#the most innocent use of “adds a third finger” in history

[munacy]

uncertainty

Cross-posted to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44490136

Remus pours out two fingers of whiskey. He holds the glass out to Sirius for his inspection, to which Sirius raises one disapproving brow. Remus smiles wryly, adds a third finger, and then Sirius takes the glass without complaint.

“He’s certainly growing up, our little Prongslet. Blimey, a girlfriend?” murmurs Sirius wonderingly, resuming their discussion of Harry’s rumored outing with a one Cho Chang. 

“Yes, quite. Although, from what I’ve heard, it appears that the poor girl left in tears.” Remus fails to fight a twitch of the lips. “I mean, that’s James, in one.” 

They both chortle indecently, clink their glasses in memory of the deceased, and throw back a healthy measure of spirit. Sirius becomes fascinated by a droplet of whiskey resting on Remus’ bottom lip. He’s just become very familiar with the flavor of the bottle they’re sharing, but thinks his greatest desire in the whole wide world is to know what that specific droplet tastes like.

“Ah, Padfoot,” Remus sighs wistfully, “to be young and in love again.”

“You miss being young?” he asks.

He knows the answer to that, but he wants Remus to ask him.

And he doesn’t disappoint, looking back at Sirius incredulously. “Don’t you?”

“Some parts. I miss when my knees didn’t creak getting out of bed. I miss having a cool taste in music; now, I don’t understand half of it. I miss turning heads when I walk into a room.”

“You still turn heads, you vain, daft thing,” Remus mutters bashfully, faintly pink and looking down into his whiskey.

Sirius holds back a snort, knowing that no one—present company possibly, hopefully excluded—thought him an exceptional beauty these days. “And I miss the days when I really thought everything would go whatever way I wanted it to, because, by God, I was Sirius Black.”

Remus smiles indulgently at him. “But?”

Sirius steels himself. He’s been waiting a long time for this. He’s been waiting for Remus to be ready to hear it, but mostly, he’s been waiting for himself to be ready to say it.

“But I don’t miss being young,” he starts haltingly. “I don’t miss the uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty?” Remus’ wide ochre eyes are fixed on him. Remus’ sole attention on him, even at 15 years old, has always made him feel as though he’s done a dead drop on his broom. Some things never change.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Uncertainty. When I was young, I didn’t know who I was…Didn’t want to even try to figure it out. And in those rare instances when I was introspective enough to catch a true glimpse of myself…I was frightened by what I saw. I was frightened of what…of what others would think of me, if they knew what I really was.”

Remus stiffens almost imperceptibly, but his face is otherwise placid.

Sirius sighs heavily. “I turned away from it, denied my true self. And I think no one suffered more for it than I, and…and perhaps you. I was the worst sort of coward. I was brave in all things, except for the things that mattered.”

Remus’ eyes have unfocused slightly.

“Remus, I wouldn’t trade knowing and accepting who I am, not for all of the youth in the world,” he finishes quietly.

His expression does something complicated. He looks almost angry, confused, and his long, thin fingers reach up to cover his mouth.

Don’t hide yourself from me, please, Sirius begs mentally, knowing how insane that would sound if he said it aloud.

I’ve spent entirely too much time not looking at every single part of you.

As if hearing his thoughts, he removes his hand from his face, steadies himself on the coffee table as he leans forward. His eyes are a bright, hard and intense amber. Remus’ words come out in a quick, reluctant whisper, as if he cannot stop himself from speaking: “And who are you, Sirius?”

He’s thought of a hundred ways to come out to Remus, imaginary conversations with James in the chill of his cell, during which his memory of his brother mostly just took the piss and called him an emotional ponce. It was a fairly accurate caricature of the real life James F. Potter.

In the end, he doesn’t think at all: “I am a man who is violently in love with you.” He pauses, a little surprised. “I always have been. I always will be.”

Remus wastes no time in standing up and striding out of the room.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Sirius had expected, but he had also known better than to expect a happy ending for himself.

Remus bursts back into the room like an angry gale: “God dammit, Padfoot!”

He storms out the door on the opposite wall. This time, he’s gone for a little bit longer, but when he appears again, just about kicking down a third door, he looks just as furious as before.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

He’s left the room again, without even the courtesy of allowing Sirius to make the obligatory, if tired, joke for old time’s sake.

By the time Remus comes back, Sirius is halfway through a second glass of whiskey and has worked up a decent sulk. He sits up straight in the leather armchair, trying to shake away his increasing tipsiness. Remus is standing at the threshold, panting a little, a feral, wild look about him that Sirius has never quite seen before. 

Sirius begins, “Moony, I—“

And Remus crosses the room in three long paces, looking for all the world like he’s going to punch him, but no, he kisses Sirius on the forehead with hard, bruising pressure, tightly fisting the back of his hair in one hand and clutching the side of his throat in the other.

And Sirius wasn’t expecting that either.

Remus crawls desperately into his lap, hands patting him erratically as if to make sure all of Sirius’ body parts are there.

“I’d thought I’d got rid of you,” he moans exasperatedly. Sirius feels the vibration of Remus’ muffled sob, buried in his neck.

“I don’t think you can,” he replies weakly, sheepishly. “I’m like a particularly tenacious tick.”

When Remus finally kisses him on the mouth, like he’s been wanting desperately for decades—and it’s not until hours later, after they’ve talked for hours—the most unexpected thing is that it is gentle. It is so heartbreakingly soft, so sweet and slow, just like the way Remus smiles or speaks. He realizes in a detached way that he’s crying a bit. He’s never been handled delicately before. He didn’t know love could be gentle. “Why are you crying, you silly boy?” Remus is smiling down at him now, fondly, like Sirius is daft and precious, and so, so breakable. He removes Sirius’ belt and lowers his trousers and underwear with deft hands, holding Sirius in his hand with that intense attention that makes him feel as though he’s dead dropping on his broom. “Don’t you know there’s nothing to be sad about?”

———————————————————————————————————

“Why are you crying, old boy?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Remus sniffles sheepishly. “Being silly.”

Sirius watches Remus watch the happy couple walk back up the aisle together, tears pooling in the gentle crow’s feet by his eyes.

“No, go on, tell me,” he nudges.

“Alright, alright, it’s just…from the back, you know, they could be Lily and James.”

“Yeah…” sighs Sirius wistfully. “Harry, though, much better with women than James ever was.”

“Oh, indubitably,” Remus agrees immediately.

“Little Prongslet grew up. I wish, oh, I wish they could have seen it. Just-just the finest lad you e-ever—“

“Shh, Pads, s’alright,” Remus soothes. He squeezes his hand and it steadies him.

“Christ, things have changed so much between then and now. We grew up too, Remus, you realize?” He wipes away an errant tear impatiently. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Imagine that.”

@wolfstarmicrofic

[mister-supernova]

Memories Lost

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader

Before Malivore

I.

“Y/n L/n, please do not tell me that you forgot to add eggs to the cake mix.” 

Your eyes widen like a child who is about to be in some serious trouble by their parents. Now that you thought about it, something did feel off about the batter you’ve been struggling to stir for the past five minutes. 

You look up from your batter bowl to see Hope staring at you with daggers in her eyes. 

Yep, you were screwed. 

After gently placing your wisk on the kitchen table, you give the tribrid the best innocent smile you could, “Okay. I won’t tell you that, but I will tell you that we’re going to have to start over since there may or may not be a key ingredient missing from the mix.”  

As much as you wanted the smile to dilute the situation, Hope still pinches the bridge of her nose and runs her fingers through her hair, obviously more stressed out than ever.

Today is Commonwealth Day and some of Hope’s family members from New Orleans are supposed to be coming into town, one of which includes her mother. If anything you felt that you should’ve been the one who was stressed out. 

“How do you forget to add eggs to a cake mix, Y/n?” Hope asks, flailing the full carton of eggs around. She looked like she was on the verge of erupting like Pompeii. 

You decide to approach with caution, “Okay, okay,” you slowly reach for the carton and carefully take it from her hand, “Let’s not break the only eggs left in the fridge, yeah? We do need those. Let’s also take a steady breather for a second.” 

The two of you inhale one large breath of air together and then slowly breathe out. 

“There we go, Hope,” she’s still looking at you with a small amount of fire in her eyes, “Hey, I apologize for my idiocy. I honestly don’t know what you expected when you left me alone to make this, but it’s a minor setback.”

“That was the only box of cake mix we bought, Y/n.” Hope states. 

You fall silent for a moment to let that information sink in, “Okay, slightly more than minor setback,” Hope lets out a frustrated groan and moves past you, “We don’t have to make a cake, Hope. I saw a box of brownie mix in the pantry.” 

“Yeah, that says ‘Lizzie Saltzman’s Brownie Mix: DO NOT TOUCH’ in big black letters. In case you don’t recall, I’m not exactly in her good graces at the moment.” 

“Eh, name me one person who is in her good graces,” you shrug as if it’s no big deal and take the box out anyways, giving it a good shake, “Doesn’t feel like she put any jinxes on it. My arm has yet to fall off so therefore I think we should be safe.”

Hope gives you a look telling you that she’s still unsure of this. 

“Come on, I of all people know how much crap she makes you go through on the daily basis. What’s a box of brownie mix compared to torment?” You pause and think, ‘that’s probably a little much’, “Maybe not literal torment, but you get the picture. I’ll even take the blame if she starts asking questions.” 

“Are you kidding? She’d probably kill you if she found out.”

“That’s what I have you for,” you say matter-of-factly, taking a few steps closer to the tribrid until you were face to face, “What, you thought that I was your friend because I like you?” You ask in a playful tone, making Hope roll her eyes at you even though she was clearly amused, “Keep dreaming, Mikael-” her eyes widen and she covers your mouth with her hand before it’s too late.

You are the only student in the whole school who knows that Hope’s father is Klaus Mikaelson. It took many months of trust-building after your friendship began, but one night at the pier, Hope mustered up enough courage to tell you about her family history. 

She half-expected you to go running for the hills and leave her in the dust. Instead, you blew her expectations out of the water by having the calmest reaction she had ever seen. You thanked her for trusting you so much that she felt that she could tell you something not everyone knew at the time. 

She made you promise not to tell anyone to which you agreed to with a pinky promise. This moment has been the only time you nearly slipped up. Thankfully no one else was in the kitchen, but who knows who could be walking by. 

You raise an eyebrow at Hope, glancing down at her hand that was still covering your mouth. 

Hope quickly retracts her hand back, “Sorry. It was just, you know-” 

“No, that was my bad. Good save though... Marshall.” You say, followed by a cheeky wink. 

A tint of red flushes Hope’s cheeks as she gives you a thankful smile, causing your cheeks to warm up as well. 

You clear your throat and break eye contact with the tribrid, “Shall we get started?” You ask, raising the brownie mix up to your face, “Ass beating from Lizzie or not, I still wanna make a good first impression on your family, especially your mom. God knows you’ve probably dragged my name through the dirt every chance you had.”

Hope playfully rolls her eyes, giving you a small shove before giving in and pulling out a clean mixing bowl. “Fine, let’s just get this over with before we get busted.”

“Atta girl!” You grin widely before ripping the box open. 

There was no going back now. If you two were going down, at least you were going down together and you were getting a sweet treat out of it, too.

II.  

It was a beautiful day to be out at the Salvatore Boarding School for the Young and Gifted. The weather was your idea of perfect; sunny, breezy, and clear. 

Students were reading outside on the grass, the younger kids were playing tag, others playing Wickery, and you were getting your ass beaten by the world’s strongest tribrid.

This was your guys’ third round of sparring for the day and you had yet to win a single one. Just when you thought you had her arm locked behind her back, she whispers the incantation, “Dimiterre.”

Everything went by so fast that you didn’t have any time to think about landing on your feet. Instead, your back slammed against the small wooden pier after being flipped over the tribrid’s shoulder. It wasn’t fair that she could just chant any spell she wanted to throw you off guard. 

“Is that really all you got today, Y/n? This is just embarrassing.” She shakes her head at you like a disappointed coach. 

“I’ll make you eat those words, Mikaelson,” you grunt, feeling a new surge of energy course through your body as you jump back up to your feet, “We’re just getting started.” You smirk, wiping a drop of sweat off your forehead. 

Hope grins back at you, readying her position for another round of sparring. The both of you share the same look of determination, neither one backing out as you throw the first jab. 

Several more rounds pass. All of which ended with your ass hitting the pier as if it were some kind of magnet.

“You’re making this too easy.” Hope says triumphantly with a cocky smile. 

You huff out an exhausted breath of air, “I’m obviously letting you win, Mikaelson,” you use your arms to help you jump back to your feet, “I could easily take you down if I wanted to.” 

“Oh yeah?” Hope wonders, taking a step forward. She was a little less out of breath than you, but you could tell that she was playing it off just as much as you were. 

“Oh yeah. Why don’t we do one final round? This time I won’t hold back.” You challenge her.

“You seem pretty worn out for someone who was holding back.” She states and you pretend not to be hurt by her jab at your lack of combat skills. 

“Maybe that’s just to fool you into thinking you can beat me again,” you shrug as you watch her readjust her gloves, “Oh, and you can’t use your magic. Too much of an advantage.”

Hope’s mouth falls open and she shakes her head, “Then I’d be at a disadvantage. You’re like a whole foot taller than me.” 

“Come on, if it’s so easy you should have no problem pinning me down within two seconds of the round.” 

Hope silently thinks it over in her head, then quickly comes to a decision, “Fine. Loser buys milkshakes at the Grill.” 

You grin, “Deal. Prepare to pay up, Mikaelson.” 

After waiting for one of you to make the first move, Hope decides to sweep kick your legs at an unfathomable speed and knocks your back to the ground. 

She straddled your hips and placed her hands on both sides of your head, “Ha! Looks like someone’s- wha-” 

As quickly as she knocked you to the pier just now, you pulled her neck down to where her face is inches closer to yours, trapped her arm by wrapping yours around it, lifted your leg to trap hers and then rolled your body over to where you were now on top.  

Breathless and cheeks redder than before, Hope stared up at you in shock. If you were completely honest, you had no idea that move was going to work, but you were so glad that it did. For one, now you get a free milkshake and two, you’ve never had Hope Mikaelson’s face this close to yours before. 

Her legs were practically wrapped around your waist and your hands were holding her arms down above her head, making her face dangerously close to yours. It would only take one of you leaning forward for something to happen. 

Instead, you kept your cool, “Looks like I win.” you smile, also breathless, “I like cookies and cream, by the way.” 

III.

“So you do this… for fun?” You ask, sitting as still as possible on a wooden stool in Hope’s bedroom. 

