#that i could not cope with a violent man in our house. and she yelled at me and hit me and lied to me and named me one of her abusers

[2024skin]

My mom will give me tattoo money for my birthday this year (intended for my leg sleeve) but what I really want is boob tattoos but I cant have a conversation with her about why they are so important to me like im not ready to talk about cutting with her and I never will be ready

[anotheranimestan]

hi! I just read “all bark no bite” and omg it was so good!! looking forward to more of your writing and possible a part 2 if you get the chance!

Thank you!!!!!😃🧡 Your wish is my command!

All Bark No Bite (pt. 2)

Bakugo angst + sexual tensionnnn

Read part 1 here

wc: 3k

I hope this is as fun for you to read as it is for me to write! Also why is he 👇 this fineee for no reason.

The next morning, you woke up trying to convince yourself it was all a dream...or a nightmare. But the way you could still feel the softness of his fingers around your neck completely contradicted your wishes. You also had to keep wiping little smiles off your face throughout your entire morning routine. You tried to combat them by listing all the things you hated about Bakugo but it was helpless. Every train of thought ended with the shape of his lips and how nicely they molded with yours.

You and Mina walked to class together and you swore she’d developed a mind reading quirk. You felt her eyes on you like a blazing sun. Although this was really all in your head. She only asked “are you okay?” because you kept looking at her like you’d committed a hate crime.

You and Bakugo didn’t look at each other once during class. No leg shaking, pen stealing or insults. Not even a well timed scoff when you were called on to answer a question. You tried your best to clear your mind and forget everything that had occurred in that hall last night. After a while of this torture you even were having a little bit of success.

But of course your peace was ruined as you walked to lunch. He couldn’t let you have anything. And of course he wasn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey Little Bite, I hear we get to pick our groups for combat training today. All Might is going to make me a team captain, obviously. So if you want to be on my team let me know. I mean I assume you don’t wanna lose. You just gotta ask me nicely.” His usual cocky tone crept under your skin.

You desperately tried to ignore him as he followed you. Each footstep he started gaining on you being more annoying than the last. But what really did it was the pencil he threw at your head.

“Please, actively do not pick me.”

He ignored your objection and continued on his line of bullshit.

“I suppose I could take you. Your quirk would be useless, I’m all the attack power we’d need to win but I could use you as a decoy or something.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to be on a team with you, moron. Your pea brain doesn’t know how to do anything but blow shit up. You’re like an explosive cave man. Besides being too close to you for too long makes me wanna vomit.”

He cackled. You knew exactly what he was thinking and immediately regretted your words.

“That’s weird—“

You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at his head. But he just caught it and made it explode with a smug look on his face.

“Ugh. I cannot stand you.” You groaned.

“You sure about that?” He said with a suggestive eyebrow.

He was so hot....it made you want to punch him in the throat. Without thinking you shrugged off your backpack and swung it at his face. His reflexes bested you again though and he caught the bag, yanking it from you. The force was harder than you expected, it sent you flying into his chest. You both tumbled to the ground and landed shoulder to shoulder. Your skull hit a small rock with a wack. Rubbing the back of your head, shooting pain surfaced.

“Ow!! That fucking hurt dumbass!”

“Sor—“

You swung your arm, aiming to kill, and hit him in the stomach.

It must have really knocked the wind out of him because he made a loud grunting noise that hinted at his surprise. It wasn’t often people got to land a punch on Katsuki Bakugo. King Explosion Murder.

“Do that shit again Little Bite! You’ll regret it!” He grabbed your wrist, attempting to clear a way to get you back. You both started wresting trying to punch each other in the gut. Literally rolling around in the grass in a red hot death match of who could out curse the other.

“Omg, are you guys about to kiss right now?” Mina teased from out of absolutely nowhere, scaring the shit out of you.

You both froze solid as the blood drained from your face. She knew about last night? How did she find out?!

“You told her!?” Bakugo’s entire face was contorting through a whole range of emotions. Shock, horror, embarrassment, accusation, cheekiness, embarrassment again.

“What!?” You panicked. “No! I didn’t!” You swear you didn’t. You replayed your whole morning in your head just to double check.

You turned to your pink friend. Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. You watched the gears turn in her head as she realized she’d stumbled upon a miraculously juicy discovery.

“OH. MY. GOD!!! No freaking way!!” She squealed unable to contain herself.

She started blabbering as she attempted to cope with this information. She had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Your stomach fell as you realized this fatal error. Wait....this wasn’t your error. You pushed him off you and you both scrambled to your feet.

“This is your fault! Why’d you say that!” You shoved a finger in Bakugo’s chest. Which actually hurt because....he’s solid.

“Don’t yell at me!” He yelled back at an even louder volume.

Mina started running around in little circles. “They kissed!!!” She then abruptly stopped in her tracks and you watched a lightbulb flicker on.

No.....

“KIRISHIMA!!!! KAMINARI!!!” She screamed as she ran toward the cafeteria.

“MINA DONT YOU FUCKING DA—“ Bakugo exploded into a full sprint to chase her down. But she was like a rocket.

You chased after them desperately trying to reconcile all this is your mind. But it was no use, your brain was melting. Everyone was about to find out. The relentless jokes...they would never end. You could die right here.

Both of them ran so fast you fell horribly behind. By the time you rounded the corner and caught up to them a whole event had already taken place.

Bakugo was screaming on the top of his lungs. You could practically see the steam coming off the top of his head.

Kaminari was standing there in his stupid form with a half torn shirt. Jesus, what did Bakugo do to him?

Mina and Kirishima were laying on the ground, their face covered in tears. They were laughing so hard no sounds were even coming out.

“Oh my god,” Mina squeaked out between gasps for air, “Bakugo has a crush.”

“It’s so adorable!” Kirishima said wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to stop laughing. With no success, they both bursted again after seeing Bakugo slamming his fists into the grass. The teasing was making him want to rip his eyes out. He couldn’t stand it.

“Shut up Kirishima!!!” He jumped on top of his friend and started repeatedly banging his head into the ground. Of course this did absolutely nothing to the hard head. It just made him laugh even more.

Poor Denki just stood there drooling with a little smile on his face and giggling.

You were frozen. Stunned. It was like watching a comedy movie in which you were the punchline.

But all the laughs fell a silent as a furious voice cut through the air.

“What is this.” It wasn’t a question. Mr. Aizawa looked like he hadn’t slept in three days and this used up his last bit of patience.

“Bakugo. Get off him immediately.” He growled.

You knew how this looked. Bakugo was attacking Kirishima after successfully making Kaminari fry his own brain. Your friends’ laughter wasn’t enough to hide Bakugo’s apparent violence even if it was over something as stupid as a kiss. Mr. Aizawa couldn’t possibly know that.

“I overlooked your behavior yesterday, picking a fight with Miss. y/n. But now attacking your other classmates as well? This is violent behavior is unacceptable.”

“Mr. Aizawa—“ Kirishima tried to defend his friend but it was no use.

“Not another word.” Your teacher was glaring at Bakugo with laser beams.

The hot head just stood there in silence with a scowl on his face and two tightly clenched fists. He was really just going to take the heat for everyone? No arguments?

“I’m putting you on house arrest for the rest of the day. No more classes and no combat training.” You watched the dagger go through Bakugo’s chest. Today was going to be offensive training with All Might. You knew he was looking forward to it. Guilt punched your core.

“Mr. Aizawa wait. I’m the one who picked a fight with him yesterday. I challenged him. He shouldn’t get into trouble because of me.” You shuffled toward him timidly. He was scary when he was like this.

Everyone looked at you in surprise. They all knew it was true, that you’d egged him on. And he wouldn’t be raging right now if you hadn’t kissed, so today was also partially your fault. But they were truly surprised because you normally would revel in Bakugo getting scolded. But you weren’t fucking evil. And this wasn’t Bakugo’s fault at all...although he really needed to get his fucking temper in check. Idiot.

“Is that true?” Aizawa asked Bakugo.

The hot head took a deep breath. “Does that sound like me at all? I’d never give into her weak attempts at baiting me. I fought her because I wanted to.”

Your eyes popped out at his words. He lied. Why the fuck would he do that?

Mr. Aizawa escorted Bakugo to the dorms, lecturing the entire way.

“This sucks.” Kirishima said with a frown.

“I know. I feel so bad!” Mina cried sadly.

You had no words. The four of you walked to lunch with drooping heads. You held Kaminari’s hand the whole way until his brain recharged.

Recalling you’d left your backpack in the quad you ran back to get it. Upon arrival you realized Bakugo’s backpack was also there. He wouldn’t even have his stuff with him to finish homework or study during house arrest. You groaned. This guilt was horrible. It ate at you for rest of the day. The rest of your friends didn’t feel any better. And combat training wasn’t the same for you without that familiar sound of explosions going off in the background. It actually made the class feel kind of empty.

As usual at the end of the day you sat in the common area with the rest of the girls.

“So...is it true y/n?” Ochaco poked hesitantly.

You glared at Mina. Loose lips as usual.

“Sorry y/n. I talk when I’m stressed.” Mina cried only kind of regretful.

You sighed. You didn’t have the heart to actually be upset with her. You were the villain here. Getting Bakugo into so much trouble.

“Yea.” You huffed out. Talking about it made you cringe. It was like admitting your sworn rival had defeated you somehow. Even if you sort of didn’t mind the way he did it...

“What was it like?” Mina asked excited for the details.

“Is he a good kisser?” Ochaco added.

Your mind fell into a fog as you replayed the kiss again. Your skin went electric as you remembered the feel of his hands on your waist and those noises he was making. His lips wrapped around yours....

“Oh my god...Ochaco shes in love!” Mina concluded from you zoning out for what ended being like 15 seconds of you staring into space with a little smile on your face. She was practically singing.

“I am not!” You yelled flustered.

“Why are so many people yelling today?” Kirishima chuckled as he rounded the corner to join the couch.

“So is he mad?” Mina’s voice had changed into the sad one from earlier.

“I don’t know. Every time I knock he just tells me to go away. But that’s not that different from normal honestly.” He smiled. Their friendship was so odd.

Suddenly his backpack flashed through your mind. It was sitting in your room.

You got up to leave. You tried to be sneaky about it as they discussed how to cheer the victim up. But to no avail, they’d never let you sneak off again.

“Where you going huh?” Mina’s voice was painfully suggestive.

“To my room!”

“Uh huh, we’ve heard that one before.”

You stuck your tongue at her.

Kirishima twisted to face you over the back of the couch. “So if I ask Bakugo tomorrow if he saw you tonight he’s gonna say no, right?” Who knew he could be this ruthless. No mercy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. You’d been cornered.

“Look. He left his backpack earlier and I’m just going to give it to him! Jeez do you want to do it or something Kiri?” You were seething.

“Nahh, you should do it. He’ll just yell at me to go away again.” He winked. It made you cringe again.

You could peel your skin off from this teasing. But you know someone who hated it even more. You knew that’s why he wouldn’t let Kirishima into his room.

You ran off before they could crack any more jokes.

On your way to the elevators you heard a creepy cackle come from somewhere. You spun around, alarmed, as a “what the fuck” escaped your lips. Your eyes landed on one eyeball peeking through the crack of a doorway.

“Can I get a kiss too?” The voice was wet with drool and lust. “Just one?”

“I will kick your face in Mineta.”

The door quickly shut. Did Mina tell the fucking whole class!?

With more haste now you stormed to your room to get the stupid backpack that was causing you so many problems and made your way to your other problem’s door.

Before you knocked you realized your hands were shaking. Nervous? Seriously, over this moron? You shook it off with resolve and knocked.

“Fuck off Denki, for the hundredth fucking time I’m busy!” A gruff voice yelled from behind the door.

“Oh please, busy with what?” You retorted reflexively. Earlier you had decided you were going to try to be nicer but that sentiment wore off as soon as you heard his annoying voice.

The door swung open.

“What do you want?” He said with a raised eyebrow.

Your mind went blank. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Of course it made his biceps look better than normal. He was wearing a black t-shirt that made his skin look perfectly tanned and was snug in all the right places. And why did he always smell so good damn. Today it was like vanilla and woodsy aftershave.

Stop staring. Stop staring. Speak bitch.

“Here’s your backpack. You should keep better track of it. I had to carry it around all day. That’s annoying.” You tossed it at him.

Why couldn’t you say anything nice? He took the heat for everyone. It’s like your mouth was rebelling against you.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe you should work out more weakling.”

Panic panged in your chest as he started to shut the door in your face.

“Wait—“ you stopped it with your hand.

He paused. Mild interest dawned his brow.

“Why—why did you lie?”

“What?”

“To Mr. Aizawa. You could have told him it was my fault.”

“What do you care?” He pressed. His tone always managed to infuriate you.

You spun on your heels and started to walk away. “Nevermind.”

“Because I felt bad. You hurt your stupid head.”

You’d forgotten about that with all the guilt that had been overrunning your head. It didn’t even hurt anymore. You were surprised he’d even noticed.

“Oh.”

“But obviously you’re fine now so I guess it was all for nothing.” He added quickly trying to sound indignant.

The guilt punched you again. Especially now that you were face to face with him. He didn���t even look mad. He actually looked calm. And he looked good. You tried to deny your attraction to him. But flashes of his hand on your waist started invading your mind again. You could feel him wrapped around your neck. The way he was gentle and rough at the same time.

“Instead of just standing there you could actually make yourself useful. You owe me anyways.”

You snapped out of it trying not to look flustered. You shot him a confused and slightly offended look.

“Fill me in on what I missed in class...” he explained. He wouldn’t make direct eye contact though.

“Are you saying you need my help?” You had to do it. You couldn’t not take an opportunity.

“Tch. Obviously no—“

“Let’s do it. Move.” You said as you pushed past him into his room. Your hand made full contact with his abs and you felt that heat again.

He shut the door behind you and your heart started off like a race horse as you heard him lock it.

You suspected it was to lock the other boys out. God forbid they catch you in his room after all this.

Shit....you were in his room. Alone. With your hot head. The day after he kissed you. The evening after he took all the fury of Mr. Aizawa for you and moments after he asked you to help him study even though he gets way better grades than you.

He cleared a spot for you to sit on his bed and then leaned back into his chair with his hands locked behind his head. His flexing muscles were distracting you again.

“You better actually remember everything.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him.

His words were supposed to rile you but the way he looked at you, like he was secretly loving that you were here was making your stomach flutter. You could feel your face red and you prayed he wouldn’t notice. At this rate you were going to throw yourself at him before he had the chance to kiss you again. As long as you two didn’t start fighting again first.....

~~

💥 YES there will be a pt 3!!! 💥

It’s going to be called “sTuDyiNg” HAHA (hint: Bakugo doesn’t actually wanna study “dumbass”)

Update: Pt.3 is up now!! Read it here

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 7: The Scars to Prove It (or, Love for the Moms, the Cutters, and the Drunks)

Wonder Egg Priority (WEP) has felt like the successor to Puella Magi Madoka Magica in many ways throughout its run, but in episode seven, it almost went full Madomagi by driving the stakes to their utmost height—to the death of one of the main characters. But as has been consistent with WEP, what it did instead, after some moments of true worry, is to instead deliver hope in the face of pain, resolve against overwhelming circumstances, and strength in weakness.

The series returns to Rika Kawai’s story in this episode, which starts with her turning 14. And on her 14th birthday, after leaving her hungover mother halfway asleep at the bar she works at and which they call home, Rika opens up to the rest of the girls, explaining that she doesn’t know her father (it could be any of five possibilities, or even more) and her mom won’t reveal any further information about him. As she trashes her mom, Neiru and Momoe are incredulous, which only drives Rika away from them. And though Ai goes to comfort her, Rika is in a terrible state of mind as she enters her next fight.

This was a difficult episode to watch. They’ve all been somewhat hard since the series never shies away from brutal and violent situations impacting young people, but I found myself squirming especially here as Rika’s cutting takes center stage. At one point, she decides to cut herself and it seems certain she will, before her turtle-like partner, Mannen, prevents it from happening.

Challenging, also, is how strained Rika’s relationship is with her mother, who’s life revolves around drink—alcohol both pays the bills and helps her forget how miserable her existence is. And in the midst of all the bad behavior in this episode—the usual Rika talk, her mom’s alcoholism and neglect, and the selfishness all around, one begins to feel deeply sorrowful for the Kawai women. Yes, Rika is often obnoxious, but her family life is in shambles, and she still exhibits goodness, including a curiously gentle relationship with Mannen. And Rika’s mother is a tragic figure, used by men and quite on the road to an early death, it would seem, unable to lift herself out of the gutter as she tries, in her own sloppy way, to protect and reach out to her daughter.

It’s in this hopelessness that Rika turns again to cutting, and then finds herself tempted by something even more dangerous. Her foe this time is a religious leader who led the egg, a follower who continues to believe in him, to commit suicide as a way of “connecting” with the universe (Heaven’s Gate, anyone?). Rika decries the ghoul as a charlatan, but is confronted with her own weakness when the egg shows her own scarred arm to Rika, revealing that she can tell that the latter cuts just like she did. And then she explains that Rika can be released from this pain.

The scars, evidence of what Rika does to cope with her pain, now become the weakness that they truly are, revealing how hopeless she feels, and how powerless she is against the mechanizations of her family life. And defeated, she’s about to allow herself to be killed when a surprising savior comes along—a turtle. Mannen attacks the spiritual leader, to Rika’s surprise as well, until she remembers that he has imprinted on her. Rika is Mannen’s mom, and as he did when he prevented her from cutting, Mannen is again protecting his mother.

The conclusion that Rika reaches is unusual but inspiring. She understands, in this moment, the need to protect one’s mom, finally admitting to herself in a de facto way that maybe her mother is in need of love, too. It’s funny to consider the need that mothers have for love since culturally and socially, they’re always seen as the providers of it. But of course, they need it in return, especially when they falter. My own mother is sick right now, and I think of the support I need to give her and the lack of that I’ve provided through the years.

Warning: Screenshot involving cutting after the jump.

My mother was a good one, however. Rika’s, on the other hand, has struggled with the charge, which reminds me of a story from one of my favorite books, The Ragamuffin Gospel, about another bad parent—a far worse one, in fact, and a real one. I’ll quote part of the passage from chapter seven:

“‘Our daughter Debbie wanted a pair of earth shoes for her Christmas present. On the afternoon of December 24, my husband drove her downtown, gave her sixty dollars, and told her to buy the best pair of shoes in the store. That is exactly what she did. When she climbed back into the pickup truck her father was driving, she kissed him on the cheek and told him he was the best daddy in the whole world. Max was preening himself like a peacock and decided to celebrate on the way home. He stopped at the Cork ‘n’ Bottle–that’s a tavern a few miles from our house and told Debbie he would be right out. It was a clear and extremely cold day, about twelve degrees above zero, so Max left the motor running and locked both doors from the outside so no one could get in. It was a little after three in the afternoon and…’

Silence.

‘Yes?’

The sound of heavy breathing crossed the recreation room. Her voice grew faint. She was crying. ‘My husband met some old Army buddies in the tavern. Swept up in euphoria over the reunion, he lost track of time, purpose, and everything else. He came out of the Cork ‘n’ Bottle at midnight . He was drunk. The motor had stopped running and the car windows were frozen shut. Debbie was badly frostbitten on both ears and on her fingers. When we got her to the hospital, the doctors had to operate. They amputated the thumb and forefinger on her right hand. She will be deaf for the rest of her life.'”

Max—a real person, mind you—was a successful, well-liked man, but his drinking problem led to an unconscionable decision and profound failure as a parent. And yet, this book is about grace, an idea which to humans feels unjust, but  which has the power to change hearts and tear down walls, sometimes literally.

Could Max be given grace? Could Rika’s mother? If not directly, she’s done her own physical damage to her daughter in the form of those cutting scars (difficult and perhaps triggering images below). As mentioned earlier, the egg that she’s helping knows her pain and insists that letting go of everything, including life itself, is the way to peace. After all, to a young, suffering girl, what else could these scars mean?

But in the midst of giving up, in the moment that she actually capitulates (and this episode takes you 99% to the edge, both in the cutting scene and in the apparent death scene), Rika experiences something powerful. She experiences grace.

Have you ever been challenged to forgive someone when you don’t want to, when you feel completely in the right? Maybe it’s easy for you, but perhaps it isn’t. The girls surrounding Rika experience differing degrees of this with her sometimes maniacal and often hurtful behavior. Ai forgives easily. Momoe gets fired up and then equally seeks to make peace. And Neiru…well, Neiru holds onto “justice” more than love (setting up what I imagine will be the most powerful transformation in the series of all, in true Homura fashion). But in the moment that Rika is about to give her life, the girls yell out their love for her, even Neiru, and then more profoundly, without any hesitation, Mannen puts his own life on the line to stop the death from occurring. Rika has already given up, but this turtle hasn’t—not for his mother, whom he loves very much.

And experiencing that love from a different angle, Rika is changed just a bit. She begins to see her weakness as a “mother,” failing her turtle-child, and thinks of her own mom who is overwhelmed by hurt and a failure as well. And if just a little—for as the final scenes indicate, it is just a little—the path toward forgiveness begins.

But a little bit of grace is like a little bit of a flood—its power overwhelms, and it defeats the enemy, whether that means bitterness, a physical person (or manifestation of one), or the devil himself.

When Rika returns from the event, having killed the cult leader monster, it’s interesting to note that she isn’t a wholly different person. She’s changing little by little. And her scars remain. In fact, as she admits, she probably will cut herself again. But strangely enough, those scars now represent something different. They show someone trying—failing, yes, sometimes considerably and maybe very often—but trying, and only able to try because love was shown her, and through that, she is now able to show love as well.

You may have such scars in your life, physical or emotional, battered by the world and by people. I hope that you can develop relationships that help you heal as well, and that you’ll also remember that there are other scars which are meaningful to you, but which you cannot see on your person, scars that were borne out of a desire to heal you. Christ took the piercings, on his head, hands, feet, and side, so that while your heart and flesh may be cut, your soul need not be. And through his wounds, you may be healed.

The grace offered through Christ is one that, as he explains about everlasting water at the well to the Samaritan, for now and through eternity. The egg seeks peace forever by dying, but Jesus, unlike the cult leader, died for us so that we may not have to. He took the nails, the cross, and the spear so that we don’t have to inflict pain on ourselves and receive the punishment of our actions against him and others. He is our scar.

That’s grace. That’s the power that it has. And it can reach anyone—even a terrible dad, an alcoholic mom, a tempestuous child, and, and most significantly and personally—you.

If you’re suffering and in pain, maybe self-inflicted, we encourage you to explain such to a parent or trusted adult and ask for help. It’s a difficult first step, but one that will help you begin recovering. And we also advise that you turn to Christ for help—in prayer, community, and scripture. He provides people to us that will aid us in our times of need, as well as himself and the Holy Spirit if we are believers.

Additionally, there’s a scene in this episode where triumphant, Rika concludes that cutting is okay. That’s said in the context of her moving forward bit by bit and forgiving herself for her failures, even the upcoming ones. That’s an important lesson, though we must certainly be careful not to let it be a license to continue cutting with impunity.

Wonder Egg Priority can be streamed through Funimation. Read more of our articles by signing up for our weekly newsletter.

[boneshine]

Jack Stauber’s “Opal” Theory

Last night, I stumbled across Adult Swim premiering Jack Stauber’s “Opal” and got to enjoy it in its entirety. I’m a huge fan of his work, and seeing his latest and biggest animation to date was quite the treat in this season of tricks!

I really enjoyed the lore and thought I would (try to) explain my personal theories regarding the story.

If you haven’t watched “Opal”, I highly suggest you do so. It’s available for free on Adult Swim’s Youtube channel. Go ahead. It’s quite the ride.

SPOILERS BELOW CUT!

The first time you watch “Opal” and the second time you watch it, the story completely changes. The atmosphere changes. The characters change.

What you thought was a surreal tale about a young girl exploring a forbidden house and being consequently terrified by the residents inside transforms into a story where a young girl suffers in a neglectful and abusive household and tries to escape into her fantasies to cope.

You’re led to believe in the beginning that the girl’s name is Opal and that the residents mistake her for someone named “Claire”.

At the end of the story, you realize that “Opal” is actually Claire.

“Opal” is Claire’s fantasy. She pretends to be this happy and bright girl on a billboard in the distance (Opal’s Burgers), surrounded by a family who love and “see” her.

The story begins with “Opal” sitting in her kitchen with a burger while her “family” (the family depicted on the billboard) sings to her.

We see you, Opal

Your troubles are miles away

We see you, Opal

And in our eyes you’ll stay

These lyrics are important because no one in Claire’s house sees her.

From the dialogue/lyrics, each character that Claire interacts with in the house showcases how they never truly see her.

The grandfather watching television is blind. (“And the girls are singin’. They dance too, I assume.���)

The father spends all of his time in the Reflection Chamber staring at himself. (“Why do people look at me like the way you probably are right now?”)

The mother is always intoxicated and lying in bed and sees through a drunken haze. (“Who’s that?”)

None of these characters actually see Claire, which is why she delves into a fantasy persona where she’s given positive attention and love and affection.

The fantasy portion in the beginning, I believe, shows that Claire spends most of her time at or on the billboard until she has to go back to the house to sleep.

In Claire’s fantasy, “Opal” sneaks into the mysterious house next door (which her Billboard Parents warn her to “don’t mind the house across the street”), but she hears cries coming from the attic and goes to investigate.

The realization at the end is that the cries are coming from Claire herself, and her inability to escape her abusive household as she’s locked herself in the attic.

Let’s take a look at the rest of the household in detail...

There are three other residents in Claire’s home, which are represented by the billboard: The Mother, the Father, and the Grandfather.

The Grandfather

Claire’s real grandfather is a blind, obese chain-smoking man addicted to television. He struggles to breathe, coughs up blood, and scolds Claire for hiding his cigarettes, claiming that “it’s evil to help someone that doesn’t need help”.

Claire appears frightened and nervous around him.

When he demands that Claire give him his cigarettes, he soon grows concerned that she “smells weird” (because she had been outside) and won’t say anything.

Due to his blindness (and possible dementia), he mistakes her for a stranger, panics, and lashes out, yelling at her to “get out of his house”. In his panic, he falls out of his chair and screams as Claire runs away.

The Father

As Claire continues on toward the attic, the Father stops her. He sits in his Reflection Chamber in the bathroom, surrounded by mirrors. He is unable to see anything but his own face.

(It’s implied that he is delusional, as you can supposedly see the Father’s True Face at 11:09, which is distorted, grey, and horrifying)

Claire appears perplexed by him. It’s obvious that she isn’t used to him speaking to her. However, it becomes apparent that he doesn’t truly speak to her, but rather projects his own insecurities and feelings onto her.

He appears to be extremely narcissistic and unaware of the world around him. Religious themes collide with his self-reflection, as he rambles and talks about how “God is in his skin” and he considers himself in the process of becoming the world’s next “savior”. He spends all of his time fixing his appearance because “they turn me down so I live my nightmare”, and his need to be “seen by somebody somewhere”.

When she tries to leave, he raises his voice at her, only to calmly remark that “you could spare me a little time, you know; you act like I’m a complete stranger.”

