFRIEND OR GREASER BOYFRIEND BREAKS UP WITH YOU AND KINDA LIKE HOW THEY WOULD REACT?? SORRY IF THIS HARD TO UNDERSTAND😭🤚

Summary: Breaking up with your greaser boyfriend Warnings: Mentions of break up, toxic behavior, angst Author's Note: sorry for not posting yesterday, drove to LAX to pick my friend up! PONYBOY CURTIS To be honest, he's not big on relationships, he's more focused on his family and, as selfish as it seems, himself. It's a shock to both of you when you start dating, more of a whirlwind of puppy love than anything mature. Of course, that means the relationship was doomed from the start. It was less bickering than just slowly growing apart, your relationship seemed to be sweet, but genuinely you two were better set off as friends, at least for now. There was no heated argument that broke you two up, just the drunken acknowledgement of the fact that you weren't really a couple, just close friends. It ended shortly after that, and you two are still friends, often joking about the 'dating' period. JOHNNY CADE Johnny is not emotionally ready for a relationship, especially if you expect anything from him. He's ok with having the title, being branded as a couple, but the effort is too draining for him. It was aparent from the start that you wouldn't get much out of the relationship other than a tie to Johnny, however you were willing to try and pull him from his shell.

But to no avail. You broke up with Johnny, pushing it off as just wanting to focus on yourself. Johnny knew why, but he didn't dwell much on it. Just asking if you would like to stay friends. SODAPOP CURTIS Sodapop is very very very egocentric. He's always got girls trying to hang around him, he's got his gang which makes him feel tuff and would always hype him up to do the wrong things (much to Darry's displeasure). So, of course, he has to have a girl that matches his big status. He wanted a girlfriend because he was tired of all the girls on his back. However, you were under the impression that he was truly into you. It was clear that he wasn't when you overheard him talking to Steve about it. You were mortified and broke up with him on the spot. He found that, although he was a 'tuff greaser', it seriously hurt him. STEVE RANDLE Steve is also very egocentric, but he's got more respect for ladies so your relationship was not started on such a sour note. It was instead because of his sense of responsibility. He saved you from getting jumped by a bunch of socs and when you confessed to him, (truly not expecting anything to come out of it) he immedietly recipricated, even if he really didn't. You could tell he was distant, so you broke it off quickly, explaining that he didn't have to recipricate and that you just wanted to get it off your chest. You two are still quite close today. TWO BIT MATHEWS Two is a gentleman, when he isn't drunk of course. He tried hitting on you when you were both drunk and one thing lead to another and suddenly you were stone cold sober with a relationship in your hands. You explained that you were piss drunk and that you weren't actually ready for a relationship that started so oddly. He agreed and so you two went your seperate ways for a couple of days. However, this had such an impact on the both of you that a week later you two went on a couple of dates, and then eventually in a happy relationship. DARRY CURTIS Darry has always tried to keep his girlfriends happy, but he hadn't been in a relationship in a while. Ever since he left highschool and college he'd been single.

Of course he was so struck by your beauty and personality that he tried to pull together a relationship with you, he tried his best, truly he did but he was stuck doing too much to focus on you and your relationship. You ended things on a bittersweet note, telling him that although you loved him a lot, you needed someone who could actually pay attention to you. Darry promised that when he could, he'd come back to you and would pursue you again. DALLAS WINSTON Dallas Winston doesn't give a damn about relationships after Sylvia. He's just as likely to spit on the ground you walk on than to drunkenly hit on you and try and score some action. He's actually not quite sure why you two are in a 'relationship', he doesn't remember how it happened, why or anything related to it. To be honest he was probably drunk. You, of course, broke up with him, he's an asshole with little to no care for others. He almost doesn't give two shits if not for the fact that YOU broke up with HIM, usually its him that breaks it off so he's making sure your feelings are as hurt as his ego is.