It was a stormy weekend in Mystic Falls, so most of the outdoor activities were closed off until the rain cleared up, which didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon according to the weather broadcasts. You weren’t a huge fan of being alone during thunderstorms--you’d never let anyone know that--so you found yourself hanging out with Hope. 

Well, you were mainly watching Hope. She came up with the idea of painting a portrait of you sitting by her window to pass the time. Being that you’ve never had a portrait painted of you before, you thought this would be kind of fun. You didn’t expect it to be such a long and quiet process, but you definitely preferred this over being scared out of your mind listening to the thunder by yourself.

Hope hums a yes to your question as she concentrates on her strokes, “Can you look back out the window?” 

You sigh, turning your head to look outside for about thirty seconds before nearly falling off the stool because of the lightning bolt that crashed a couple miles away from the school. As pretty as it looked, being struck by lightning was still one of your irrational fears. 

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to be looking outside?” You turn back to look at Hope. 

“Y/n, I promise nothing is going to happen to you. Now sit still,” she says in a not-so-reassuring voice. 

You let out an annoyed huff, but you do you’re told and turn to face the rain covered window glass.  

“How long does it usually take you to do these things? Asking out of curiosity. Totally not because I’m losing feeling in my glutes.” You wonder, shifting in your stool.

“I’m usually quicker when my subject isn’t interrupting every five seconds and moving around like they have worms in their said glutes.”

You face her again with an over exaggerated look of shock on your face, “Is that some sort of degrading werewolf joke? That is extremely offensive.” 

She leans away from her canvas to look at you, her eyes squinted, “I’m part werewolf, too, idiot.” 

“You’re a tribrid. That’s different. One third of a werewolf doesn’t count, therefore your little worm joke hurts me more.” You stick your tongue out at her.

“Why am I friends with you again?” She’s trying her best to hide it, but you can tell that she’s resisting a smile.

“Because as sad as it is, no one else can make you smile like I do, Mikaelson.” It took a few seconds until she couldn’t help but reveal a very faint yet noticeable grin. She leaned back behind her canvas to conceal it, but there was no use since you already caught sight of it.

“Just shut up and look out the window before I cast a freeze spell on you.”

You wanted to make another snarky remark, but you knew your friend well enough to know that she was serious about casting that spell. To avoid being frozen in an uncomfortable position for God knows how long, you closed your mouth and relaxed your body before looking back out the window. 

IV.

“What do you mean you can’t dance? I’ve seen you do it all the time.” Hope asks, watching you from her bed as you pace back and forth in her dorm room.

“That’s me flailing my body around like a fool hoping it looks good! I don’t know what I’m actually doing!” 

Josie asked you--as a friend--to be her escort for her and Lizzie’s 15th birthday party. You’d only be dancing with her one time, but the problem was that it was supposed to be a waltz and you had absolutely no idea how to do that. 

“It’s embarrassing enough that she asked me to be her escort, I don’t wanna embarrass her even more for not knowing how to do a stupid waltz!” Hope rolls her eyes before having enough of your unnecessary freakout. 

She gets up from her bed to stop you from pacing, “Y/n. Just relax, okay? You freaking out is freaking me out,” she says, holding onto your shoulders, “I can teach you how to waltz.” 

Your body relaxes and a small wave of relief hits you, “Seriously?” 

“What? You think I can’t dance either?” Hope playfully asks, placing her hands on her hips as she tilts her head at you. 

“I’ve never seen you do it before,” you argue, getting a small smack to the arm, “Ow! Okay, I’m obviously kidding… sort of,” she smacks you again, making you laugh this time, “Okay, okay. Forreal now, I could really use your help.” 

Hope sighs, pretending to have second thoughts because of your teases. You don’t worry too much though because you know she wouldn’t leave you to crash and burn like that... at least you really hope so.

“Give me your hand.” She gives in, fitting one of her hands in yours. You grin as your other hand finds her waist and hers rests on your shoulder, “Make sure you’re relaxed, you wouldn’t want to look stiff as a board while you’re dancing.”

You nod your head, taking in a deep breath as you let your muscles relax.

“Also, always have your eyes on your partner. You’re more likely to be tripping on their feet if you keep looking down.” 

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” You say without meaning for it to leave your head. Hope bows her head for a second to hide the redness appearing on her cheeks.

After composing herself, Hope looks back up at you, “First, step forward with your left,” you follow her movements smoothly, “Step sideways to the right,” your right foot steps out, “Close your feet together, then step back with your right,” you glance down at your feet for a second which was your first mistake.

You slightly stumbled, but caught yourself when you put your feet back together. 

Hope chuckles, “What did I tell you?” 

“Hey, now cut me a little slack. I was doing pretty good for a second there,” you defend yourself before repositioning your feet, “What’s next?” 

“Step to the left, bring your feet together, then repeat it all over again but a little faster. You’re going to want to count one-two-three in your head to stay in rhythm,” you raise an inquisitive eyebrow, making her smile, “Okay, I’ll count out loud and you repeat the moves we just finished learning. Does that sound good?” 

You nod quickly, then she takes her step back and you follow, remembering what she taught you. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. The longer you two went on, the quicker you picked up on the moves and the more comfortable you felt. 

Eventually, you felt that you didn’t need to keep dancing with Hope, but it was hard not to keep going when you have the most beautiful girl in your arms right now.  

“Stop looking so smug.” Hope says, noticing the smile that appeared on your face. Even though she stopped counting, the two of you continued to flow around her room gracefully. 

“I’m waltzing with the big and bad tribrid. How can I not be smug?” 

It’s Hope’s turn to smile, but she gives you a playful eyeroll to counter the fact that she was enjoying this, “If you tell anyone I did this for you, you’re dead.” 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare let anyone know you’re an actual decent person, Hope Mikaelson. It’ll be our little secret.” You wink at her, making her cheeks even redder. She moves her mouth to one side of her face to keep herself from smiling any wider. 

It made your heart flutter, seeing how comfortable she was around you. You got to see the vulnerable side of her that she rarely ever showed to anyone else at the school. It’s the small moments like this that you knew you'd keep in your heart forever. 

~

this one is more of a flashback situation in comparison to parts 1 and 2 and there’s some more happy moments since the first 2 were a little more angsty lol part 4 coming soon! 

taglist: @chicken-wang09​ @trikruismybitch​ @sodangtired​

[ethvn-torchio]

Walls Could Talk | Chapter Two

a/n: sorry this chapter took so long! writer’s block is a bitch 😩✌

Summary: Steve and Peggy's search brings them to Paris - where they happen to meet up with an old friend.

Warnings: an intense makeout session/implied sexual content (it’s not smut, i haven’t decided if I’m putting actual smut in this fic)

Wordcount: 1.5k (unedited, also I'm sorry it's so short 🙃)

AO3 | prev chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

ᴏᴄᴛ 𝟸𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟿

ᴏxғᴏʀᴅ, ᴇɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat, bolting upright in bed. Was he still dreaming? Was this...was this real?

He gazes at Peggy - to make sure she was there, that all of this wasn't a mere fantasy, who begins to stir.

So, not a dream then, at least. His heart is racing, his mind buzzing and yet still confused and his breathing erratic. She's speaking to him, saying something, and he isn't quite listening, his heart thundering his ears. Adrenaline surges through his veins.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Peg. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers. His pulse was still racing.

Lightning illuminates the room for a split second and he can see the sympathy in her eyes.

"It's quite alright, Darling. Will you tell me what's wrong?" She asks, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"I...I don't- I don't remember much," he admits. "It was just...some stuff from the past...or, future..." he could almost laugh at that if he was in a better mood.

She nods sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He drinks in her appearance, nodding slightly. He presses his lips against hers softly.

He kisses her, gently and imploringly at first.

His one hand softly trails down her back, and he notices her sharp intake of breath when his hand ghosts over her lower back.

"This hurt?" he asks.

She nods stiffly. "I do believe I forgot to tell you with everything that happened tonight. I had a bit of a scuffle in the restroom with a Hydra agent. She slammed me against the sink," Peggy explains.

An idea forms in Steve's head; a single minded goal to make her forget.

He would make the only thing on her mind be him.

Wordlessly, he smiles and dips his head towards her neck, brushing his lips against it. His teeth graze against a sensitive spot on her neck and she makes a soft "Oh,"

His hands go to rest against either of her thighs. He pulls back, pupils blown.

“Steve,” she whispers. She lifts her hips in a silent invitation.

He leans down to kiss her, his lips against hers, and she's already breathless. He doesn't want to rush things, but he can't resist her.

Her hand slides down his back, and she lets out a soft moan against his mouth. His hands trail up her shirt, he can feel the goosebumps on her skin. He kisses her neck, and she can feel his hot breath against her skin.

"God, you're so beautiful. I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," she replies.

He pulls her in for a desperate kiss once again, pulling her close.

—

The rain came and went, and with it sunshine followed.

“Peggy. Peggy, wake up,” is the first thing Peggy is greeted with in the morning.

Peggy groans, rolling over in an effort to ignore him. “No, not now,” she mutters, burying her face in the pillow.

Peggy feels weight on the bed as Steve sits down next to her. She tries in vain to ignore him.

"Oh, c'mon now, Peg. It's a new day, it's time to get up," he says.

“You are far too cheerful considering how early it is,” Peggy complains, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in from the blinds.

“...Peggy, it’s eleven in the morning.”

Peggy groans, glancing at the clock as if to make sure he’s right. “Point withstanding, you’re still too cheerful.”

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Steve teases, narrowly missing a pillow flung haphazardly at him.

“Do shut up, Steve.”

He snickers.

Peggy yawns, stretching her sleep-infused joints. "Where are we going, again?"

"Word is our target's in Paris,” Steve replies. “Or at the very least, someone important is.”

Peggy hums, sitting up. The blanket wrapped around her falls off, revealing her bruised back.

"Jesus, Peg. Have you seen your back? That looks like it hurts," Steve notes.

"Yes, thank you for that insightful observation."

"I just mean- do you want ice or something?"

Peggy shrugs nonchalantly. "It doesn’t quite hurt. I can deal with it, I’ve faced worse."

“To be fair, you are the woman who fell asleep standing up in a trench.”

“Exactly,” Peggy winks. She stands up, beginning to sift through her suitcase. “So tell me, Steve. When’s our train leaving?”

—

ᴘᴀʀɪs, ғʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

A few hours later, they arrive at their dingy, rundown hotel just outside of Paris. The lobby smells like bleach and old carpet, and a radio plays a somber, mellow jazz tune.

Peggy clears her throat, waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge them.

The receptionist does not, however, care to notice.

“Can we have a room, please?” Peggy asks the woman at the front desk.

The woman hardly looks up from her magazine. “Name?”

“Carver,” Peggy answers automatically before Steve can.

The receptionist takes a long, seemingly never ending sip of her tea. Finally, she says. “Take the elevator to the third room, first one on the left. Here’s your key,” the woman says, sounding as disinterested as she possibly can. “Enjoy your stay,” she adds dryly.

Peggy eyes her warily. There was something a bit...off, about that woman.

Perhaps it was just her imagination.

They make their way to the elevator, and Steve finally breaks the silence. “So...is it just me or was there something weird about her? I mean, she could’ve just been a disgruntled employee, but…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

Peggy hums. “No, I happen to agree. Though, perhaps we were just inconveniencing her by making her do her job.”

The smile fades from her face. “Stop,” Peggy whispers. She tilts her head toward the door, which was ajar. She clutches her gun in her purse.

Steve snorts. “Maybe,”

She laughs right along with him, but she pauses abruptly outside their door.

It could be the maid...but they haven’t even gotten into the room once.

Silently, the two stalk toward the door. The smell of smoke escapes from the room when Steve nudges the door open.

Which, in both of their experiences, usually did not happen to be a good thing.

In the chair in the corner, there sat...

Howard Stark.

A collective groan escapes the couple.

“Howard, must you break into our hotel room?” Peggy scolds, turning on the light.

“We thought you were an intruder.” Steve adds.

Howard smirks, taking a long drag of his cigar. “Technically, I am. But don’t you kids worry - I bring a peace offering. By peace offering, I mean I’m inviting you to stay in my Paris apartment instead of this dump,” Howard gestures loosely. “I mean, I don’t think this building even has heat.”

Steve shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay somewhere inconspicuous?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Peggy agrees, her arms crossed.

Howard sniffs. “Okay, fine, don’t accept my extremely generous offer to let you stay at my apartment. I know when I’m not wanted. Just know I’ll remember that in the summer when you want to come over because I have air conditioning and you don’t.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Quit the melodramatics, Howard. We’ll stay with you,”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Yeah, we- wait, we will?”

“...What? This building doesn’t have heat, and quite frankly I enjoy summer visits to Howard’s house.”

“Attagirl, Peg.” Howard beams. “I’ll meet you two in the lobby,”

—

Later, the trio eats lunch at Howard’s apartment.

"-you are not funny, Howard." Peggy informs him, pointing at him with her fork. "You could've at least feigned innocence."

"Innocent? If you looked up "innocent' in the dictionary, you'd see my picture on it," Howard says defensively.

Peggy snorts at that. "Oh, please, Howard. With your history you could easily father a small country,"

Howard grimaces. "Eugh, kids hate me. Plus, who has time to tend to a baby all the time? I mean sure, kids probably aren't annoying when they're...late teenagers? But for most of their lives, kids just seem so clingy and needy."

Steve picks at his plate absentmindedly, reminded of a conversation he had with Tony.

"Clearly, you must've met a different version of my father. He was cold. He was calculating. He never told me he loved me, he never even told me he liked me."

The sound of Peggy’s voice brings him back to reality. "...That's because they're children, Howard. Babies aren't self-sufficient from birth. Do you expect them to come out of the womb ready for rocket science?"

"Well, thank you for absolutely shattering my argument, Agent Carter." Howard mutters, downing his coffee. Deciding to change the subject in order to deflect attention off of himself, he says, "Steve, you still with us?"

Steve snaps to attention. "I, uh, yeah. I was just daydreaming, I guess."

Peggy makes a mental note to ask Steve about that later.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Howard asks.

Steve shrugs noncommittally, continuing to eat with much less gusto than before. "Just thinking about our mission,”

Peggy eyes him carefully, choosing to say nothing but clearly knowing something was wrong. In due time, she would ask.

In due time hopefully meant whenever Howard left the room.