Which, to her, he most likely is.

The Mother

Claire’s mother resides in a dilapidated room, surrounded by wine bottles, pills, and romance novels.

She lies in bed (or on the floor) underneath the sheets and grabs Claire’s leg.

She speaks with a slur, heavily intoxicated.

At first, she doesn’t recognize her daughter, but comments that “you’re being a person today, huh?”, implying that Claire often spends her time away from the family-- and for good reason.

She speaks morosely and in confusing tangents that reveal her inner turmoil about the family and her circumstances.

“Goodness exists. If I wait, Claire, and sit still... it will arrive.”

“You should be more considerate, obviously, but I forgive you. I forgive every single one of you... every night. It’s a virtuous cycle.”

“How did this get so bad? I feel terrible for all the things I... I feel terrible.”

“You and I don’t live, Claire. We survive.”

“Our adversaries are in denial. They don’t know the wrong they do. And they never repent how I want them to.”

(To Claire) “And you, you’re just like me. You’re just as powerless as I am, Claire.”

She lies back into the bed and drunkenly sings a lullaby.

The Mother’s Song

Mama needs a little girl to land on

Mama needs a little girl to fall in her arms

Mama needs a Mama’s girl to take good care

Mama needs a baby girl to hold her hair

After this, the camera zooms into the Mother’s rolling eye and a flashback is rapidly shown, including a hand dialing 9-1-1 on a phone, a child(?) being struck and falling to the ground, and what appears to be the Mother (or, perhaps, the Mother’s Mother) screaming in terror (or anger).

This is either a flashback to the Mother violently attacking someone, or a flashback of the Mother’s childhood where she herself was abused.

(It should be noted that the side of the Mother’s head appears to have a dent, implying she may have been the child.)

Claire appears absolutely terrified in her presence, most likely having suffered before from her physical abuse and escapes as soon as the Mother lunges at her, fleeing up to the attic and locking the door.

The truth about “Opal” is shown, and Claire quickly surrenders to her fantasy in her mind as her family beats on the door, where the camera zooms out and the story ends...

In conclusion, the world of “Opal” is a sad tale. Its themes center on fear, neglect, isolation, and abuse in its many horrific forms-- physical, emotional, and psychological. It focuses on Claire’s escapism in her mind, to imagine a happier life, far, far away from those who hurt her.

A forbidden house across the street, filled with dark and foreboding figures, and a little girl that just wants to be seen and loved.

[teeztheflag]

Wolf!Ateez Reaction to mating season with their human!mate who doesn’t know they are werewolves

warnings: strong language, smut, dirty talk, oppa kink, unprotected sex, impregnating, bondage, slight possessive behaviour

a/n: again not linked to the other reactions, some of them are wearing contact lenses to hide their changing orbs so their s/o doesn’t recognize

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ kim hong joong ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

As Hong Joong was a alpha the mating season really had a strong effect on him linked to the goal to bear strong pups for a future leader. You being his human mate and totally unaware of your boyfriend‘s ability to change into a wolf and being more sensitive wondered why he again avoided you this time of the year. It happened the last two years, too. You just thought it was a phase where he had to work a lot and simply didn’t have much time left, also not sleeping at home but in an apartment closer to his work, much to your dismay.

The problem was, extacly in this time you also felt different. You endured much more mood swings and missed him a lot. Also your craving for that one thing put you on edge. As soon as you tried to give Hong Joong the signals that you wanted to become private with him he immediately resisted your flirting and left with the most hilarious excuses.

Since two weeks Hong Joong thought your heat ended by now and decided to settle in with you again. Late night he worked downstairs in his office when he heard your little moanings. Gripping the papers tight his eyes closed without his intention and he felt the growing bulge in his pants that ached painfully against the material.

Fucking shit.

His body moved on his own when he followed the small sinful sounds upstairs to your shared bedroom. A delicious smell filled the corridor and he stopped in front of the door. Meantime you were shamelessly touching yourself totally unaware of the werewolf behind the door that listened to his mate.

„Fffuckkk, ngahhh... Jooooong!“

It was just too much for him by now, knuckles going white at how strong his grip was on the door handle. He literally threw the door open with so much force that had you jumping up very shocked. Besides the embarrassment of being caught pleasuring yourself something intrigued you definitely more... Hong Joong‘s eyes weren’t their normal color but changed into a deep golden.

„I could only resist this much...“

▂▂▂▂▂▂ park seong hwa ▂▂▂▂▂▂

Seong Hwa has always been a controlled wolf with a high will to protect you at all costs so he also tended to leave you in mating season. It wasn’t a secret that you were probably a little clingy to your tall boyfriend, always happy when he came home or picked you up from somewhere. Your favorite place was in his lap and arms, Seong Hwa would lie if he denied that he didn’t like it, too. Of course you were his little angel and he didn’t want you to be scared of his real nature, well, that’s why he didn’t tell you about it.

Unfortunately mating season was the most painful experience for him within the year, because you being whiny and so desperate cried the whole time he left you alone. He felt bad, his animal instinct telling him he should make you feel better especially because you didn’t know why you felt this way...

It all changed when he he received a call from you that you had hurt yourself and couldn’t move. Seong Hwa immediately panicked at the thought of you being injured and drove to your house as fast as he could.

„Y/N?! Where are you, angel?!“ He searched every room for your form but when he opened the door to your bedroom he knew you tricked him.

„Oppa, I missed you...“ There you were placed on your knees on the fluffy blankets a pink lace lingerie decorating your curves and inviting Seong Hwa to just take you here and now.

„Y/N...“ Oh no, he felt his wolf urging him to do something and closed his eyes to concentrate on anything other than your sweet arousal that was dripping down your thighs. How desperate have you been to be this wet already? He’s such a bad mate...

„Pl - please, I am begging you! Take care of me... I miss you so much and my body is burning it - it‘s almost painful!“

You started sobbing in front of him, this definitely was enough. He took a hold of himself and emerged your form with confident steps.

„I am so sorry, angel... Oppa is never going to leave you like this anymore.“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ jeong yun ho ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Yun Ho usually was a very happy and positive person in every matters and when it came to your heat he really had his fun. Usually he tried to wear contact lenses in your presence and preferred to only pleasure you the whole season. This way he wasn’t able to lose control so easily because when you were satisfied in your needs his urge to let his wolf take control faltered.

Again this time he didn’t have problems with hiding his secret by to eating you out on the kitchen table when in real you just wanted to prepare the breakfast together. What he definitely didn’t plan were your next words.

„Yun Ho! Oh my gosh, y - you are sooo good in this! Ahhh...“

Of course he was, everytime he used the opportunity to try out new techniques and he enjoyed it maybe a little bit too much waiting for your reactions because of flicking his tongue in another way. And you tasted so good, the best dish for a good morning. Your needy moans and flinches only pushed him further to do his best and let him enjoyingly hum at your sensitive bud.

It was expected that the oral sensation you were receiving couldn’t date you forever... so after feeling your third orgasm coming through you knew something more had to be done.

„Yun Ho, I - I want you...“ His eyes widened at your unsteady statement and he pulled away from your entrance licking his lips off your digits in the process. He looked to the ground an debated.

Come on... only this time! Look at our beautiful girl! She needs our dick!

Stupid wolf, but maybe now the right time was?

„Yun Ho! Please, do something!“

„Shhh, Y/N. You really want this, huh?“ You nodded dizzily at him still feeling the sparklings of your orgsam.

„Huh, then use your words and I will give you everything you want!“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ song min gi ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

To be honest, Min Gi became exceptionally frustrated at mating season. It wasn’t easy for him to refrain his outgoing mate, because you indeed had to endure heat pulsings that were enormous. He already asked his friends about their human mates and how they coped with the situation. But he knew you weren’t like the other girls and needed a special treatment.

To say it bluntly, you became a brat during mating season and Min Gi was clearly sick of holding back to fuck some sense into you. Eventually his wolf was exhausted after some time and Min Gi had to bondage you to the bed because you just didn’t stop grabbing his cock and kissing his neck.

„Why are you like this?! What man let’s his girl hang on when she’s needy? Since three weeks you’re avoiding me! Now let me free and I will just find a guy in a bar tonight!“

Another man touching his mate? How delusional of her. Of course you didn’t really meant it but mates could be easily triggered also if you were human. Your sexual frustration made it to a point where touching yourself wouldn’t help anymore.

„Say that again.“ Min Gi leaned over your sweaty form on the bed and heavy breaths left his mouth. You could swear you saw a slight growth of his teeth but pushed away the thought immediately when he screamed at you.

„SAY THAT AGAIN!“

„Min - I didn’t mean to - “

„Little brat! It’s time to punish you for being so disrespectful!“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ kang yeo sang ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Yeo Sang was quite shocked his mate turned out to be human knowing exactly what that meant for his primal instincts. He didn’t know how the first season with you would turn out but he didn’t want to hurt you at all costs. Wolves could be quite violent during sex and especially their heat with their partners so he sticked to getting out of your sight everytime he could make out the gorgeous scent of your body like some of the others did with their own human mates. Usually Yeo Sang managed to skillfully change into his wolf and run back to his pack where he would be safe from your eyes. You on the other hand found yourself often searching the house for your missing boyfriend sometimes only finding a quick note from him.

Today you already awakened with sticky clothes to your body exactly knowing it was this strange time of the season again. It happened regularly throughout the year you thought Yeo Sang looked especially cute or even hot, only a little eye blink with his beautiful lashes letting a chill run down your spine.

Watching him deliciously eating his pasta you couldn’t stop thinking about how his lips would feel on your body but you knew he acted different this morning, too, meaning nothing good for your desires...

You carefully stood up pretending to get something from the kitchen when you made a swift move and landed on his lap. He layed down his fork and looked at the wall ignoring you hard.

„Sangie...“

„I am not in the mood.“

He pushed you off and ran to the bathroom and closed the door. You followed him slightly pissed and banged against the door yelling his name and asking what the fuck was wrong with him again. You heard some shuffling and then nothing?

„Yeo Sang? What’s wrong?“ You could’ve swear the window was open so you speeded outside to look for yourself and indeed it was. Your anger raised and so your heat. Something nudged against your leg und you tripped over and screamed fully at the large creature over your form.

„Oh my god! Please don’t eat me!“ You shielded yourself on the ground with your arms in front of you and just hoped it would leave you by. But instead it neared you and whimpered a little bit. You peeked our of your arms and gasped.

„Huh? A wolf?“ Yeo Sang couldn’t just run away when he smelled your heat in the forest and knew it became stronger by making you angry. In this form his wolf had a stronger will and his sense just doubled themselves making it unable to ignore your sweet fragrance and aura.

The bond pushed you to the wolf although you were totally scared but when you looked into his eyes something seemed familiar...

„S - sangie...?“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ choi san ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

San didn’t hold back during mating season because your and his cravings for each other were natural for him. The only thing he was afraid of was the fact one day he had to tell you that he was a werewolf, at least when you would bear your first child for him and someday it would change in front of her eyes.

Anytime you got into heat the two of you nearly never left the house jumping on eachother all the time. He honestly tried to give you hints that he wasn’t like you at all. You just thought he was a beast in bed with all the growling and biting in your neck eyes always watery and mind blissful because of the high pleasure he gave you.

„Y/N! Baby, look at me! I want to see your pretty eyes when I am pumping my pups into you!“ Well, you thought he was kinky. Nothing more...

„Y - you’re wearing contacts lenses t - day? Ahh, fuck, San!“

He pounded endlessly into you holding your knees up with his warm hands in a tight grip. Sweat tickled down his forehead and already wettened his hair. He smirked, grunts leaving his parted lips and licking them at the sight of his mate in front of him. She was totally defenseless in his arms just like he wanted it.

Suddenly he stopped and leaned down to catch her questioning eyes with his.

„Look at me, those are not lenses.“

Just when he thought you would get the hint after some time of thinking and hard breathing passed you lifted one eyebrow.

„Oh shut up little delulu - now continue I was so clooooose!“

Maybe not this time, bro...

▂▂▂▂▂▂ jung woo young ▂▂▂▂▂▂

Woo Young loved your behavior in heat and so did his wolf. You often wear the most sinful lingerie for him and acted like a needy cat for your mate. He didn’t need to smell or feel your changing in demeanor to know mating season began and it definitely was the best time of the year for him. But you, too, didn’t know your boyfriend was unhuman, and he liked to keep it like that. He didn’t really was afraid you would find out but he put so much effort into the relationship to not let you find out about the destined pull it could destroy a lot.

As Woo Young was a quite sneaky and playful boy he found a good solution to let his wolf take control during the sex and to hide his secret. You just thought he had a really dominant phase once or twice a year and already looked forward when the play time came by again.

His best strategy to fuck you at night: turn the lights out and have you screaming his name until you didn’t thought about the marks all over you body the next day again, or at day time: his favorite thing to cuff your wrists and put on a blindfold.

You were to distracted by his sinful touches and praises to think about the fact this felt like a fifty shades scenario and you didn’t need to be embarrassed about your and Woo Young‘s kinky behavior because your boyfriend tended to exaggerate things more like you.

This one night you could remember he seemed to have put on orange looking contact lenses and pretended to be a ‚werewolf‘, it seemed like he put much effort into the costume as he really had something animalistic back then.

„My mate...“

„Oh god, fuck right there Woo Young! Deeper!“

„Tell me you’re mine!“

„I - I am yours Woo! Only yours, forever!“

You screamed out his name multiple times as he skillfully reached and penetrated the sweet spot deep inside you already poking against your womb. Woo Young could only chuckle at your naivety but also was thankful for it. Like this, he could keep his act on a long time without having to miss any little thing of a good mating season.

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ choi jong ho ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

It wasn’t surprising Jong Ho received a quite intelligent mate from the moon goddess and he had to admit he enjoyed watching you trying to figure out his unnatural strength and senses also like your own feelings.

It started with telling him you felt a much deeper love like for him like you ever did for your ex-boyfriends before and that she knew he was someone really special for her. The wolve‘s heart swelled at your words and confession but also he felt a little bad for not telling you the truth.

In private he called you his ‚soulmate‘ which you found utterly cute but Jong Ho knew it meant so much more. He wanted to help you to find out for yourself what he was and why you felt so different at mating season living through the most embarrassing cravings that you tried to hide from him.

He didn’t think it would be so hot to see you struggling because of his presence and he was just too good in hiding his own desire from you making everything really hard.

When you sat inside the big library of his and his friend‘s mansion you came across a book about mystic creatures. You blushed at the next words not daring to read any further when suddenly the door sprung open.

Jong Ho smelled your arousal outside in the garden and couldn’t resist to look after what caused your sudden hotness. He stood behind you and read the sinful things you just read on his own. He made a move to put you on his lap and stroked your hair with comforting motions.

„Why don’t you read it out loud?“ You shivered at his husky voice and wished you could get out of this situation.

„Th - the mating season makes both male and female mate craving and earning for the sexual release through their partners and...“

„And?“

„Jong Ho... this cannot be real right?“

A moan left your lips when he pressed a light kiss on your shaking lips and his eyes turned into a rich golden color.

[holylulusworld]

Broken Hearts & New Beginnings - Part 6 - Always trouble with the ex

Summary: After losing the love of your life and your daughter at the same day you close yourself off. Hiding in your house you talk to no one until your new neighbor a divorced single parent brings you back to life.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, JJ Ackles, OFC’s

Warnings: angst, coping with loss and death of loved ones, comforting, fluff, bitchy ex, romance

Broken Hearts & New Beginnings Masterlist  

Four weeks have passed since Jensen kissed you and slowly you get used to his lips on yours or his hands gently touching you.

So far you only cuddle and kiss each other, Jensen knows you are not ready to jump into a new relationship, so he takes it slow, making sure you feel comfortable with him.

JJ seems to have no problems with seeing her father kissing or touching you. If anything, she’s excited, even starts calling you her ‘new mom’.

Last week she came home from playtime with one of her friends and exclaimed you must move into Jensen’s house soon.

You adore the little girl; she has a special place in your heart. At first, you felt guilty to feel anything for a foreign child after you lost your beloved daughter, but JJ makes it impossible to not like her.

“Y/N! Look!” Squealing JJ shows you her latest drawing. It’s a picture of Jensen, JJ and a woman holding a doll.

“Oh—that’s nice.” Smiling you gently stroke the little girls head. “Is that your daddy and mommy?”

“Noo!” JJ gasps. “That’s daddy, me and you.” Giving you a wink, she points at the doll in your hands. “That’s Emily, you know as she will always be with you.”

“JJ…” Sniffling you kneel to hug the little girl tightly. “That’s very thoughfully of you.”

“I know she’s with us, Y/N. I bet Em’s is a little angel and watches over you. I want you to be happy and thought you would like to see your daughter.” Holding back the tears you nod, looking at the picture once again.

“You are talented, JJ. Maybe you should draw a picture of your mom too.” JJ stiffens in your embrace, shaking her head violently.

“I don’t want to, Y/N. Last time she tossed it onto a pile of magazines. I saw it lying in the bin later. My mom doesn’t like my drawings…” Letting a hickuped sob out JJ gives you a sly smile. “But you like them…right?”

“Those are beautiful. I like the flowers in the background and the dog next to your daddy.” Nodding JJ smiles as she tells you that her mother always refused to buy her a dog.

“Oh, Emily wanted to have a dog too. Sadly, my husband was allergic and refused to let me get one for Em’s. Maybe I can talk to your daddy? You could adopt a dog from an animal shelter. I know one close by.” JJ’s eyes round and she looks up at you in awe.

“You would do this for me, Y/N? I love you!” Squealing JJ hugs your tightly and you chuckle as the little girl can’t talk about dogs, and how much would love to have a furry friend.

----

“Jensen, can we talk?” Jensen smirks before he presses his lips to yours, loving you lean into his touch. “I meant to talk, not kissing.”

“Sorry, but you looked so kissable today, Y/N. Did you and JJ have a good time?” While Jensen prepares sandwiches, you hand him the ingredients. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Did you ever consider getting a dog for JJ?” Glancing up at Jensen, imitating his daughter’s puppy dog eyes you smile as he nods. “I promised her to talk to you and ask if you would consider getting a dog from an animal shelter.”

“So…my girls conspire now?” Laughing Jensen pecks your cheek, as he wraps one arm around your waist. “We could go to the shelter this afternoon. I got the day off; JJ is back, and we can have ice cream later.”

“Awesome!!” Wrapping your arms around Jensen’s neck you jump up and down till you realize you act like a child. “Sorry…”

“Sweetheart you can jump at me anytime. I like you want to see my daughter happy. Don’t ever try to act differently around me, okay.” Kissing your forehead Jensen smiles as you gently slide your hands over his chest, just looking up at him.

“Logan always hated when I acted like a child or got too loud. I loved him but somehow I always had the feeling I need to hold back around him.”

“Y/N, no one should give you the feeling you can’t be yourself around him or her. My wife was the same. She always wanted me to be the star, even at home. Sometimes I just wanted to run around with sweatpants and a tee, not in a suit.”

Standing on tiptoes you peck Jensen’s lips, giving him what he needs.

“I like you in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I mean…ahem…I saw pictures of you in a suit; you looked hot and dapper but…” Trailing off you lick your lips. “I prefer the carefree man in old jeans.”

“You are my kind of girl. Now let’s tell JJ we will go to the animal shelter this afternoon to have a look at the dogs. Maybe they will allow us to go for a walk with one of them.” Jensen smirks as you run out of the kitchen, calling his daughter's name.

----

“They are all so cute, daddy…oh…look!” Grasping your hand JJ drags you toward a puppy. The little dog is whimpering, and you can see the little girl is in love with the dog. “Can we take him, Y/N? He looks so sad and lonely.”

“It’s a girl, JJ.” Ponting at the name tag you explain to JJ the name of the puppy is Hope. Listening closely to your explanations she nods eagerly, barely able to hold back the need to pat the dog's head.

“Can we go for a walk with her, daddy?” Pouting JJ looks up at Jensen and his heart melts as you walk toward an older dog. The poor guy lies on the floor, sad and without hope.

“Lucky, huh?” Jensen watches you kneel to gently stroke the dog's head, calling his name till he lifts his ears slowly. “You lost your hope too…”

“You shouldn’t adopt that one. He lost his owner and doesn’t react to anyone, ma’am.” A girl with braces mutters. She doesn’t seem to have compassion for the old dog, so you ignore her, calling Lucky’s name and he lifts his head.

“Good boy.” Patting the dog's head, you ignore the boring looks of the girl, simply talking to the dog. “He’s lonely, is all. That poor guy needs someone taking care of him. I’ll take him…” Mouth agape the girl scoffs, walking away to get the papers.

“You want a dog too?!” JJ squeals, running around the room. “They can play together, Y/N!”

“Whoa, slow down, Baby. Let the poor guy get used to Y/N and we can have dog dates, JJ.” Jensen explains, smiling as you won’t stop stroking the dog's head.

“Let’s ask if we can adopt that little guy and the old boy over there for Y/N…”

----

JJ is smiling as she carefully carries the puppy toward Jensen’s house. She can’t stop talking about dogs, going for walks and how your dog and her puppy will be best friends soon.

Lucky is slowly trotting next to you, glancing up at you now and then. The old dog seems to sense you lost someone you loved too, as he opened to you, even let you fondle his ears.

“Good boy, Lucky. Do you want some of the huge amounts of dog food Jensen bought?” Laughing you look at Jensen who looks offended, even places one hand onto his heart.

You want to say more, want to make another joke as today is the first day you feel like the world doesn’t drag you down but then you see your bitchy neighbor smirk at you.

“What the…” Cursing Jensen stops in his tracks, glaring at the woman standing next to your neighbor. “Y/N, can you wait here with JJ and the puppy.” Nodding you glance at the woman who storms toward Jensen, yelling at your friend right away.

“Mom seems to be angry, Y/N. I think she doesn’t like my puppy.” Sniffling JJ look up at you and your heart breaks for the little girl. “She will take her away from me.”

“No one hates puppy’s, JJ.” Kneeling your wrap your arms around JJ and she hides her face into your shoulder, silently sniffling while the puppy whimpers next to Lucky.

“Shh, …it’s alright. No one will take Hope away from you, Sweetie. She can stay at my house if your mom hates her, okay. Lucky will be happy to not be alone with me…” Smiling at your words JJ looks up at you, nodding eagerly.

“Then I’ll move into your house…”

“Deal…”

Jensen is gesturing toward his daughter, raising his voice and you flinch as he tells his ex-wife you are a better mother to JJ than she ever was.

“Oh…I know everything about that crazy woman! You must have lost your mind to let someone like her get close to my child!” His ex-wife yells and you blink the tears away.

“You’ve got no clue what she’s been trough. Y/N lost her husband and child, due to an accident and took her time to mourn her loss, Megan. This doesn’t make her a bad person or means she’s crazy.” Jensen yells back, defending you at all costs.

“Still, I don’t want her near my daughter!”

“This is not your decision. I got the sole custody for JJ as you refused to show responsibility, Megan. Y/N is good for JJ as she was a great mom and gives my daughter the feeling someone cares about her as a mother should.” Pointing toward you holding JJ in his arms Jensen smiles.

“Do you fuck her?” Megan spats and Jensen shakes his head, just looking at you with his child.

“Y/N and I are friends, but I hope to be more to her someday. For now, we are what we need for each other. No one will destroy this for us. Not you, not our bitchy neighbor or anyone else.” Turning on his heels Jensen picks his daughter up before he leads you and the dogs into his house.

“Wait, I’m not finished…” Megan calls for Jensen, but he ignores her words. “I want a second chance…”

“You’re right, Megan. We are not finished.” Smirking his ex-wife wants to step closer, almost pushing you away but Jensen’s features darken.

“We are done for good. Now leave my ground and never come back here. Instead of taking your child into your arms you started to yell at me. What kind of mother does this to her daughter?”

Watching Jensen open the door for you and the dogs you smile. Logan would’ve never defended you the way Jensen did.

Maybe it was fate you met Jensen and his daughter. Maybe there is still hope for you…

SPN Forever Tags

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[yutaya]

Iron Fist Rewatch 1x02: Shadow Hawk Takes Flight

These doctors seem very nonchalant about how close this dude just got to murdering Danny with a fork. No reassurance or apology - just pour drugs down his throat so they can hose him down. What a picture of The System.

Negative stereotype that has roots in truth - there ARE places like this and worse, but it's true that we very rarely see the good kind of facility represented in TV too. Sucks for them to always be portrayed as the bad guy, and probably harmful too if people really could benefit from them but are wary.

"Let's say [he IS Danny]. That would mean he somehow, miraculously, [1] survived a plane crash, [2] in the Himalayas, and that [3] for some unknown reason he waited fifteen years to come back, with [4] no shoes and a tendency toward violence." - Ward, reciting all the reasons he's been repeating to himself ever since the parking lot not to start thinking this might be Danny, frog and freezer stories or no.

"We're doing the right thing. We could have just had him arrested." Why DIDN'T you have him arrested, Ward? Oh right, HAROLD. ugh.

AU where Danny gets arrested instead. Unfortunately I THINK none of the other Defenders timelines work out so this would be a good time for them to meet him early, though... 🤔

Again with this bird. I completely forgot about this symbol theme.

Danny: "I was meditating." Doctor: "Oh!" Danny: "Yeah, I was trying to focus my chi so I could get out of here." Doctor: "Oh..."

Doctor's like: Oh, wow, this is an interesting level of specificity for a made up story...

I forgot how much I like this doctor. He's legit trying to help. I forget what happened to him...

Colleen is putting so much effort into insulting her students LOL. Also: Darryl's shoes are too big. Bc Colleen runs a struggling dojo in an underprivileged part of city as a safe haven for these kids and to help "teach them how to perform in the real world"

Parts of this conversation that will weigh on Colleen: "You saw me being attacked; you KNOW there's something weird going on." "One of the richest families in New York have a problem with you." "No, I don't have anyone else I can ask for help: you're the only one."

Ward: Ok, good, I'm hearing reasons why this guy can't be telling the truth and therefore cannot be Danny. That's good. I still feel kind of off though... but that's probably just the thing where Harold put cameras in the hospital. Yeah.

Poor Kyle.

Ward: "We can lobotomize him!" Me: "asdfghjkl WARD."

This shot of Harold's "smile" when he tells Ward  "You ARE one of my guys! One of my most trusted guys!" is SO CREEPY

You can see Colleen FREEZE when Ward introduces himself. Harold and Ward shooting themselves in the foot with this: they're lending credence to Danny's story from the phone convo.

Ward, one of the richest people in the city: "Lie to the authorities about that homeless dude being violent for my own personal benefit. Here's a blatant bribe."

Harold yelling at the spy footage like he's throwing popcorn at a movie.

POOR KYLE.

This is deeply uncomfortable for me on a personal level.

Joy: Hmmmmm. What possible reason... could "Danny's" doctor have... for asking that very specific question.... unless.........?

Ok but "tiny Danny wanted to be an acrobat and was always jumping around on things" makes it SO MUCH EASIER for canon-divergent AUs where Danny isn't in the plane crash to still include ninja warrior Danny I-

Harold, a known dead man, looming ominously in the shadows of Danny's mental hospital room: "Here's a message about how you have to come find me and help me. It's not very subtle so you'll probably get it." Danny: "Oh shit, maybe I am crazy...?"