[the-badger-mole]

Worst Cooks in the Nation

It was strange having a school rivalry somehow spin out of control and become fodder for a reality competition series, but that is exactly where Katara and Zuko now found themselves. After culinary school, they had gone on to become big names-Katara with her globally popular online cooking show and Zuko with his first restaurant earning three stars in it's opening year. They were prepared to never see each other again after graduation, but someone-Katara suspected her friend and Probending promoter Toph, while Zuko smelled his uncle's interference- had gotten into the ear of the executive of the food and travel network who had approached Katara to syndicate her cooking show. She had somehow gotten word of the intense rivalry between Chefs Katara and Zuko- along with some video that neither of them had known existed- and it had given her a brilliant idea.

The woman talked fast, and neither Katara nor Zuko knew how, but by the end of the meeting, they had agreed to two seasons of Worst Cooks in the Nation. The regret set in immediately.

"So..." Katara said, as they walked through the parking lot towards her car.

"Yeah..." Zuko agreed. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Who even took those videos in the first place?"

"Probably Chan," Katara said scowling. "That guy would mind any business that wasn't his own."

"I remember," Zuko's face twisted into something like a grimace. "Still, who records an onion chopping contest?" Katara stopped walking and looked up at Zuko incredulously.

"Chan!" She rolled her eyes. Zuko gave a weak chuckle.

"I guess he's the one who filmed you dumping that salad dressing on my head," he said. "Or that time I let your stone lobsters loose."

"Yeah, why was that guy so obsessed with filming us?" Katara made a face. Zuko shuddered and shrugged. This was new, he mused. Just having a regular, if slightly awkward conversation with Katara.

It had been years-five of them to be exact- since they had seen each other face to face. The bitter rivalry they'd let simmer through 4 years of culinary school had at the end boiled over in a frothy mess. They hadn't spoken a word of the mess they'd made at the end. The small bit of awkwardness between them was a nice surprise, all things considered.

"We're going to keep this competition friendly, right?" Katara asked. She looked up at Zuko with her wide, earnest eyes, tugging at her lip with her teeth. Zuko drew his hands behind his back and clasped them together tightly.

"We're almost thirty," he said. "I think we're past food fights and insults...right?"

"Right!" Katara agreed with alacrity. They walked along in silence for a while, passing row after row of cars.

"What about... that other thing?" Katara asked. She didn't meet Zuko's eye this time. She kept her gaze firmly on the ground a few feet ahead of them.

"The...other thing?" Zuko was grateful for the dim lighting of the parking lot. He could feel the back of his neck heat up.

"You know...we never talked about it, but..." Katara glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. Zuko was glad that she was walking on his left. The scar on his face would make the spectacular blush on his face less noticeable at least.

"We rarely talked about anything," Zuko said with what he hoped was believable nonchalance. "It was shouting matches or silent treatment with us."

"Then why did you kiss me?" Katara asked. Zuko froze midstep. He swallowed once, twice. Three times before he could form words.

"If I recall, you kissed me first," Zuko said. Katara's head snapped up, all the shyness was gone. She scowled at him.

"No," she said. "You definitely kissed me. I remember you were all up in my space, and I was against the counter at my work station and then you leaned in and kissed me." Zuko remembered that almost the same way, only in his recollection, Katara had leaned up to close the space between them. Then his arms had gone around her waist and hers had wound around his neck.

"I remember you holding onto me," he said quietly. "And pulling me back in when I tried to pull away."

"Are you saying I forced you?" Katara demanded. Zuko smirked at that. He could see the flush on her dusky cheeks, and realized maybe the red on his own face wasn't as unnoticeable as he'd hoped.

"No," he said. "I don't remember kissing you first, but I remember wanting to." Katara's eyes went wide, and her blush got hotter.

"Oh," was all she said. Zuko took a breath, shut his eyes.

"It was a long time ago," he told her.

"Yeah," Katara looked down at the ground. "I-I guess it was. I'm not even sure why I brought it up. It's just...if we're going to be working together, we should be on the same page, right?"

"Right," Zuko agreed.

"So...we're doing this?" Katara asked. "Reality TV competitions can get ugly."

"I promise, we'll keep it clean," Zuko said. "No food fighting. No below the belt insults. No...doing anything unfair."

"Smack talking's still allowed?" A half smile tugged at Katara's mouth, and Zuko resisted the urge to catch it with his own. There would be no doubts who would be the initiator here.

"I insist on it," he said. "I can admit it now, but your smack talk is pretty funny. It'll make for good TV." Katara's half smile grew into a full blown grin.