—

lmao so like i was listening to a bunch of james bond songs bc they’re dramatic and spy-ey right (cough cough tho a song that fits the general tone of the fic would be "the world is not enough" by garbage)?? and then there’s absolutely none of that in this chapter lmao. sorry if this chapter was boring compared to last one but i mean we can’t have constant action in the fic, silly goose. 

also can we talk about how it took me like 8 DAYS TO WRITE THIS and it’s this short i’m sorry ajsjdfkgjjklk 😶✌

taglist (dm me if you’d like to be added!):

everything taglist: @return-of-the-simp​ @thereblogcrusader @stillmourningtonystark ​

walls could talk taglist: @deedepee​ @rizwritesfandom​ (extra thanks to riz for helping me when i was struggling with being descriptive u a real one) @mcu-academy���​

If you enjoyed, please rb/leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 33)

The fog of sleep still clings to her. She isn’t sure for exactly how long but it must have been a while. Even in waking, she is so deeply exhausted. Tired to her very soul. Each and everyone of her limbs seems to pulse with a dull ache. A dull ache that is sharply contrasted by the lavish softness of an expensive mattress and a dozen plump and fluffed pillows. But her head hasn’t quite caught up with her body yet. The comforts are thwarted by momentary confusion. Still, only half-awake, her tummy begins to flutter. She is indoors, in a room. Someone has taken her. Her breathing quickens, but only for a moment--the moment before she remembers that she has made it to the palace.  

It is finally over. Her physical strife has finally come to a close. Her eyes flutter shut once more and she stretches her arms.

She isn’t aware that Zuzu and Sokka have remained at her bedside until she senses a hand hovering just over her throat. Her belly flops and she opens her eyes once more. She holds his stare. “Zuzu, is that you?” Her speech is slurred with sleep. When he doesn’t answer she says, “I’m thirsty, Zuko.”

This time she has been coherent enough to earn herself a, “tea or water?”

She doesn’t have any preference whatsoever, her throat is once again dry and she doesn’t intend to let it stay that way again. She sits up as Zuko leaves the room. Curtains of hair fall into her face. Sokka is quite lucky that she noticed him reaching out, her stomach flutters all the same as he moves the strands out of her line of sight.

“Don’t touch me.” She says quietly, almost numbly. He mutters an apology before making inquiries of her whereabouts. Questions that she is not ready to answer. Not when she has only just found sanctuary. Not with so much history between them. And yet he is treating her as though there is no bad blood at all. She repays this small mercy with a diplomatic, and vague, “it is probably easier to tell you where I haven’t been.”

“You’ve been in the Earth Kingdom!” He guesses. She confirms as much. His enthusiasm does little to alleviate the nervous tickles that still dance in her tummy. “A long while, I can tell.” He adds with just as much spunk.

“How?”

“Your accent.”

She furrows her brows, she hadn’t realized...hadn’t even considered that she would have picked one up, “I don’t have…”

“You do!” He insists.

And with the confirmation, her cheeks grow delicately pink. Moreso as the man continues rambling about his own travel experiences. Her head only grows dizzier--she has been gone for so, so long that it has morphed even her speech. She dreads to think of what others will think of her newfound dialect. “It’s a good thing!” He interrupts her thoughts. “I mean I like it.” She shifts, wishing that he would stop drawing attention to it and just let it go.

“Nevermind. How long have you been back home?”

“However long I’ve been asleep.” Her tone is level. She is too tired for biting remarks. She doesn’t think that she wants to make one even if she could. It isn’t as though he is trying to antagonize her. Most likely he is simply stumbling his way through an awkward reunion.

“I mean, when did you get back to the Fire Nation?”

She thinks for a moment. “A few weeks ago. I had enough coin to buy myself a trip from Chin Village to Yon Rha’s Village. I walked the rest of the way.” Frankly it could have been much longer than that. Or maybe it had been significantly shorter. And technically she hadn’t walked the entire rest of the way… But there is no sense in overcomplicating a story that she isn’t ready to share. “That explains why your shoes are so worn.”

She nods, wondering what he must think of her. What Zuzu had thought. Do they think that she is dirty and uncivilized? Do they think that she has no semblance of elegance left? She feels as though she is reverting. As though all of that time spent learning that there is no shame--rather there is a peculiar sense of dignity--in worn shoes and hardwork. But the palace...it makes her feel so...unclean. Unworthy.

“What were you doing in the Earth Kingdom?”

She shrugs. “I guess that I just wanted to find somewhere quiet to stay.” That is the basic gist of it. A diluted truth.

“Did you?”

She nods again. Her stomach is absolutely reeling. She thinks that if he keeps pushing the dam might break. “Did you like it there?” Another nod. And she craves it. Craves it so very much.

“Then why did you leave?”

She grits her teeth. She can tell that he means well; his curiosity is so innocent, perhaps a way of displaying that he is willing to put the past in the past. But she has to shut it down before it breaks her all over again. “You ask too many questions.”

“You answered them all.” He points out.

She doesn’t have a witty retort, neither can she deny it so she offers only a shrug and lays back down. The pillow is so heavenly, so inviting.

“Does it have to do with that?” He points to her neck. She hastily pulls the blanket up to cover it. “It does, doesn’t it?” And she rolls to face away from him. She is a question away from curling in on herself and covering her ears.

“Okay, fine. Different topic…” But he still bombards her with painful questions. Each pierces her like a dagger to the soul.

“Why do you care what happened to me?” She mumbles.

“I don’t know, I guess because it’s been so long and we thought that you...you know…”

“Died.” She could inform him that she almost did, several times over. Could tell him that she had yearned for it many times. She could tell him that she still does. But she realizes that, that isn’t true. She doesn’t want to die. Despite it all and despite his onslaught of questions, she thinks that she has found something to latch onto. His chatter makes her think that there is a chance. A chance to reconcile. A chance to face her past once and for all and make something of it. He rubs the back of his head, “yeah.”

“And that would be preferable, yes?” She tests.

“No!” He answers right away. “I think that it would have been kind of sad if you did.”

“It wouldn’t have been all the tear jerking.” She replies quietly. “I think that I have more waiting for me in the Spirit World than I do here.” She has said too much. Agni, she isn’t ready to get into this yet. She hopes that he won’t put two and two together. But she knows that he will, he always had been the brains of the Avatar’s group. And she given him a critical hint. He leaps upon it, “you lost someone, didn’t you?”

She doesn’t trust herself to answer without choking up. Agni, she wants someone to reassure her. She hasn’t had reassurance in ages...

“Sorry.”  His gaze lingers on her neck and she thinks to conceal the scar once more.

“Well, it’s good to have you back.”

“Is it?” She asks. She is happy to be back, relieved to be out of the merciless sun, relieved to have a comfortable place to sleep and meals waiting for her. But she isn’t sure that anyone else will benefit from her surprise homecoming. She had parted on horrid terms...

He seems to study her face. Seems to take in each detail. She thinks that he might be trying to find her story in her eyes so she closes them. She feels his hand on hers and when she opens her eyes she is greeted with a warm smile. “I think so.”

The fluttering in her belly becomes more pleasant. It is still jittery and skeptical but the tingles aren’t quite as unpleasant. He is offering her a second chance--or maybe it is more appropriate to call it a third. She does her best to return the smile before fatigue grips her once more. She lowers herself back to the pillow and nuzzles her face into it. At the very least, he has given her something to latch onto, a small hope to cling to just when her stash of it had been depleted.

That day she learns that even the worst of her deeds can be reconciled. That she isn’t a lost cause.

.oOo.

Sometimes she thinks about her first night back at the palace. Sometimes she wonders what would have happened if she had gotten snappy or aggressive. She wonders if Sokka would have been patient with her or if he would have written her off entirely. She thinks that her musing is pointless. It is pessimistic and she hasn’t the need for it. Not while she is laughing, face and clothing smudged with clay. Clumps of it cling to her locks. Not while the man is chuckling harder still as he tries to wipe some of the clay off of her cheeks.

As it would turn out, long nails are no good on a pottery wheel unless the goal is cleanly slicing cups and bowls in half before they have a chance to become something useful.

Sokka’s cups and bowls may be lopsided and asymmetric but at least he had managed to craft them at all. She has only managed to ribbon her own and has resigned herself to admitting defeat.

“I’ll heat those up for you.” She mutters as she snatches up those hideous ceramic structures.

“Once they’re done we can use them for dinner.” Sokka grins.

“I’d rather starve.” She deadpans.

He slings an arm over her shoulder and barks out a laugh. She quite likes his laugh as unrefined and obnoxiously loud as it is. She frowns and plucks a few particularly large chunks of clay out of his beard. “You need a bath.” He blinks and gestures towards the clay dirtying her entire persona. “I never implied that I didn’t need one.” She shrugs.

“Alright, we’ll just let someone else heat up the clay and finish it and we can take baths.”

.oOo.

When he had suggested that they take baths he hadn’t expected her to suggest just one bath. One bath, wherein she is massaging shampoo into his hair with a look of steely determination. “Your hair is a tangled mess.” She comments every now and again. “When was the last time you combed all of this?”

He shrugs, “I just let it do it’s thing.”

She sighs, “that’s how you get dirty hair.” With a good yank, she manages to get one of the more serious knots untangled. She adds more shampoo and conditioner to her palm. Mostly her fingers are gentle and he enjoys the sensation of them in his locks. He finds himself disappointed when her hands retract. “There, I think that that’s most of them. I’ll have the servants do the more laborious grooming.”

She holds out the small bottle of perfume, “do mine.”

He studies her for a moment; the water has mostly washed away the smears of clay but some of it still holds onto strands of her hair. Hair that clings to her neck, shoulders, and collarbone--it hasn’t yet grown past that. Her skin is still very sunkissed and her scars stand out more starkly for it, particularly the ones upon her throat.

Their occasional sparring matches have done her well, muscle definition is beginning to take the place of malnourishment. It is reassuring to see her in a more solid state of health.

She clears her throat and gestures towards the shampoo. His face flushes and she turns around. It is his cue to put the shampoo to use. He takes a curtain of hair in one hand and pours an overly generous amount of shampoo upon it with the other. He runs his fingers through her hair until her locks are impeccably silky and the water comes back clear.

“Thank you, Sokka.”

“Any time.” He reaches for the bar of soap, “do you want me to…?

She takes the soap from his hand and shakes her head.

.oOo.

Azula holds the soap to her chest, cleaning herself, only for a moment, with thoughtless sweeps of her hand. Her shoulders have a decent layer of foam by the time she hesitates. She casts a look at Sokka and quirks a brow.

“We only have one bar of soap.” Quickly he adds, “don’t worry, I can wait.”

She brings the bar away from her body anyhow and runs it along the man’s well sculpted arms, her fingers over the lines of his biceps. She glides the soap across his chest, wondering just when the man had gotten so strongly built. She supposes that the soap is just an excuse to run her hands over his abs. He reaches out and strokes her hair again. Satisfied for the moment, she hands him the bar of soap and turns around again. She moves her hair and lets the man lather the back of her neck down the curve of her spine. Her rinses the bubbles away and offers her back a trail of kisses. She closes her eyes and feels his lips on the crook of her neck and her arms around her torso.

“I think that you’re mostly clean now.”

She nods, “yes, mostly.” Though she isn’t particularly interested in the bath anymore. “You can…” she takes his hand that holds the soap and holds it against her chest. “You can finish up.”

“Yeah, I think I can do that for you.” He smiles.

She must say that this is the mostly lovely, relaxing bath she has had in ages. He is good to her.  Good to her in a way that is uniquely his and with a touch that is uniquely his. A touch that leads her to decide that it is safe to remember but move on.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I'm curious about "a history of dead women in the city" (and also the Wellington one, of course)

Yusss! 

“History of dead women in the city” - oh man one day I will write this. It's part of this world I'm creating called Babel and it follows this woman as she tries to figure out what happened to her sister who died years ago. 

 A long excerpt: 

Here is a scene from our childhood: It’s a sunny day. Dappled. Portrait worthy sun. It brings out freckles. We are in the courtyard, my sister drawing and me watching her draw. On a large blanket by the well sits our parents. Our mother is laughing, her arms entwined with our father’s, they are so in love. They do not notice us. It’s one of those loves that perfumes air, that is intimate and consuming, where only they exist and nothing else.

‘That is what I want,’ Bellefrey says to me. She’s drawing my round face. Squinting, holding up her thumb, making a show of it. ‘I want a man who makes me feel sublime.’ 

‘Don’t you mean loved?’ 

Oh no, she means sublime. She wants to be a thunderstorm. A tsunami. A hurricane. Something you stand in awe of. 

‘The word awesome is overused,’ she explains. ‘We use it too much. Everything is awesome. The food-stalls at the mid-summer carnival are awesome. The paintings by George Dier are awesome. The play at the Round was awesome. I’m awesome. You’re awesome. Everyone’s awesome. Awesome, awesome, awesome.’ Her voices becomes mocking at the end. 

‘But I am awesome,’ I protest. ‘I know how to make a penny appear from behind your ear.’ I sit up to perform the trick and she lets me fumble through it. 

That was over thirty years ago when Bellefrey was seventeen and me, a mere ten. 

Bellefrey wrote to me a week before she died saying that she hoped her daughter Lyra would make up her mind about the name for her daughter. The child was two weeks old and still no name. How was that to be countenanced? 

Lyra was Bellefrey’s third child, though second to survive. Perhaps she thought you should have all these things planned. Bellefrey was a great believer in organization. She planned out all the names for her children. Lists tracked down the side of commonplace books next to recipes and almanac predictions. Boy names, girl names, names that could go for either. 

As soon as she missed her third course she was to the local midwife to read leaves over her stomach so she could prepare properly. Will it be a boy? Will it be a girl? Will it die and so there is no need to prepare a name? 

Johan is her son, first born. He followed his father into the merchant trade and sells all manner of fabrics and spices. He visits me, aunty I’ve black tea pearls for you laced with lavender, hounded by dried ginger, protected by saffron. We brew fragrant drinks and he shows me his art. All those drawings of places I will never see but he has and oh isn’t that wonderful. 

Havel was her second child, a boy, but he died at three weeks. One of those deaths where the babe goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up. Gay in the morning, dead by dinner except there is no fever to blame this on. 

Lyra is three. First daughter and pulled out a screaming child with spindly legs and a too-large head. Her hair is the thick curls that is our mother’s inheritance, her grandmother’s inheritance. Married to a lawyer who aims to one day be well connected through the inns of court, she means to make herself into something. Daughter three was named Belle. She wagged a finger at me, never a word about beasts and fairy tales. 

I don’t tell her that a woman I knew said that fairytales are our collective neurosis born out in repeating tropes. Patterned to go down forever and on. 

The fourth had no name because the leaves read by her midwife told her not to bother. It was born early and without heartbeat. 

Guilluam is fifth and last. She swore he was conceived ready to escape her belly. He patted the inside of her stomach as soon as he could move. Once born he clung to her then didn’t anymore, running away at sixteen. A year before she died. 

What would her most difficult child make of all of this? I remember his sneering face. Where Johan was gentle kindness, Guilluam was sharp. He cut with a look. He cut with a laugh. He could be a harsh, cruel boy. Probably is a harsh, cruel man. 