Danny: "I was a warrior. Only in the middle of a fight did I fully come alive. The harder someone hit me, the more everything came into focus." Harold: "Hm. Note taken." Me: *crying emoji*

Show: "oooh, ominous, Harold's under the Hand's thumb. Maybe there's more to him, maybe he's sympathetic...?" Fans: "lol, nice try. We all clocked that creep-o the moment we saw him."

I've talked about Colleen's first impressions of the Meachums in general and Ward in specific before but. Dude. Dude.

Danny, thinking that his very last tentative hope (Colleen) has fallen through, receives a communication from Joy. ;____;

Had. Had Joy already opened the bag of m&ms. It was sealed when she pulled it out of her desk drawer so wh- OH. The hospital opened Danny's mail, including the candy bag, to inspect it before giving it to him. Hahaha *sob*

If Colleen hadn't come to see Danny here, their paths might have diverged. As far as he's concerned, Colleen has made it clear that she's not going to help him and that they're just two strangers in a big city. Turning the corner and seeing her come to visit him boosts that flame of hope that Joy's package rekindled even further. He thought he had no one, and now the amount of people he has is growing.

Ok but, in an AU where Colleen doesn't go see Danny / Danny doesn't know Colleen came to see him, that isn't necessarily the end of their relationship. On Colleen's side, she's still suspicious of this entire Meachum mess - it RADIATES corruption and Colleen is very much entrenched in the downworld of NYC, where the rich powerful elite hurt the most. Plus, Danny doesn't give up on people easily and honestly, he kind of sucks at taking a hint - if he went off to some Rand business with the in with Joy, he would still end up in all the Harold mess, and probably at some point be on the run (maybe with another person - oooh, would love to see that AU - Joy or Ward or both in tow with Danny on the streets, fleeing trouble, Danny saying "I know a place") and showing up at Colleen's door, like "I know you don't want any part of this, and I don't mean to bring trouble to your door, but there's nowhere else to go," and Colleen being like "get in, quick," with her windows already half shuttered and supplies on the table because she was already investigating herself - (it could turn into a whole thing, with Colleen having connections that she thinks she can trust to help them against the big bad Harold/Meachum conspiracy, but then it's the Hand, and-!)

Danny: "The Meachum family might think I'm a threat to them." Colleen: "And why would they think that?" Danny: "Because I'm Danny Rand and I own more than half the company." Me: "And also because you stalked Joy, broke into her house and their offices, terrified and almost killed Ward???"

But anyway this is only gonna fuel Colleen's narrative that this is all greedy corporate machinations and bloody rich people politics. (Literally bloody. Literally murder people in a "problem solving" way kind of bloody.)

GODDDD Colleen is so hot in this scene when she walks into Joy's office with her pushed up sleeves on her chinese bomber jacket and her shirt tucked into her rolled up pants and - her hands in her pockets and that black bracelet and the belt - !

This argument between Joy and Ward is so emotionally charged - Ward's now in a desperate position because Joy has no way of knowing that she has just become an obstacle to something that he can't allow to happen - because Harold can not allow it to happen, and he's pulling Ward's strings, and then - ! "What are you so afraid of, Ward?" It's Harold, he's afraid of Harold. "You should be more like Dad." Ugh. ugh! Shot through the heart! "Grow some balls." I'm crying. They've both learned such terrible things from their father.

GDI DANNY the doctor BELIEVED you and then you had to go start talking about alternate planes of existence and the Iron Fist UGH he thinks you're just trying to cope with the trauma I - UGH.

This doctor is honestly trying to help but he's confirming all of Danny's fears from what Simon told him about how this place operates.

Ward regularly has to come up with ways to convince an entire board to do weird things that Harold asks - like purchase some random warehouses in Brooklyn - without even knowing why

Ward: "'Danny' is a threat to us, to our family, to our business, and the smartest solution - the one YOU taught me - is to get rid of the problem as expediently as possible!" Harold: "No, protect him." Ward: "WHY?! I am asking you why. Explain it to me! Because from where I'm standing, protecting him is dangerous, and getting rid of him is safe!" Harold: "Because I said so, that's why. Now heel." Honestly, of COURSE Ward takes this into his own hands.

Ah, yes, our first glimpse at Ward's drug addiction.

What is their plan????? Just beat him to death!? Can't make it quick - why?? Are they trying to make it look like a simple altercation between inmates???

"Ward Meachum sends his regards." God, that's so heartbreaking. The idea that not only does Ward believe Danny is an imposter and a threat, enough to try to kill him and then to send him to a mental institution - but that once he's there, out of harm's way, if he IS a mentally unstable imposter - OR once proof is starting to trickle to the Meachums (in colorful chocolate form) that he actually IS their old friend Danny - that Big Brother Ward would go out of his way to strike a deal with some "low life mental hospital thugs" to beat Danny to death?? This moment, to Danny, must feel like a bigger betrayal to Danny by Ward than anything else so far.

Danny, on all fours, looks up at the full moon outside the window, at the hawk silhouette streaking across it, and smiles. Hawk as Danny's spirit guide AU cont., but ALSO: WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU

Danny. Danny. Please run. Busting a huge hole in the wall made a very loud noise, please stop just standing there and giving people time to catch up.

[welllpthisishappening]

An American Haunting (1/2)

Emma Swan does not believe in ghosts. She simply talks about them on tourist-filled walking tours at Colonial Williamsburg. 

It’s a belief she’s certain she’ll always hold, until, one summer she starts hearing a voice, asking her for help. And, suddenly, every certainty Emma Swan has ever had starts to shake just a bit, a hint of history and a past that’s far more extensive than she could have imagined. 

----

Rating: Probably like a pretty solid teen Word Count: 6.4 K this chapter. Closing in on 13K overall AN: This is, hands down, the single most self indulgent thing I have ever written and one time I wrote a college basketball story that was literally just my own opinions. I grew up going to Colonial Williamsburg, have been on every ghost tour, including the one the RAs took us on when I went to HISTORY CAMP AT WILLIAM AND MARY. That happened. So, I’ve been wanting to write a story based at CW for years, but I couldn’t ever come up with something legit idea-wise and then today. Bam. BAM. i had an idea. I wrote the idea out in several hours of sunshine-fueled key smashing and here we are. Part two eventually because I really do hate spamming the internet with words. I won’t ever go in the Peyton Randolph house at night. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

----

The gasps always made her smile. 

That was a very strange sentence out of context, but Emma couldn’t help the way her lips quirked up every single time, biting the side of her tongue so she wouldn’t actually laugh at the whole, stupid thing. 

He had quite a flair for the dramatic, after all. 

“Even Lafayette himself once wrote that he felt someone push against his back upon entering the house! But there was no one there. There never is. Just a feeling, that chill that creeps up your spine and takes up residence in the back of your brain, waiting for you to let your guard down.”

And…cue the gasps. 

Emma covered her mouth with her hand, fingers curling around the side of her jaw. Her eyes flickered towards the couple in front of her, still sporting their Colonial Williamsburg tickets on lanyards and the man’s ghost tour sticker was peeling off at one end. 

The woman reached for his hand. 

And Killian was wholly and entirely in his element. 

He leaned forward, a spark in his eyes that was not even remotely supernatural, but completely theatrical, the stretch of a smile moving in slow motion across his face. 

“Take a look at some of the photos you’ve been snapping this whole time,” he muttered. If he leaned forward any further his stupid tri-corner hat was going to fall off. 

Emma shifted against the side of the fence she was leaning on, tugging on her own skirts and trying to find a way to stand that didn’t end with her stupid eighteenth-century appropriate shoes digging into the back of her heels. It didn’t work. 

It never did. 

Killian wasn’t done. 

“See anything yet?” he asked lightly, a practiced spiel that always ended with—

“Oh my God, there are orbs in the photo!”

Emma rolled her eyes skyward, all stars and a few clouds and it was humid enough that her hair was actually starting to curl at the ends. Maybe she could convince Regina to let her wear a different outfit later that week. This one was impossibly heavy, all full skirts and an apron that didn’t make any sense at all because she wasn’t working in any of the kitchens on property, was leading tours from nine at night until somewhere in the realm of midnight for extra money and she was certain each group was getting smaller and smaller. 

The crowds were getting smaller and smaller. 

No one wanted to go learn about Colonial American history on their vacation. 

“That’s right,” Killian said, crossing his arms and rocking back on his own heels. Emma assumed they didn’t hurt his feet. He was still smiling. “The Peyton Randolph house is considered one of the most haunted buildings in the entire United States. Visitors since even before the first shots were fired in Lexington and Concord have claimed interactions with the supernatural. They’ve been shaken violently in their beds, heard laughter from other rooms, furniture moves—“

“—But what about the orbs?”

Emma was going to need pliers to move her hand away from her mouth. Killian uncrossed his arms, resting his weight on the replica musket he was holding. 

He was supposed to be a Colonial soldier. 

At the Randolph house while it was used as a hospital in 1781. Just about every building in Williamsburg was used as a hospital in 1781. 

It was unfairly attractive. 

Him, not the hospital thing. Emma was a psychopath. 

“Well,” Killian drawled, “that’s up for debate, isn’t it? Could be a catch of the light. Could be—“ He shrugged, eyes flicker towards Emma and she had to bite her tongue again. “Disembodied ghosts looking to find their way onto the afterlife. No one knows for certain, do they Miss Swan?”

She might have gasped. 

Killian’s smile widened. 

Idiot. 

That wasn’t part of the script at all. 

“Oh, yes, absolutely, sir,” she said quickly, trying her best to stay in character. The group turned expectantly toward her, eyes wide and that woman appeared to be gripping her husband’s hand like some kind of vice. “Lots of whispers about this house and, well, Mr. Randolph, you know, I don’t like to speak ill of such a respected gentleman, but—“

“—Is that the newspaper guy?” another voice interrupted, and Emma was going to have to have a serious conversation about Regina about that too. 

And she was just about to respond, not sure how she was going to do that while staying in character, but the words got caught in Emma’s throat, a sudden chill spreading through all of her limbs. 

She felt rooted to the spot, mouth going dry and goosebumps exploding across her skin. Her vision danced in front of her, no orbs, but something just on the edge that felt a bit like a shadow creeping across her eye line, a hopelessness that Emma was certain she could taste, like ash and disappointment and none of that made sense, but her knees suddenly felt very weak and—

Help me. Please. I need help. 

Emma didn’t hear the footsteps at first, flinching when Killian’s fingers curled around her elbow. People were gasping again. 

“Swan?” he whispered, bending his own knees so he was level with her. His thumb traced absent-minded patterns on her sleeve. They were going to get in trouble for that. “Are you alright, love?”

She nodded slowly, not sure if it was actually true or not, but the shadow was gone and that had to count for something. 

“Fine, fine. I’m—I’m fine.” “Try that again.” “Fine, sir,” Emma snapped, an abrupt return to form and characters and Killian's eyebrows leapt into his hairline. His tongue swiped the front of his teeth. 

“Just a touch of vapors, is it?” Emma scowled, resisting the very real urge to kick him in the shins, but she didn’t need Regina to yell at them for more than one thing and she really wanted to switch costumes. “The air is rather heavy tonight, sir, that’s all,” she said. “Shall we continue on to the next place, then?”

There was a general murmur of agreement and confusion from the crowd, Emma pulling her arm back to her side quickly enough that she nearly elbowed herself in the ribs. Killian’s had to pick up the musket. He’d dropped it at some point.  

“Alright,” Emma continued, backing up towards Nicholson Street, “if you’ll all be so kind as to follow me this way, our next stop takes us up the road towards the public gaol and Hangman’s Lane where, legend has it, member’s of Blackbeard’s crew were taken to the gallows.” More gasps. 

A few ooh and exactly one no way, really . Emma smiled. 

And Killian’s eyes never left hers, concern practically wafting off him and mixing in with that very specific smell that was Williamsburg in late August, like dogwood trees and sunscreen. 

He was waiting for her. 

She wasn’t all that surprised, but it was still kind of nice in a butterflies in her stomach and slightly erratic pulse kind of way and Emma had gotten a few more gasps out of the crowd. Well, Ruby had when they’d gotten to Shield’s Tavern and the story about the lady who haunted the corner room upstairs, but that felt like splitting hairs and Emma was exhausted. 

“You want to tell me what happened now?” Killian asked, legs stretched out in front of him where he was sitting. On the stairs behind the Public Armory, a few feet away from the staff rooms. 

He was already back in modern clothes, which was a little bit like playing with fire, guests still filing out of the historic area and meandering down Duke of Gloucester Street, but he had that very specific type of pinch between his eyebrows and— “No,” Emma replied. “Because nothing happened.” “You’re honestly getting worse at it.” Emma made a face. “I really don’t see how that’s possible.” “Swan.” “Yeah, what was that about? You’re just throwing out real names in this now? You better watch out or I’m going to tell Regina on you.”

“Please, the only thing you want to do when talking to Regina is tell her how annoyed you are with the overall state of your skirts.” “Oh, that’s so dumb, honestly.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Killian challenged. He leaned back on his elbows, another very specific type of spark in his eyes and this was really starting to become a problem. In a way where it wasn’t, obviously. Becuase he waited for her and knew her and Emma really had way too many thoughts about how good the whole Colonial outfit regularly looked on him. 

But they were going to have to tell people eventually. 

And she wasn’t sure she could cope with that. 

“It’s a lot of skirts,” Emma mumbled, a quick shrug and pitiful attempt to get around him. “C’mon, move, I’ve got to change and—”

“—What happened, Emma?” He caught her around the ankle, impressive considering the amount of fabric in the way, glancing up at her with a look that was treading somewhere between imploring and a little overwhelming. Maybe they wouldn’t have to tell anyone. 

Emma couldn’t believe people hadn’t figured it out already. 

That lady from the tour definitely knew. 

“Did it happen again?” Killian pressed, and his thumb was doing that thing again. Tracing and brushing, following a pattern that wasn’t really there, but might have been obvious for him. 

Emma swallowed. “I don’t—’ “—Swan.” “This is not a real thing,” she exclaimed, at least the forty-seventh time they’d had that particular conversation. “It’s not! I’m just—I’m tired and I’m worried about attendance and—” “—Well if management would stop sending out all those cards and things to donors, then we wouldn’t have such a problem. You see the Christmas ornament designs Regina’s been looking at yet? They’re ridiculous.” Emma sighed out something that might have been a laugh, letting Killian tug her down to his side. She burrowed her face into his chest. “It was louder this time,” she whispered. “Like it was—I don’t know, getting desperate or something.” “And you still couldn’t see anything?” “No. Just heard it. Her. Heard her and I was freezing cold again.” Killian’s hand had started moving at some point, up and down her arm and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to account for all of her. As if some voice she’d been hearing for the better part of the summer would be able to make her disappear. 

The whole thing was, honestly, starting to get on her nerves. Emma had never been all that apt to believe in the facts she was touting on one of Colonial Williamsburg’s several official ghost tours. And while her’s was definitely the scariest of the bunch — the kid-friendly one didn’t mention hanging pirates — Emma wasn’t the kind of person to have nightmares or worry that she was being followed by some kind of frustrated spirit. 

Until. 

It started just after the Fourth of July festivities in the historic area, one of the few times when the place drew regularly crowds. Emma was sitting on the Palace Green, more ridiculous skirts and sweat pooling at the base of her spine and it had been the middle of the day. None of the stories about being haunted ever happened during the day. 

That was...against the rules or something. 

Help me. Please. I need help. 

She’d brushed it off as the heat and exhaustion, but it kept happening — the same words, the same voice, someone looking for help and Emma seemingly incapable of doing anything except getting cold when it happened. 

She was probably just going insane. 

That wasn’t really a much better option. 

“You’re ok,” he whispered, and her breath definitely hitched as soon as his lips ghosted over the top of her head. That was a bad word choice. “It’s ok.” “It’s crazy, that’s what it is.” “I don’t think you’re crazy, love. This is—” “—Oh, God, do not tell me that this is one of the most haunted places in America. Just...do not do it. I’ll punch you.” “You kind of looked like you wanted to before.”

“You like drawing out the Randolph schtick.” “Did I get the best reaction of the night?” “No.” “No?” Killian echoed, all scandalized incredulity. Emma shook her head, glancing up and he didn’t argue when her chin dug into his shirt. 

“No. Ruby got some pretty good gasps at Shield’s and David got what can only be described as as a whimper when we started at the Wren, so—” “—That doesn’t count, the Wren is proper haunted.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, not quite a disagreement, but more like innate skepticism and Killian definitely kissed the crown of her head that time. “There is no such thing as actual ghosts,” Emma said, ignoring her maybe -boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare. “There’s not. This is—we are doing this for profit and to freak out the tourists. I’m—” Emma pushed up, nearly tripping over her goddamn skirts in the process. “I’ve got to change and then I really think you owe me a milkshake for going off-script.” Killian grinned. Slowly. It was cheating. They both knew it. The ghosts Emma absolutely, positively did not believe in knew it. 

“You want to walk to Wawa or…” “Walking’s fine. Five minute?” “I’ll be here.”

 She made him buy the fried ravioli under the heat lamp at the register too. 

And Emma didn’t notice the brick sitting outside her apartment door when she got home, trudging into her room and falling asleep almost immediately, Killian’s arm curled around her middle. 

 “Ok, do not freak out.” Emma looked up, her phone in one hand and a half-finished cup of lukewarm coffee sitting a few inches away from her. She winced.

Ruby had that look on her face. 

And Mary Margaret wasn’t far behind. 

Which meant David was— “Where’s David?” Emma asked. 

Ruby stopped in her tracks. “What kind of question is that?” “Usually these kinds of conversations also include David and I just don’t want to have to repeat ourselves when he gets here. I’ve got to be at—” She glanced at the schedule hanging on the far wall. “Tarpley’s this afternoon.” It was apparently Mary Margaret’s turn to freeze. Her eyes bugged, lips popping audibly. “You have to work at Tarpley’s today? Oh, Emma you can’t go.” “Excuse me?” “You seriously can’t go there, Em,” Ruby said, hooking her foot around an open chair and dropping down in a small cloud of fabric. “Where’s Regina? You’ve got to tell her.” “Is there a reason I have to tell our boss that I can’t go where I’m scheduled? Honestly, Tarpley’s is the easiest gig out there. I barely have to remember any facts, just for the few kids that come in with that’s—what’s the name of that thing they’re doing this summer?” “—Kid’s in Liberty,” Mary Margaret answered. Her eyes hadn’t returned to their normal size. “That’s a garbage name, isn’t it?” “Emma, I am not kidding around here,” Ruby hissed. She leaned forward, tugging Emma’s phone out of her hand and ignoring any objection. “This is a big deal and—Tarpley’s is crazy haunted, you know that.”

Emma groaned. Loudly. And slid down her chair. It hurt her spine. “Are you kidding me? Ok, who did he tell?” “You mean your boyfriend?” “Killian is not my boyfriend.” “Yeah?” Ruby grinned. “Tell that to how worried he was about you this morning. Becuase he, how would you describe it M’s?” Mary Margaret still didn’t look entirely confident, but Emma knew she couldn’t pass up a good romance either and secret dating in the middle of a vaguely popular tourist destination certainly fit the bill. “Something about a whirlwind,” she muttered. “And he told David. David just—” “—Can’t exist without telling you things?” Emma finished. 

“Basically. Why didn’t you tell us you were hearing things?” “Oh my God, I am not hearing things! That’s—I’m just tired and...hallucinating?” “I’m going to be honest, Em, that is not great either,” Ruby pointed out. She took a sip of Emma’s coffee, sticking her tongue out when the temperature was wrong. 

“Get your own coffee then,” Emma sneered. “Ok, ok, so I’m just...listen, this is not a big deal.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were never going to recover. “It’s not! Because it’s not a real thing. There are not actually ghosts in Williamsburg. It’s an old place with old stories and—” “—Ghosts,” David said, appearing in the doorway with a bag of Raleigh Bakery goods in his hand. “I refuse to take responsibility for any of this. Your boyfriend—” “—Come on—” “—Found me before his shift started at the blacksmith, which is where he is by the way now, Em, if you’re planning on killing him before work, and wanted to know if there were any stories we don’t use on the ghost tours. Specifically about a woman looking for help.” Emma lifted her eyebrows. “And?” “And nothing. I can’t find anything.” “Did you look real hard, then?” Ruby asked knowingly. 

“Maybe not real hard,” David admitted. “But we pretty much cover our bases on all the tours. I mean you can ask Regina if you want to, but…” “No,” Emma cried. Her voice cracked on both letters, another less-than-good thing, but she was bouncing between emotions so quickly she kind of felt like a ping pong ball. Or that stupid game with the string and the stick and none of the kids who bought it could ever do it right. “We are not telling anyone about any of this because—” She cut herself off when she heard the first clack of heels, Regina walking into the room with a stack of papers on her hip and bags under her eyes that looked deeper every time Emma saw her. “What are you doing in here?” Regina asked. “Emma, you’re supposed to be opening Tarpley’s five minutes ago.” “Yeah, that’s not how time works. I’m going, I’m going. I’m—” Regina blinked. “Yeah?” “Nothing, I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

She looked around, as if she were challenging the rest of the room to contradict her and none of them said a word. “Let’s help the tourists learn something, huh?”

She made it through the day. 

No ghost. No voices. 

Just a day filled with overheated families and kids dressed in Colonial garb, more than a few obvious retirees sporting their own tri-corner hats because, for reasons Emma could never understand, that was apparently something people wanted to do. 

She sold replicas of the Declaration and the Constitution, tiny books that reprinted George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Thomas Paines’ Common Sense. And soap. So much soap. People who came to Colonial Williamsburg loved buying soap in bulk and a variety of scents. Lemon, lavender, bayberry. 

All of them. 

Emma’s hands reeked of the scents when she locked the door to Tarpley’s behind her. She didn’t have any extra ghost shifts that night, but she knew Killian was back at the Randolph house and, well—she did like when the crowd gasped. 

So she didn’t consider changing or even going back to the employee rooms, hiking up her skirts and heading towards the palace green and, really, she should have expected it all to go to shit.

The first gust of wind wasn’t much more than a soft breeze, but then the dirt blew up against her ankles and Emma felt like someone had strapped a very strong, nearly indestructible steel pipe to her back. 

Her spine straightened, mouth falling open like something was actually trying to yank the air out of her lungs. She tensed, the lump in the back of her throat making it impossible for Emma to swallow the way she wanted to. 

She tried to lick her lips, but even that was too much movement, shadows extending out from the Governor’s Palace in front of her and whatever sound she heard would probably echo in the back of her consciousness for the rest of her life. 

It wasn’t human. 

That much she knew. 

It sounded like it was coming from an impossible distance and right in front of her, all at the same time, a shrill wail filled with despair and fury and something else just on the edge that felt a hell of a lot like determination. 

And if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Emma would have sworn it was a dream. 

But she was awake and, somehow, still standing there, knees locked into place with what she could only described as awe and bone-rattling fear. Because there was someone running towards her. 

A woman. 

She was dressed exquisitely, a soft yellow fabric that ballooned around her when she ran. There were tears on her cheeks, streaks of kohl and a softness to her mouth that made Emma want to strangle whoever had done this. Several times over. She didn’t slow down, even as she got closer to Emma, a haziness around her that made it obvious she wasn’t entirely there. 

Her shoes clacked on the cobblestone street, sniffling every few moments and Emma couldn’t blink if she tried. 

She followed the woman as she continued forward, head on a swivel and her own breathing turning erratic. The woman’s shoulders heaved, until something changed, abruptly and suddenly, and her gaze snapped directly towards Emma, eyes boring into what genuinely felt like her soul and that steel whatever got even stronger. 

Emma stood up straighter, not sure what was happening, only that it was important and— “You have to help me,” the woman said, voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. “What he did. What he—tried to change. It’s not right.” Emma blinked. Once, twice, three times. “This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” she chanted, pinching up her arm like that 

would get her to wake up. It didn’t. She wasn’t asleep. 

The woman shook her head slowly. She didn’t take a step forward. That was probably for the best, Emma wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. “You can help,” she said instead, “make sure the truth is known, what I—what we did. You can make sure it doesn’t happen again. He’s trying. Now. Please. Help me.” Emma didn’t respond. 

And eventually, when she stopped to think of everything that happened that night, how it changed the scope of anything that happened after, she would always regret that just a bit. 

The woman took a deep breath. 

Impressive, since, by all accounts, she was a ghost. 

“Please,” she repeated softly before turning on her heels and floating straight through the front door of the Wythe House. 

She left her right heel on the ground, the sight flickering for a moment, like it was clinging to this plane of existence and Emma couldn’t pull her eyes away. Until. One more burst of light, another sharp wail and— Emma didn’t remember her knees giving out, just a pair of hands around her shoulders and mumbled words in her ear, kisses peppered to every bit of skin he could reach and the goddamn musket was a few feet away. 

“Swan, Swan, Emma, look at me, love, c’mon, I need you to actually show that you’re breathing.”

She didn’t say anything. Again. That was becoming a quickly frustrating habit of hers. 

“Emma,” Killian sighed, only slight frustration. The rest was obvious fear and— “How did you get over here?” she asked. “That’s...aren’t you Randolph’ing tonight?” “Did you just use the family name as a verb?” “Am I awake right now?” Killian kissed her again — just between her brows. “Yeah, you are, love. And I...I don’t know how I knew. I just—” He swallowed, tongue darting towards lips that shouldn’t have been that distracting. All things considered. “I could feel it.” Emma jerked her head back, the condensation from the grass seeping through her skirts. Regina was going to yell about that. Loudly. Incessantly. “Wait, what?”

“It doesn’t make any sense, but—” “—I think I saw a ghost.” To his credit, Killian didn’t laugh. He didn’t really do anything, which was also pretty understandable, but Emma was teetering right on the edge of a complete breakdown and she kind of wanted him to kiss her some more. 

If only to prove this was real. 

“When?” “Just now,” Emma whispered. “She was...she came out of the palace. All fancy dress and she was crying and she said...she said I could help?” “You think it was the same woman? The one who was asking for help before?”

“If there’s more than one ghost involved in this, I will scream very loudly.” That got him to laugh. Killian ducked his head, lips catching Emma’s, and it was over before it really began, which was probably for the best, but she was greedy and dealing with ghosts and her knees were very damp. So she wanted to kiss him. 

For several interrupted minutes. 

No ghosts allowed. 

“Was there anything else?” Killian asked. “I mean she didn’t introduce herself, I’d imagine.” “No, the ghost and I did not exchange pleasantries.” “I’ve never heard of a haunting on the Place Green, that’s…”

“What you asked David about?” Killian blushed, the spots of color on his cheek obvious even under the dim lighting of now-electrical lamps around them. “I was worried,” he said softly. “About—” “—Me?” “Quite a bit, yeah.” “You could feel it?” Emma asked. “Feel what, exactly?”