"Alright," she said. "Let's give them a show."

Based on the Bot Plot AU I wrote in Part 1

[quitealotofsodapop]

What Wukong hadn't anticipated... was the way PIF and Ao Yi would both turn on him. Because if those two are besties, it'll be hard for Wukong to keep the fact he's pregnant a secret from the Demon Bull Family. Ao Yi knows and likes to talk about Ao Li and how he had protected Wukong throughout the journey, something DBK can respect her ancestor for. What Ao Yi neglected to mention is that the current pregnancy is the same egg, so they misunderstand and think MK is the Egg in question until Wukong sets them straight that MK is adopted/psuedo created in his image from Nuwa.

At the time it comes out, nobody knows exactly how close it was or dangerous the current pregnancy is to Wukong, who hadn't felt the need to tell anyone because he has plenty of support on all sides and hadn't been completely isolated on Slow Boiled.

prev.

Oh yes, the two royal ladies are a deadly team when it comes to making Wukong (and later Macaque) explain the truth to them.

Ao Yi mentions the "Stone Egg" in passing to PIF, and immediately notices the woman's face drop with horror. It doesn't take a genius to realise that PIF (and by extension her husband) never knew.

Wukong gets ambushed by the two royals during tea time. An intervention called to order.

PIF: "Wukong, we know that you're hiding your pregnancy from me and Bull." Wukong, nervous: "What!? Me? Pfff! Nah!" Ao Yi, curtly: "Please do not lie Mr Qi, my great-grandfather burned to keep you and your child safe. You could at least explain to Tieshan just how long you've been carrying your child for." Wukong, realising that he's trapped: "I... ever since I exited my prison on Five Elements Mountain." PIF, hand covering her mouth: "Buddha's grace... and you put yourself in danger to help my baby..." Ao Yi: "Why didn't you warn Tieshan or Bull before the ritual?" Wukong, frowning: "We needed people strong enough to tame the fire... I'm as strong as they can get, and I didn't want to disappoint you guys." PIF: "That can't just be it. You went into that circle knowing that you or your child could have lost your lives. Why?" Wukong, eyes wet: "I... I thought I could have done some good to our family since we had just lost..." (*goes quiet*) PIF, shares a look with Ao Yi: "Macaque's death was a tragic loss. But he should have known better than to try to harm you or your master. Not to mention, knowing what we know now, he certainly shouldn't have attacked a pregnant-" Wukong, crying: "He didn't know!" PIF & Ao Yi: (*teacups rattle from surprise*) PIF: "Excuse me?" Ao Yi: "He didn't know?" Wukong, tears running: "If he did, he didn't acknowledge it! We had been fighting, and he was deaf to all I shouted at him, and his cudgel just came so close to..." (*trails off, hands resting protectively over stomach*) Ao Yi: "No one blames you for acting in self-defence, Wukong." PIF: "If anything we applaud your instincts. Mother demons have shredded entire armies apart for far less threats." Wukong: "But he... I just never got the chance to tell him. If he had known, maybe we could have calmed things down and I wouldn't have been alone for so long..." Ao Yi, placing hand on Wukong's shoulder: "The past has passed. You need not be along anymore." (*Wukong and the ladies share a sappy hug*)

The ex-celestial and dragon become Wukong's adoptive sisters in a way. They are extremely protective and doting of him, even before Wukong worked up the strength to tell DBK (note; still happened on New Years XD) and the others. They make sure to check that he's been eating well and how well he's been managing MK. Wukong appreciates the help, its been a long time since he's been so doted upon outside his Stalwart siblings. Its cute, if not terrifying to see the short monkey demon flanked by the two queen-like women, their teeth bared to anyone who may give their little brother a rough time.

[imtrashraccoon]

I was suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration for this one. Like, my original idea was maybe three sentences long and then I looked into how to remove grass stains before modern laundry. That was a surprisingly interesting rabbit hole to go down.

@owl-bones

First, Previous, & Next Day

Bad Sansuary II: Horror - Stained

Word Count: 1,020

In the morning, Maul busied himself with general chores around the camp, like replenishing the firewood supply and checking the traps he'd set up a couple days ago for small game. Your mobility was still pretty limited, so you mostly stayed put, doing smaller but still important tasks like cutting up kindling. You also offered to monitor the fire when Maul decided to make a stew for later.