Or maybe he’s softened. Maybe as he ages he’s gentling. Some people do that. But in all honesty, I don’t think Guilluam the sort. 

What am I trying to do? I’m trying to introduce a woman. A girl. A child. A person whom I have loved all my life and will continue to love all my life. Though I am so angry with her for leaving us it wasn’t her fault. 

See, I’m guilty as all of us are guilty. 

Bellefrey got caught up in something bigger than her death. She was hidden in the shadows of a great anger and a great brutality. 

Bellefrey died and was found months and months later wearing a green dress and purple shoes with pearls on them. 

No one knows what she was caught up in and no one knows about this great brutality, this great anger that once stalked through our less than fine and noble city. 

I do not have my sister’s blood on my hands. But I do have her gravedirt.

 --- 

 The Wellington one! I completely forgot about this one. It's part of the ridiculous Woodford Napoleon AU where Napoleon ends up in England and there are murder fairies. In this story, things are starting to come through a mysterious mirror that someone shipped to Napoleon for unknown reasons. Arthur shows up to investigate. 

 Another long excerpt:

In the drawing room rests the mirror. It was received a little over a month ago wrapped in brown paper with no information on sender or purpose. It is a heavy, old thing. Age-spotted, warped, the frame is heavy, gilded wood. Napoleon says that for him it’s Tuileries. Has he told Arthur about Tuileries? The sacking of it? 

‘Only that you said vive la revolution and someone asked if you were from the south and you said yes and that is what saved you.’ 

‘Southerners have to stick together,’ Napoleon’s sphinxian smile. Then he goes into himself, how he does when he’s formatting a memory — twisting it into some form of narrative that will make sense to those who were not there. Bertrand told Arthur once, It’s the revolution, we can’t really explain it. How we went about our day but also checked this list that was kept of everyone taken up as enemies. You went every morning to make sure your friends were still alive. Then you had breakfast. 

Napoleon shrugs at Arthur’s patient waiting. ‘It was messy. There was a man’s head on a pike. He had a beard, brown hair that curled, blue eyes. And the floor was scattered with torn drapes, rags that were once kingly gowns, shattered statues, remains of old portraits. A lot of broken glass. Windows and mirrors.’

And as for this mirror? With its growth that says: come come come. Nothing happened the first little while. Oh yes, various and sundry people of the neighbourhood came to view the mirror — to see if they recognised it.

‘And did they?’ Arthur asks. 

Yes and no for all who saw it. Mrs. Topsom said it reminded her of a beautiful manor in the Scottish highlands she once visited as a child. She did not seem comfortable with this recollection. Mrs. Phillips said it brought to mind a book she once read which told the story of a young woman trapped in a tower whose uncle froze time. Lady Preston said it was something from the Assembly Rooms in Bath. 

‘And your household?’ 

Napoleon shrugs. What is there to say on that? Nothing. It was the revolution and it was abdication and it was family homes that are no longer homes of families. 

Arthur shifts his gaze from the pensive face of Napoleon back to the mirror and he looks at it for a long moment. Studies the carvings of the frame — the flowers, vines, mischievous eyes peeking out from behind leaves. ‘I suppose it’s something from Spain, if I think on it long enough. A wealthy home we stayed in, during the campaign.’ 

‘A bit of something for everyone.’ 

‘Yes,’ Arthur agrees. Then he adds, ‘and no.’ 

The main issue with the mirror is this: that there is a staircase growing out of it. 

When Arthur approaches he can hear whispers crawling through his mind. Slithering down the back of his head.  

‘How long have the steps been here?’

‘Week and a half. It formed slowly, so we were able to document it in a thorough manner. Bertrand will give you his notes.’

Arthur hums as he inspects the object, pondering cause and effect. And, more importantly, who sent it to the exiles and to what purpose. There is nothing behind the mirror, only the wall it is propped up against. The stairs themselves are made of oak, and descend as three steps out into their world. Within the mirror they meld into an old stone walkway that climbs into a forest and is lost amongst trees and brush and forest fog. 

There are leaves on the floor. And dirt. Detritus of autumnal life. They crunch beneath Arthur’s boots. Everything smells of decay. 

‘Has anyone touched the mirror?’ Arthur asks. ‘Seen if it’s solid?’

‘We had Sir Hudson Lowe test it.’ Napoleon replies with an air of innocence. Arthur casts him a look. ‘What? Would you rather him disappear forever into the mirror or my good self? And no need to answer. You can save your blushes, we’re alone.’

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘It’s one of my finer points.’

‘And? Was it solid?’ Arthur asks.

‘Yes and no.’ Napoleon approaches and touches the glass. His palm rests against it for a beat, then it begins to go through to the other side. Napoleon lets his hand sink through up to his wrist before withdrawing. ‘No one has walked through yet.’

With this touch the whispering decreases. Though, there remains the feeling of being watched. It is not that they are hunted, Arthur thinks, but rather they are being inspected. Something is curious about them. 

Reaching forward, he places his palm where Napoleon’s had been. The glass is cool to the touch and when his hand begins to sink through his skin buzzes with frisson of magic, that unfurling warmth crawls up his arm as his hand enters the other side where the air is cool yet humid. That sticky feeling of late winter.

He pulls his hand away.

‘What are your orders?’ Napoleon asks.

‘To investigate.’

The whispers return. Arthur rubs the back of his head. Such an unpleasant feeling, something else in your mind speaking a language you cannot understand in a collection of voices none of which are your own.

‘Maybe we should put a sheet over it,’ Arthur suggests after a moment. ‘Just in case.’

Going over to the window seat Napoleon opens a cupboard beneath to pull out a heavy blanket. He holds it up showing the shredded fabric. 

‘We tried,’ Napoleon says. ‘Mrs. Phillips recommended salt so we put a circle around it but found strange footprints in it the next morning. We tried the blanket, but it was clawed through. We collected iron implements and made a circle around it with those and that seemed to work better than the other options. I still think they got out, though.’

‘And you’re just keeping it here in your house?’

‘Oh yes, it’s fine.’

Arthur rolls his eyes. Trust Bonaparte to think it’s fine keeping a mirror-doorway to the land of fairy in his house with potential creatures coming and going out of it at all hours.

‘We leave food out for them.’

‘They’re not pets!’

‘No,’ Napoleon pats Arthur’s cheek with a warm smile. ‘But that’s what you’re supposed to do to keep fairies happy. Come now, you should know this. Milk, bread, sometimes a brandy.’

‘I give up!’

‘Young Napoleon Bertrand has suggested names for them —‘

‘Good lord.’

‘Ferdinand, Finnegan, and Felipe.’

‘Christ’s blood.’

‘Excellent,’ Napoleon enthuses. ‘You’re cursing like a Catholic. I knew I’d be a good influence on you. Come, we shall have a late supper.’

---

Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3 

[das meme]

[edwinmuch]

overachiever ✧ {zion}

summary: in which straight A student riley takes a break from her procrastinating to help pretty boy zion with more than just his homework

author’s note: @softhottie‘s submission for @temperaryheart‘s 700 follower challenge! literally posting on the last day but better late than never, right? (haven’t written for leisure in a while so fair warning)

prompt: prettymuch lyric (bolded)

warnings: mention of drugs, smut (oral, daddy kink, overstimulation, edging)

word count: 3.5k

No on-campus college experience is complete without the following things: sleepless coffee-driven nights, at least one blackout drunk party experience, and a casual hookup or two. Third year Sociology major Zion could definitely say he’s checked off all of the above (several times, he might add). He was especially well-versed in the collegiate sport of hooking up. In fact, he would probably be considered something of an MVP. He’s had his fair share of players in his game. But like with any sport, it takes strategy. There was a secret artform to finding the most opportune times for intimacy when in college. Shared rooms and thin walls don’t exactly allow for privacy, especially when the room in question is shared with a nosy Italian business major named Nick.

This is why Zion decided to make every second count when he discovered his best friend and roommate Nick would be out of their dorm room for a few hours. According to Nick, his abnormal psychology midterm was “going to be the death of him.” It was his last exam before finals week, and he knew he couldn’t afford to fail so he announced that he would be spending that entire Thursday evening in the library studying for it. Zion tried to hide his excitement at his friend’s departure.

“Damn bro, that sucks. Happy studying though,” he managed to utter on Nick’s way out, feigning concern.

When the door finally shut, it took him all of 30 seconds to dial up his favorite girl as of late: Riley Williams, this fiery Women’s and Gender Studies major who resided in his building on the floor above his. They had met in his 10AM sociology class about two and a half months ago. She was hard not to notice when her hand shot up for almost every question, portraying herself as someone who obviously reads over the required text after class. But unlike others, Zion actually paid more attention to her cute tendency to absentmindedly let her pen linger between her glossy lips when she found herself concentrating deeply and her seemingly never-ending collection of flattering outfits. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way her curves looked in one of her cropped cardigan and plaid mini skirt ensembles or the hypnotizing glint of her signature “B-A-B-Y” silver link necklace that adorned her collarbones so well. Despite her engagement in class and endearing mannerisms, she still came off as standoffish, working alone during paired in-class assignments and rolling her eyes at less than intelligent answers from other students in response to the professor’s questions. But, after the fourth lecture of her sitting in her unassigned assigned seat next to his, he decided to take a chance and strike up a conversation, relieved to be met with her dimpled, wide tooth smile; the rest was history.

He doesn’t really know how their current arrangement really came to be. It started off as occasional study sessions in Zion’s room since she obviously knew her material. Then, it had quickly become invitations to binge-watch Bojack Horseman, a show Riley prided herself on introducing to him, or to share a blunt with him and Nick at the end of a particularly stressful school week. But eventually, a few lines had blurred when an innocent smoke sesh (sans Nick) had a salacious end involving her on all fours and her clothes long discarded on his bedroom floor. With this new dynamic between them, he’s made a habit of calling or texting her when late night thoughts of her became too enticing to resist. He hadn’t been hitting her line lately though, the stress of studying for exams and completing assignments keeping them apart. But with midterm season coming to a close and Nick finally being out of his hair, the eager boy was aching to finally invite his favorite girl over once again.

“Hey Z. What’s up?” Riley answered on the second ring, the mellifluous sound of her voice already getting him worked up.

“Hey beautiful. So, Nick is out of the room for tonight,” Zion boasted, the smirk on his face apparent even through the phone.

She waited for him to continue, thinking there was more, but he never did.

“…Okay, and? What’s that gotta do with me? Why should I drop everything to help you get a nut? I’m in the middle of writing a paper, you know,” she replied as she flicked through Netflix titles. He didn’t need to know that her “paper writing” actually equated to television streaming. Her point still stands.

“Babyyy come on, stop playin’,” he whined, “You know, I’m never selfish. Besides, the post-nut clarity of an orgasm or two will help you focus on your paper. Just gimme an hour, please?”

“Ugh I don’t know.” Although the specificities of their current relationship (or situationship, rather) had never been fully discussed, Riley must admit his sweet delivery of “baby” really made her insides scramble. At this point, she was ready to be laid up in Zion’s bed (preferably under him), especially since she wasn’t actually doing anything productive anyway, but she was also ready to hear him beg for it.

“Please baby, it’s been weeks since I’ve had you to myself. I’ll make it worth your while. Nick’s probably gonna be gone most of the night too so when you show up, m’gonna put this time to use,” the insatiable boy persuaded, the seductive rasp of his voice prominent in his last few words.