“I don’t know how to explain it...it was like—like I could feel this tug in the pit of my stomach and I knew it didn’t want me, specifically, but it was like everything that I’ve ever felt for you was disappearing. Like you were…” “Disappearing?” “It sounds crazy, I know.” “I just saw a crying ghost leave her shoe on the grass, so. You know, comparatively.” “She left her shoe?” “Technically,” Emma nodded. “It was a ghost shoe, so it’s not there anymore. But it was silk, I think. Pink.” Killian narrowed his eyes, gears almost turning audibly in his head. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “That’s something, love. What do you say to a little bit of research tomorrow afternoon?”

The Wren Building and the Wren Library were two different places on the campus of William and Mary, a fact that always inexplicably annoyed Emma. But the campus of William and Mary was also absurdly old and, if the stories were true, haunted in several different places and Thomas Jefferson went there, so Emma also figured it was the prerogative of said campus to be frustrating if it wanted. 

She’d already lost track of how long she and Killian had been there, tucked into a corner of the Library, not the Building, with half a dozen stacks of books around them and David’s promise that he’d sneak them ginger cookies from Raleigh at some point. 

“This is pointless,” Emma said, slamming another book closed and ignoring the look of reproach on Killian’s face. He was very worried about offending the books. 

Or possibly the ghosts. 

She hadn’t slept very well the night before. 

“We’re just not looking in the right books, Swan.” “Babe, we are—” She nearly swallowed her tongue. And Killian didn’t tense so much as he smirked at her, which was really, patently stupid when they were also researching ghosts, but maybe boyfriend sounded kind of good, if not just a little antiquated and— “Oh, don’t do that,” Emma mumbled, but that only gave the smirk more power. 

Clap if you believe in using relationship qualifiers. 

That was an out of place reference. “You were saying, love,” Killian drawled, propping his head on his hand. Emma rolled her eyes. 

“We’ll circle back around to that.” “Will we just?”

“Tell me the most out of left field Revolutionary War fact you know.”

“And that will help us how?” “It’ll distract me from finding absolutely nothing about some lady in a yellow dress that, in all likelihood did not exist,” Emma explained, the smirk turning into something that looked a little more genuine. Killian’s chair squeaked when he pushed out of it, in her space in three quick strides and he didn’t react to whatever sound she made when he tugged her up only to pull her back onto his legs. 

He hooked his chin over her shoulder. 

“The Continental Congress tried to replace Washington at one point. When things were at their worst, before Saratoga and the French showed. Lost some of that faith him. You know he didn’t have a picture-perfect military record—” “—Starting the French and Indian War will probably do that to you.” “Ok, it wasn’t Washington specifically.” “It helped,” Emma argued. “And this is really not a lesser-known fact. I also have a degree, you know. Plus the colonists won at Saratoga and Benedict Arnold was a good guy for a while and—” “—the French showed up,” Killian said. “We’re making the same point here, love.” She huffed, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “The woman didn’t have any other defining characteristics? I’m just...I’m trying to time her.” “Like her 40 up the Palace Green?” He nipped behind her ear, leaving Emma squirming on his lap and they were going to get kicked out of the Library. She hoped David showed up with the cookies before that. “It just doesn’t make sense,” Killian mused. “Once the royal governor left the colony there wasn’t anything at the Palace that would warrant a dress. It was a hospital. That’s—” “—Oh, if you say it’s haunted, I’ll strangle you.” “That’s not romantic at all, Swan.” “And that’s not a disagreement. I know the story, anyway. Used as a hospital during the Siege of Yorktown and French soldiers died there and now kids at the College jump the wall and see apparitions or whatever.” “Have you ever done it?” “Once,” Emma answered, appreciating the look that elicited. “When I first started here. It was Ruby’s idea, obviously. So I went with her and David and M’s. But nothing happened. No ghosts, no weird voices asking me for help. No lady disappearing into the Wythe House.”

Killian jerked back. “Wait, what?” “Did I not mention that yesterday?” He shook his head slowly, the muscles in his throat moving when he swallowed. The lights above them flickered. “Spooky,” Emma muttered, gritting her teeth when Killian pinched her side. “God, stop that. So, yeah, that happened too. She lost her shoe and then kind of...melted through the door, but that’s—that’s not a clue. George Wythe was a really important guy. He had hundreds of people staying with him.” “During the war, though? That would have put him in Philadelphia.” “So he was ahead of his time and came up with a colonial Airbnb.” “Swan.” “I’ve never heard of a ghost story at the Wythe house.” “I have,” David said, and Emma wished he’d stop showing up like that. It was doing damage to her pulse. 

And Killian’s, apparently. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. The arm around Emma’s waist noticeably tightened. David’s eyebrows lifted. 

“Cookies. And information you can use.” “I thought you said you’d never heard about a woman asking for help,” Emma said, well aware that it sounded exactly like the accusation it was. 

“That’s true, I haven’t. But I have heard about a woman haunting the Wythe house, or at least its staircase and,” he clicked his tongue, squeezing one eye shut in thought, “possibly the upstairs bedroom too.” “God, get to the point.” “The story goes that a woman had been attending an event at the Palace—very Colonial Army, strategizing and—” “—A woman?” Emma interrupted sharply. David glared. She ignored that. “I know, I know. That’s...I’m just—for real?” “Again, the story goes that she was well respected and well married. Her husband had been big money in London, came to the colonies to expand the empire or whatever and ran in close circles with both Washington and the Marquis.” “Lafayette?” “You know another one?” “Give me the goddamn cookies, David.” He chuckled, another step into the room and he’d bought cornbread too. “Do you know what anniversary we’re closing in on?” 

Emma was going to scream. It was going to be dramatic and emotional and college kids would very likely talk in hushed whispers about the Wren Library Incident for years to come. Only, she never got the chance. Killian was talking. 

“The Comte de Grasse showed up in Yorktown. The beginning of the end of the Revolutionary War.” “Ding, ding, ding,” David nodded. “And according to the story some of the plans for the blockade of the Chesapeake that the Comte staged were drafted in a small room outside of the Governor’s Palace. Out by the gardens in the back.” “Where the hospital was?” Emma asked, and David was starting to look a bit like a bobblehead. “Ding. Again. The story goes that the woman was there with her husband, a man named Robert Gold and—don’t make fun of the name, I am not in the mood.” Emma mimed zipping her lips closed. Killian kissed the curve of her shoulder. “Anyway, no one knows why, but something happened in that last meeting and the woman she ran out, not a trace of her ever seen again, except, at midnight, when the sound of one heeled shoe can be heard walking up the stairs in the Wythe House.”

Emma had to look down to make sure her heart had not, in fact, fallen on the floor. She was having trouble breathing. But whether that was from the state of her lungs or just how tightly Killian’s arm was holding her was probably a debate even a group of revolutionaries outside the Governor’s Palace wouldn’t have been able to decide. 

“Shit,” she breathed. “One shoe, David? You’re sure?” “Is that important?” Emma didn’t answer him. She twisted, meeting Killian’s gaze and the tip of his tongue was back in the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?” “I think I have several thousand questions I didn’t have before.” “So list ‘em out.” He kissed her before he said anything else. That was nice. David groaned. 

“Possibly lesser-known Revolutionary fact,” Killian started, “but Washington had two options in 1780. The French were trying to get some support from the French West Indies, but that wasn’t guaranteed and Washington needed to do something drastic to make a move on the British. So he could either follow de Grasse to the Chesapeake or try and recapture New York.” “I mean obviously they didn’t recapture New York.” Killian shook his head. “No, they didn’t. Rochambeau advised them this way because he heard the British were building a deep-water port in Yorktown. And it wasn’t quite a last-ditch effort, but trying to contain Cornwallis down here was...an almost unheard of tactic. A lot of things had to go right and there was a certain amount of subterfuge to it. Washington and Lafayette both engaged British troops to make it seem like they were going for New York.” And it only took her a few seconds to understand. 

The light above them definitely got brighter. “You think he had help,” Emma said, stabbing her finger into Killian’s chest. He caught her around the wrist. “Someone here. Whoever told Rochambeau.” Killian nodded. “I do.” “You think it was Robert Gold?” “Why would someone with deep pockets in London be at a meeting of the minds just months before the British surrender?” Emma’s head was spinning. And racing. And possibly tripping over things. She was very glad she was sitting down. “But what about this woman?” David pressed through a mouthful of cookie. “Why would she run out of a meeting if her husband was helping the colonists? Unless she didn’t want that?” “No, that’s not right,” Emma said quickly. She blinked at the sudden certainty to her voice, as if it wasn’t hers at all, and she really wished her mouth would stop going dry so often. Killian tilted his head. “I don’t—David, do not react to this—she told me that he was trying to do it again. That’s got to be the husband, right?” Killian shrugged.

“Ok, that’s not helpful at all.” “Hold on, hold on,” David cut in. “We’re still talking about Emma’s ghost? Em, did you see someone? Here?” “Not here specifically.” “Oh my God.” “She said that exactly, Swan?” Killian asked. “Again?” 

“Seems important, right?” He hummed, tongue swiping in front of his teeth. She needed to stop looking at his tongue. “America won,” Killian muttered. “That...it all worked the way it was supposed to, eventually, but the road to Yorktown wasn’t great. There were a dozen instances where Washington could have lost control and—” “—These sound a hell of a lot like questions only the woman can answer.”

“No.” “Excuse me?” “I know what you’re thinking Swan and absolutely not.” “Ok, first of all, you are not a mind-reader, so jot that down. And second of all, that’s ridiculous. You are the one who is constantly talking about ghosts and—” Emma cut herself off. She couldn’t help it. Because the look on his face wasn’t one she’d ever seen before and she wasn’t entirely sure she ever wanted to see it again. 

She leaned forward, both hands on Killian’s cheeks. He kissed the inside of her left wrist. David didn’t make any noise. “I don’t know why this is happening,” Emma whispered. “But it is. And it’s...I can hear this woman and I saw her last night and she needs—if I can help her, then I’m going to.” Killian took a deep breath. “I know, Swan. But I’ll be damned if you do it by yourself.”

“Well, this is very romantic and absolutely lovely, but, uh, you guys are both idiots if you think I’m not going too,” David said. 

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. “Are you kidding me?” “Are you? I was the one who knew the story, Em. Plus, something about this just...it feels off, you know?” “The ghosts weren’t a clue?” “You’re using humor to deflect and that’s fair, but I can also get the key for the Wythe house from Locksley. So.” “Fine,” she groused, only faking the irritation a little. “What time would you like to commune with the dead?”

[creativitymouth]

The World Forgetting By The World Forgotten Part.12

A/N - this is a dark one guys so please read slowly. There’s some details that make sense if you’ve read every part and remember it. Also, I love ya’ll. 

Summary: I’m not sentimental. This skin and bones is a rental. And no one makes it out alive. 

Trigger Warnings: Swears, Sexual Assault Mentions, Gore, FEELS. 

Dedicated to @davejr123

Chapter 12

The Final Battle

Richie had spent the last week at your house, but you relieved him of his duties for the day. You parents had come home some point in the week and asked you and Richie if you were dating. Neither of you responded choosing instead to blush and look away. You smiled at the thought. The week had consisted of Richie playing the caretaker roll. Slowly getting you to eat, sleep, and laugh more. Every action genuine. You weren’t perfect and still had breakdowns, but he was teaching you how to cope with the thoughts for yourself. Reminding you that life was a battle worth fighting. You continued to smile lightly as you munched on your butter toast. Richie and you weren’t just friends, cuddling together every night and waking up to breakfast each morning but neither of you had said anything about the sudden development either. Beverly had come over twice, and though she and Richie still weren’t on the greatest of terms you were happy they were trying for you. You looked at the clock it had been about 4 hours since Tozier left to the arcade and you were proud of yourself for doing so well alone. Pulling you out of your thoughts was the loud banging on your front door, your eyebrows rose as you placed you’re your toast. You marched over to the door, swinging it open.

“Richard, I told you I’m fine on my own,” you stopped when you noticed it was Bill at your door looking out of breath and terrified. “Bill?”

“It took Bev.” He said looking at you. “He has Beverly.”

“You’re a fucking liar.” You said your eyes wide, knowing at once what he was referring too. For a moment he looked taken aback at your sudden outburst before quickly recovering. “I saw her yesterday.” Bill looked at you sadly as you continued to shake your head in disbelief. His lips never quirked up and Beverly never ran towards you yelling fooled yah. This was very real.  “Fuck, Fuck!” You ran past him and to your old bike. Pennywise had messed with your head, messed with integrity, and now your best friend. This was it, you were done. Your eyes welled with tears at the thought that you weren’t going to get to Richie fast enough.

“Where are you going?!” Bill yelled in panic at your retreating bike.

“To get Richie! We’ll meet at Neibolt!” You biked faster than you could have imagined, reaching the arcade in 10 minutes. You ran inside huffing for breath as your eyes scanned for Richie.

“Look at that sweet ass. Missed me already babe?” You heard from next to you and spun around to face the smiling Trashmouth. His toothy grin disappeared when he saw the tears on your cheek. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come home?” He took his hand from the game controller and walked briskly closer to you.

“IT got Beverly.”

“What?” His voice cracked, and you knew he only pretended not to know what you meant. “What are you talking about?”

“IT, Richie.” You said, considering his eyes. “IT got Beverly.” Fear was burning in those wide eyes. Fear was what this was all about. “I know you don’t want to go back to that house Rich. I understand, we all saw our worst nightmares in that hell hole.” His mind flashed to your lifeless body and he winced. “But this is my best friend, my entire world right here.” You spoke rapidly. “And I need you. I need you Richard Tozier. I can’t do this alone.”

Your friends were climbing down the well with a rickety old rope. It had taken some persuasion to get Stan back inside but once he saw you he had sighed and agreed. You weren’t completely okay yet, and didn’t know if you’d ever be but you knew losing Bev would take that 50/50 chance and make it 0/0.

“I’ll be right behind you.” You said to Richie who stopped before climbing down the rope to look at you.

“I’d rather be behind you, the view would be nicer.” He smirked as a mischievous smile danced behind his eyes.

“Oh, go idiot.” You smiled, and he smiled back. You watched him as he climbed down the well unable to stop yourself from wondering what a life with him would be like. “You ready for this Mike?” You looked at him with a wary expression.

“If I had known becoming your friend would have meant I would battling a killer clown before applying to college I wouldn’t have done it.” You laughed turning to the rope and placing your hand on it.

“I’m not a huge fan of this rope.” You began when a thump echoed behind you. Before you could turn around there was a hand on the back of your neck pulling you back.

“Good because you won’t be using it.”  Your blood ran cold as you processed the feel of the hand on your skin, and the sound of the voice. Henry Bowers. He was down here, he was touching you, and he had thwarted your escape. He turned, you to face him and your eyes frantically scanned the room. When you saw Mike lying unconscious with shallow breaths, you screamed.  

“Michael!”

“(Y/N)!” Eddie called up to you. “What’s wrong?”

“Bowers.” You said softly but the boys still heard it through the echo. His eyes were feral and decided and you knew he was capable of all things evil. You entertained the idea of what Henry would have been like if he wasn’t raised in Derry. Would he have still have become a psychotic murderous 20 year old, or would he have had a happy successful life.

“Fuck, I knew I should have stayed up there.” Richie’s voice followed. Mike stirred, and you sighed a breath of relief, until Henry turned you around in his grasp so that your back was pressed so far over the well you were afraid you might fall. The boys argued quietly before pulling the rope down so that Bowers couldn’t reach them.

“(Y/N)!”

“I move one finger and you’re dead meat.”

“Leave her alone!” Stan screamed out, but you couldn’t help but chuckle. That was so going to save your life. In Henry's distraction you were able to take the advantage and push him back roughly. He stumbled for a second before dropping to the ground on his back, you ran from him to Mike who was beginning to get up.

“(Y/N)?!”

“Mike’s okay!”

“Not for long.” Henry growled as he inched towards the both of you. You looked next to Mike and grabbed the gun he used to slaughter animals at the farm. Henry’s attention was focused on Mike, so you were able to go unnoticed. “You didn’t listen to me when I told ya did ya?” Henry laughed looking at Mike like he was a caged animal. “You should have stayed out of Derry. Your parents didn’t and look what happened to them. I still get sad every time I pass that pile of ashes, sad that I couldn’t have done it myself.”

“Fuck you.” Michael growled and if it weren’t for the pressing moment you would have gasped at is choice of language.

“(Y/N)! Babe!” Richie yelled, it had been quiet for too long. Though Richie’s choice of words had just slipped out it had successfully switched Henry’s attention from Michael to you.  

“Fucking the blind kid now?” He snarled. “How many times do I have to remind you that you’re mine?” He was menacingly close to you now, and you felt as though you could feel his breath on your skin. You knew Henry’s intention was to scare you, but he only succeeded in making you angry.  “Do I need to kill your friend to make an example?” Henry was quick as he lifted Michael, but you were quicker. You’d grabbed an old piece of plywood and swung hitting Henry in the head and causing him to drop Michael back down on the ground.

“(Y/N)?” Michael whispered as he watched you panting heavily. Henry was dazed only for a moment before he looked back towards you holding where his head was now splintered.

“I always liked it when you fought back.” Bowers was laughing as if your small hit had done nothing to his ego. Your blood boiled as images of your lost innocence presented itself inside your mind. “Do you want me (Y/N)?” He knew what he was doing, playing on your vulnerabilities as he brought up the sensitive memories. He expected you to crumble and give him the upper hand. What he didn’t expect was the blood curdling scream you let loose as you charged at him with the plank in your hand. You had never considered yourself a violent person, having always cringed when punches were thrown. Sure, you had struck a couple of men where it hurts before but never with the intention to kill. But in that moment, all your old values went out the window. You were swinging at Henry Bowers with a determination in your heart for vengeance, you couldn’t even hear Michael calling you from behind. You had continued to miss Henry blinded by anger until he stumbled back behind him.

“I’m not yours!” You screamed hitting him in the head with the plank as he laid on the ground. “I don’t belong to anyone!” You were tired of being objectified, tired of the nightmares you had were he hovered over you. Each word you spoke was followed by a hit of the plank. “My body is mine and no one else’s!” You hadn’t noticed that Henry Bowers had stopped breathing. His head done in so much by your blinded rage. The world continued to show itself to you in shades of red until Mike’s arms came around you and pulled you away,

“It’s over! (Y/N), It’s Over, He’s dead!” The plank fell from your hands as you dropped back into Michael sobbing. You had killed a man, and only wished that you could blame Pennywise for your violence. Mike tried to silence your sobs with comfort though he was relieved Bowers had met his end.

“Guys?” One of the losers called up, though they all had a clever idea of what just happened.

“We’re coming!” Mike yelled back, hugging you tightly once more. “You did good kiddo.” The rope was thrown backup and Mike caught it. “Go first.” You nodded your hands sweating as your grabbed on and climbed down. Hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you in to safety. You thought it was Richie and turned too quickly only to be confronted by Ben. You were too close to his face and a red blush spread across your cheeks.

“Oh!” You said backing up an inch. “Sorry.” The losers looked on with confusion though Eddie seemed to be aware of the mistake you had made.

“Hands off, hands off.” Richie joked as he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him. No one talked about the murder of Henry Bowers and you were grateful. That was an extra thing you didn’t want on your conscious. Mike looked behind him and gave Henry’s body a firm kick just to make sure he was dead. He swung down a moment later and Bill and Ben helped him steady his feet. You all glanced at each other.

“Let’s go get my best friend.” You said, and the others nodded walking behind Bill into the trenches of the well. “I’m going to punch Beverly when I see her.” You said to Richie quietly, your hand in his. He rose his eyebrows. “She isn’t allowed to be kidnapped, it’s in the best friend code of conduct.” You felt the vibrations from his chuckles and though the timing was impeccably distorted you smiled.

“Come on, guys, where’s Stan?” Ben asked. You all stopped walking flashlights swinging in the darkness. Stan had been walking with Mike just a moment ago, hadn’t he? You glanced at Bill who was already looking in the direction you had just come from.

“Stanley!” You screamed out.

“Stan!”

“Oh shit, gray water.” Eddie mumbled near you, though he was looking as well.

“Stan?” You all looked around through different tunnels and passageways, but you couldn’t find him. It was as if Stanley just disappeared, or worse, something had taken him.

“Wow.” Richie rolled his eyes in response to Eddie’s comment about the gray water. “Stanley!”

You hit Bill twice in the shoulder causing him to flinch, you pointed at a dark door.

“Look.”

“Here we go. Quiet.” Mike instructed as he began to push the door open.

“Stan?” You whisper yelled taking a step in, but Richie grabbed you back. You twisted to look at him with pointed eyes. Now wasn’t the time to be over protective. You had to get to Stan and then to Beverly. It felt like there was a clock ticking over hear, telling you that you didn’t have enough to save everyone. Someone wasn’t going to make it.

“Your flashlight.” He said pointing to your hand taking in your upset expression. He wanted you to take a cautious step and not just strut into danger. You nodded pointing it into the darkness. You jumped when you saw a figure leaned over eating something. “What the fuck is that thing?”

“Oh shit!” You yelled when you noticed Stanley. The figure sat up and hissed before backing away.

“Fuck!” Someone else yelled but you had already moved away. There was a string of more curses behind you as you ran over to Stanley. You helped him sit up, his face covered in blood. The squashed face of a woman flickered and changed into Pennywise who hissed at the lot of you.

“No!” Stan swatted at you, but you ignored his protest hugging him to you.

“It’s okay.” You hushed him, though you knew it wasn’t. He was dripping blood as he shook. The rest of the losers crowded you patting Stan.

“You left me,” Stan cried, “You aren’t my friends.”

“No Stan –“ He twisted away from you as he continued to sob.

“You made me go, you made me go!” He was looking at Bill now, screaming. You hadn’t noticed prior how all of this was taking a toll on Stanley but now you saw it. As vivid as you saw your own horrid thoughts, this Pennywise mess was cracking him. From the inside out.

“I’m sorry.” Bill whispered.

“You made me go to Neibolt.” He was crying harder now but his head was on your shoulder. You resisted the urge to shudder at the blood dripping onto your shirt. “This is your fault.”

“We would never let anything happen to you.” Richie spoke up walking closer to the Stan huddled in your arms. “We’re here. You know I wouldn’t do that.” Stan looked up with unsure eyes. “You think (Y/N) would have let any of us let it down if something happened to you?”

“My foot would be shoved up their asses for the rest of their miserable lives.” You joked, and Stanley nodded. “Come on.” Your hand was stuck out towards yours and he took it gently standing back up with you as the group continued the journey to save your best friends life. The silence was thick and long, the only sound the rapid breathing of the terrified group you walked with.  “Guys.” You mumbled.  Everyone stopped to look at you. “Bill.” You heard loud splashing footsteps but couldn’t place where they had gone. You wanted to roll your eyes but knew it was nothing more than the tricks of Pennywise that kept splitting you up. Well that, and Bills heroism so like yours.

“Bill!” Mike yelled.

“Why the fuck do we keep getting separated?” Richie asked you.

“Like Bev said, Pennywise knows we’re stronger together.”

“Bill!” Your footsteps quickened as you trailed after where you assumed Bill had gone. The nerves were coursing through your veins like fire, this was all Bills idea, yet he had left you down there to run off.

“Bill?”  Eddie muttered one more time until he fell over into the water. The group stopped to turn around, Richie was the first one to run over to him.

“Come on, get out of there Ed,” Richie spoke gently, he could see that his best friend was shaking with nerves as he took his aspirator. “That’s gray water.” You wanted to smile at the comment. It had been 2 months ago now that you’d all first traveled down into the sewers.

“W-wait, where’s my fucking flashlight?” He said as he stood, slightly leaning back down. A head peaked out around the corner you had just come from, smiling at the vulnerability Eddie was giving off.

“Eddie!” You screamed, Richie looked up seeing Pennywise and grabbed Eddie away from searching for his flashlight any longer.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here, come on. I can’t lose you.” The boys walked up to the rest of the group and the adventure carried on. Richie was watching you as you held onto Stan. He was nervous about the set determination in your eyes, this was it for you. You didn’t want to have to deal with Pennywise anymore. That’s what scared Richie the most. Sure, you both had come so far in the last week, having an unspoken mutual love for each other. At least, that’s how Richie saw it. That didn’t ease his fear about your hero complex anymore. He shook his head as you screamed out for Bill turning into the last corridor. He wanted to see you graduate high school, go to college, leave your parents far behind. He wanted to see you with him, in a relationship. Like the one you had now but where he could voice his love for you and keep you safe without coming off as pushy.

“Bev?” Your panicked voice snapped him out of his trance as you ran over to your floating best friend. “Beverly!” You screamed when you made your way under her. You jumped in the air repeatedly and Mike tried to help you, but she was just too far from your reach.

“Oh shit.” Richie commented, and your panicked eyes flickered to him.

“Bev.” You whispered a new fear in your belly as your breathing quickened.

“How is she in the air?” Stan was asking the important questions, but you couldn’t seem to focus on the how she got there, only the how to get her down.

“Guys,” Mike’s voice called your attention and you looked away from Bev for a moment to follow his eyes. “are those the missing kids?”

“Floating.” Eddie sounded so genuinely horrified, but a flicker of hope coursed through you. Bev wasn’t as high up as those other kids. Your girl wasn’t petrified.

“Just let me grab her.” You gestured to Mike and he bent over so that you could climb up his shoulders. It wasn’t an effortless process, but you managed to grab her by her ankles. “Fuck.” You were hanging in the air off Beverly’s body. “I’m slipping.” Ben’s hand reached up and started pulling you down with Beverly. When you reached the floor you sighed, but her eyes were blank. “Bevy?” Her pupils were pure white, her head still tilted upwards looking towards the top of the floating kids. “Beverly fucking Marsh.”

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Ben asked from behind you as he paced back and forth. You could feel his nerves as he loved the girl as much as you did though it was a different kind of love.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Beverly, come on.”

“Is she going to wake back up?”

“What if he fed on her already?”

The Boys were firing questions at you as you stared at your blank best friend. You shook your head, your eyes growing glassy. You would have felt it if your best friend left this earth. You would know.

“Shut up!” You screamed causing the boys behind you to fall silent. “Beverly Marsh. If you die on me, I’ll hate you. I will hate you forever.” You cried as you grabbed her by the cheeks and looked straight into her blank eyes. “We met in the 8th grade, Greta Bowers was trying to harass you. I saved your ass with my quick thinking and then my even quicker running.” You chuckled at the memory. “Then we went to go see a reshowing of the breakfast club and I called you Molly Ringwald for 3 weeks after that.”

“What is she – “

“Shut up.”

“You hated that name and started calling me (N/N). When you started smoking cigarettes I would always smack them out your hand but when you got taller than me I would have to jump to reach it.” You took a deep breath of determination. “Point is Marsh, you’re my best friend. My best friend with her own keys to my house and a bedroom. My best friend in the world and I love you.” You kissed her cheek gently causing Beverly to gasp. “Bev!” The tears in your eyes spilled over as life filled hers.

“(Y/N)?”

“Oh you fuck mother fucker I could kill you dead right now, I am so mad at you how dare you.” You rambled on as you squished her to you in a tight hug.

“I see you picked up Richie’s vocabulary.”  She hugged you back. You smiled with watery eyes happy that your best friend was talking.