There had been a bit of tension in the air when you woke up that morning. With nearly dying by your teammate's hand and then having a heart to heart chat afterwards, you weren't really sure if you should acknowledge what had happened. Maul seemed equally as clueless, but talking had never seemed to be his strong point since you met him. There wasn't anything more to discuss anyways since neither of you had any answers to the obvious questions and weren't keen to go find them either.

Between Maul's trips of carrying firewood and stacking it near the fire pit, you requested a basin of water with the intention to do some cleaning. He was more than happy to help and soon brought you a bucket of water from a nearby stream.

You had noticed a grass stain on the back of your shirt when you got up, likely from getting pinned to the ground last night, and had decided to try getting it out. Now, you weren't an expert on stain removal, but you were confident that with a bit of elbow grease, you would get it out in no time.

How wrong you were. Not only had the stain already set into the fabric, but also no amount of scrubbing could remove it. You tried soap, you tried beating the stain with a stick, and you tried rubbing the fabric against a coarse stone. The trouble was you had limited supplies in the wilderness. Your mother probably would have known what to do in a heartbeat, but you really only knew what to do for blood and basic grime.

Maul returned with a pot of water and set it near the fire to boil. After checking how the stew was coming along, he glanced over at you curiously. "...havin' some trouble?" he asked.

You sighed and dropped the shirt into the bucket. "I guess, I now know why my mom would get upset when I came home with grass stains."

The giant of a skeleton let out a soft chuckle, eyeing the shirt with an amused glimmer in his eyelight. "there's a better way than what you're doin'."

"Oh? Do enlighten me then," you grumbled, crossing your arms with a huff.

He held up a clawed phalanx and went to go retrieve something from the supplies cache. When he returned with a metal banded cask, you raised an eyebrow. What could he possibly know about getting out stains? The whole time you had known him, he hadn't seemed to care if his clothing was stained and, beyond maintaining his armour, you had never seen him do anything remotely similar to laundry.

He poured out the water you had been using, leaving the shirt in the bottom of the pail. As you watched, he opened the cask and poured just enough of the surprisingly clear liquid to cover the stain. Your nose twitched as you caught the distinct scent of strong alcohol.

"let it soak for a while," Maul said as he closed the cask.

"You think that will actually work? Where did you even get spirits that strong?" You wrinkled your snout before adding, "Even if it does get the stain out, the whole garment will stink of alcohol."

He shrugged and motioned to the pot of water. " 's only to get the stain out. clean it again afterwards." He glanced down at the small cask and then shrugged, "bought it last time i was in the undercity."

Your mouth dropped open in shock. "Wait, you've been to The Undercity? And got out without being robbed or murdered?"

His permanent grin widened and he motioned to the crack in his skull. "not many are foolish enough to bother someone like me. i usually make the trip once or twice a year to buy stuff ya can't get anywhere else."

"I guess that makes sense." You eyed his sharp claws and chuckled. "With all the gang violence that goes on, I don't think I would last a second if I went there. I'd probably offend someone and get shanked, if I didn't get kidnapped by one of the local dons for being illegally adorable that is..."

Maul let out a sudden bark of laughter. It actually startled you for a second since he wasn't normally a loud person. He nearly had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from losing his balance.

"...boss would hate that," he managed to say between lingering chuckles. " 'specially cause it's true..."

You felt your cheeks grow unnaturally warm and quickly looked away to hide your blush. Since when was he so smooth with his words? You hadn't been expecting him to find your admittedly awful joke funny, as he usually only responded to your attempts at humour with a grunt or a huff.

"True, he'd tear the whole city apart if someone did that," you murmured.

"hey."

You turned to look at Maul again.

"promise ya won't tell either reven or dirk about this," he said quietly, motioning to the metal banded cask he was holding. "i mostly keep it for sterilizing bandages and they might steal it if they find out."

You pressed your paw against your chest and nodded. "I promise I won't breathe a word of it to them. They can find their own liquor to drown their sorrows in."