“Welllll, when you put it like that,” she began, smiling to herself as she was almost able to hear Zion’s excitement through the phone, “I’ll be there in 20.”

~~~

Riley stepped off the elevator and trodded down the RA-decorated hallway in her pink fuzzy slides to Zion’s dorm room door where she placed a soft knock. She barely had time to collect herself before the door swung open revealing a shirtless Zion leaning against the doorframe, his platinum-dyed dreads braided back into two cornrows and his dark gray cotton sweatpants hanging low enough to reveal almost the entirety of his happy trail. He wasted no time pulling her into the room. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face at her observation of the atmosphere Zion had created for her. His Himalayan salt lamp lit the room up in a sensuous coral hue while Next Town Down’s Lovers Theme (Interlude) played in the background.

“Next Town Down, huh?” she teased with a quirk of her lips, knowing she put him on to the musical group.

Zion smiled down at her with a set of dimples to match her own. “Yeah I know you like them. Thought it might help put you in the mood,” he shrugged smugly with his devilish smile still present on his face.

“Oh please! I know you bump them when I’m not around,” she giggled, poking him in his chest as she made her point.

“Yeah whatever,” he chuckled, his hands falling to her hips. He slowly backed them up towards his plush loveseat in the corner of the room. Once the back of his calves touched the suede material of the couch, he plopped onto the cushion. Riley followed suit, climbing onto his lap with her knees digging into the cushion on either side of him and her freshly manicured hands finding their way wrapped behind his head.

Zion made sure the dainty girl was comfortable in his lap before his large hands snaked up her luscious thighs, rubbing her up and down before finding their place on her derrière with a squeeze.

“Mmm I missed you baby.”

“Oh really? How much?” she whispered in his ear, sending chills up his spine.

“Don’t worry, imma show you.” And with that, he started his determined campaign on her neck, kissing up the area of exposed flesh even going as far as to flick his tongue out as he reached her jawline. She pulled away for a moment to slip her cropped sweatshirt over her head, fluffing out the resultant curls of her day old twist out once it passed over her head. She was left with nothing covering her upper half as she had made the deliberate decision not to wear bra to come over.

She couldn’t contain the soft moans and content sighs that escaped her lips. As he sponged wet kisses to the sensitive spot under her earlobe and his nimble fingers worked her hardening nipples, she instinctively ground her hips into his for some added friction between them.

“Need these off you too ma,” Zion whispered, snapping the waistband of her sweat shorts. And with no hesitation she complied, getting up briefly to slide them down her supple legs. She silently thanked herself for her lingerie selection; the pink and navy blue lace of her panties graciously highlighted the warm bronze undertones of her golden brown skin as well as the generous curve of her ass.

She sunk back down onto his lap, hands carefully placed on his shoulders as she returned to grinding against Zion’s ever hardening member with a little more fervor. Before the boy could utter another word, Riley pressed her lips against his in a feverish kiss.

Zion reciprocated with the same amount of enthusiasm, accepting every sloppy collision of their tongues and sensuous bite of his bottom lip with a gratified squeeze of her thigh with one hand and a rub of her lower back with the other. She quickly began her descent down his neck. Nipping, licking, sucking from his jawline to his collarbone.

A lazy smile crept upon Zion’s face as a chuckle passed his lips. “For someone who ain’t even wanna come over here, you sure are eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” she smiled against his skin, “Listen, you promised me ‘an orgasm or two’ and I intend on getting it.”

“And I’m a man of my word baby girl.” And with that challenge, Zion hooked his strong hands under Riley’s thick thighs and hoisted her from the couch, allowing her to lock her legs around his torso. Without pulling their lips away from each other, Zion walked them to his extra large twin sized bed.

He lowered her onto the bed so that her legs dangled off the end. He slinked between her legs before dropping to his knees in front of her. Riley rose off the bed slightly to lean back on her elbows; she watched as he ran his soft hands up her awaiting thighs, never losing eye contact as he did so. His nimble fingers stopped at the elastic waistband of her panties. He smirked as he mentally took note of the ever-growing wet spot in its crotch area before deftly slipping the cloth barrier down her legs and onto the carpeted floor.

“Mmm so wet for me baby,” he wasted no time hooking her legs onto his shoulders.

“Just for you,” she breathed out as a shuddered moan while Zion left lingering kisses up her inner thigh until he reached her throbbing center. He hovered there for a bit, blowing lightly against her folds. She hissed at the sudden cold air hitting her soaking cunt.

“God Zion, do something,” she whined, absentmindedly pushing his head further toward the area she needed him most.

Her wish was his command as he kissed and sucked on her folds before dipping his tongue in between them to lick a stripe at her opening. He took this time to admire her and take note of how cute she looked laying there with her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. That’s when his eager tongue found her sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking figure eights into it before sucking.

“Ahh feels so good,” Riley moaned in a whisper, grabbing at his blond locs as he lapped at her bud. Her hips began instinctively lifting slightly off the mattress as she was nearing her peak. Zion’s large hands took hold of them to anchor her and continue his gluttonous feast.

It wasn’t long before she was met with the all too familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach as she gushed into Zion’s awaiting mouth. Her eyes screwed shut and her mouth fell open allowing a loud stream of obscenities to flow from it.

Once her thighs stopped trembling, Zion released their hold from around his neck and rose from his place on his knees. Riley backed up toward the headboard so her entire body could spread across the bed and she could watch Zion’s every move. In two swift motions, Zion’s sweats were removed from his body to reveal that he was wearing nothing else underneath. He crawled on top of her and placed a wet, needy kiss to her lips. He licked into her mouth sloppily, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue.  

“What next baby?” he uttered breathily between messy kisses. She placed her hand on his chest to signal for him to pull away for a moment. He complied looking down at her flushed face and swollen lips.

“Can I sit on it?” she said softly in the most innocent tone possible. The sight of her plump lips pulled into a pout and her doe eyes peering up at him through her cascading lashes were enough to make his dick twitch.

“Course baby,” he punctuated his confirmation with a kiss to her lips before climbing off of her and landing on his back. He laid comfortably against his pillow, waiting for her to make her next move.

Riley sat up and swung her leg over his body. She hovered over his length before Zion helped her sink down onto it. She winced at the initial stretch but released a satisfied sigh once she finally bottomed out.

After taking a moment to adjust to his size, she began to rock her hips back and forth. Once she found her rhythm, Zion got comfortable, hands clasped behind his head watching her titties bounce as she moved above him. She placed her palms on his chest to steady herself and give herself more leverage to bounce on him more quickly.

“Fuck Daddy, you feel so good,” she drawled out with each swivel of her hips. She praised herself internally at the coy slip of the pet name, knowing how much it riled him up during their last rendezvous. As she expected, the sweet phrase flicked a switch for the boy whose large hands found themselves grabbing at her sides hungrily. It was always a surprise to him when she was vulgar during sex as she was usually prim and proper in any other scenario, but his surprise was most certainly not a complaint.

“Say that shit again,” he growled, beginning to thrust up into her.

“You f-feel so good insi-ide me, Daddy,” she moaned, falling forward in response to a particularly forceful slap to her ass. Zion took this opportunity to capture one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around her erect little bud.

Riley began to fall apart above him, the sinful sound of their skin slapping against each other and the full feeling of him thrusting into her so deeply were taking their toll on her. She could barely form a coherent sentence through her incessant whimpers.

“So cl- close,” she stuttered, digging her nails into his shoulders as she prepared herself for a second orgasm, the buildup much more intense than the last. She loudly cried out a chant of “Yes daddy”s, uncontrollably clenching around him while he continued to rail into her from below. She rode out her high, the longest she’d had in a while. Before long, she fell forward onto her lover’s chest in exhaustion with a drawn-out exaggerated sigh.

Just as she was ready to roll off of him and call it a night, Zion reached up and grabbed her by the throat, whispering in her ear, “You ready for number 3 baby?”

Her eyes widened as she weakly replied, catching her breath, “You said one or two. I already came twice.”

With a mischievous smirk, Zion eyed her naked body with the same hunger he had when she first walked through the door. “Yeah well I also said I’d make it worth your while. What can I say? I’m an overachiever,” he chuckled darkly, easing her off of his length. She winced at the newfound emptiness.

“All fours for me baby,” he rasped, sitting up and allowing her to spread out on her hands and knees in front of him.

“Yes daddy,” she did as she was told. Her glistening core and the remarkable roundedness of her rump on full display. He palmed a large handful of her ass, earning a sharp inhale from her.

“So good for me baby,” Zion whispered, palming more of her flesh into his hand before winding it back for another good slap across her right buttcheek. She moaned loudly in response, falling forward on her elbows from the impact.

He lined himself up, teasing her entrance. The tickle of his squishy head rubbing against her opening was becoming unbearable as she was aching to be filled up for a second time. At the sound of Riley whimpering with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Zion pushed into her slowly, egged on by her surprised gasp. Just as he was about to fill her to her hilt, he took a moment to admire how he seemed to fit inside her so perfectly, almost as if he was the sword to her sheath.

He started off slow to allow Riley to adjust and to ensure that he didn’t bust immediately. He’d been holding off from his release to make sure his girl had gotten multiple. So, needless to say, he was at risk of busting very soon.

His slow thrusts eventually stilled to a complete halt. Before she could open her mouth to complain, his hand came down to spank her bottom once again. He kneaded the area he just slapped as he grumbled to her, “Throw that shit back for me, mama.” And without skipping a beat, Riley began to rock herself back and forth, allowing her ass to crash against him continuously. The sound of her cheeks clapping against his front and her strangled moans at the feeling of getting herself off on him was like music to his ears.  

“Who’s making you feel this good baby?” Zion questioned with yet another smack to her rear.

“You daddy, only you,” she drawled on, speeding up slightly out of an eagerness to please him.

He was so blown away by her ability to take him so well. But he was not surprised when her movements eventually lost their rhythm, knowing she was probably close to her peak. So in an attempt to regain control, he roughly locked his hands at her hips before ramming into her at a relentless pace.

“Oh my god Zion!” she shouted, leaving her mouth hanging wide open. Her strained cries became louder with every snap of his hips.

If this assault on her insides wasn’t enough, not only did Zion dig his knees further into the sheets, allowing himself to lean back and pound into her at a deliciously pleasurable new angle, but he also skimmed his fingers down her front to ferociously rub circles into her pearl. The sensation was almost too much to bear, especially considering the two orgasms she already had under her belt. Her eyes flew shut as she hit her forearm against the bed repeatedly in a motion that most wrestlers would recognize as a “tap out.”

“Ah fuck, m’not gonna last daddy!” she screamed, legs beginning to quiver.

“Me either baby,” he grunted shortly before she pulsed around him so deliciously, milking him for every hot spurt he had in him.

They languidly rode out their climaxes together until Zion gently pulled out of Riley allowing them both to lay back against his satin pillowcases. She clung to his side nuzzling her face into his chest, appreciative of the post-orgasm high he provided her.

“Okay, ‘Mr. Overachiever’,” Riley sighed, still a bit out of breath as she looked up at him with her bright eyes and lazy smile.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” he hummed, smacking an obnoxious smooch to her cheek, “Where’s your phone? I’m changing my name in your contacts to that right now.”

He eyed her brightly colored, flower pressed phone case from across the room and attempted to climb off the bed to retrieve the girl’s smartphone from the couch where, until that moment, it had been forgotten.

“No, stoppp,” she giggled, slinging her leg across his torso and pushing his shoulders into the mattress before he could even make a move. He playfully grabbed at her waist, tickling her sides to try to overpower her. She squirmed under his grasp.

“Nah, I’m changing that shit. Maybe people will see it and think I’m tutoring you for once. Whatchu think?” he joked, his hearty laugh combining with her pleading giggles.

Their tickle fight continued until it devolved into a soft, comfortably silent cuddle between them, thoughts of paper deadlines or interfering roommates being long forgotten, and Zion wouldn’t have it any other way.

[dragonflare18]

I’ve been going through old school stuff recently, and in my old high school planners I used to write notes about funny things that happened, usually about teachers but sometimes about students too

I found one just now that happened with an assignment where we had to make a timeline of at least 10 achievements in our lives. The exact wording the teacher used to tell us we can’t use birthdays was “being expelled from a birth canal does not count as an achievement”

Another was the time that a math teacher (one of the most innocent dudes, he told us he and his wife were gonna “Netflix and chill” once and genuinely meant they were gonna sit and watch Netflix because he had no idea there could be any other meaning to that) was drawing a graph on the whiteboard and drew the line just a little too high and said in a room full of high schoolers “oh no, I’m too high” followed by a beat of dead silence and a look of horrified realization. He spent five minutes trying to explain himself while we laughed

A history teacher once told us that piano covers in Victorian times had to cover the piano’s legs because “they didn’t want men to get excited” by them

In advisory (a really short period where we’re supposed to sit through powerpoints or videos about anti-bullying and cyber-bullying and mental health and such) freshman year the teacher told us the topic of the powepoint (but never actually went through it) and then spent the rest of the time on theuselessweb.com showing us totally useless websites

That advisory teacher left the next year, so this was a different guy, but there was a time where they had us watch a video AND powerpoint to try to get us to de-stress and stuff. The video was a counselor talking us through a meditation, she said something about placing your hand on your belly as she worked us through breathing and the teacher muttered really quietly “what if you don’t have a belly”

That same period, the powerpoint had tips on de-stressing because it was near finals, they listed things like “don’t do drugs”, “exercise regularly”, so on, the on I found most entertaining was “avoid stressful situations”, at which point half of the class turned to someone nearby with That Look of “well then what the hell am I still doing here”

My history teacher from freshman year apparently lives in the same direction I do so once, after school, not too long after I had gotten my license and my own car, we ended up stopped next to each other at a stoplight. He glanced over at the same time I did and recognized me, pulled his sunglasses down his nose so he could look over them, then (overdramatically) looked my car up and down before giving me a “not bad” look and a thumbs up and driving off

This one is less funny and more frustrating but I’d like to share it anyway, there was a creepy, slimy old science teacher who pretended to be a genius but was actually very much not. I had an animal science class with him where he tried to tell us snakes were poisonous (how is it that a fuckin 16 year old knows that and you, a 40-50+ year old SCIENCE teacher, who is to be teaching us about animals, does not). The same teacher made an escape room puzzle as a final where you had to tell him what parasite an animal suffered from based on the data he gave you when you finished a module (for lack of a better term). He had a fairly graphic video at the end that he wanted us to watch before giving him the answers. A friend and I decided not to watch it because we already knew the answer for sure and didn’t want to see the gross stuff, but when he came up to check on us he went “well how could you know the answer if you didn’t watch the video?” And stood behind us until we both played the video on our iPads. He sucked as a teacher but honestly it was the easiest A I’ve ever had

I, luckily, had a different teacher for chemistry, he was the most chill dude and I honestly miss him a ton, but he and another chemistry teacher set up a whole skit on Halloween with a Harry Potter theme, the most memorable part being my teacher using a wand and waving it under the paper towel dispenser saying some ridiculous “spell”. He repeated this for a solid 40 seconds because the dispenser wouldn’t recognize the wand waving under it and therefore refused to spit out paper towels. The other teacher was standing on the other side of the room snickering at him after his third try at getting paper towels