“Ben.” You mumbled, and she pulled back to peer at you. “January Embers.” Her expression morphed but she moved away from you and instead took 3 steps to Benjamin before crashing her lips onto his. Near death experiences seemed to make her romantic.

“Woah.” Richie’s eyes widened. “Damn.”

“January Embers.” She whispered as she pulled back from a stunned Ben.

“My heart burns there too.” He said a small smile on his lips as he gazed into Beverly’s eyes.

“Not to ruin the mood,” Stan said as his eyes surveyed the sewer “But where’s Bill?” Your heads all snapped to where Bill was standing a few feet away, a small Georgie in front of him. There was a collective group of gasps. Georgie was alive?

No. You thought. It’s IT.

You all walked over to where Bill was, his face in a tight-lipped line as he gazed at Pennywise who was trying to play tricks with his weak mind.  

“I couldn’t keep up with It.” Georgie said as he cried. He had one arm as the other was just a space where Pennywise must have taken a bite out of his prepubescent body.

“She, Georgie.” Bills voice cracked as he spoke inching towards Georgie. Your brain told you to move to him, but your feet were sown to the spot. “They call boats, She.”

“Take me home, Billy.” You could see it in Bills face that he wanted to reach out and scoop Georgie up. “I want to go home. I miss you, I want to be with mom and dad.” You noticed the gun that Mike carried was now behind Bills back, you couldn’t remember when he’d gotten it.

“I want more than anything for you to be home with mom and dad.” Bill sucked in a breath as he faced the illusion. “I miss you so much.”

“I love you, Billy.”

“I love you too, but you’re not Georgie.” Bill pulled the gun out from behind his back and pulled the trigger. Your eyes widened as you stared at Bills trembling hand.

“Holy shit.” Richie gasped from behind you. Georgie’s body collapsed on the ground and all was quiet. For a second you were afraid that Bill had killed the actual Georgie and that you all assumed too quickly but when the body started to convulse you were reassured. A small arm was growing out the wound and you stopped yourself from gagging. Georgie was returning to his true form, Pennywise. And as the body began to grow and the bones expanded you all took a step back in horror.

“Kill him now, Billy!” You screamed. “Kill him!” Pennywise was looming in front of your fearless leader, his expression convey annoyance and a deep seeded hunger for your leader. Fear flowed in your veins.

“Shit!” Richie yelled and your friends all followed with chants to kill the clown.

“It’s not loaded!” Mike yelled over your insistence for Bill to kill Pennywise. “The gun isn’t loaded.” No one seemed to be able to hear Michael causing him to grow nervous.

“Do it, Bill! Kill him!”

“Hey, it’s not loaded!” Mike tried again but it was too late. Bill had shot an empty gun at Pennywise who smirked in victory. Richie swore from behind you. You and Beverly standing in the front of the group.

“Bill, watch out!” Bill dodged Pennywise’s attempt to grab at him. “Leave him alone!” Beverly yelled she inched toward Pennywise no longer having any fear but your hand reaching out for her arm stopped her.

“Bev, don’t!” She stopped. Your group was scattering, someone yelling someone’s name every few seconds. You could almost taste the collective fear. The world stopped when Pennywise successfully grabbed Bill and yanked him to his chest.

“No, don’t let him go!” Beverly’s voice was desperate as you all stopped moving to peer at Pennywise.

“Let him go!” You yelled yourself, the group inching back together to face Pennywise and Billy.

“No.” Pennywise hissed looking at you. “I’ll take him. I’ll take all of you and I’ll feed on your flesh as I feed on your fear.” Eddie gasped. “Or, you’ll just leave us be I’m taking him, only him. And then I’ll have my long rest and you will all live to grow old and lead happy lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.” There was a collective pause as you all glanced at each other. Was pennywise, bargaining? As you formulated your own plan in your head, you missed the wheels turning in Richie’s as well.

“Leave,” Bill said his voice defeated, “I’m the one who dragged you all into this.” His gaze landed on Stan as he remembered what he said to him earlier, “I’m s-s-s, I’m s-s-sorry. S-s-s-sorry.”  No one moved as your eyes stayed on Bill, your fearless leader. Ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. Richie had always told you that you had a suicidal hero complex, today you were going to prove him right. “Go!”

“Guys we can’t.” Beverly whispered desperately. Pennywise’s jaw opened and you saw your opportunity. You loved your family, they had welcomed you into their ragtag group when you were just in 2nd grade. They loved you just as much and you knew that you couldn’t live without any of them. They were all stronger than you, they could take losing someone better than you could. They would heal, you would never get over it. Feeling responsible for the death of your friend. So, you ran over to Bill ripping him from the clown’s death grip and flinging him to the side, you had moved so fast that no one had gotten a chance to scream your name. Not until the clown’s jaw clamped down onto your neck ripping out the flesh. You fell soundlessly to the ground, your head colliding with the pavement.  

“(Y/N)!” You couldn’t place the multiple voices that yelled out above you as you watched Bill inching from you in horror. His eyes were glassy for less than a second before anger replaced the expression. You had saved him and that was all that matters. It was surprisingly cold to you for the middle of the summer and your jumbled brain was wishing you had worn a sweater. You saw Richie above you a bat held over his head as he brought it down roughly on the clown. He looked so mad, his expression twisted. It sounded as if your friends were warriors yelling out their battle cries in your honor. You wished you could chuckle, oh how you loved your losers. Did death always take this long? Your head lolled to the side as your breathing slowed. You hummed lightly seeing the images of you friends flicker by above you. You had had a wonderful 9 years with them, your sacrifice was worth it. They would be okay. They had each other and with the love they all had they would put themselves back together again. You hear a scream and you know that it’s Bev. Was she screaming for you, or was she screaming out her pain?  

It’s okay Bevy, it’ll be okay. You think the words falling quiet. You wonder what’s taking so long for your eyes to shut and your heart to give out. Suddenly the group was crowding your bleeding figure. Richie had you in his arms though you couldn’t feel them.

“I fucking knew it, I fucking knew you would do this.” He sobbed as your head eyes struggled to still be open. “You and that dumb superhero complex.”

“P-penny.” You wheezed.

“He got away.” Mike answered you. Your eyesight wasn’t clear enough to see the tormented expressions on each of their faces. You were going to die down here in these sewers.

“We need to get her to a hospital.” Eddie said frantically pulling at Richie’s arm. “Come on you fuck, move it, move it, move it.” Richie shoved him away and Eddie fell onto his ass crying.

“Saved Bill.” Your eyes were closed. “Happy.”

“I was going to save Bill you idiot.” Richie was torn, he couldn’t believe this was happening to him. To any of them. Sure, it had been his biggest fear, but he had never thought he’d have to face it so soon. “I was going to beat pennywise with a bat after a dramatic speech.”

“Mmph.” You responded resting your head on Richie’s chest. “Sorry, didn’t think through.”

“Hey!” Beverly yelled at you. You didn’t re-open your eyes, but she could tell you were trying to listen. “If you die on me I’ll hate you forever (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She crawled to your side putting her hands on your neck. “We have to stop the bleeding, we have to – we need to –“

“Tired.” You said as your eyes flickered open. Richie knew this was going to be your final goodbye he could see it in your face. Your calculating.

“Don’t say goodbye.” He warned clenching his teeth. “Don’t fucking do it. You’re fine.”

“Richie, I love y-“ You couldn’t get it out, the cold was too welcoming. The silence too filling so you fell to it. A small smile on your lips.

“(Y/N).” Richie shook your lifeless body. “(Y/N), open your fucking eyes this isn’t funny!” The losers all sobbed as Richie put you on the ground trying to revive you. He had his lips pressed to yours as he administered failed CPR. “(Y/N).” He sobbed, his head to your cold on. Your skin was clammy and soaked in your own blood. “I love you (Y/N), I love you.” His body rocked with emotion. “Please don’t leave me here alone.” Richie couldn’t understand that you weren’t coming back. He was telling himself this was a nightmare and when he woke you’d be in his arms. Just another one of Pennywise’s tricks. Beverly’s body had closed in on itself as she grabbed at her hair. She was crying just as hard as Richie if not more.

All the Losers felt ruined, responsible even. Richie had warned them about your superhero complex. He had even fought with Bill on it, but still he had asked you to fight with him for a brother her secretly knew was gone. Everyone was crying over your dead body, minds whirling. Fucking Pennywise. Eddie was rummaging in his Fanny-Pack as though something he found was going to help you. They stayed like that for what felt like 30 minutes, the bodies above them falling to the ground. Death surrounded the losers. Even Benjamin was crying, he hadn’t known you as well, but you had shown him the most kindness out of anyone he could have ever met.

“H-her parents.” Mike hiccupped. “Who’s going to tell her parents?”

“I will.” Bev muttered. “I’ll tell them she died like a fucking hero.”

AUTHOR NOTE - OKAY WAIT DON’T RIOT LEMME EXPLAIN!!!!! It makes sense to the story, she always had a “suicidal hero complex.” and I didn’t want to put it in there for no reason. Pieces have to fit together you know? Plus there’s an alternate ending coming soon. Probably Tmmr. 

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[one-shotsmora]

Hello everybody!

》This is my first one shot in English, and I have a hard time dramatic so please understand, girls.

•Character: Anthony Stark

This is a sad one so get your tissues ready.

《Brittle hearts》

I walked calmly to the mansion that I had considered my home for several years.  It was not difficult at all to get used to it, since Tony and I practically spent day and night together since we were puberts with raging hormones.  And yes, he and I were dating from fourteen to 25 where he wonderfully proposed to me.

And to say that being the wife of the self-centered, philanthropic and incredibly irritating billionaire (only occasionally for me) Anthony Stark has not been easy at all.  Adding to the sum the fact that in recent months he has been obsessed with more massive weapons than usual and that, according to him, they will end the war once and for all.

Oh, and I almost forgot one last detail: the media;  which, practically paint me as the most stupid and blind cuckold of the century.  And it's true, I don't believe anything, Tony has always been a very difficult person to please and cope with, eccentric and stubborn that he is, however, he is the person with whom I chose to spend my days.

The Malibu mansion is strangely lonely and peaceful, and I've had a lot of work at the publishing house where I run and times are getting complicated for me.  Today I was supposed to accompany my wonderful husband to the delivery of his award but my job demanded more and I had to call him to tell him that we could not even eat together and that later I would reward him.  Which made him very angry.

But when I saw the lonely mansion I grabbed with more emotion the bag where I wear a fine lingerie that leaves nothing to the imagination.

I kick off my heels at the door and greet the AI ​​effusively and running fast to our room to get ready and look sexy and provocative as a reward for my husband, a nice and exquisite surprise that I hope and like too much.

But I was surprised when I finally entered my room.

Anthony is on a blonde spread her legs for him while he violently attacks her and she moans like a bitch in heat.

The scene makes my heart break as much as it can and I feel that the air does not reach my lungs, feeling a horrible pain in my chest.

My stupor is such that I only managed to articulate a plaintive sound from the back of my throat that takes my breath away.

"Precious, you were early," she says cheekily as she comes out of the bitch who just helped end my marriage and puts on her panties. "This ... is not quite what you're thinking honey, I swear."

"Oh no?" I manage to articulate with effort as anger bubbling and pulsing from my stomach and quickly makes its way down my throat without me even managing to control everything that comes out after my mouth. "Then what the fuck is this Anthony?"  !  Because damn I don't think you need a slut spread her legs just to sleep! - I turn my gaze to the slut who is still lying on the bed- What are you waiting for, damn blonde?  Get out! - he yelled, totally out of my mind.

But I don't know if her stupid neurons are not working or they were burned with so much blonde tint that she just turns to look at my unfaithful husband pouting.

But my Latin blood, humiliation and fury embodied in me.

In long strides I reached the slut and grabbed her hair tightly as I dragged her out of bed and out of my room with an Anthony who just came out of shock to see me in that state and the whore screaming and trying to scratch my arm.

-I told you long! - I did not care if she hit or injured herself when I dragged her down the stairs, I only told JARVIS to open the front door and I with my adrenaline rush would throw her out of the mansion. -And I hope for your damn good that I never see your fox face again.

I take exhales and inhales trying to calm myself but nothing I try to calm myself mentally works.

I turn to the man to whom I gave blind trust and swore eternal love, looking hurt, disappointed and most of all angry.

"I want the damn divorce papers in less than five days," I sis trying to contain myself. I saw that he opened his mouth to reply but I didn't let him.- I don't want any damn thing to come out of your dirty mouth. Trust you, I believed in you before others, I gave you all of me, and you pay me like this? Cheating me? Making me seem like the biggest make me laugh in history for being by your side? - I say releasing the contained tears.

I turn straight to the room that we will no longer share from today and begin to put a few changes of clothes in a bag and hygiene products while he babbles behind me.

-Baby, I'm really sorry, I'm really sorry and I don't know exactly how to remedy it, but I swear, I really swear I'm going to change, I'm going to do everything you want my life but don't leave me- he said crying.

I ignored him, closed my bag and headed quickly towards the exit, taking from the table my purse and keys to the passing car. He stopped me from the doll talking to me and coming face to face to see her suffering.

It hurts? Well, more than you.

-Don't go please, calm down, let's go to sleep darling and tomorrow we'll talk more calmly, you never think hot, it's one of the things I love the most about you, heart, please.- I beg myself once again.

But I was determined.

-You know, I would have forgiven you one, or maybe two infidelities- he opened his mouth to reply but I did not let him.- But I know, that it is not the first time Anthony, that there have been many more and that you take care of hiding and erasing of the networks, deep down I sensed it but I never said anything and I preferred to keep my blind trust in you and you ruined it. So let's do ourselves a favor and get this over with.

I let go and got out, removed the car insurance and when he was about to enter I heard his last prayer.

-Don't leave me too, you're the only thing I have- he spoke with a hoarse voice. -I love you more than 3000.

But do not look back even if you said our love phrase; when I started the car and ran out of there.

The next two days, while I was talking to my lawyer, seething with anger when I saw that he had not sent me the divorce papers, they went on the news how they had my soon-to-be ex-husband kidnapped and seriously injured. My heart ached and concern and lack of society surfaced.

And I just prayed that he got out of that hell alive.

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

Give love to this one shot if you also imagined a dramatic story with this hot man.

With much love for you. 

-The loss dwells

[wayhaught-life-blog]

She dies

It was a good day. Everyone came over to the homestead for family dinner. Nicole, and dolls were outside talking about something. Doc, and Wynonna were playing cards, and well Jeremy he was trying that's what matters.

I was making a salad, and everyone insisted on helping, but like it's a salad. I had finished, and walked in to the living room to see that Wynonna was wining to docs disappointment. Jeremy was admiring doc to say at the least.

"Wave get me a drink would ya?" Wynonna asked looking at her cards, and smiling at me once she played her hand.

"Sure!" I said walking in to the kitchen.

I got the bottle down almost empty, but of course being at the Earp homestead there is another one  somewhere.

The door slammed opened, and dolls started yelling him and Nicole both running in the house as fast as they possibly could, well from what I could here that's what I figured.

"Everyone get down!" He yelled as loud as he could, tackling (well what sounds to be a tackle) Wynonna Jeremy, doc by the sound of the impact.

"Where is Waverly?" Nicole said panicked, and yelling.

"Kitchen." Wynonna said confused.

I walked out in to the hallway, to see everyone on the ground besides Nicole who was shaking. She saw me almost immediately, and tackled me to the ground hard.

"What's happening?" I chocked trying to get my breath back, Nicole wasn't heavy her weight was nice on my body, but she tackled me so hard the wind was knocked out of me.

"Don't move, or talk, stay absolutely still, Waverly we can not move."

   She whispered in my ear, being as quiet and still as possible, and calm well as calm as she could be. Her heart was throbbing it was so fast I could hear it faintly, I could also feel it this can not be good. Especially when she was shaking, and dolls provided the same reaction.

As soon as she said that guns started to fire in to the house. Her arms wrapped around me Nicole being my personal shield. I moved my arms around her at the top of her back holding her closer to me.

The door swung open, things fell upstairs, and all the Windows were broken in to. Nicole didn't move, and I tried my best not to. Jeremy screamed, but someone shut him up. No one else made an audible sound from what I could here.

"Kitchen!" A man yelled I shut my eyes and took a deep breath tightening my grip on Nicole.

"By, the table!" Another man yelled, and people moved surrounding me and Nicole. Probably the others.

"Haught. We know you are alive, can't play poisoned. We saw you throw the smoke Bomb. "

Nicole didn't even flinch, she stayed in place, I tried the absolute best I could. I heard the click of a gun, and Nicole finally moved she moved her head and I opened my eyes. I looked at her tear filled eyes, with my own in the same state.

"Waverly, I love you." She said before I heard the pull of a trigger. I heard the bullet, shoot out of the gun followed by Nicole pressing her head in to my shoulder, screaming in pain.

It was blood coddling. It sent tears to my checks. It sent a shiver through my whole body. The men left the room to be chased away by a fire breathing dolls, doc, Wynonna, and Jeremy yes Jeremy shooting.

I felt the blood fall on me, and turned Nicole over keeping my hand on the wound in her back.

"Baby, your going to ok we will get you to the hospital, hold on Nicole, please."

"I..." she started out weakly

"I love you Waverly Earp."

She said as the others came rushing in. Dolls rolled Nicole on her side pushing her shirt out of the way, with Jeremy as Wynonna, and doc forced me out of room. Ignoring my screaming, and kicks to try to free from there grip.

"NICOLE! Stop! NO! Let me go!!! LET ME GO!!!" I screamed cried, as doc and Wynonna got me as far away from her as possible.

"I LOVE YOU TO NICOLE HAUGHT!!!"

I screamed loud for her hopefully to hear.

"Wave-" Wynonna started totally unfazed.

"No! Don't you wave me! My girlfriend, your best friend was just shot for real this time so DO NOT wave me. Let me fucking go." I screamed at them trying desperately, violently to get away from them and to Nicole.

"Miss Waverly-"

"You shut it to doc and put me down damit!!!" I screamed, and cried trying everything I could to get to Nicole.

"Let her in!" Dolls said, and Wynonna, and doc obeyed.

I ran as fast as I possibly could in to the kitchen. I stopped at the sight of my girlfriend, spilling out blood, and it polling around her.

I got on my knees in the blood I didn't care at this point.

"Nicole, your going to be fine ok your strong, the ambulance is coming soon."

"I love you." Was all she chocked up, along with some blood. Her eyes stilled and I couldn't feel her heart beet anymore.

"NO! NO! NICOLE DON'T DIE, YOU CAN'T. BABY NO! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NICOLE!"

I screamed at her lifeless body hugging her as if it would bring her back. Nicole was gone. No she can't be gone. I was cover in blood, sodding hard in to the body of my dead girlfriend hugging her so hard it hurt.

"Baby!" So one called out.

"NICOLE?!?!?!" I screamed looking down at her. No still gone. I pulled her body closer. I cried harder.

Nothing could brink her back. Not even me. Nothing...

Nothing...

Nothing at all could bring Nicole Haught back.

"Waverly! Wave baby wake up it's just a nightmare. Baby your safe. Please wake up."

I was dreaming?

I 'woke' up to find myself on our bedroom floor in Nicole's arms.

I pushed my body in to hers pushing us down to the ground. She's alive. God worst nightmare I've ever had.

"NICOLE!!! Your alive." I screamed in to her chest as I cried. I cried so hard I don't think I've ever cried so hard.

"Shhh... Baby I'm right here. Your ok. I'm ok. No one died. Shhh..." she said holding me close.

I calmed down a little, and I stopped crying a little, but I still held her every close.

"How did... what happened?" I asked very confused.

"You were having a nightmare, and fell out of the bed. I tried so hard to get you to wake up but nothing worked. You were kicking, and screaming my name. Saying you loved me for someone to let you go. Not to die, that I would be fine. I've never been so scared for you in my life. You cried so hard. I'm so so sorry, I couldn't wake you up."

"I'm sorry I was trying to get away from doc, and Wynonna. To get to you? Well dream Nicole. And don't worry it's not your fault well it totally is you went and died on me." I said as I started to cry in to her again.

"Please Don't ever do that in real life of in another bream. I Don't want to loss you I can't lose you Nicole please Don't leave me."

"Waverly, baby I'm never going to leave you. I won't ever leave you. Don't worry I'm not going to die anytime soon. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Do you want to talk about it, after we get back in bed?"

"Yeah, kind of actually I think it will make me feel better in a way."

"I'm a ears, and tissue I guess."

"Sorry." I said as she helped me up

"Don't be I'll be your tissue any day. Except for snot I kinda draw the line there."

"Yeah me to."

"Glad we agree." She said pulling me as close as she possibly could.

"Ok so it started, just a normal dinner. Right?" I asked and she shook her head in agreement completely ready to hear my dream about how she died because it will make me feel a little better.

I told her the story, crying as I told it her. She sat there and listened. Whipping my tears to the best of her ability.

"God wave that's terrible. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I'm sorry you had to see me do what you said, probably getting kicked in the process, and then having to hear about your death in detail, because it helped me feel better taking about it. God now that I say it out loud I sound like a crazy sociopathic girlfriend. How terrible dose that make me Nic, honestly?"

"No, wave you aren't terrible. We have a hard life, and people cope in different ways ours just happens to be talking about it while using your girlfriend as a personal tissue."

"Your the best girlfriend ever, Nicole. You know that right?"

"I do, you've told me multiple times, And your amazing."

Inspired by this AMAZING story which you really need to read right now like just book mark it. Why are you even still reading this just click on the link now do it now.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12094149

God. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to write. I wanted to do it, but just the way I write the story I feel like it has so much emotion. I just wow I'm surprised I didn't cry more than I did while writing this Jesus. I hope you like it!!!

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds S06E19 “With Friends Like These” review - or more aptly named, OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS BUG HALL! I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS HONEY! Also, Ash from Supernatural XD

Episode 19 – With Friends Like These

Oh my fucking god!!!! Bug Hall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m going to love this so fucking much.

I’m obsessed with Bug.

Let’s see what happens.

That’s Bug Hall!

And Ash from Supernatural!

Oh, my excitement levels just skyrocketed.

Oh, my grieving goddes.

“Penelope, you gotta stop staring at her. Prentiss wouldn’t want us to sulk. You know that.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“I’m surrounded by testosterone now.”

“She would also want us to embrace Seaver.”

She baked.

“Gradua?”

?

“Kevin at the T.”

“And the E.”

“Come on, you.”

“Listen, I got an idea.”

“You and I could eat the U and the A, and that way it would say ‘Congratulations, grad.’”

“And here I always imagined you feeding me strawberries.”

Oh, that was exactly what the Doctor ordered.

“How you doing?”

“All right. I’m worried about the team.”

“And Strauss thinks that adding a probationary agent is gonna solve our problems.”

“Seaver knows she’s not replacing Prentiss.”

“I know. And she’s got potential, but we need an experienced profiler and we need one now.”

“Have you started looking yet?”

“Yeah. Let me know if you have any ideas.”

Again with the new people to the team? Please, I haven’t even reached Penelope’s’ stage of grief-baking, can you let me have a little time? Please?

“Congratulations, Agent Seaver.”

Ha. He fist-bumped her, I love my Italian grandpa.

“Who made the cupcakes?”

“I did.”

“Let’s get started.”

“Okay, we’re going to Portland, Oregon, and it’s not for a Dead Moon concert.”

“So, Jay Johnson, a DJ, was cutting through an alley on his way home after leaving a club when he was bludgeoned by a pipe and then stabbed 31 times. His watch, his cell, and his computer were stolen.”

“That was two days ago.”

“Now, early this morning, Karen Heywood, a 30-year-old nurse, she died during a home invasion. She was stabbed 40 times, but first she was bludgeoned with weapons of opportunity.”

“Eight different ones, to be exact.”

“That’s too many for one person.”

“There was a left- and right-handed killer according to the ME report.”

“Yeah, but eight different weapons.”

“So we’re looking for a group.”

“Yeah, it seems that way.”

“And the left-handed wounds were deeper than the right.”

“Maybe a woman was involved?”

“Or a weak man. Anything taken from the house?”

“According to a neighbor, just some random stuff … a computer, some jewelry, a framed picture of Lily. And a pawnable items.”

“What do we have, serial-killing crooks?”

“Sounds like a musical.”

I think I just died.

“Why kill them if it’s just for the money?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

“And we’ve got eight hours till nightfall. Let’s go.”

I’m still not okay with this:

Lisette Reese: “The old faiths light their candles all about, but burly truth comes by and puts them out.”

“So both victims around the same age and killed at night.”

“One in an alley on the way to his car, the other in her home after coming from the grocery after work.”

“There’s extreme overkill in both.”

“Overkill usually implies a personal relationship.”

“Or it could mean that the victim represents someone for whom the killer has extreme anger.”

“These unsubs are night owls, stalking and killing other night owls.”

”And they’re also disorganized.”

“In one they subdued their victims by hitting them with a pipe found in the scene, and in the other they used a knife, followed by seven other items found in the kitchen. A doorstep, even a ceramic cat.”

“All of this just to steal?”

I love it that one of the crime scene photos is the broken ceramic kitty.

“When a gang mentality sets is, unsubs become more capable of heinous acts.”

“It’s still odd.”

And you’re still annoying.

“The incidence of robbery is so low in this area.”

“That’s why I started working a geographical profile.”

“First thing’s first, I factored in journey to crime distance. If you look here, you’ll see that this area of Portland is well within the expected 5-mile radius. I also factored in distance of decay.”

“What does distance have to do with decay?”

Someone punch the blonde.

“It’s how geo-profilers measure relative probability of an offender traveling outside his comfort zone.”

“Unsubs prefer to stay in an area that they know well.”

“Like you’d commute to work or to the gym.”

“The closer the crime scenes, the greater the likelihood it is that the unsubs lives or works nearby.”

“Based on my algorithm, the unsubs either live or work in the area.”

“Detective, did your people process the crime scene?”

“The ME’s report says she died after the second stab wound because they hit an artery. The other wounds didn’t bleed.”

“So why inflict 38 more?”

“We see it sometimes with groups. The fact that others are involved helps each of them rationalize their own violent behavior.”

“Like Mason and the genocide in Darfur.”

“These unsubs like the feeling of killing. They get a high from the adrenaline release.”

“Yeah, but that lasts only as long as the victim keeps struggling. That’s not what happened here.”

“So Mr. Johnson exits the nightclub through the back door to get to his car. Maybe one unsub can watch from over there and the other from back there.”

“Then when he gets here, another unsub hits him with a pipe and it’s game on.”

“Look at the vials, Reid. This is a drug corridor.”

“That would explain why there’s so much overkill.”

“Maybe they were on something.”

“On the jet I did some research on the club. A year ago, someone OD’ed inside. Since then new management’s clamped down on the partying.”

“Which means the unsubs more likely fit in to this area.”

“Well, if you can’t party inside, then you come out here.”

“They’re probably the same age.”

“Yeah, mid-20s.”

“I checked the back. There’s a flat-screen, a desktop, and a bicycle.”

“Now, if this group’s going for pawnable items, why take a picture of a lily and other random things.”

“Maybe they ran out of time.”