He gave you a stiff nod and went to put the cask away, leaving you wondering how he had figured out to use that specific alcohol for removing stains. There seemed to be a lot about him that didn't make sense, but it was fun to think about. Maybe you would ask him about his travels sometime.

[changingplumbob]

Just a note to say Drusilla is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns.

Glenn walked over to the large tower. Jackson and Coleman had really made all those bricks on top of the ones for the houses? No wonder they were so cranky, it was a lot of work. Expecting the inside to be plain stone he was pleasantly surprised to see it furnished in a similar fashion to the living spaces of the houses with wood panels on the walls, a lot of books, and some comfy couches.

Glenn: Ummm, Drusilla? Are you... here?

The response came from somewhere above him.

Drusilla: For you, I suppose so, if you have something to offer. Up the ladder

Glenn turned and noticed the ladder leading upwards. Well he hadn't got his workout in today so he supposed this would have to count. Testing how fast he could climb he reached the top easily and pulled himself on to the floor.

Drusilla: My time has a price Glenn, what do you want

Glenn: It's not me specifically, well I guess it is, but Phoebus said I should see you about learning some spells

Drusilla: *scoffs* You think you can manage what I do

Glenn: I don't actually know what you do

Drusilla: A lot, I've been at this a long time. How about necromancy

Glenn: Oh, no, I don't fancy bringing anyone back from the afterlife

Drusilla: *sighs* Why does everyone think that's what necromancy means? It's about communicating with spirits of the dead, completely different to reanimation

Glenn: Do you... reanimate stuff?

Drusilla: Some of the spirits enjoy a taste of life. For example, if a bird breaks it's neck I can make it a stable house for a spirit for up to a week

Glenn: Right, well, I don't think I'll be trying that out

Drusilla: Reading minds of others? It can be incredibly useful and often far easier than talking

Glenn: Uh, I'm going to say no again. I do actually enjoy talking

Drusilla: *huffs* What do you actually want to do then Glenn? I don't have time to figure it out for you

Glenn: Phoebus said you're the best at mischief magic, is there some kind of magic trick you can teach me? To keep me safe if I decide not to stay here

Drusilla: Why would I teach a trick? Although... I suppose some kinds of illusion spells could be helpful...

Glenn: What do you mean

Drusilla: What are the walls made of Glenn

Glenn: Uh, bricks on the outside, a lot of bricks. Then wooden paneling for the interior walls

Drusilla: Wrong. They are completely brick

Glenn: But the panels-

Drusilla: There are no panels Glenn. They're a self sustaining illusion I cast. I could teach you something similar, how to make it look like something is there or more useful, how to hide something from sight

Glenn: If it's not too dangerous

Drusilla: So long as you don't hide a dragon you're fine. Now, my fee

Glenn: Fee?

Drusilla: For my time. I'm doing some research on alternate universes. How they may interact, if there are ways to see others, contact alternate me's, that sort of thing. Heartbreak has been in short supply around here so I'll borrow some of yours, it can be a useful ingredient

Glenn: You'll borrow my heartbreak?

Drusilla: It's tied to you, so I'll just borrow a bit of you. Now, I best use it right away so you stay here and finish this gem for me

Glenn: Wait you're charging me and expecting me to do something for you?

Drusilla: If you ever want your hair colour back then yes

Glenn: What do you mean my hair colour?

Drusilla: An integral part of you is your hair, it holds a good portion of your essence and therefore the heartbreak. I've borrowed the colour

Glenn: Wait, are you saying-

Drusilla: Your hair is black right now? Yes

Glenn: But- but- I didn't feel anything

Drusilla: I'm just that good

Glenn: But I love my green hair! It makes me me, and looks good

Drusilla: Then I guess you'd better get on with the task I set if you ever want it back

Glenn: You can't just steal stuff like that

Drusilla: *scoffs* Maybe you can't but I assure you, I can. Don't worry, the spirits will tell me when you're done, then I'll return the colour

Glenn: But I don't know anything about gem carving

Drusilla: That sounds like a you problem. No time to learn like the present Glenn

Glenn watched Drusilla depart and felt his heart sink. They may be powerful but something told him he should stay clear of Drusilla in future if he could.

Drusilla: *yelling* That's not very nice

Damn, they did read minds.

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