There used to be a car in the student parking lot that had flying pigs painted on it. We had a dress up day one time where the guy who owned said car came to school with winged shoes, a shirt with a flying pig on it (the same style as those on his car), and a flying pig hat. That was the only time I ever saw that guy

I was walking down the stairs once between classes and two guys going up the stairs had the conversation “do you ever just stick your finger in mayonnaise” to which the friend responded “do you ever just die”

There was a sign on one of the walls by the stairs for a long time saying “want free cookies? Ask and thou shalt receive!” With no information on where to get said cookies. That sign pissed me off for months

And that concludes the notes of funny happenings from high school, please do add on with your own because I love hearing about the weird things that happen at school

[vixxscifiwritings]

lilac melancholy

Length - 4590 words

Characters - Hongbin x Sanghyuk, VIXX Ensemble

Rating - Teen and Up

Summary - Sanghyuk wonders bitterly if he has loved Hongbin or if he has regretted him longer.

Tag List -  @tomatoholmes @merlionmen @seraphistols  @k-craze-97 @blossomtearsleo

-

01

The days that pass by are drowsy, packed with heat and the roaring noise of factory machines from the mills three blocks over. The posters peel off the electricity pole, revealing the maroon red rusting beneath. A single touch would result in your skin burning from the ferrous substrate.

The power is gone once again, like it usually was during the afternoons. Hongbin watches as Sanghyuk flips through the pages of the copy of Sputnik Sweetheart , stolen from his older brother’s bookshelf. Sanghyuk is too young to understand these stories, his brother insists. What does a thirteen year old know of people feeling melancholy and emptiness from unrequited love and unattachment?

Hongbin likes to think that he knows. There is a far away look in his eyes now, an emptiness inside him ever since his mother finally up and left. His father abandons all pretenses of the family being together and stops coming home entirely that one fateful night in April. At fifteen, Hongbin understands melancholy and loneliness in ways Sanghyuk’s brother thinks Sanghyuk won’t.

“You’re doing that thinking thing again” Sanghyuk points out and Hongbin hums. It is June now and it is far too hot for Hongbin to sling his arms around Sanghyuk’s waist and bury his face in his shoulder to hide the emotions that are always on display on his face. He hates that the most about himself even if he feels safe enough in Sanghyuk’s presence.

“It’ll be good if you thought in a while too” Hongbin retorts, letting the sassy facade take over. How many times can he be sad about the same things till Sanghyuk gives up on consoling him?

“Are you thinking about your mother?”

“What makes you say that?”

“It was her birthday yesterday. I saw you looking at the calendar you have hidden away under your mattress” Sanghyuk confesses. His voice is still high pitched and hasn’t grown deep the way Hongbin’s has. In his childlike voice, everything sounds naive and innocent and Hongbin always forgives him for it. There is not much room to hide secrets in this sixteen by twenty feet room they share.

“It’s okay to miss her,” Sanghyuk adds, putting his arm around Hongbin’s waist. Hongbin turns to his left to look at Sanghyuk. His face is only a few inches from his own and his gaze is steady, searching for the answers to the complex maze of emotions that Hongbin himself does not have.

“I don’t want to miss her. Not when everyone knows she doesn’t miss me” Hongbin says. It’s commendable that the anger and bitterness he has kept bottled up doesn’t explode vehemently into those lines. The feelings flood his mind every time the topic is brought up and Hongbin does his best to stop the flow of emotions with the success of duct tape holding together a pipe bursting at its seams.

“Okay” Sanghyuk says. His actions are different from his words because he pulls Hongbin in and holds him and lets Hongbin bury his face in Sanghyuk’s neck like he always does. He kisses the back of Hongbin’s head and pats his back and lets Hongbin intertwine his legs with his own and holds him despite the stuffy heat. The sun shines angrily on the dry ground outside but Hongbin thinks he only has a grey misty sky clouding his mind.

“Will you leave me when you grow up?” Hongbin asks Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk’s brother will leave in September. He’ll go to a reputed college on the other side of the country and that will be one more person in his found family who does not come back home regularly.

“You’re older than me. You’ll be the one who leaves first” Sanghyuk reminds him.

“Kiss me” Hongbin asks in lieu of replying. Those are demons he harbours for darker days. Hongbin is selfish that way. He will hold onto whatever he can for however long he has it because he knows nothing lasts. The old yellowing wedding card promising eternal love and happiness that his father hides in his closet is proof that nothing lasts.

But when he feels Sanghyuk’s lips on his own the static in his mind drops to a quiet hum. Sanghyuk is skinny and his body feels bony under Hongbin’s small fingers. Sanghyuk hovers over him and his weight is a pleasant distraction from the world. The way Hongbin calls Sanghyuk’s name when he runs his fingers through his hair is a rhythmic metronome that is spoken in hushed tones to keep his dependency on Sanghyuk’s affection a secret from the rest of the world.

Sanghyuk falls asleep in Hongbin’s arms but when he wakes up, Hongbin is not in his room. His brother tells him that he went home and comments on how odd it is and how Hongbin should move in with them properly instead of staying in that lonely apartment. Sanghyuk nods but knows Hongbin won’t return for a few more days.

Sanghyuk doesn’t see him for days following moments like the one they shared earlier today. It happened the first time they kissed and the second and the third. It will happen again tomorrow. Maybe Sanghyuk will see him by the field, playing football with Wonshik and inviting him to join the game like nothing has happened. Or maybe hanging out at the cafe in the mall because the part timer there has a soft spot for him and always gives him free milkshakes. Sanghyuk doesn’t know.

He tries not to think about it and goes back to reading.

-

02

If there is one part about growing up that Sanghyuk thinks he will never get used to, it’s the parties. He likes people but he doesn’t like dozens of them stuffed into tiny spaces that reek of smoke and cheap shitty alcohol that is more likely to cause nausea over intoxication. He draws his jacket close and finds a chair by the kitchen’s island counter to sit on.

It’s the premium view to everyone else’s bad decisions. Sanghyuk regrets not bringing his earphones along (he swears they should be in the pocket of his jacket). He makes peace with listening to whatever indie song is playing in the background. Or whatever is audible of it over the incessant chattering of the crowd.

“Leather looks good on you,” Hongbin says, materializing out of nowhere to grab a cup of the fruit punch that has definitely been spiked.

“Thanks,” Sanghyuk says, pulling on the cuff. The leather jacket is an old jacket that his father almost throws out but Sanghyuk sneaks back in. It has cracks around the elbow where it has been bent up and two yellow stripes on the right sleeve but he doesn’t know what that signifies. He likes to think it’s a cult of sorts. The allure of being part of an underground secret society is always high.

“Kinda short for your normal sleeves,” Hongbin says, tugging on the part of Sanghyuk’s overshirt that peeks through from the jacket. It’s dark blue and not visible in the dim purple lights till you really go looking. His father was shorter than him whenever he got this jacket but Sanghyuk knows Hongbin is not interested in explanations. Sanghyuk focuses on the way the rough skin of his fingers feel against his softer skin. Hongbin has rough hands from all the chores he does on his own and lack of belief in hand creams that Sanghyuk’s baby sister rubs on his hands during tea parties insisting he keep them soft.

Hongbin focuses on looking at Jaehwan across the room. Jaehwan who has blonde hair now and is leaning against the wall while laughing at something someone from the football team said. Sanghyuk doesn’t know the name of the dude but he isn’t interested in finding out. Even while Hongbin asks after Sanghyuk’s family and school life, his eyes stray towards that corner of the room.

When Jaehwan returns his gaze and smiles at Hongbin, Hongbin smiles in a way his dimples appear. He has one of those faces. The kind you would see on magazines on the racks of newspaper stands at bus stops. The black eyeliner enhances his brown eyes and Sanghyuk thinks that all Hongbin is missing is a pretty nude shade lipstick. Though lipsticks do nothing except spread inconveniently when being kissed. Or so he has been told.

He hasn’t kissed Hongbin since the summer where he was fourteen but the urge never really goes away.

“I think I should go get a refill,” Hongbin says when Jaehwan walks over. Sanghyuk shrugs and Hongbin makes a beeline for the punch the same time Jaehwan appears by the island counter. Jaehwan is only here to chaperone his younger brother who is throwing the party, Sanghyuk gathers from the bits of conversation filtering through. The music is too loud for indoor voices to be heard. Hongbin is here just because Wonshik wanted to get drunk. Sanghyuk doesn’t need to eavesdrop to know that.

He taps out when the conversation progresses. He finds Wonshik who is truly wasted and is glad someone out of the three in this friend group is getting what they want out of the night. Sanghyuk wonders if it is a fair standard of evaluation if he started the night without knowing what he wanted. He looks towards Hongbin who is laughing at a weird face Jaehwan is making and adds a thought about unrealistic wants and needs.

It’s stupid. Hongbin is nineteen but is as unreachable as someone who would be twenty five. Hongbin is too pretty for him. Too smart, too pretty and too witty. They have too much history. And now Hongbin is kissing Jaehwan and is definitely not in love with Sanghyuk the way Sanghyuk is in love with him.

Wonshik pouts at Sanghyuk and leans forward till his head rests on Sanghyuk’s shoulder. Wonshik is only an inch taller. In a year or two, Sanghyuk is confident he will outgrow the other man. “I wish they wouldn’t suck faces in public” Wonshik grimaces when he follows Sanghyuk’s line of vision. Sanghyuk looks away and tugs his jacket closer. Maybe it is too short for him after all since it cannot afford the comfort of sleeve paws the way sweaters can. Maybe he should get a new jacket. Or maybe Sanghyuk should have just stayed at home.

Wonshik has a ride home and waves Sanghyuk off when he leaves the party. He makes his way to the bus stop at the end of the block and sits down. The party music is a hum in the background and the cold air is sobering. Sanghyuk weighs his options. He can go home and read for the rest of the night or walk to the arcade five blocks away and blow the rest of his pocket money and see if he can earn enough tickets to buy himself the badly stitched teddy bears they sell.

Hongbin likes those teddy bears. He’ll lie and say no if you ask him and spout bullshit about how they just represent the principle of winning that he loves so much. But he is a sucker for cute things and Sanghyuk knows from the way his eyes lit up when Sanghyuk won a brown teddy bear and threw it at him last summer. He has a small version threaded into the metal ring that acts as a keychain.

Sanghyuk thinks that he should stop thinking.

One year. Just a year, he tells himself. Then he’ll be off to university and he will meet other people and he might even discover that he doesn’t actually like dimples or brown eyes or rough hands so much. One more year and he won’t be haunted by the unrequited feelings that seem to grow stronger instead of fading against all laws of the universe and logic.

Sanghyuk treks back home and thinks he should worry about saving up for a second hand car or actually passing that stupid driver’s test. He finds his earphones tangled with the fabric of the inner pocket of his jacket once he reaches home and he laughs at the bad luck of his timing.

-

03

Hongbin doesn’t realise that he has gotten used to the loneliness that comes from Sanghyuk’s absence.

He calls during the first year of university. Hongbin thinks Sanghyuk’s voice on the phone sounds very different from the way it sounds in real life. It sounds deeper and grave in ways Hongbin doesn’t remember. Sanghyuk has always been wise beyond his years. Maybe he thrives in the real world with the same grown up concerns that Hongbin does not like grappling with.

Then Sanghyuk gets an email id because it is useful and sends emails instead of calling. The letters are short and really Hongbin is shit at keeping in touch because he doesn’t have anyone else who tries. Wonshik has always been in the same town and Sanghyuk has always been around to the point that Hongbin took his presence for granted. He never thought Sanghyuk would ever go away like his brother did.

The emails come once a week and then once a month and finally on holidays and only contain generic good wishes.

Until Wonshik shows up at his door with Sanghyuk in tow,carrying a small duffle bag filled with clothes and essentials. It’s just for a week while Wonshik’s studio gets renovated, he assures him. Sanghyuk only needs a couch to crash on for a week and he can move back in with Wonshik for the rest of winter till he has to go back to university for his final semester. Hongbin didn’t even know that Sanghyuk was in town and he used to know every secret once upon a time. He doesn’t know why he isn’t staying with his family and he doesn’t know if he can ask.

“You can stay as long as you need,” Hongbin says, offering to make coffee for everyone. Wonshik denies the offer. He needs to leave first and look over the renovation work on his studio.

Sanghyuk looks nothing like Hongbin remembers him. He is taller than Wonshik by a few inches and his voice is deeper. His shoulders are broad and the large overshirts he wears only accentuate them. He took to working out when they still talked on the phone. He must definitely be more muscular too. Gone is the lanky teenager in his father;s old leather jacket that Hongbin remembers. Instead Sanghyuk is an adult who looks more mature than he should for the young age of twenty one.

“I didn’t think you read Hemingway” Sanghyuk says, picking up a copy of Farewell To Arms that’s lying on the coffee table.

“It isn’t my book. Taekwoon tends to leave behind whatever he is reading at the moment” Hongbin tells him. Taekwoon does that a lot. Forgetting things at Hongbin’s place and coming back for them weeks later when he is finally free enough to spend the night. It’s a peaceful arrangement for their unlabelled relationship. If he can even call it a relationship.

“Are you sure Taekwoon doesn’t mind me staying over?” Sanghyuk asks.

“Taekwoon doesn’t live here. Not fully anyways. And if anything, he would be happy to meet another bookworm” Hongbin shrugs.

“He’ll be disappointed. It’s been a while since I didn’t read a book to write a critique or a report on it” Sanghyuk says ruefully.

He flips through the pages till he finds the section he was looking for and folds up his legs to read comfortably. Sanghyuk spends the next two days voraciously reading through the books Taekwoon has left behind. He doesn’t talk more than necessary. It snows on the third morning that Sanghyuk stays over and they exchange remarks about the weather. Hongbin opens up a bottle of wine on Christmas eve and Sanghyuk accompanies him wordlessly.

He prefers white wine, Hongbin supposes when Sanghyuk downs the entire contents of his glass and grimaces at the after taste. He has grown to tolerate the taste of mushrooms and no longer separates them out of the microwaveable pasta meal that Hongbin makes. He prefers typing on his laptop to writing in notebooks, he gathers when he sees Sanghyuk tapping away on the kitchen table with a mug full of coffee next to him. It’s the ‘World’s Best Mom’ mug that Taekwoon left behind that Hongbin finds supremely ugly but it matches Sanghyuk’s presence. Unconnected but a lone puzzle piece that sits as the centerpiece in the void of Hongbin’s life.

Sanghyuk doesn’t smoke, Hongbin finds when they are lying on Hongbin’s bed in his bedroom and Sanghyuk denies the offer. Never took a liking to it, Sanghyuk confesses. Hongbin listens to a vinyl that Wonshik gifted him two years ago for his birthday and Sanghyuk says nothing about the 80s music. He thumbs through the earmarked pages of a collection of poems by T S Elliot.

“Taekwoon must really like classics” Sanghyuk deduces. There are very few books on the coffee table but Sanghyuk is intimately acquainted with them in ways Hongbin isn’t.

“He’s a sucker for them. Also likes Murakami the way you did in high school” Hongbin answers. He doesn’t get the appeal for reading. He doesn’t have the talent of losing himself in the written word that Taekwoon and Sanghyuk do. He doesn’t even know if he should envy them for the easily available method of escaping the dreary world around them.

“He has good taste” Sanghyuk compliments him.

“It’s a shame that you couldn’t meet him on this visit. He’s off celebrating Christmas with his family.”

“There will be many days in the future,” Sanghyuk says lazily. The way he turns the other way and avoids looking at Hongbin tells him that the other days will not come any time soon. Hongbin thinks of the emails in his inbox that he merely glances over and never knows how to reply to and doesn’t blame Sanghyuk.

If only he didn’t have to leave tomorrow. If only he could stay.

When Hongbin puts his arm around Sanghyuk’s waist and closes his eyes, he pretends he has the right to ask him to stay and that Sanghyuk won’t be gone the morning after. He’ll only be a few streets down the road in Wonshik’s studio till spring comes and he might even visit if he stops being a coward that only regrets and never acts.

His waist is broader than Taekwoon’s and Hongbin keeps that comparison in mind for days after when Taekwoon finally comes to visit and Hongbin hugs him to kiss him. Everything is back to normal now that Sanghyuk is gone once again but the world feels displaced out of orbit by the knowledge of what Hongbin is missing.

-

04