“It’s not a very busy neighborhood.”

“Is the TV bolted down?”

“No. So a group of unsubs would have grabbed it.”

“What if we’re looking for a single unsub?”

“You think all these footprints were made by one person?”

“A group so disorganized wouldn’t do something as hyper-organized as wearing the same shoe. No, I don’t think it’s a group. I think it’s one very erratic killer.”

“I’ll let Morgan know.”

“You’re sure you didn’t see a group here that night?”

“Is it possible there was a group out in the parking lot?”

“All right, tell me where you saw Karen first.”

“Any other customers there?”

“Why would you have two registers open that time of night?”

“What did this guy look like?”

“Did this guy and Karen interact?”

“Just put her head down and said something dismissive back?”

“We tend to do that when strange people talk to us. Unfortunately, it can backfire.”

Oh shit. You learn something new every day.

“Yeah, Hotch. You were right.”

“He was by himself, but he was acting strange, like he was being followed>”

“Reid and Seaver went to the club and found that the first victim was killed in an area of high drug use. If he’s hallucinating, it could be PCP.”

“That would explain why he stole random things from Karen’s place. He was out of it.”

“And the erratic patterns in the stabbing.”

“The adrenaline rush from the drugs is probably behind the overkill.”

“Go ahead, Garcia.”

“Okay, I checked all the local pawn shops to see if any of those stolen items had shown up there.”

“I’m coming up empty.”

“Maybe he’s trading the goods for drugs.”

“What do you mean, he? We’re talking about a group, right?”

“No, we think it’s a solo addict who’s hallucinating that he’s not alone.”

“Wow. That is a game changer. Thanks.”

“He’s continuing the postmortem stabbing.”

“He’s accelerating. Two kills two days apart.”

“If he’s on PCP, he’d be so violent he’d use every muscle he had. He’d strangle, kick, bludgeon.”

“The bedroom’s a mess. We need to find someone who knew the place in order to figure out specifically what was taken.”

“Hey, guys. You hear that?”

“Footsteps upstairs?”

“You think they heard something?”

“I think the person upstairs did.”

I seriously like this woman. If only because she sounds so fucking innocent and childlike.

“Ma’am, when did you hear the screaming?”

“Well, then you must have heard the unsub, because according to the ME, Joe died around 2:45.”

“Our suspect, ma’am.”

“What exactly was the person yelling?”

“Was anybody talking back to him?”

“You know, maybe he was having a conversation with his hallucination.”

“We’re not really sure, ma’am.”

“You’ve been a really big help, Mrs. Donolly. Thank you very much.”

“PCP hallucinations are terrifying. He wouldn’t want to talk to them.”

“Well, hallucinations from mental illnesses are not violent.”

“You know, he’s in his 20s and was acting paranoid in the supermarket. He sounds like a paranoid schizophrenic to me.”

“The disease does manifest itself at this age.”

“What if the people he’s seeing are blaming him for something.”

“Or worse.”

“The voices in his head could be telling him to kill.”

I love a smiley Bug, but seriously - this is freaky.

“We believe our unsub is a white male paranoid schizophrenic who suffers from hallucinations. Since schizophrenic breaks usually occur in your early 20s, we believe he’s around this age and that he lives nearby.”

“We believe something happened to our unsub in childhood. Childhood voices are telling him to kill, or he’s misinterpreting them as doing so. Our unsub has probably been coping until now, but a recent stressor brought him back to that childhood incident and is causing him to act out.”

My honey having his headaches again. And of course Derek notices.

“Now, once we figure out what happened when he was a kid and the stressor that recently triggered a relapse, we’ll be that much closer to narrowing down the killer’s identity.”

“Eyes …”

“You know, that profile kind of makes it sound like schizophrenia leads to serial killing.”

“That’s not what we said at all, Reid.”

“You know, my mom has schizophrenia. There are many different types.”

“I know that.”

“Catatonic, disorganized … just because someone suffers from inability to organize their thoughts or they can’t bathe or dress themselves, it doesn’t mean they’d stab someone in the chest 30 times postmortem.”

“Reid, what’s really going on?”

“Our unsub’s hallucinations aren’t fractured like a typical schizophrenic.”

“They’re vivid and clear, leading me to believe that we’re missing an important variable.”

“Rather than making crazy conjectures, I think we should be trying to figure out what it is.”

“Okay, listen. I know this is a scary age for you.”

“It’s when schizophrenic breaks happen.”

“Have you talked to anybody about this?”

“Emily.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“They all say I’m fine.”

“Then why don’t you believe them?”

“Because predicting one’s chances of developing a genetic condition are like finding a penny in an ocean.”

“I have terrible headaches. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t focus on our cases.”

“I only read five books last week.”

Now we KNOW something is wrong with Reid. Only five books a week? Damn, pretty boy.

“Come on, kid, you gotta cut yourself some slack. You’re also depressed about Prentiss, and I get it … we all are.”

“Reid, I miss her every day.”

“But if your mind was splitting, do you really think you’d be able to figure out that this team was missing a variable?”

“I’m just speculating we are. You need to prove it.”

“Okay, then you do that.”

“The moment you are wandering around the streets aimlessly, that’s when I’ll be concerned about you. Come on, pretty boy. Let’s get to work.”

I love this friendship so much.

“Because of HPPA laws, I can’t get information on 20-something-year-olds who’ve had schizophrenic breaks.”

“Then check police records. maybe he’s been arrested.”

“Oh, I should have thought of that.”

“Blame the fumes.”

“Okay.”

Oh my goodness, she’s the cutest thing ever.

“Hey, six kids have been locked up in the last month within a 40-mile radius.”

“Any of them for theft?”

“Um … mugging, lewd behavior, car theft.”

“All right, go through personal information. Maybe they’ve had run-ins with the law when they were younger.”

“Yes, sir, I am on that.”

“You know, at the grocery store where Karen Heywood was shopping the night she was murdered, the clerk said the unsub was buying water and a lot of salt.”

“Saltwater could be used to torture his victims.”

“Well, there’s no evidence of that.”

“It could be used to remove victims’ blood from clothing.”

“Think about this, though. The visions that schizophrenics have can be interpreted as demons. What do some people do when they think they have demons inside of them?”

My genius chocolate puppy. God, he’s so delicious.

“They could get an exorcism.”

“Holy water is used in exorcisms.”

“What about the salt?”

“Salt is used in exorcisms and a variety of religious healings.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The number of churches in the comfort zone. Three.”

“All right, let’s see if any of them keep their doors open late.”

Lordy, I love my brilliant poodle. Someone should give him all the awards and the biggest mwah kiss there is.

Buggy Boy has gone to the church, and for some reason ‘Get Me to the Church’ from My Fair Lady is stuck in my head;.

“What did he say?”

“You’re right. He thinks he’s haunted.”

Talk about crazy-ville.

“Did he ask you for an exorcism?”

“And what did you tell him?”

Churches don’t perform exorcism? And yet ...

“Some still do.”

“I’m assuming he didn’t take your rejection well.”

“But he didn’t attack you? He didn’t threaten you in any way?”

“He’s probably gotten help from the church before.”

“Was there anything else about his behavior that you found odd?” 

“Like something he maybe said or did?”

Look at those yummy, moisturized lips from that tongue XD

He stuttered.

“Okay, well, let me know what you find, Garcia.”

“Psychogenetic stuttering begins in the area of the brain that controls thoughts and reasoning. It’s most commonly associated with mental illness.”

“I checked with the supermarket guy and the lady at the building, but neither of them heard stuttering.”

“Which means it’s either caused by the schizophrenia situation or maybe it’s situational. Well, the presence of it along with the fire information should help Garcia narrow down her list.”

“This victim’s a lot older than the others, Morgan.”

“She must represent something to him.”

“Maybe his mother who had him exorcised.”

“Now that he can’t get one, he’s taking his anger out on a surrogate.”

“Did the EMTs try to save her?”

“There’s a body imprint next to her.”

“Why would the unsub lie down next to a person he’s just killed?”

“He slept here.”

“Look at the number of stab wounds. There’s gotta be over fifty of them.”

“Seventy one.”

XD my poodle

“Do you know how physically exhausting it would be stab someone 71 times?”

“It’s hard enough to stab someone ten times, but 71 … he’d be completely worn out.”

“He’s accelerated wound counts, which means he does it intentionally.”

“Wait, that’s it. If you add the increased number of stab wounds and the fact that he slept here to the vivid hallucinations and the unexplainable onset of stuttering, you get the missing variable.”

“The guy’s an insomniac.”

“Just as adrenaline makes a person love the feeling of killing, once it leaves the body it makes them tired. The insomnia is what makes the hallucinations so clear, and sleep is the only release that he has from them.”

Yikes, so he has to sleep in order not to kill. Fuck.

“Okay, here we go. I looked at that list of schizophrenics that have been recently arrested in that 40-mile radius. I cross-checked it with ones that have gone to local paramedics to get schizophrenia medication like Thorazine or Prolixin.”

“Any of them have prescriptions filled for sleeping medication as well?”

“Yes, one. Ben Foster, he has a prescription for Thorazine and Ambien.”

“It’s likely he uses the money from the stolen items to buy the pills.”

“What’s the background, baby girl?”

And we’re back XD

“He moved to Portland three years ago. A month ago he was in an apartment fire, after which he got a sleeping pill medication because his insomnia began again.”

“Oh my. When he was ten, he was questioned during an investigation about a fire that killed three people.”

“It could be part of the homicidal triad.”

“I’m looking at the police report right now. It turns out two months before, his mom had a local minister perform an exorcism on him, and the three people who were killed in the fire helped perform that exorcism.”

“Was Ben charged?”

“No. he was acquitted in juvie court.”

“You got an address?”

“Uh, 2627 Halden Way.”

“FBI!”

“Seaver, let’s go!”

“Hotch, we lost them.”

Don’t feel bad, puppy, youj’ll get the next unsub, promise. I think ... don’t know yet ;)

“We’re gonna check the back alley. Come on.”

“I think we’ve got something in 2218.”

Come on! Come on! He’s got two kids! Come on!

“Ben, drop the knife.”

“Ben, we’re not gonna shoot you, but we do need you to put down that knife, okay?”

“All right, where are the other people in this room, Ben?”

“Right here?”

“Were they there for the exorcism?”

“Ben, they’re dead and they can’t hurt you anymore.”

“No, Ben. Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

“Once you get help, it’ll all stop.”

“Ben, listen to us. It’s okay.”

“We’re gonna get you a doctor’s help. I promise you that.”

“Ben, that’s not true.”

“Listen, the only way we can help you is if you take that knife and you stab me in the neck with it.”

WHAT?!

“Oh, I’m absolutely sure of it.”

“Put that knife down, okay?”

“Take that knife, jam me in the neck with it, and all your problems will go away, okay?”

I”m just laughing my head off, because I love it when Matthew smiles, and it’s so cleasrly his delusion but it’s still so fucking awesome and funny. I can’t explain myself properly.

See? You got the unsub, baby.

“We need an ambulance.”

Siddhartha Buddha: “It is not his enemy or foe that lures him into evil ways.”

I’m jealous of that cup again.

Oh, my sleeping honeys.

“Why are you still up?”

“I’ve been looking over Ben’s file. Turns out he’d been seeing evil imaginary friends ever since he was a child.”

“Ben was always a killer.”

“You think he had schizophrenia?”

“He may have suffered from some mental disease, but schizophrenia usually presents itself in your late teens or early 20s. Ben did kill those people in that church fire, which his part of the homicidal triad. And his mother thought an exorcism would get rid of the demons.”

“The only way you stop a killer is to catch him, Seaver.”

“You know, I always viewed serial killers as monsters. But Ben’s remorse seemed real. And that’s why I can’t sleep. I … I can’t get him out of my mind. Does it ever go away?”

“Luckily it does.”

“Try to get some rest.”

I need to hug this man something fierce. I really do.

Okay, so we’re back to some awesome end of review notes - I think ... anyway, I love this episode so much! ‘Cause we’re back to dealing with Reid’s headaches and his fear of becoming schizophrenic like his m om (I love Jane Lynch) and we got more Reid/Morgan bromance. Baby Girl is back XD and of course we get awesome guest stars - I mean, fucking Bug Hall and Chad Lindberg. Seriously amazingly built episode, but too short for my liking.

I’ll see you all for the next one, kay? Thank you so much for your continuing support of my brain farts. <3

[rom-e-o]

“Red Thread” - Jokamu AU [1]

The Jokamu AU game is strong on this site, so I wanted to toss my hat into the ring. I’ve been working on this project for a while, but it’s still not complete. So I thought I’d post a sneak peek here! 

It’s very bare bones and needs some major editing, but I hope it can be enjoyed. The final version with multiple chapters will be posted on FF/here for sure.

Legend states that two people connected by the Red Thread if Fate are destined lovers. The gods tie the thread around the little fingers of two people destined to be soulmates. The couple’s love transcends universes and exists regardless of place or time.

The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break.

“Kana!” Corrin yelled upstairs to her son, who was supposed to be getting dressed for school. The woman knew she needed to continually prompt her son to hurry and get ready. Truthfully, she knew he was probably still in his pajamas and watching television. Her son was a good boy, albeit easily distracted.

Plus, she had a feeling the boy was still a little blue after their recent move.

Before living in the Valla Metropolitan Area, the mother and son duo had resided in the city of Nohr, where Kana had originally gone to school. Moving to the new municipality met that the boy had basically been uprooted from his home and separated from all his friends and even members of his Nohrian family. Frankly, the young woman couldn’t blame the poor boy for feeling stressed. She was an adult and she was still trying to find ways to cope.

If only the move had been all she’d had to worry about, perhaps it would have been easier to adapt.

The young woman hollered upstairs again, her hand cupping her mouth as she called up the stairs of her modest townhouse. “Hurry downstairs, honey! You’re going to be late for school!”

When no reply came, Corrin walked to the base of the stairs while reluctantly sliding her heels onto her already sore feet. She yelled again, “Kana! By the time I count to three, you better be downstairs!”

Silence answered her call.

“One…”

A muffled reply answered her call. It sounded like an ‘okay!’ She supposed that was promising enough for now. She’d give him a couple minutes before yelling up again.

The young woman sighed and ran a hand through her flaxen hair as she walked to her kitchen and took one last swig of coffee. The woman had barely been awake for an hour and had already emptied two cups. It seemed it was going to be one of those weeks.

She knew being a single mother would have its challenges, but she never imagined how hectic just the simple task of getting out the door in the morning would be.

Corrin had moved to the municipality of Valla about a year ago to accept a position of City Manager. The young woman had grown up with government ties in Nohr, but had moved to the city of Valla after learning of the nepotism and scandals in her hometown. The rumors had spread like wildfire and, although she’d never held a position of power in Nohr, she was quickly resented. She’d been born in the city of Hoshido, and even the legality of her citizenship had been called into question. Hoshido resented her, and it was too risky to remain in Nohr.

As a solution, she’d moved to Valla. It was an awkward city that was close to declaring bankruptcy. Her ultimatum had been to move to the city or face consequences in Nohr. If she could make a life there, perhaps she could give her son the childhood he deserved without having to witness political turmoil.

I have to give Kana a normal life, Corrin thought as she finished her coffee and placed the mug in the sink. He deserves it so much, especially after what he went through with his father…

The woman cringed, shuddering against all the violent memories that threatened to assail her in the moment. Corrin had left Kana’s biological father out of necessity, and had won the battle to take custody of Kana. That didn’t mean memories of her former spouse didn’t haunt her still.

Thankfully, the sound of her son’s footsteps awoke her from her day dream and directed her attention towards the corridor, where he was sitting on the bottom step and slipping on his sneakers. Seconds later, the boy bounced up and ran to his mother’s side, wearing casual clothes and sporting a messy hairstyle. The woman sighed at the sight of her son’s unkempt hair and decided to keep her mouth shut.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Kana said. “Mama, you don’t have to walk me to the station. I can get there by myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Any other kid would have made up the excuse to avoid being seen walking with his mother. Coming from Kana, it was a sincere statement.

“Are you excited?” Corrin asked as she reached for her purse and camel-colored coat, slipping it on over her narrow shoulders. “This is your first day of public school, after all.”

“Yep! I don’t have to wear a school uniform anymore,” he said excitedly. Despite his happy tone, she could tell at least part of his enthusiasm was only a façade. “So, um…that’s good.”

“Right,” Corrin replied awkwardly, averting her gaze from her son’s temporarily. A knife of guilt twisted into her heart, but she knew she was doing the right thing.

The young boy also retrieved his jacket from the nearby coat rack and pulled it on more clumsily than he would have liked. Corrin saw him struggl and reached down to help her son put his arms through the bulky sleeves.

“So, pop quiz time,” Corrin said as she kneeled to meet her son’s gaze. “How are you going to get home today?”

“I’ll get on the train and then transfer once to get to the station near the school,” he said with a nod. “When I come home, I can either take the train or the bus. There’s a stop a block away from the school, and I’ll take the bus home if there’s a delay for the train. I have the money for the fare if I need it, my metro card…and…”

The boy pursed his lips as he tried to recall the last item. Finally, he said with a burst of energy, “Oh! I also have that index card with your phone number on it in case I get lost!”

“That’s right,” Corrin said, wagging a finger in front of his face before playfully poking the tip of his nose. “If you get lost, be sure to call me as soon as possible. Just in case, I’ll give you some extra change for a payphone.”

As Corrin dug into her purse for some extra change that she’d otherwise probably use for toll booths, the little boy laughed and put a tiny hand on her elbow to stop her from giving him anymore money. Payphones were so outdated that it would be pointless to take away change she could possible use for more practical things anyway.

“I promise, Mama! I won’t get lost!”

Kana was completely lost.

The little boy had gotten to school without a problem and had found it incredibly easy to make friends. Although the classes at his former school had given him a jumpstart on some of the lessons, he was still baffled by some of the lessons taught by his older teacher. The boy didn’t catch his last name because all of the students simply referred to him by his first name, Gunter, much to the man’s chagrin.

Gunter’s irritation aside, Kana enjoyed his class and had even made friends with a younger girl named Midori. They’d played at recess and she had even volunteered to share her history textbook with him after the boy realized he’d forgotten to pack his after getting dressed. He supposed he got what he deserved after spending the entire morning watching cartoons instead of getting ready for school.

Once classes were dismissed, Kana had bid Midori farewell and set off to the train station. At least, that had been his plan.

The craziness of dismissal combined with the unfamiliar cityscape around the school had disoriented the boy and left him get turned around. Every building looked like the copy of the other. Some shone with a futuristic mirrored aesthetic while others were dull cement lumps anchoring shady street corners. The boy had circled the block a dozen times and hadn’t been able to locate the bus stop, train station or elementary school again.

After almost half an hour of walking through both safe and risky areas of the city, nothing around the boy looked familiar. None of the shops or stores looked like ones he’d passed on his way to school. Any bus stops he found weren’t on the route he needed to take home, and although he knew he could transfer if he had to, the map was so confusing that he didn't feel safe attempting to board.

Still, it was his best chance.

Kana had been holding back nervous tears for a while, but continued to force them back as he tried to navigate the overwhelming map of intertwining colorful pathways in parts of the city he didn’t even know existed.

Less than a minute later, the boy broke down into tears.

“Mama…” he wept, thinking only of how disappointed she would be in him. The boy had no idea that Corrin was already frantic with worry after calling her house and finding nobody home to take the call. She had already abandoned work early and driven to the school to find him, but Kana couldn’t have made it back even if he knew his mother was looking for him.

As he sniffled and tried to wipe his tears with the sleeves of his nylon jacket, he heard the soft ring of a bell a few feet behind him. It sounded like someone was exiting the shop behind the bus stop. Kana turned briskly in an attempt to hide his tears, but the stranger wasn’t fooled.

“Hey kid,” a voice droned lazily. “Um…are you lost? My old man said you can come in and use our phone.”

The blond child turned hesitantly to see the identity of the person who was speaking to him. The stranger was much older than him and appeared to be in high school. His clothes were dark and baggy, and his hair was thick but unkempt.

While Kana was initially put off by his deeply hooded eyes and hunched posture, there was something about the teen that seemed to calm him. Perhaps it was the very small, sincere smile on his face. It wasn’t the expression of someone faking kindness, but rather the smile of someone who was caring and concerned. His mother always looked at him similarly when he cried.

“I…um…” Kana stuttered as he gripped the zipper of his jacket nervously and tugged it back and forth. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

The teen laughed and nodded. He said slowly, “That’s good. Your parents taught you well.”

“My mom taught me,” Kana corrected timidly. “I can’t find her.”

The teen nodded sympathetically, feigning ignorance as if he hadn’t already pinpointed the vague source of the boy’s distress.

“Sure,” the teen said. “That’s really scary. I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be scared too.”

Kana looked at the teen and blinked his eyes slowly. Some of the guilt he felt for getting lost was lifted from his tense shoulders.

“You can come inside the restaurant and use the phone, or we can wait outside and you can call her on my cell phone if that makes you more comfortable. My old man and I just didn’t want you out here and lost by yourself.”

While the neighborhood around them wasn’t specifically unsafe, it certainly wasn’t the place a child should be walking alone.

“The restaurant?” Kana asked quietly.

“Well, that might be a stretch,” the teen said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s more like a café I guess.”

Kana followed the teen’s gesture and looked up to see a coffee shop with a variety of pastries in the window. The café was small and cramped like most places in the city, but the windows were nicely decorated with diamond-cut stained glass. The black, mauve and deep mahogany color scheme managed to make the small restaurant look incredibly classy and well-kept.

The words “Joker’s Patisserie” were written in delicate script on a wooden sign hanging above the door. A small sandwich board also sat near the front door depicting a white rabbit mascot wearing a jester hat. The little creature pointed a cartoonish wand at the drink and dessert specials of the day on the boards.

Kana’s teary eyes popped open to the size of blooming wildflowers. In almost an instant, his sadness was replaced with wonder.

“I wanna use the phone inside!”

If it had been any other occasion, Corrin would have absolutely been terrible at parallel parking.

However, the stakes were high enough that she didn’t overthink the process as she neatly slid between two tightly packed cars a few feet away from the “Joker’s Patisserie” café.

It had only been about half an hour since she’d originally gotten a call on her cell phone from an unrecognized number. The woman instantly felt hope brim up inside her knowing that it wasn’t a work phone call. Only one person had her number; her son.

The call had started with, “Um, hello? My name is Dwyer, and I’m calling to let you know your son Kana is okay. We found him lost outside our restaurant. He says that you might be at work right now, but we stay open pretty late so you can come pick him up as soon as you can. Our address is…”

Corrin wrote down the address, thanked the sleepy-sounding teenager, and shoved her phone right back into her coat pocket before restarting her car’s engine and making a beeline for the café. The trip would have been shorter if she hadn’t had to right city traffic, but it was still better than walking or waiting for a bus. Even if the caller said he was okay, she didn’t want to leave her baby alone in a place with strangers. He’d probably already had a traumatic day and she wanted to rush to his side as soon as possible.

Upon parking the car and setting the brake with a little more force than what was probably needed, she jumped out and ran in her work coat and heels down to the café. She opened the door and instantly ducked inside.

“Kana?”

The inside of the café was decently busy, so her initial call was drowned out by the sounds of customers and the soft sound of bossa nova music coming from over the sound system. The woman looked around and saw two waitresses, one with blue hair and another with pink hair, serving tables and juggling trays of fruity desserts and rainbow-colored drinks.

The interior of the shop was incredibly narrow with a bar on one side and a few tables for seating on the left. She didn’t see her son at any of the booths and looked around for a staff member to talk to. Almost immediately she pinpointed someone behind the counter with long pale hair and neatly pressed clothes. He didn’t look like the sluggish teenager she’d pictured talking to on the phone, but he wasn’t talking to any customers at the moment. She took the opportunity to grab him while he was free and circled the bar to meet him.

“Excuse me,” she said as he turned again to arrange glassware on a shelf behind the bar. “I’m looking for someone.”

The man turned around swiftly to meet her gaze. He certainly didn’t look dangerous or threatening enough to incite suspicion, but he also looked quite older than the individual she had spoken to on the phone. Instead she pursed her lips and said quickly, “I spoke to someone named Dwyer over the phone who said you found my son outside your restaurant. Um...are you...?”

“Oh no,” the man said, his voice heavily accented. Corrin realized immediately the man she was speaking to wasn’t the teen she’d spoken to on the phone. Before she could become panic-stricken, he continued, “You spoke to my son, Dwyer. You’re to pick up Kana, correct?”

“Yes!” she replied breathlessly, hope returning to her eyes. “I did! I would have been here earlier, but the traffic was awful. I’m so sorry, but when I came in, I didn’t see him and…”

The woman realized very quickly that she was babbling in her anxious state and forced herself to calm down as best she could. She continued with more poise, “I’m sorry for not introducing myself. I’m Kana’s mother, Corrin. I work at the Vallite City Hall on the corner of 6th and 25th street.”

“Ah, I see,” the man replied with a smile. “My son is watching him right now in the back. Your boy was a little teary, so we thought it would be better for him to calm down somewhere with less noise and people.”

“Oh, thank you,” Corrin said, practically beside herself with gratefulness. Before she could continue, she heard the sound of a door click open and saw her son standing in the doorway to the café’s back area. His eyes were still a little puffy from crying, but otherwise he looked perfectly fine.

“Mama!” he cried gleefully. The boy bolted so fast across the restaurant that he managed to cross the wide threshold between them in only a few steps. Corrin threw her arms open and pulled him into a tight hug, picking him up and twirling him about. The act caused Kana to squeal with delight. The woman dotted his face with kisses and held him close to her heart, which was still racing from anxiety.

“Kana, I’m so glad you’re oaky,” she said, using her free hand to push down some locks of hair that were standing up after his aerial rendezvous. “I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry,” Kana said, still holding his mom tightly even after she went to place him back on the ground. “I got lost and tried to find my way home. I should have called you sooner.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Corrin said sincerely as she cupped her son’s face. “We should have practiced the route more. We’ll find a way to get you to and from school where you can’t get lost, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy said with a nod. “I’d like that.”

As the mother and son duo reconciled, Dwyer went into the back to grab Kana’s backpack from where they’d waited in the back. The teen walked up silently and placed the bag beside Kana and Corrin, and stepped back just as carefully as if not to disturb them. The man behind the counter gave his son a thankful nod and went back to polishing glasses nonchalantly.

“Thank you so much,” Corrin said again as she reached out to take Kana’s bag and slip it onto his shoulders. “I can’t thank you both enough.”

“It was our pleasure,” Dwyer said with a smothered yawn. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you, Dwyer,” Corrin said. She then turned her attention to the slightly older man behind the counter who had said he was Dwyer’s father. “And thank you too…um…”

“Jakob,” the man replied kindly with a tip of the head. Although his tone was polite, there seemed to be an air of forced disinterest around him now that Kana was safe with his mother. It was as if he was trying way too hard to seem modest. “Please don’t thank me. My son did all the work. I’m just happy he’s okay.”

Kana made a face at Jakob’s indifference. “Mama, Jakob also gave me a lot of tissues and told me about the buses around here so I wouldn’t get lost again.”

Jakob blushed a little bit at the boy’s statement and went back to doing some kind of busy work behind the counter. Even if Jakob didn’t return Corrin’s thankful stare, he certainly noted it.

“That’s not all,” Kana said cheerfully. “Dwyer said he goes to high school right down the block from me! He knows the area really well too.”

“He does?” Corrin asked with a laugh. “What a coincidence. Maybe we’ll have to stop in after school for some snacks soon.”

“Yay!” Kana said, throwing his fists up into the air as she danced around in circles.

“Well, if you both come back, your next order will be on the house,” Jakob replied in response to Kana’s excitement. It seemed that even his cold, semi-introverted nature wasn’t exempt from Kana’s charm. “My son and I run this place, so you’re both always welcome.”

Corrin gave him an appreciative look. Even after all the trouble she must have caused them, they were still kind enough to welcome her back. The woman made a secret promise to come back after her next paycheck and get a sizable order of food from them. They deserved to be thanked somehow, in her mind.

“Thank you, Jakob” Corrin said with a nod as she softly opened the café door. She hadn’t noticed before due to her panicked state, but he was certainly very attractive. While his handsomeness had registered at the time, she certainly didn’t dwell on it.

Now as he returned her grin and watched her exit the café, she thought that perhaps there would be a reason besides sweets and desserts to return to the quirky little café.

With a lovely smile, she replied, “I’ll remember that.”

[To be continued]

Who was Kana’s father, you ask? Whoever you want it to be. I don’t want to scrutinize anyone’s favorite Fates pairings, so Corrin’s former spouse can be anyone you like (or don’t.)

I also imagine here that Kana’s has Corrin’s hair color and Dwyer has Jakob’s.

[beanjuice-duh]

Happy Friggin Borthday, Cheeseball

a/n: Everyone has nice drawings and art of Thomas. All I came up with is a crappy birthday party that ends semi-terrible for him. Oneshot/Drabble Summary: Thomas’s is taken back by a surprise party that leaves him wishing he wasn’t born Warning: hints of social anxiety, troubled childhood, unhealthy coping mechanisms, anxious ticks (raw draft/uneditted) Taggies: @hell-yes-puns-and-ships w/c:2811

Happy Birthday Thomas! 

Screamed the google banner as Thomas licked open his web browser. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, the words were almost ironic. His eyes rigidly scrolled down to the date at the corner of his computer. Indeed, it was April 13th, his birthday. The idea of it all sent sickening shivers down his spine. Quickly he slammed his laptop shut foregoing any and all work he had planned to do. Slowly he ran his hand through his fro, pushing back his springy curls only to have them bounce back to their original mane like frame around his face. His birthday, he pressed the top row of his teeth against his plush upper lip as he carefully pressed the home button on his latest Apple Iphone.

He had a flood of notifications. Facebook, twitter, all the social media he kept were all going off to the point he was sure his phone was overheating just by sheer amount. Social media did well for Thomas, a man who had popularity and money with none of the tolerance to handle people. Most of the time he could handle a small group of people at once, more comfortably if flanked by his closest cohorts. Naturally he was a skittish and quiet man, looks aside, he did not mirror the man he was trying to be. Through the third person vehicle of social media, keeping up appearances was as easy as uploading a charming picture of his biceps, or a status about how drab the exclusive club was that night, even the flirtations comment back and forth.

Slowly, he thumbed through what easily was thousands of surface deep compliments and well wishes. After searching through social media, voicemails and texts his frown deepened. Not a single one from them. He angrily flipped his phone over and glared, staring at library wall when the chair beside him screeched. His eyes darted to the sound, his body hunching away from the person…”Oh, it's you.” Thomas didn’t take back recoil. “What do you want, Aaron.”

Aaron Burr, a man who was eager to join into Jefferson’s exclusive world. Jefferson on the college campus was part of an elitist club that valued academics and active members of the socialite lifestyle. Aaron was on the list to join. He had everything going for him, good grades and an impressive background. What he lacked? Personality in Jefferson’s main opinion, in another he lacked a certain...thing. “I heard it was your birthday” Immediately Jefferson was cringing, he didn’t need reminding. “I got you this.” He smiled handing a coupon. Jefferson looked it over and his eyes might have inched less away from it's harden stare to a touch softer. “Discount to Mix-n-Mac” he might have the chance and the money to indulge in the fancier line of cuisine but mac’n’cheese held a special place in his heart. This line of mac was among his favorite. “Thanks, Burr.” Thomas tucked the discounted coupon away.

“No problem, figured today was a special day for you, big man.” He nudged Thomas’s arm. “Any special plans?” “Nope.” Thomas kept it short and polite, slowly opening his computer back up.

“No?” Aaron sounded surprise, like most would have. “Not even with Sally?” “Not even with Sally.” Though some coital hanky-panky with his side piece might have been nice...even on his birthday he had trouble finding the libido for that. Personally he rather have the day go as quietly and calmly as possible. “I tend not to do much on my birthday.”

“But--” Aaron tried to interject and that’s when Thomas lost all his politeness. Thomas started packing up and looked around the library. “Sorry Burr, I’m just too busy.” And with that little white lie aside, Thomas made his escape. His birthday only came with bad memories. Still he glanced at his phone again, more notifications, none from anyone he wanted to hear from. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the same every year. The day went on with Thomas half assing many of the thank yous and embellishing what he wanted to do. Hinting at going out and drinking though nothing specific. No one could invite themselves that way, not like there was nothing to be invited to. These were all made up, Thomas had no intention on celebrating tonight. Though he would most likely post some typical hung over status in the morning to make it sound like he had a wild, college night out.

Instead he looked forward to a quiet night in his dorm room hopefully without his roommate. Thomas’s roommate almost made him want to go out and celebrate. He hated just the look of that weasley, wispy haired man. Someone who turned HIM down when he offered the club to him. A frat club that would have propelled his sorry, poor ass and he was told he had better things to do. Later to realize they were bunk mates after his friend James had failed to enlist in rooms before the deadline.

It was a Friday night, so he was a little surprised to find many cars were still in the parking lot. More troubling that the hallways along his floor were empty. It was like a ghost town inside. He walked to his dorm room and slowly opened the door, it was pitch black. “Thank God.” He sighed to himself, Hamilton must have been out with friends. The loser actually had friends… In that second he closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights he was met by the worse kind of surprise. “SURPRISE” 

Screamed what felt like millions of people. It was though Thomas’s friend list had poured into his small two bedroom dorm apartment. The people were yelling and flashes were going off capturing Thomas’s less surprised more infuriated face. He tried to plaster a smile on as Sally, the girl he had casually been hooking up with looped her arm around his. “What’s going on…” he seethed between densely clamped teeth. “Isn’t it sweet? Aaron and I did it ourselves.” She beamed and suddenly Thomas was mentally shredding not only Burr’s invitation to join the club but his very existence. “Let’s go, you have so many gifts, so many people want say happy birthday.” Sally near dragged him through the crowd. Thomas looked around, the room felt like it was spinning. The amount of people densely packed in his dorm, some smoking, some drinking booze they had brought, others standing around wasting their breath only added to the heat.

He struggled to keep eye contact, he managed a few muddled hellos and thanks. He nodded towards gifts, people beamed and joked and all he could do was smile. Keeping his lips closed for the nausea began to rise. The door opened again.

“What the fuck Jefferson!” Hamilton had been out studying when he came back to what felt like a frat house party in his dorm. Already red cups littered his floor and his bedroom was surrounded by couples going at it. Hamilton, unlike Thomas, took a calming breath realizing he couldn’t curse out Thomas over the noise. His approach would be a little more subtle. Unlike Thomas, Hamilton might have been a poor scholarship student constantly fighting with FASFA to keep his head afloat, was able to blend. Alexander lit up the room. He shot a few words here and there, witty jokes, flirtatious compliments. People actually wished he’d stay in the conversation but he was a man on a mission. Well, he was a man on an assassination. He eyed Thomas, his tall and muscular figure being led on hilariously by his tiny woman of the night. He weaved through the people and once he got close enough to grabbed Thomas’s free arm and beamed at Sally, a blush warmed her cheeks. “Sorry, mind if I borrow the man of the hour?” He quickly grabbed Thomas and shoved him into the bathroom which now had a very potent smell of sex and vomit. “Jesus.” Hamilton slammed the door and flicked on the bathroom vent fan. “What the actual fuck Thomas?” Alexander began, “you think you can throw yourself a fucking party in OUR dorm?! I have a final in two weeks…” Thomas stopped listening to Alexander’s voice. A part of him was actually grateful Alexander had pulled him away. Now he was away from faces he needed to keep that careless, rich boy facade. Even if it was Alexander here, he didn’t care enough about him to pretend. His large hands grasped the smooth, porcelain edge of the sink and he bent his head over. “JEFFERSON ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING” Alex had been complaining the entire time, hands flailing to emphasize his point but Thomas had drowned nearly all of it out. “Thomas…” Alexander watched as his back trembled. “Are you going to…” He heard a dry gag and fell silent. Was he? A second dry gag followed violent heaving and suddenly Alexander was concerned. “...I can’t…” Thomas groaned, his head was aching. It felt like his brain was beating against his skull and every inch of his head was vibrating.

Hamilton might have hated having him as a roommate but he didn’t...hate the guy. He had some empathy in his voice as he sarcastically shot back, “what can’t handle your moonshine, Southern boy?”

More heaving came, and it was clear to Alexander it wasn’t involuntary. He was doing it on purpose. Before he could ask Thomas what was really going on Thomas managed to whine again in a softer voice, “...I can’t do this right now.” “Do what?” Alex looked around. “People...party...so many…” He fought back hot tears from how hard he was forcing the air up his throat. Suddenly the tall man’s knees gave out and he sank to the ground, his hands still clutching the sink. His body shaking violently. The tears trickling down his face sent Alex into a confused tizzy. “...ok...uh…” The party was the problem? Well getting everyone out wouldn’t be a problem. “Do you want me to call anyone?” He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Thomas alone. He got no answer now. Thomas hung his head, his curls fall over his face and he was nothing but a black curled mane, a shrinking form under the sink. Alexander took one long look at Thomas and closed the door after him.

Birthdays were never his thing.

He remembered every birthday he had. He remembered how poorly each and every one of those birthdays went. A dismal display of wealth for his family’s benefit. While Thomas was forced to the forefront, around people he never knew, forced to speak and constantly under intense scrutiny. If he said the wrong thing, stuttered, stammered, did anything to look less like a strong and proud Jefferson boy he was met with instant lashing and public displays of physical correction. All the while his innocent pleas for a simple birthday, one where he could be gifted something he wanted went unheard by his family. This birthday wasn’t his. It was just another day for the Jefferson’s to flaunt their power and wealth. Thomas started to feel another heave ripple out of him. He felt the heat of his body working to force some invisible lump in his throat out and his brain melting down overpower him. With a hard twist, he forced half his body into the white tub and retched the cold water knob open. He dunked his head into the cold water and held his breath letting it all wash over him.

For a moment, he felt a calm come over him. All that mattered was the icy sting of incredibly cold water wash over his face. He focused on his other senses, he could hear the music stop. The obnoxious bass was gone thank god. The door opened and closed. “Thomas” A voice so soft that it was practically drowned under the water that was pouring down on Thomas’s head. He felt two large hands pull his shoulders up and out of the water and suddenly Thomas coughed. He gasped, and sputtered realizing he had been holding his breath for so long it pained him to inhale. “Thomas what are you doing? Why is half the people on your friend’s list outside talking to Hamilton?” James Madison gently released him in favor to turn off the water. “A-Aaron ….sur-surprised me.” He hissed, teeth chattering from the cold water. His head started to slowly throb again. James glared a bit at the door, he would have a talk to Aaron. “You should have called me.” He turned around giving Thomas his back as he started to rummage through the shared items of the bathroom.

The taller man could hear the sharpness in James’s voice. “S-Sally, everyone, they were around me and…” He suddenly felt a towel flop on his head. His world went black as James started to dry Thomas’s hair.

“Thomas.” James spoke soft but curtly, his voice slightly rough from the fact he had been ill for a few days now. “You could have told them, no--”

“What Jefferson turns down a party?” He grabbed James’s hands and stopped him from massaging the water out of his hair. He looked up at James with wet eyes. “I’m me, Jemmy, I can’t say no. I’ve never been able to say no. Last time …”

“I know…” James was there. That birthday party, Thomas was fourteen. He had saved up birthday money for years so he could buy himself a gift he wanted. He bought himself a violin and practiced every night one song and one song alone until he was proud. On the day of his annual birthday celebration at the country club, Thomas had built up the nerve to play, the shy, timid Jefferson son who never seemed to shine like the rest of his family was now in the spotlight. He began to play in front of the family friends, the Madison family included, when Thomas’s father ripped his instrument from his hand. Publicly humiliated him and his craft before tossing the violin into the trash. Birthdays weren’t days of celebration for Thomas, it was time to show off and prance. Now that he was no longer in Virginia to be paraded around he hadn’t received a single message from his siblings or mother.

“You’re not fourteen anymore Thomas, this is your choice. You don’t have to be anyone’s shiny thing anymore.” James spoke softly, taking his hands back and started ringing his curls until most were just slightly damp. Once he was done he stood up and held out his hand for Thomas. Thomas’s eyes looked guarded, he didn’t want to leave the safety of the bathroom, he was nowhere near stable to join the masses. Madison nodded in understanding and slowly went back to Thomas and sank down beside him. The shorter college student slowly brought his head to Thomas’s shoulder and sighed.

Having his best friend beside him always seemed to bring a courage out of Thomas. Madison was incredibly intelligent, equally as wealthy but he was meek in appearance. From the moment they met, Thomas had an overwhelming need to protect Madison.Over the course of their friendship it was clear which one of them truly needing protection. James had been there, standing there, giving Thomas that sense of security. After a childhood of constantly being redirected this Jefferson felt lost in a sea of empty wealth and titles. Jemmy kept him grounded.

Thomas’s hand gently crawled over James and laid there. In that moment James smiled a bit and nodded. “Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?” James sung lowly, the same little song Thomas had tried to play on that awful birthday years ago. He felt a smile tug on his lips, even during that awful birthday James was there. He closed his eyes and felt everything ebb away. The aches, the heat. He focused every bit his energy on James’s voice, his breathing, the periodic squeeze of his hand. After a few minutes the bathroom door opened and Alexander leaned against the door-frame. “I got everyone out, told them you had a stomach bug and they empathetically left all your gift and booze.”

“Thank you again, Hamilton for telling me...about this.” James motioned to Thomas with his head.

“I figured when you didn’t show up that Burr must have not told you since you’ve been...sick…” Alexander shrugged a bit, “whatever, I’m taking a bottle as collateral.” He turned with a bottle of some expensive booze when Thomas croaked. “Thanks, Hamilton” He closed his eyes and rested his head on top of James���s. He gave James a small squeeze as he finally relaxed.

Alexander checked his watch, “a few minutes until midnight, consider this my birthday gift to you.” He smirked and closed the door as he spoke. “Happy fuckin’ birthday Thomas”

[thestarsofthenight]

Chapter 2: The Land of Horror and Blood

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler

Pairings: mainly Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford

Summary: “There is nothing more ridiculous than living in a country in which an orange-skinned man won an election,” Francis had said, ending the Midfords four-year-long stay in the USA. Three days later, Elizabeth lives in gloomy London, wishing to be back in sunny LA, when a murder case suddenly turns her life upside down, entangling her with Ciel Phantomhive, his duty to the crown, and his school-intern detective agency…

Navigation: Chapter Index

“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.”  ― Stephen King

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – November 2016

“I see... In any case, I have no intention of fighting you, Mr Butler... I yield. But you know...” Azzurro Vanel said while grabbing Ciel Phantomhive by his hair and pulling him into his arms before he held a gun to his head. “I’ll be taking those goods you managed you get.”

It was Monday morning – and no, Ciel Phantomhive usually did not spend his Monday mornings bleeding and hurt in the arms of a madman who pressed a gun against his temple. Not that this had never happened before – just not on a Monday morning.

In what kind of world were they living where madmen ignored the fact that you should not kidnap anyone before midday? Especially thirteen-year-old children who had to go to school on Mondays?

“You wouldn’t want your cute master to have breathing holes in his head, would you?” Azzurro Vanel, Italian mafia boss, traitor, and madman who did not know that you were not supposed to kidnap anyone on Monday mornings, said. Mondays were already worse enough without a kidnapping. Particularly the mornings when you were fully confronted with the fact that the weekend was in the past now, and you had to go out and socialise again.

Ciel almost shuddered at the thought of socialising.

“If you’re really a butler, then you know what you should do.”

“The thing you gentlemen are looking for is right-” Sebastian Michaelis, manservant, Phantomhive family butler with a secret, calmly replied. The moment he put his hand into his pocket to get out the item Azzurro wanted, he was shot in the head. A second later, Sebastian was shot a dozen times again.

And no – that Ciel Phantomhive’s butler got shot was also not something which often happened.

“Did... we get him?” Azzurro’s henchmen asked their boss from behind the perforated painting which had hidden  them earlier.

No. You have just turned him into a piece of Swiss cheese – but no, you didn’t get him, Ciel thought.

“... Hahaha,” Azzurro chuckled. It sounded horrible. “Sorry, Romeo... but I’m the winner of this game!!”

That’s what you call a Large Ham, crossed Ciel’s mind right before Azzurro pulled him by his hair again to force him to look into his ugly face. Now, the Mafioso was pressing his gun against Ciel’s chin. “And right when he’d finally come for you... too bad, huh? Little Phantomhive. If you’re up against the Phantomhives, the Queen’s Watchdogs, then even I’ll keep an ace up my sleeve.”

For centuries, the Phantomhive family served the Royal family as Watchdogs who guarded the Underworld. And when Ciel’s parents had died three years ago, the family duty had been passed to him.

Normal citizens didn’t know about this. For them, the Phantomhives were rich entrepreneurs and Ciel nothing but a poor, poor child who had lost his family in tragedy.

But in reality, the Phantomhives had been murderers all the time – shadow detectives and silent killers, executing every one of the ruler’s wishes.

Therefore, you could say that Ciel Phantomhive was definitely not a nice boy. He was the most calculating and manipulative evil boy of this century – not counting fictional Artemis Fowl.

“All that’s left is to kill you,” Azzurro said to Ciel, grinning, “and it’ll be perfect. You’ve been in the way for a long time now, always watching us like the police. Eh? We’ll erase you... and bring change to England through our own methods.”

I am better than the police. Don’t compare me to these incompetent fools.

Azzurro pulled away Ciel’s eye-patch with the gun barrel and continued to talk. Ciel did not even bother to listen to his words anymore.

This man is a master in wasting time. I need to be in school in twenty minutes.

I guess, I should call out for Sebastian now.

“Hey,” Ciel said aloud. “How long are you going to play around for? I wouldn’t have thought that that was such a nice place to sleep. Just how long are you going to play dead like a racoon? I am going to be late for school.”

With a chuckle, Sebastian Michaelis – manservant, butler, dead just a minute ago – sat up. “The efficiency of guns has been going up recently. It’s a big difference to one hundred years ago.”

Azzurro Vanel, crying like a child who had seen a ghost, started yelling to his henchmen to kill Sebastian.

Idiot. Can’t even figure out that you couldn’t kill Sebastian.

Without much effort, Sebastian killed Azzurro’s men with their own bullets which he had earlier retrieved from his own body.

What a show-off.

“Ah... What a mess,” Sebastian sighed, looking at his damaged clothes. “My clothes have become ruined.”

“It’s because you were playing around, you idiot,” his master replied.

The butler Sebastian Michaelis’ secret was that he was not a real butler. Or a manservant. Or even a man.

“Sebastian Michaelis” was the name Ciel Phantomhive had given to the demon he had made a contract with three years ago.

If Ciel were to tell the boulevard press what he had been doing in his month of absolute absence, they would definitely not believe him. But when “accidentally summoning a demon” was the truth what else could you do but to stay silent?

***

After Sebastian had stopped to play dead, everything had gone faster – but not fast enough. And now, it was 9.25, and Ciel had missed the registration and assembly. Hopefully, nobody noticed the quickly covered cuts and bruises on his face.

Incompetent idiot. The cake today has to be especially good to make up for this.

Ciel had just wanted to leave Grey House and take a bus to Red House for French when someone walked right into him. He fell down on his buttocks and when he looked up, Ciel saw a girl with blonde curly twin-tails. She was surrounded by the content of her magenta bag.

The girl gazed up – and stared at him with her shining green eyes.

If she recognises me and begins to pity me with empty words, I will burn down the boulevard press for real this time.

But the girl did not say anything – she just stared at him, her eyes not reflecting recognition or pity but surprise... and a little bit of disgust?

Well, that is weird.

“Are you all right?” Ciel politely asked the girl, stood up, and offered her a hand.

She took his hand without hesitation and answered: “I am fine. Thanks for asking.”

Hm... could it be that she does not know me? That she knows nothing about the fire? Strange... it was all over the news three years ago... Everybody knows about it.

But when I come to think about it – I have never seen her here before.

The bell rang, and the girl cursed right afterwards before she collected her things and put them back into her bag. She threw her books so violently into her backpack that Ciel feared that it could fall apart and she would start cursing uncontrollably.

“Goodbye!” the girl quickly said to him before crumbling her timetable in her hand and running away.

Yes, goodbye to you too.

Ciel was about to head to French when he saw something blue which was reflecting the white corridor light on the ground. He frowned and approached it. The blue something turned out to be a beautiful notebook. He picked it up and thumbed through it, but as soon as he saw the words “Dear Diary...” on one of the pages, he closed it. Ciel Phantomhive might be the ruthless Watchdog of the Queen but he was certainly not someone who read the diaries of others. Especially the diaries of people he did not even know.

It must belong to Green Eyes. The contents of her bag were scattered all over the corridor after our collision after all.

Ciel put the diary into his bag before leaving Grey House. He would surely meet the girl again – and then, he could return the notebook to her.

***

“Hello,” McMillan greeted Ciel when he entered the physics room at 10.34.

Two years ago, McMillan had been late on his very first day of school, and the only free seat had been next to Ciel. Not that this event had turned them into friends – it had just been a coincidence.

McMillan had actually begun to try being Ciel’s friend after Alethea Wordsmith’s rabbit Conan had vanished, and Ciel had deducted in a couple of minutes that Viola Fleming had stolen it as she held a weird obsession for rabbits and her mother had just forbidden her any contact with these adorable animals. Viola had been sent to an asylum, Alethea had got back her beloved pet, and McMillan had started to persuade Ciel to open a detective agency at their new school.

He had eventually succeeded, and the “Phantomhive & McMillan Detective Agency – Chocolate for Investigating” had been founded. And after a while, Ciel had even – to his own surprise – accepted McMillan as his friend. On a peculiar December day when Ciel had watched the snow falling down in front of his office window, he had caught himself thinking “I could call McMillan and ask him if he wants to build a snowman.”

Ciel had laid in his bed for the rest of the day, but, eventually, he had stopped to struggle against the fact – a really, really, strange fact – that, deep down, he considered McMillan as his friend – a circumstance which had been caused by the remnants of his childish thoughts, Ciel told himself. From that day on, Ciel became the only person to call McMillan by his first name – except his parents and siblings.

But I cannot get too attached to this “friendship” and this “normal life.” After all, it is not going to last for long.

“Hello,” Ciel replied and sat down on his chair next to McMillan’s.

“How was your weekend?” he asked.

“Not out of the ordinary,” Ciel answered, and McMillan started to tell him about his weekend. “I helped my father at the library, and my mother is in the middle of an interesting case. Also...”

He talked and talked until the bell rang, and Kaizuka Taiji, their physics teacher, started the lesson.

***

Ciel saw the green-eyed girl again in the cafeteria during Lunch Break while he spoke to McMillan. The girl had been talking to Paula Sergeant and was now staring at him across the cafeteria. Paula followed the other girl’s gaze and tilted her head before saying something to her.

I can give the diary back to her now, Ciel thought and excused himself to McMillan before walking towards the girls’ table who were still deep in talk.

“You lost this earlier,” Ciel said to the girl after he had arrived at their table and took out her diary. He handed it to her and, at first, the girl just stared at him as if he was a ghost or had vomit in his hair.

Green Eyes is quite weird. Always staring at me.

Hm... wait. What if I really have something in my hair? Or if one of my cuts or bruises are visible? I need to check that later.

Then, without saying anything, the girl took the notebook. And because she had not said anything, Ciel simply frowned and wordlessly returned to McMillan.

“What did you do?” his friend wanted to know.

“I collided with her earlier today,” Ciel explained. “She lost something due to the collision. I found it and gave it back to her.”

McMillan nodded in appreciation before he resumed their conversation from earlier. “Nuala likes Marinette the most.” Nuala was McMillan’s younger sister and a big fan of Miraculous Ladybug. One day, when Ciel had been visiting McMillan she had forced them to sit and marathon the entire first season. It had been a dreadful experience. This show was too sparkly and too light and good for Ciel’s taste. He especially hated Hawk Moth, the TV show’s idiotic villain, and the fact that Ladybug had the ability to undo the damage caused by the akumatised people. The world wasn’t as simple and easy as it was shown in Miraculous Ladybug.

You cannot just turn everything like it has once been with the help of magical ladybugs.

Ciel sighed. “Of course, she likes Marinette. She is the protagonist after all. The protagonist, as long as he or she is not a complete idiot, is always one of the top three most liked characters of its source material.”

McMillan shrugged. “She’s five. So, do you think a Ladybug doll would be a good present for her?”

Nuala and Niall ‒ McMillan’s twin siblings – would turn six next week, and while McMillan knew what he could get his brother, he was a bit clueless when it came to finding a suitable gift for his sister.

“Are there any Miraculous Ladybug toys?”

“I have absolutely no clue. No – wait. I do. Toys ‘R’ Us has some. They look terribly ugly, though. I cannot give my sister a toy which could give her nightmares.”

McMillan was the sort of person who always found something good in everything and everyone. This was most likely the reason why they had become friends in the first place. So, if he thought that something was hideous, it was indeed hideous.

“What about a t-shirt or some other piece of clothes? There are band t-shirts, so why shouldn’t there be any children TV series t-shirts?”

“I looked that up already.” McMillan sighed. “They look even worse than the toys. Mostly, just the Ladybug and Cat Noir symbols were put on a plain t-shirt, dress, or jumper. The guys who make these things are awfully fanciless.”

“What about fan-made things, then?” Ciel suggested. “They tend to be better than the official things.”

“Hm – that’s a good idea! I will search for something after school. Thanks, Ciel.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It happened on his birthday?!” somebody suddenly screamed through the entire cafeteria. Ciel flinched. He whirled around to find the voice’s source – which turned out to be the green-eyed girl. People looked at her before they turned their attention to Ciel.

Dammit. That’s why I usually don’t go to the cafeteria.

Ciel Phantomhive usually spent his breaks in the office of his school-intern detective agency. But today, he had gone to the cafeteria because he had had to find the girl and return her diary.

Damn you, Paula Sergeant. I preferred it when Green Eyes knew nothing about this. Then, there would have been two pupils in this goddamn school who would not bother me with this topic.