“I met Sanghyuk” Wonshik says, running his hands through his hair. He adjusts his chair for the fifteenth time since the conversation has started, much to the displeasure of the lady at the table over, trying to read the newspaper in peace.

“That… is sudden” Hongbin says, swirling the creamer into his coffee. Hongbin has known that Wonshik was seeing someone for a while now but doesn’t know who till the confession. Now there is a name that Hongbin hasn’t heard in years. A person he couldn’t live without once but has not talked to in four years. Is he allowed to miss him after never keeping in touch?

“He’s back for good this time” Wonshik tells him. “He’s going to teach at our old middle school. He’s weirded out by the idea of being colleagues with his old teachers. Did you know Mrs Kim is still teaching math after all these years? I thought she was over sixty when we were kids.”

Wonshik rambles on and Hongbin pays him no thought. Sanghyuk’s name brings up memories and feelings that it shouldn’t. Hongbin wonders if he has gotten any taller or if his voice is still deeper than he remembers and if he signs off emails with regards.

“We should have dinner together sometime,” Hongbin says when Wonshik finally stops.

“I’ll text him. You can’t bail like you did last time though” Wonshik warns. Hongbin flinches at the warning and offers an apologetic smile. Wonshik frowns at him. “It’s been a while since the three of us got time to hang out. It has literally been years since we properly spent time together.”

“Well, I’m not the one that shifted towns and lost touch, am I?” Hongbin says out loud without meaning to.

Wonshik’s expression softens and he shifts again awkwardly. Hongbin and Sanghyuk’s estrangement as they grew older when Wonshik once thought they were in love with each other as teenagers is a development he never addresses because he knows it wasn’t his place to. Realistically speaking, he can’t be friends with both people and skirt around the issue forever. A decade is a miracle on that count.

“I’m sorry. I just… Will you text Sanghyuk and set dinner up?” Hongbin apologizes. His pleasant facade is back and Wonshik knows he will never see his true feelings about the issue again. The bitterness is real in a way most of Hongbin’s actions aren’t. And it gives him hope to salvage this friendship. Wonshik doesn’t fancy losing friends as he grows older when he only has so many to begin with.

“It’s okay to say you missed him, you know? I missed him too” Wonshik says without the expectations of acknowledgement or responses. Hongbin hums in the way people do when lying about agreeing with something a child says. Wonshik knows Hongbin is complicated and he doesn’t expect him to resolve his feelings any time soon.

“I wonder if he likes moving back to town after living in a big city all these years” Hongbin deflects. He hasn’t acknowledged his feelings in the four years since he last saw Sanghyuk and he isn’t about to start now. Any moments of weakness like the one earlier will not be repeated again.

It takes two bottles of soju only for Hongbin to mess up. Wonshik drags the two of them to a tent bar that sells a variety of rice cakes along with cheap soju and beer and Hongbin agrees despite the lack of fried chicken. It’s a Friday night and the three of them drink the night away and laugh at Sanghyuk’s stories from his earlier teaching days. Stories that range from innocent but hilarious spelling mistakes in answer papers to outrageous pranks that Sanghyuk personally admires but must punish as a teacher.

A laughing and happy Sanghyuk is better than the sad young man who spent a week on Hongbin’s couch, not talking to him about the troubles weighing on his mind. Happiness suits him in ways melancholy never did. Hongbin thinks his skin shines and his eyes twinkle and Sanghyuk must know this because he catches Hongbin looking at him and looks at him with such pity in his eyes. Sanghyuk pities him and Hongbin feels pathetic about feeling happy that he feels something.

And so Hongbin leans on his arm all the way home even after they drop Wonshik off at his apartment. He leans on his arm and holds onto it like a drowning sailor holding onto a lifebuoy so they don’t drown. And he tells Sanghyuk about how his hair is soft and shiny and his nose is a tiny button and he cannot help but lean up and graze his lips against it. Sanghyuk laughs and calls him drunk but lets him bask in his warmth because Sanghyuk is his puzzle piece that fits with his odd edges, even if he will never say those words out loud.

Sanghyuk is surprisingly strong because he hauls Hongbin up to his feet and all the way to his apartment. Hongbin kisses him on his cheeks and thanks him for taking him home while laughing about… about something. He doesn’t know what it is that triggers his giggling fit but something does and Hongbin exclaims at Sanghyuk who is ready to drop him on his butt in front of his door if he doesn’t get his keys out soon. He exclaims at him and kisses him on his lips when he has his attention and this is why alcohol is terrible for you really. All of this is a regret in waiting for the morning after.

Sanghyuk stumbles on his way down the stairs in a way that makes it look like he never learnt how to walk. His cheeks are warm where Hongbin kissed him and his lips tingle in the way they do after eating something extremely spicy. He leans against the pole of the lamp post and sighs when the tingling doesn’t go away. He thinks of how he will hide this from Hakyeon.

It’s so easy to say nothing but a part of him vehemently protests about deceiving Hakyeon when Sanghyuk knows his residual feelings for Hongbin still linger. He should love his boyfriend more than the old flame who kissed him in the hallway. He shouldn’t have to remind himself that he loves Hakyeon and not Hongbin. Hakyeon is the one waiting for the text that says he got home safely and didn’t drink too much and he really shouldn’t let Wonshik drag him out on school nights. Not Hongbin, who Sanghyuk just dropped home, drunk out of his mind and still as complicated at thirty as he was at thirteen.

Sanghyuk really hates Hongbin more on nights like these.

“I don’t know what to do” he confesses to Hakyeon weeks after they break up. His feelings for Hongbin have always been a vine that grips his heart. He knows he cannot be rid of them without significant pain and hurt and so like a coward, he lets it fester because he knows he can ignore them forever. The roots dig into the walls of his heart and make him bleed and he bleeds because he is the biggest coward to exist on this planet.

“You do what your heart tells you is the right thing” is all Hakyeon says. He’s disappointed and it’s more than Sanghyuk deserves after everything Sanghyuk has just told Hakyeon. Hakyeon who is all gentle smiles and understanding and who Sanghyuk is grateful to even if it must end this way.

“Loving Hongbin is dangerous. He hurts you and nothing comes out of it and then he hurts you some more” Sanghyuk tells Hakyeon. Hongbin hasn’t called or texted after that night. Sanghyuk hasn’t either but its only because he knows Hongbin hates confronting his own feelings. He breaks hearts before his own can be broken and Sanghyuk thinks limbo of not knowing is better than definite pain.

“I don’t think you have it in you to stop,” Hakyeon says. His words would hurt if Sanghyuk didn’t feel tormented enough already. He sighs because he has no words and Hakyeon shifts the topic to other things that don’t matter in the moment and keeps the chatter up till it is no longer awkward to end the phone call.

When the call ends, Sanghyuk brings up his messaging app and stares at Hongbin’s number and watches the bubbles appear and disappear in the messages window.  As always, no texts follow and Sanghyuk leaves his phone on the nightstand because he should know better than to have hope.

Sanghyuk wonders bitterly if he has loved Hongbin or if he has regretted him longer.

-

[riot-in-reverie]

Also I just made my first ever collaborative fanfiction. Its with

@cardan-greenbriar-tcp who also posted it. You should definitely check them out. Their very nice and they also post neat stuff!

The air is crisp and cool- something unexpected during some of the hottest summer days I have ever fucking endured. Vivi is being extra annoying on the phone, chewing her gum extra loud. I ball my fist up to keep from diving for her face. Taryn’s walking ahead of us, holding Oak’s hands.

I’m supposed to be dropping off Oak to school with Taryn, but Vivi insisted on coming. She said she had some “business with Heather” anyways. I didn’t want to ask any more questions- she usually ditched class just to drop Heather to school. She’s missed enough days though, so it didn’t even matter anymore.

“Hold my backpack, will you?” I groan, slinking the sack over my shoulder.

I trained with Oak last night. I tried to get him to do some pushups, but he got bored and tried to see if I could do 100 in five minutes. I did.

“You’re the one going to school. Carry it yourself” she said, teasing me. “C’mon Vi” I stretched out her name and groaned.

“Fine.” She took my backpack in her hand. I straightened my back and tried to massage my muscles as we walked. I can see Oak’s school in front of us. I can hear the laughter of children getting louder. I miss being young. Whatever.

“Make sure you stay out of trouble” Taryn says, booping his nose. Oak sticks out his tongue. “You little-” I pretend like I’m going to lunge for him, and this sends him sprinting to the sandpit. Innocent jerk. I love him though. Now it’s just the three of us. Vivi, Taryn and I.

We walk close to each other- I stride alone the edge of the sidewalk, Vivi on the other and Taryn sandwiched between us.

“So, what’s the plan afterschool? Who’s turn is it for groceries?” Taryn asks. Gosh, such a busybody.

“Jude’s” Vivi replies cooly.

I shake my head. I’m lying though- it is my turn.

“Fuck no, I’m not getting groceries today. I’ve got got fencing practice.” I didn’t lie about that. Fencing was the only sport at Elfhame High that I actually enjoy. Something I’m good at, besides my usual classes. Fae are no smarter than I am academically. They sure can play around with their words though. I argue with Vivi more, just for the hell of it. Soon enough, we’ve arrived to the pit of hell itsself.

Elfhame high.

It’s packed, as usual, with fae of all sorts lounging or hurrying. Laughter arose in almost every corner. Some were making out- disgusting- and others crying. It was a literal fucking mess. Too bad I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wave Taryn goodbye and head to the third floor to grab my textbooks. They were so heavy for no goddamn reason. And I had no magic to use to carry them around.As I look around at all the chaos, I feel a weight being lifted from my shoulders. My backpack is gone, and standing beside me holding my backpack was none other than Locke.

Pretty bastard.

I didn’t mind Locke. I mean, he’s pretty nice and pretty handsome. Sometimes he reminded me of a fox, his hair the deep russet color of a foxe’s fur. His eyes too- prowling, resembling a fox’s eyes. And not to mention his wit.

Taryn, however, stayed but didn’t say anything. As usual. I looked up at him.

“Backpack. Now.” I say by way of greeting. He chuckles and drops it into my hands.

“And here i thought i’d be a gentleman and carry it for you.” He teases, smiling.

"I shouldn’t have to remind you that I am a strong, independent woman, thank you" I spit.

jerk.

Then Taryn thinks it’s a good idea to bring up how I was complaining about my backpack earlier, but I quickly jab her with an elbow to the side. I catch Locke wink at me and he waves saying he will look for me later.

I hope he doesn’t find me.

I leave Taryn a little later before heading to my first class- Elfhame history. I try not to show it, but it is by far the most interesting class offered at Elfhame. It’s rich with politics, murder, deep discussions. Although the other students couldn’t care less, I find it so much fun. Plus, the professor is pretty fucking amazing.

I step inside briskly. I’m glad I wore a light sweater- even the classroom is cold.

“Hey professor Aethion” I say, throwing hand guns signs at him. He smiles.

“Jude. My favorite student. Take a seat. I hope your classmates arrive soon- they’re always lounging around the halls until the last second. I might have to try enchanting the doorknobs or something.”

I let out a laugh before walking down the large classroom to find a seat. Anywhere was fine, but I preferred the back. Why? Because it was simply the best. I get to see everyone, what everyone’s doing, the whole board.... Wait.

There’s someone sitting in my usual seat. I stop for a second before storming up there, ready to confront the asshole who decided to sit in my favorite seat. No, I’m not a baby for crying out loud- it’s just...

Cardan. Cardan goddamned Greenbriar.His tall frame was leaning against my desk, his long fingers carelessly scrolling on what was obviously a very expensive phone. He’s wearing a dress shirt that he wore in a way so it revealed quite a fair bit of his chest, paired with some low waisted ripped jeans that were a faded black.

I took a small step hoping that maybe he would just focus on his phone and I could move past. But as soon as I moved he looked up and towards me. He put his hands on his hips and smirked at me.

“Well if it isn’t Jude Duarte '' He says lightly. Too lightly.

I sighed and turned towards him

“Cardan '' I say back. I made the mistake of looking up at his pretty face. God, I hated that face. The sharp cheekbones that always seemed that they were dusted with gold. His iridescent midnight hair that stopped just before his shoulders, and his eyes. His goddamn eyes. His beautiful coal black eyes with gold lining. I felt my face heat up and I turned away.

He chuckled.

“Something wrong?” He probes. I shake my head a little too quickly.

“Then why are you standing in front of me?” He adds.

“You’re in my seat” I reply cooly.

“I don’t recall us having assigned seats” He says calmly.

“We don’t but…” My voice trails off.

“Well then I guess you're gonna have to find a different seat cause..” He put his feet up on the desk “this ones taken”

God, I wanted to punch him. I wanted to break his perfect nose, to hear it crack under my knuckles but instead i just took a deep breath and sat down next to him I had managed to go through the lesson without having to talk to the bastard but of course as I was packing up he had to open his mouth.

“You know what? I don't even know why they allow mortals in the school. I mean what's the point? We fae are so much better than them at...everything” He says a bit too loud for a group of kids to could hear him.

I scowled and shoved the rest of my stuff into my backpack and stormed out the classroom door.

I can’t stand him. I loathe him.

Not to bad for a first chapter done over tumblr with two people who know nothing about about eachother and have no fan fiction experience. But seriously this was a lot of fun and I hope you guys enjoyed it.

[nymphl]

Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 16: Guilty & Innocent

A/N: Hello there xD As promised, here it goes chapter 16 of Lie to Me. I’m working on chapter 25, but it’s getting quite difficult right now because whenever I get some time to write, my mom starts talking about just... about everything. And I feel extremely bad to tell her to stop even when she talks for hours nonstop and it gets on my nerves? haha So bear with me just a little more. This quarantine is being harder on her than on me. 

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations; tros fix it; anti tros; nobody likes general pryde.

Wordcount: 3420

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 

IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE ARMITAGE HUX LAST SAW THAT ARMOR. The only indication he had his words had not gone to waste were the slight and occasional nods he could see through the compromised transmission.

The poor broadcast made it difficult for him to understand the already muffled words because of the gigantic helmet. Yet, he insisted. There was something he needed to know, and it could not be delayed any longer.

Depending on the answers he got, he would have to change his plans drastically. The future — his future, her future and the First Order’s as well and why not the whole galaxy? — depended on what Captain Phasma would say. She was, in no way, a reliable source — he doubted anyone in the First Order could be considered as such —, but the Captain of the Stormtroopers was no Politian.

As a militarist, she was good at following orders, not defying them, and yet…

…they had history together.

And if there was someone he came closer to ever trust, he could say it was the chromium-armored stormtrooper. In truth, she said very little, but more than enough for someone such as himself. Out of the triumvirate — one out of many in the First Order —, Armitage Hux could say he was the best strategist — not blessed with either the Force or physical strength, the slim and awkwardly tall boy had to work on his forte: his brain.

In any case, the possibility of another betrayal — something he quite did not expect the first time around — would not come off as a surprise at this point. He was counting on it. In fact, he planned the probable outcome for each situation. No one could say the General was a man who enjoyed the unexpected — that was why he never had time for people nor relationships; feelings were unpredictable —, and while he adapted quite easily, his distaste for such was immeasurable.

The unforeseen made him feel powerless and everything that did not add for his bright future as Supreme Leader — Emperor, no one could say he dreamed little — was disposable. A controller. Armitage Hux was a control freak and everything — people and feelings included — that could not be controllable was better left behind. Thankfully, Captain Phasma fell in the first category.   

“There’s word out there that you betrayed the Order.”

He narrowed his eyes — something she would not be able to see given the transmission.

“Careful, Phasma.”

His strategy was quite simple, really. After his reveal, Captain Phasma would either keep his secret or she would tell the Supreme Leader — or even Ren himself. Or they would read right through her — he could only hope she learned by now how to conceal her thoughts.

Nevertheless, he was ready for any outcome. If the latter happened, his plans would only be hastened a bit.

“The Resistance attacked us in Rioza. They stole the shipment in its entirety. Some believe you feed them information.”

He thought that a smirk would have looked too suspicious. And yet he smirked. The slight tilt of his lips went unnoticed by the Captain.