Ciel quickly left the canteen before anybody could come and talk to him. McMillan silently followed him.

I am not someone who would turn into a cry-baby because of that. I am just tired of answering the same questions over and over again.

No, I won’t tell you where I was in that one month.

No, I have no clue who burned down Phantomhive Manor and murdered my parents.

But I am working on it.

***

After a period of biology by Caspian Darwin, McMillan and Ciel walked home together. Finnian MacCoul, who was officially the son of Ciel’s gardener, but who was actually Ciel’s gardener himself, still had German classes and thus couldn’t accompany them.

Ciel and McMillan said goodbye to each other when they arrived at the Phantomhive townhouse, and Ciel waved after his friend while McMillan walked down the road.

“Welcome back, Young Master,” Sebastian greeted Ciel, opening the door. Ciel glared at him. “I hope the cake is already ready, Sebastian.”

“Of course, it is, Young Master,” Sebastian replied. “I will serve it as a dessert after lunch.”

“No. The cake will be my lunch. And don’t argue with me – I deserve this after you fooled around too long this morning and let me be late for school.”

“A letter from the Queen arrived before you returned from school,” Sebastian told his master and handed him the letter on a silver tray. Ciel had just finished eating his lunch charlotte russe.

“If it was already here when I came back – why didn’t you give it to me then?” Ciel asked, taking the envelope.

“I thought that you might want to eat first.”

Ciel ignored Sebastian’s reply and opened the letter. It said: “My dear boy – in 1888, a person who was called Jack the Ripper murdered people, mostly female prostitutes, in Whitechapel, London. Their identity was never unveiled, and thus Jack the Ripper became one of the most famous serial killers in history. But you may already know about that.

“Lately, similar murders have been committed, and again, they have occurred in Whitechapel. Scotland Yard is working on this case, but they are as clueless as Frederick Abberline back in the late 19th century. Therefore, I removed them from this case and put you in charge of continuing and solving it. I have already informed the police about this transfer.”

A second Whitechapel Murderer? Ciel thought and put down the letter. At least, this was more exciting than searching for cats or looking into supposed beauty contest frauds. Or idiotic Italian mafiosi.

[princessvicky01]

The Antithesis of Nobility Part 3

Cullen X Kelandris X Annabel OT3 fic co written by me and @inner-muse

Part 3 of 4 - A VERY dark au centring on the two lady Trevelyan’s being held prisoner.  Love is tested to its limit as the torture of Kelandris and Annabel intensifies but can the Inquisition find them before they break?

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and AO3.

Warning: This fic contains violence, explicit torture and extreme angst - this is series is for mature readers only.

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

Part 3

Annabel wakes groggily from a dead sleep thanks to the churning rumble in her stomach. Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and she smacks it in disgust before fully remembering where she is. "Kelandris?" Her first thought is for her love, needing to know she’s alive and also there.

Slumped in her bonds, head lolling, Kelandris twitches at her voice. "'M’ here… How're you doing?" she slurs. "Too much t' hope that you're better than me?"

Annabel snorts in relief to hear her. "Been better..." she mumbles, trying to move but quickly giving up. She can just about make out Kelandris’s silhouette cast by the faint glow of the anchor. "Would be better still... if you didn't take your time to reply like that...you trying to give me a heart attack?" she muffles a laugh in place of tears. A basic defense mechanism she had learnt long ago to help hide wayward emotions.

"Don't see what's so funny... At least you get to lie down."

Distant footsteps mark the return of their tormentors. 

On the floor Annabel can practically feel them approach. The door scrapes, unbearably loud, making her winch, squinting she hopes against hope to see the guards boots, maybe with more water? But no, the sight of Sid's distinct heavy leather soles drains all the life from her. Light floods the room as the Lord enters behind with several guards.

Tristan smiles down at them both, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hello, ladies. I do hope you've enjoyed your rest. You'll need your strength today..." he chuckles at his own joke as the guards file in. They cut the rope on Annabel's ankles and drag her to her feet, and carefully untie Kelandris to do the same. Kelandris is too stiff and cramped to put up much of a fight, but they keep a tight hold on her anyway. She's vaguely gratified that Tristan seems wary of getting too close.

Annabel hisses with raw pain as her feet touch the ground. Trying to balance on parts that aren't torn is near impossible. When she sees Kelandris hardly fighting back the embers inside her flare, and she elbows the guard holding her. Thrashing, she flings herself forwards as more guards press in. Kicking out her feet leave useless blood smears on their uniforms, while she screams in rage and pain. "Get your hands off her!"

At her shout, Kelandris tosses her hair out of her face and bares her teeth. She struggles harder, sore muscles protesting violently, but to no avail. 

The guards haul the pair of them out into the hallway and over to the next room, with occasional punches to knock them off-balance when they get too feisty. This dungeon is much bigger and much better stocked, crammed full of all manner of nefarious equipment. Torchlight flickers over dark wood and jagged metal; the chains dangling from the ceiling cast ominous shadows on walls littered with blood stains.

Annabel's thrashing stops on sight of the cell. It seemed that things could get worse and her natural cheerful disposition was crushed under the weight of sheer dread. "You can't..." she mumbles. The looming pressure is too much and she roars, lashing out. "I am Lady Annabel of House Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste and I demand you release us at once!"

The guards wrestle her onto one of the tables and strap her down. Arms, legs, chest – when they're done, she can barely squirm. Tristan gives a deranged little giggle. "I can do whatever I want. Who's going to stop me? Your inquisition isn't here. Is Andraste going to smite me down, ‘Herald’? I don't think so." He finishes securing her himself, tightening a strap across her forehead, and stroking her cheek gently, she replies with a snap of her teeth. An empty gesture but all she can manage.

She pulls the new restraints until she’s physically trembling with the effort. The anchor flares, if ever a human had crossed the line into demon surely this was it, yet it crackles but does no good. "The Inquisition will come and they’ll bring the might of the Maker with them! You will curse the whore who gave birth to you once they're through!"

 Undeterred Tristan ignores her to watch Kelandris, fighting frantically, straining to get to Annabel – or maybe just to throttle him. One guard staggers away, clutching at a broken nose; another yelps as a flailing knee connects with his groin. Finally, though, they manage to slam her to her knees against a metal crossbar, locking her wrists in place. She twists to look over her shoulder, snarling, but her eyes widen when she meets Annabel's terrified gaze. "Stay strong, love," she croaks, "We will endure this. We will."

Now Annabel is fully immobilised fear rushes up, clenching her chest and every muscle, her eyes dart to Kelandris. "No matter what just know that we win - because he can't break us!"

Sneering, Tristan digs his nails into the burn on her throat. "Weren't you listening, little tramp? I can do whatever I want. Sid!" The other man is standing by another brazier at the side of the room, a lot grander than the last one and housing a small bubbling cauldron.

Sid equips thick gloves while Annabel watches from the corner of her eye. That can't be a good sign. Whatever is in the pot hisses and spits as he lowers a ladle. Carefully, he walks around Kelandris. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees what's coming, and then the torturer dribbles molten oil onto her shoulders to run in patterns down her back.

At the first touch of scalding liquid, Kelandris keens, spine arching. The pain is like a living thing, pulsing as it burrows deep under her flesh. No matter how she writhes, she can't stop it from trickling slowly down, sprouting blisters in its wake… A single drop rolls down her front, between her breasts, leaving a tiny trail of stinging burns; most, though, cascades over the vulnerable expanse of her back. A thin sheen of oil lingers on her skin, holding in the heat. The agony is ceaseless, inescapable, unrelenting; like claws down her spine. And when his ladle is empty, Sid returns to the terrible cauldron, dipping up another boiling spoonful. Maker, no!

She can hear Annabel snarling like a wild beast behind her. The anger and fear in her lover's voice shake her more than the dreadful anticipation. Were they doing something terrible to her, as well? Or was she, herself, the cause of her distress? “Annabel?” she says, hoping both to reassure and be reassured. I can endure this, I can, she wants to add, but when she tries to glance over her shoulder it pulls at her burns, twisting and stretching the abused skin. Another tidal wave of pain crashes over her, and instead all that comes out is a cracked whimper. She sounds desperate, weak, and Maker, she hates it— No. No, I am strong, I must be strong! I will not break!

Annabel is barely holding herself together, rage and terror combining into an entirely new emotion which she cannot name. Bile stings in her throat as her heart hammers loud in her ears, demanding she act. Commanding her to fight. She thrashes, bounds pulled so tight they cut flesh wherever they hold her. "Kelandris! - I...it..." Her quick tongue has deserted her while her breath comes sharp and shallow. "It's going to be fine." She lies. To Kelandris and herself. She lies, because her mind can’t cope with the alternative. "Though all before us is shadow, the Maker will be our guide..." Another bitter lie.

“We shall not— fuck!— not be left to wander th-the drifting roads of the— of the beyond…” The words help steady Kelandris through blinding pain. A second cascade of oil leaves its marks on her back; it was near impossible to get the words out without devolving into wordless yells – but somehow, she completes the verse. It's a triumph, a tiny victory amidst all the horror, achieved only through Annabel's support. Together, they could get through this.

Annabel recites the prayer along with her love, calming her own heart and lungs as she did before battle, loosening muscle groups in turn until she could hear over her pulse once more. She only hoped the familiarity helped Kelandris.

Focusing on the rhythmic cadences of the Chant Kelandris squeezes her eyes shut. Her rekindled thread of defiance flares a little brighter as they speak, despite the ever-increasing agony. They'd be alright. Just as long as she could stay strong, for herself and Annabel. Pain is nothing; pain would pass. Love is everything.

For all her resolve, though, there's only so much her body can endure. She's braced for another dribbling pour, for seemingly endless torment in slow motion. This time, though, the torturer simply flings the contents of the ladle at her. Boiling oil splashes across her chest and shoulders in a sudden, nigh-unbearable onslaught. For a moment, everything else is overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated agony.

Kelandris screams.

 That's it. The scream shatters the calm Annabel had been desperately trying to build. Her mind has returned and she shrieks at the Lord. "You have us, and this? this?! is what you choose to do!? No..." she growls, defiant, refusing to believe it. "What do you really want. Our love? Our devotion? I would treat you as a god if you just stop! Please!" She was not above begging, not when it came to those she loved. Nothing came above those she loved. Not being the Herald, not the Inquisition, not the greater good, not even the Maker himself could trump her loved ones.

Hearing her desperate pleas Kelandris squeezed her eyes shut, tears seeping from beneath her eyelids. The frantic edge to Annabel's voice is terrifying. She should never have to debase herself like that, especially not for her.

Tristan scoffs. "And you expect me to believe your sudden change of heart? When you've done nothing but spit and curse and pine over her?" He gestures angrily at Kelandris and begins to pace. "I want you to regret every second you ever spent mooning over each other when you could have had me instead!" He whirls on Annabel. "Tell her you never loved her. Tell her you love me. Tell her you've always loved me, you will always love me, you'll never love anyone else except me!"

“Annabel...” Kelandris slurs, heart aching, “D-don't give in. S'just pain. Doesn't matter how much I scream... still love you, and C-Cullen— just need t' wait for him…”

“I'm sorry,” states Annabel. She lets it hang for a moment, hoping Kelandris knows it’s for her, and that Tristan's delusions let him believe it’s for him. She buries her feelings as deep as she can to keep her voice steady. “Kelandris was just a little fun. An experiment. I never knew you had true feelings for me. If I had known…” she sighs. “Things would’ve been different. I always did like you Lord Tristan, hence the teasing – I guess… I guess I just never knew you felt the same?” She does her best to look at him.

Below her, Kelandris's heart turned to ice. No, she thought. It's pack of lies. She knows that. She knows it. But hearing the words from Annabel's lips… After all these years together. After so much.

A lump rises in Annabel’s throat as her insides squirm, trying to prevent what she knows she must say. “I never loved her, not truly, or Cullen. If you let her go, me and you could start fresh, somewhere new,” she forces her lips into something resembling a light smile.“I'd like that, Tristan. I love you.”

“Annabel!” Kelandris chokes, feeling like her frozen heart has been ripped from her chest. Her lover had caved, had broken, and it was all her fault. Never blame yourself for what that little shit does, she'd said, but how could she not? Annabel was giving in for her sake. She'd failed her. If she hadn't screamed— if she'd just been strong enough—

Tears have formed in Annabel's eyes and begin seeping down her face. "Just, please, let her go," she begs. Nothing else mattered. He had given her a chance to save her love and she would take it. She would bleed it for all it was worth, for the smidge of hope it presented. Pride was long gone, erased by the overwhelming need to have Kelandris free, happy, safe.

Tristan smiles slowly, coming back over to brush a thumb tenderly across Annabel’s cheek, wiping away a tear. "There, there, my dear," he croons. "I knew you'd see sense eventually." He glances at Kelandris. "Does that make you jealous, Lady Kelandris? Not so enamored of your little slut, now, are you?"

Silence. 

Kelandris doesn't trust herself to speak – if she opens her mouth, she'll start begging for Annabel's forgiveness. Take it back, she'd say, We'll be alright, I'll be alright, let me bear this for you, please, I'll do better this time… She's quiet for long enough to raise Tristan’s suspicions. His eyes narrow, nails digging unconsciously into Annabel's face. "I asked you a question, Kelandris."

She wrestles with herself for a few heartbeats, until despair hardens into fury. And then, “I love her,” she says, quiet as death. “I love her more than anything or anyone in this world except for Cullen, and I love him more than anything or anyone else except Annabel. So you can go BURN IN THE MAKER'S FIRE, YOU FUCKING SHIT!” The sudden roar tears at her throat and reverberates around the room.

"Kelandris!" Annabel snaps aggressively, before the echo even fades. It might have been the first time she’s ever raised her voice to her. “Give it up! He wants me…” The next words lodge in her throat, stuck behind a sob. She forces them pass her lips with tears streaming down her face. “...And I want him.” Once she's said those ugly words, though, her eyes dart to Kelandris, burning with love she couldn't fake before returning to him. “Please… now just let her go, let us start again.”

He has no chance to respond, Kelandris is already yelling again. “Tristan, you despicable mewling quim!” Annabel's rebuke had struck her like a lash, but she would rather die than see her lover forced to submit to such a worm. “You can't have her! I don't care what you do to me, if you want to rip my fucking flesh from my bones, I will shove my broken fingers down your throat and suffocate you with your own blighted liver before I let you take her from me!!”

Tristan had observed Annabel carefully as she spoke, his expression flickering from suspicion, through anger and smugness, before finally settling on an ugly sneer as he rounds on Kelandris. “Ripping your flesh from your bones?” He repeats icily. “That can be arranged. And as for you, you sniveling bitch—” he pins Annabel with a furious glare. “You will pay for your lies. If you think I will let the two of you play me again, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Eyes widen as Annabel realises all too late her efforts have failed. She’d degraded herself, she’d spoken the most horrific lies she could imagine and it hadn’t been enough. All her words had done was made things worse. Bitterly she curses herself. How many times had she be warned her mouth would land her in trouble someday? How many times had she scoffed in reply? Would she never learn? It didn’t matter, she realises heavily, she had let Kelandris down, nothing else mattered.

“You’ll never understand,” she mutters, feeling foolish for daring to hope he might. “Our love is unbreakable and you’ll never experience that, because you're not worthy of it,” she says, her voice snide and bitter. Whatever hope residing in her faltered in the wake of despair which now swept through.

Sid moves around the back of Kelandris, in his usual grim silence, uncoiling a leather whip. He cracks in the air by her head, testing it and tormenting her; both women flinch. Blessed Andraste, that was going to hurt. Without ceremony, he snaps it across the blisters of her back. 

Broken skin tears away in a brutal stripe; to say it's painful would be like provoking a High Dragon and calling it an inconvenience. For a moment, Kelandris can hardly breathe – and yet, she does not scream. She bites straight through her lower lip, choking on an unvoiced cry and a mouthful of blood… but she will not scream again.

The sound of the whip is enough to make Annabel jolt and curl her toes. She would sell her soul to a demon if it would end this… but there never seemed to be one around when you needed it. “Kelandris—” she cuts herself off. What could she possibly say? What if she just made things worse?

Between strikes, Kelandris whimpers, shaking her head violently at Annabel – if she opens her mouth to speak, she knows her tenuous control will shatter.

Annabel could not bare it. Unable to escape she shuts her eyes tight and turns inward, to happier times, and slowly an idea forms. “We’ll wake, either side of Cullen, panting from this nightmare. He’ll stroke our hair, the way he does, even though his own curls have fallen loose. Eyes full of concern, he’ll tell us it's ok, it was just a bad dream. We—”

Her words are cut off by the whip lashing down again, followed by a desperate sob. Annabel flinches, but continues her litany undaunted. “We will snuggle closer, arms wrapped over each other, warm and peaceful. I’ll tenderly kiss your lips and tell you I’m sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. Cullen will chuckle that I'm apologising for a dream and kiss us on the forehead…”

Another terrible crack. Annabel's voice wavers, tears streaming from behind closed eyes, far beyond caring about showing weakness. “...Warm and soft, I will pepper you with kisses, ignoring the roll of his eyes as he lays back with a sigh. I will whisper my devotion to you, to him, to no one else. You will wipe away my tears and I will squeeze your hand. I will joke we should’ve known it was a dream when I shouted at you – as if I ever could!” She chokes back a stifled laugh that's more like a sob. “And the three of us will pray: though all before me is darkness, I will not be left to wonder—”

Tristan interrupts her stream of comforting words with a snarled “Enough!” He’s staring at Annabel, fists curling and uncurling, practically green with envy. "Leave her," he barks at Sid. "I want to shut this whore up." Kelandris twitches at that, letting out a strangled noise of protest. Better the torment be hers than Annabel's...

 A jolt of fear opens Annabel's eyes and sets her heart racing, but, stubborn as a druffalo, she sneers. “Fuck you!”

Tristan smiles nastily. "I wouldn't waste your breath if I were you. It will be in rather short supply soon." Behind him, Sid has coiled up his whip and stalked across to the counter again, busing himself with something unseen that makes a sloshing sound.

The noise is new and unwelcome. "What—" Annabel's words are cut off abruptly, as a dripping cloth lands on her face with a wet smack. Spluttering, she tries to shake her head, but her restraints make it impossible, suddenly panic begins clawing up her throat.

Kelandris has sunk deep into a haze of agony, but her lover falling silent mid-sentence is alarming enough to rouse her. Unclenching her jaw with a whine, she rasps, "Annabel?" There's no answer from behind her, just the splatter of falling water. Heart pounding, she wrenches her head around to look, despite the pain. Sid is standing over her love, slowly emptying a jug of water over her face... "Annabel!" Kelandris cries out again in anguish.

Water floods down Annabel’s throat, filling her empty stomach. Within moments she begins to gag, spluttering on bile and water. She writhes against the bonds, panic consuming her. There’s no air! Her lungs demand she breathe, but she can't. Every nerve inside her screams. Overwhelming primal instinct sends her body into frantic spasms. Her heart runs wild, pounding blood resounding in her head – she has to to hold on! Her chest heaves as she coughs, throwing liquid out only for it to be forced back in. Her lungs burn as she chokes, retching; the world darkens, fading to black around the edges, until she finally goes still, unconscious.

When Kelandris hears Tristan snap, "Don't kill her, you fool!" she slams hard enough against her manacles that something goes snap in her wrist. The horrible sounds she'd been making— Blessed Andraste, please let her be alright!

Sid lifts the cloth from Annabel and punches her in the stomach, winding her hard enough to force the water from her saturated lungs. Coming to she throws up water in a violent gush. Nothing has ever felt sweeter than her first drag of air. Coughing she spits out even more, her lungs jagged but grateful.

She’s only given a few seconds of respite before Sid covers her airways again. Annabel slams her mouth shut this time and tears at the bindings. Squirming her face she wishes she could close her nostrils, but she can't and water stings as it trickles in.

Terror grips her core once more. Gagging, coughing, struggling, she thrashes, pulling muscles and breaking skin. She can't breathe and nothing else exists. A voice in her head is screaming - she must breathe! The demand resounds in her skull, until finally she can't resist any longer – but her desperate gasp brings water instead of air. The way her lungs burn, it may as well have been fire.

When Annabel starts to choke in earnest, they remove the cloth. Tristan strokes her arm soothingly while Kelandris flinches as she sputters, whispering her name once again. "Maker, though darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light..." she grasps at another verse of the Chant, hoping desperately that her love will hear and be comforted, the way she herself had been.

Tristan casts her an annoyed look before easily talking over the weary mumble: "Nothing to say, Annabel? Now you see the price of your lies..."

Annabel's throat is raw, pain radiating from deep in her clenched chest, still retching, eyes watering as consciousness struggles to return. She can faintly hear Kelandris and the familiarity brings a degree of comfort. She can barely speak but knows her love must be worried, she must say something. Tristan is looking at her, almost adoringly; she manages two croaky syllables. "Fuck...you..."

He huffs, sickeningly soft expression instantly turning hard. "I think we've heard enough from you, slut." He grabs the wet rag and stuffs it roughly in her mouth. She protests as much as her restraints allow, not that it does any good. She stares Tristan down with seething look so cold it could kill, though her streaming eyes diminish the effect.

He glances at Kelandris, smirking at the bloody welts and blisters coating her back. "I'll let you enjoy the quiet. Leave the lying harlot with some entertainment, won't you, Sid?" said Tristan before he sweeps out of the room. 

Sid looks between them, considering, then grabs a pot and hangs it from one of the dangling chains above Annabel which she carefully watches with dread. He empties another jug of water into it, where it promptly starts beading from a crack in the bottom. He adjusts it until drops land squarely on her face and then follows his master out.

 The first drip of water jars her with panic, her lungs greedily sucking air in response. Maker not again. Her mind whirls, threatening to spiral into panic, but it's merely an annoying drip. Frowning, she sets about trying to loosen the gag. After considerable effort she manages to shove the rag out of her mouth. Immediately, she sucks in a ragged breath, deeper than she ever knew possible. Every drip on her face makes her flinch, still, but at least she can breathe properly, now. Once her chest is calm enough, she hoarsely calls out, "Kelandris?"

Her lover jerks in surprise, then hisses in pain. "Love?"

Relief floods Annabel. "Praise the Maker—" her body cuts her off with a wracking cough. "I… I'm so sorry..." she whimpers. She tugs against the restraints, only bringing fresh pain – she needs to hold her, to look her in the eyes and make sure she knows the truth. "I saw a chance…" she murmurs. "I tried… I'm so sorry— I love you. I had to try..."

Kelandris swallows, struggling with tears of her own. She's so exhausted, and she hurts so much... Never do that again, she wants to say, to beg: Please, I love you so much, I would bear anything to never hear you renounce me again... It would be so easy to just let go, to let Annabel comfort her. The thought fills her with self-loathing – her lover was in far too much distress already; she would never forgive herself for adding to her burdens like that. So instead she shoves aside her pain, locking it away with all the rest. She couldn't afford to be weak anymore.

"I know," she mumbles instead, "I love you too."

The words ease Annabel’s guilt a little. The dripping is becoming increasingly aggravating but at least it washes the tears away. She is exhausted to her very core, she has torn muscles she didn’t know she had and has ripped open the bloodied ribbons of her feet. After an extended silence there is only one question on her weary mind. "You will forgive me, won't you? I had to try..."

The only acceptable answer to that question is 'Yes, of course,’ but Kelandris can’t force it past her lips. Not without some sort of reassurance. Not with ‘I never loved her, not truly’ still bouncing around inside her head.

"I... I want to, I will, but I need a promise— I can't stand to hear that again. I know you were just protecting me, but I c-can't— I'd rather take the torture—" She bites her tongue to stop the flow of words. It seemed she wasn't strong enough to reassure Annabel properly, after all.

"You know I would never...could never... mean those things I said. I love you and Cullen more than anything. I would do anything...that’s the point. You have to understand - I had to! What choice did I have?!" Annabel demands.

"I know! And I know it hurts to watch me suffer... But you have to trust me when I say I can bear the pain! What I can't bear— even knowing it's lies, is to hear you talk like that. Promise me you won't do it again. Please." She closes her eyes, tears leaving tracks down her face.

Annabel's eyes sting with the effort of new tears. "He might have let you go..." even as she mumbles it she knows it’s stupid and wrong. As if he ever would. "... I lied for you Kelandris! I'd tell a thousand lies to save you...I'd...."

She’d heard the strain in Kelandris tone and bitterly realises she is trying just as hard to convince herself as her love. Two parts of her lunge and lash out, ripping chunks from each other and almost tearing her clean through. Truthfully she would say the worst things imaginable and degrade herself further still if it might save Kelandris. Equally she couldn’t bare to be the one to hurt her.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask; if I wasn't so s-selfish..." Kelandris whimpers.

“No, don't be sorry! It’s my fault for being fucking stupid, grasping at anything that looks like hope...I promise. I won't fall for it again. I won't hurt you like that again - I won't say those things ever again." 

"Not stupid! Never stupid..." Kelandris can feel herself losing consciousness as her injuries catch up with her. "Thank you... S'alright. Love you. Will always... forgive you..."

"I love you too. I'll make it up to you, when we get outta here," Annabel murmurs. "I always do." Kelandris is silent. She can just barely make her out, slumped in her chains with blood running down her back – passed out from pain and exhaustion. Annabel's eyes flutter closed as well, only to snap back open as another wretched drop plops down onto her nose. It takes far too long for oblivion to finally claim her.

 Skyhold

“We found them,” Leliana said without preamble, stalking into the war room. There was no need to ask who she meant. “They're alive.”

Cullen relaxed for the first time in days. “Thank the Maker!” he exclaimed. At the sight of the spymistress’s bleak expression, though, he sobered, his burgeoning smile fading before it began. Trepidation replaced his relief, settling cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach. “...But?”

“There's no way to say this kindly,” she began, shadowed eyes hard beneath her hood. Bracing himself, Cullen nodded, and she gave voice to his worst nightmare. “They're being tortured.”

He heard Josephine gasp, but it was distant, barely audible over the pounding of his heart and the echo of phantom screams in his ears. No. No! Someone said his name. There was a bang; he realized he'd punched the table when his hand started throbbing.

“Where?” He grated. His voice was harsh in his throat. He didn't like that voice – it was the way he spoke on the bad nights, when he woke up from dreams of blood, tasting bile and demon ichor, shouting Kill them! at the top of his lungs— He shook his head, violently, as if he could dislodge the memories from inside his skull, and forced himself to take a breath. Falling apart wouldn't help. He tried again, a little steadier. “Where are they?”

“A hunting lodge in the foothills of eastern Orlais. My agent got close enough to eavesdrop on a patrol, but it was too well-guarded to infiltrate alone. With a few more scouts, though—”

“I'm going.” He would hear no alternative. He glared from Leliana to Josephine and back in open challenge, daring them to question him. The spymistress hesitated, drawing a breath as if to speak, but Josephine stepped in before she could do so, dark eyes flinty.

“If there were ever a time for excessive force, Leliana, I believe this is it.”

She acquiesced without complaint. Ambassador and Commander exchanged a tense nod of understanding, and the three advisors bent over the map to plan their assault.

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