Instead of giving her an answer — of soothing her fears and insecurities —, he chose silence. And she knew better than to expect a response for such a stupid statement.

“So… You’re coming back? You’ll prove them wrong.”

It sounded like a question — and it was a question; Captain Phasma lacked the intricacies of a more modulated speech —, but it was also a half-assertion. Once he was alive, it was expected of him to come back. The First Order was his life — after all, he had been molded for the position and role he fit in right now; the fact he was at the sore end of the bargain, with less than he deserved was a mere casualty —; he had pledged his life to it.

Not satisfied in taking his life — or almost taking, it would be a surprise when they saw he was in fact very much alive —, those who plotted against him managed to destroy his reputation in the Order.

He almost snorted.

The irony was too good to miss. The poster-boy, the golden General — a Grand-Marshall if they would so give what he deserved and worked so hard for —, was no more than a traitor.

Shaking such thoughts away, he concentrated in her question.         

I make no idle promises.

The words were on his tongue, dying to be unleashed. He knew better. Even though he said it once, in a vastly different context, true, the meaning applied for the situation at hand. Suffice to say that Armitage Hux was a man whose distaste for the unpredictable rivaled his aversion to small talk and stating the obvious. If Phasma learned to battle with her physical strength, the slim, tall, awkwardly ginger Arkanisian boy was forced to quickly understand the power of the words.  

Instead, he nodded.

Guilt…

You felt guilty before, but it could not compare to how you felt now. It was destroying you to know he had left and was yet to come back. When he said do not wait for me, you thought he meant for the night, not for whole four days.

A monster…

You felt like a monster for not giving him an answer.

But what else could you say? What else could you do? You were caught in your lies once, it was not like you could say you trusted him when you were not sure you did. You were cornered. Afraid and feeling guilty.

You had not realized it before, but you regretted saving him — you thought that was not something that would go away. He was the enemy. He and his precious First Order had invaded your planet — your home. It is true they betrayed him and tried to have him killed — and only the Maker could know why. You wondered if the General knew the truth himself — not the twisted lie you told him. 

Besides, he said himself he probably knew about the new virus wreaking havoc in Dantooine, causing the death of so many aliens right now.

He could have lied. He could have said he had nothing to do with it, but he decided to be honest, and so did you.     

You just did not expect him to leave for good.

It had been four days since he left. Obviously, you paid no heed to his warning. You had to go back. You had to work. Your coworkers — the few of them who did not stop working — were counting on you; lives depended on you. You had to go back to the Hospital. Your own life and safety meant very little face to the gravity of the situation.

The possibility of getting infected by the disease was no longer a threat — it was confirmed it was spread through the water and only alien species were vulnerable to it. Unlike the Krytos Virus, this one — the alien flu as your coworkers called it — could not be reversed by using bacta in the treatment. And if the most powerful healing substance could not kill it, you doubted anything else would. You had discovered — out of sheer luck or utter despair, you were no longer sure — that a small substance, not found in abundance in Dantooine and already out stock, seemed to alleviate the symptoms and delay the impending death.

Yet, even if the risk of getting sick was nil, at least one healer had been eaten by the crazed aliens quarantined.  You would be lying if you said the possibility of being eaten alive did not scare you. However — and you could not help the comparison —, Aquilla would never let it hinder him. You could only hope the General understood it. Saving people was in your DNA, you could not help it.

At least, that was what you prepared yourself for when you returned to the Cave — your own house had been invaded by homeless, sick aliens; something you would not and could not complain about, they needed it more than you ever did —, only to find it empty. D-Five was making dinner for you only. The always so very efficient and proactive protocol droid told you he would not come back that day, but he was ready to be your company and talk about whatever topic you saw fit. The talk did not take place in the next day either, for you were welcomed with the same words. On the third day you gave up on the talk. You would not return to find the Cave empty.  

Today, you felt very inclined to stay at the Hospital again.

A tired sigh left you as you entered the refresher. It was a very hot day in Dantooine and even though you longed to get home — if you could call the cold and dark Cave as such —, and get some rest, you knew you had to stay awake to take care of the children in your care.

You splashed cool water in your face, trying to wash away the sleepiness that began to take over you. The mirror placed on the wall showed you a very different face from not even a week ago. You had dark circles under your eyes and your skin lacked the luster of a healthy person. It did not help you could barely eat for the past few days — worry always compromised your appetite greatly.

Placing your hands over your face, you took a moment to breathe deeply and keep your thoughts at bay. A part of you wondered if he died — it was quickly dismissed; he was too smart to die that easily and you thought you would know, you knew when Aquilla died, it was not something rational, more like empirical, you just knew —, and part cogitated the possibility of him going back to the First Order.

I am loyal only to myself.

…and to you.

Is he though?

You shook your head. He would not go back to them. They betrayed him. They conspired to have him killed — or so he said, and could you trust him? Senator Organa was still to get back to you…   

…And he said himself you should not wait for him.

It was impossible not to wonder if he was back to the First Order. He was a General and someone of his position — in control of such immensurable power — would hardly let go.

Your thoughts were interrupted with the buzz of your comm-relay. You took it with you as soon as you left home in the first day, too worried to stay parted from it — you had to know what happened to General Organa, you needed to. However, you were afraid of sending a message and it falling on the wrong hands — only the Maker could know how many lives such a message could affect.

Not giving it much thought, you opened the comm-relay only to be greeted by the tired and old face of the woman who invaded your mind more than you would like for the past few days.      

“Were the Coordinates right? Did everything go—

You stopped yourself, biting the inside of your cheeks to the point you felt the coppery taste in your tongue. You closed your eyes — well, it was too late to say anything else now.

Kriffs.

If she did not know before that you did not trust your contact, she knew now. In her place — even if everything went smoothly, you would not trust this deserter of the First Order. It was clear that unlike Finn — or FN-2187 and what a dehumanizing way of calling someone —, your contact was not reliable.  

I trust him with my life.

As if.

If she noticed your internal conflict, she chose not to comment on it, “Tell your contact we are grateful for all the information he has provided.”

You were not sure if she noticed it either, but you straightened your back. It felt as if a heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders. It felt as if you could finally breathe again. And you took a deep intake of breath. Your lungs burned with the amount of air you inhaled. And yet, you would not trade this sensation for anything else.

With the relief, came the regret.

You were once again guilt-ridden.

You should have trusted him.

You should have believed him.

You should have…

…let go of your apprehensiveness and listened to him. Listened to your heart that wanted so badly to accept his words and not to your mind, that wanted to paint him as the villain of your story.

He was… innocent all long and you were just… Kriffs. A monster for judging him so harshly. 

“…not only right, but useful as well.”

Shaking your thoughts away, you decided to actually look at her and pay attention to what she said.

“What took you so long?” you asked, not really sure you overstepped your boundaries. The nature of your relationship was not clear as of yet. However, you had to know. If the cause of her delay was not related to an imaginary — you were such a fool — betrayal on Hux’s part, you needed to know the reason. 

General Organa took a moment to answer, as if testing her words. As if testing… you. It was clear she was surprised at your disarray, but once again she chose not to comment on it. If she was preserving your privacy or if she did not trust you to such extent, you did not know.

“A new disease spread in the outer-rim territories kept the Resistance busy.”

Your eyes widened.

“The Alien Flu…” It left your lips in a meek whisper. You knew it was bad, but you had no idea it was spread in planets other than Dantooine. If eradicating a disease in a single planet was almost impossible, you could not say what you expected of part of the galaxy. “Kriffs!”

There was moment of silence.

Senator Organa was most like analyzing your reaction. And you could not say you judged her. In her place, you would do the same — if Aquilla had not spoken about this, you could say the General taught you with his posture, but you knew that silence spoke volumes about a person or a situation.

“Perhaps your contact knows something about the disease and its cure.”

It was your time to keep silent, however brief it was. Soon, the words came to life in your mouth, “No. He doesn’t.”

Her expression was somewhat blank. You had no idea if it meant she believed you or if she thought everything you said was utter bullshit. General Organa did not strike you as someone who trusted others — even if they helped her once — that easily. On your part, you were surprised for defending him so vehemently.

He could be innocent.

He is innocent.

Even if the concept of innocence did not apply to those in an organization that profited by waging War in the galaxy — by those who believed in a project of a fallen Empire, the very embodiment of tyranny and villainy.   

Kriffs.

You did not know what to believe anymore. The fact that he simply vanished did not help the tiniest bit.  

“I thought as much.” She brought a bottle of water to her lips. It concealed most of her face. “Only someone of the highest ranks would know about that.”

You bit your bottom lip.

She knew.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“Listen.” You swallowed. “I have to go.”

As soon as you ended the transmission and shut down your comm-relay, you left the Hospital. This time you did not care about your clothes or your own sanity — which you knew was lacking right now.

The fact that you did not sleep coupled with the discovery of his… — you had no idea what to call it, honesty, perhaps? — coupled with the truthfulness of his words made your heart beat faster and not only because you were running towards the Cave.

You had to get to him. You had to talk to him. You had to… see him. You were not sure you could trust your words right now. Seeing his face would suffice. However, more than the imperious need to see him, you needed to know.

By now, he already knew if he had a hand in what was taking place in Dantooine and other territories in the outer rim.

Only someone of the highest ranks would know about that.

If he still had most of his accesses to the First Order database, then he knew why they did it — and it was getting increasingly difficult not to understand their reasons; aliens ate humans and humans hated aliens. Only a racist organization, product of that dictatorship called Empire, could unleash such a hateful disease upon the distant and forgotten planets — and how to possibly end it.

Because there must be an antidote.

There has to be.

If you were to find him, D-Five would give you his coordinates. The protocol droid would know where he was. You just had to make him talk.

You ran as fast as your tired limbs would carry you. As fast as your own heartrate would allow you to. Part of you was grateful for his harsh training, without it, you doubted you would be able to stand on your legs right now. Getting almost no sleep for the last few days helped very little.

It was with some relief — great relief, actually — that as your feet brought you to a stop in front of the Cave, and you spotted not only the General, but his partner — was she really a partner or they were only analyzing each other and waiting for the best moment to end not only their partnership but the other’s life? — as well. Behind them, there was a Personal Petite Yacht you have not seen in years.

“You look like shit, hon.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you breathed deeply through your nose. You almost — you knew the General would scowl if you did that — placed your hands on your knees to support yourself. Even if it was a short distance between the Hospital and the Cave, you felt like you had run a marathon.

“Aurra.”

The General straightened his shoulders and shut off his electronic cigarette. You shifted your attention to him. You were not the only one who looked absolutely terrible. If you slept little, the General got close to no sleep whatsoever.

His cheekbones seemed even sharper now. Besides not resting properly, you could say he was not eating as well.

If the situation was any different, you could say you were worried about him. Right now, all you could feel was a crushing guilty and extreme relief — he was alive, and he had not gone back to the First Order. And it sufficed.

He had no time to say anything — and you doubted he would —, for she hit her walking stick on the rocky ground, attracting your attention.

“You arrived just in time, dear.”

In time for what?

“Go ahead.” She pointed at the ship behind her. “You two shall leave for Canto Bight.”

The General outstretched his hand for you to take. Even if you hesitated ­­­— to depart for Cantonica right now made no sense whatsoever, not with the medical crisis in the outer rim territories ­—, you placed your fingers upon his. He immediately pulled you into his embrace.

You bit your bottom lip —­ not risking a glance at Aurra; you had no idea if she still believed you were his weakness and honestly you did not want to let her know there were problems in paradise ­— and moved one of your hands over his shoulder.   

“Do you trust me?” he asked. His voice was no more than a whisper in your ear.

Do I?

Part of you wanted to say you did. If you learned something today, it was that he was far from the lying monster you believed him to be ­— and you had lied to him as well! You were sure of one thing only — if you wanted to survive, it you wanted to find the cure for that damned disease, you had to trust him.       

“Do I have any other choice?”

You expected silence. Instead, you felt the tip of his nose running over the sensible skin of your neck as he breathed in your scent.

“No.”

A/N - See you on Friday. Guys, I’m also posting Lie to Me now on Wattpad. I update every Wednesday xD

[inusecretsanta]

Hey there @inukouga! Your Secret Santa is Walter205. Since he doesn’t have a tumblr, I’m posting on his behalf. He wishes you to enjoy and have Happy Hollidays!

Giving a better future

 A light snow had started falling outside in the early evening hours as the brunette woman walked into the living room and offered her brown haired companion a mug with steam emitting contents.

  "Hot Cocoa?" said Kagome as she handed one of the two cups over to Sango.

  "You know I would, thanks," she replied while graciously accepting the offered drink with a nod of appreciation.

  "Can't stop thinking of how special this Christmas is going to be. Could you ever have imagined six years ago that we would be where we are, here and now?" asked Kagome as she settled down next to her lover and used an index finger to gently press the little marshmallow floating on top of her cocoa down into the liquid.

  "Our first with little Shippou. No, six years ago I was all set to move on from the Academy and find a prospective man to be with. The monk thought it was going to be him and perhaps it would've been, but then *it* happened," Sango reflected with a sad and distant look in her life. Kagome reached over and placed her hand on top of Sango's as they both thought about *it* and how *it* had changed everything.

  Demons had long been believed to be nothing more then the product of wild imaginations, myths and legends spread over the centuries. In truth, they had been in hiding, living in secret in both the untamed wildernesses left in the world and amongst humans themselves. But in the inexorable drive to expand territory and tap into the remaining resources of the planet, humans had inevitably triggered a worldwide conflict of interest, a war of survival of the races, now known as the Great Demon War, or what some call as World War Three, since it had raged across the globe.

  One year and one hundred million dead living beings later, it had ended. Neither humans nor demons had been wiped from existence, but the dramatic reduction in population of the latter had seen humans claiming a victory in the history books, but really no one had won anything. Sango had been drafted into the JSDF and trained for the new Tajiya Corps and had seen heavy fighting on the frontline, fighting which had seen her father and younger brother perish in perilous combat. Kagome had been drafted as well but after the discovery of her latent spiritual powers had been transferred to the Special Spiritual Service, also known as the Purifiers. Kagome's father, who had passed on his spiritual powers to her, had likewise perished in the conflict.

  At the end of the one year war they had both been casually discarded from the service, battered, bruised, and nearly broken by their experiences. It was during a counseling session that they had found one another and formed an instant bond, one that had been cemented further as they grew to know one another. Romance had eventually ensued but although it had come unexpectedly somehow neither was surprised. Deep down both had come to the realization that although their society and culture had demanded them to be normal wives to expected husbands, what they really were was something different and both had come to believe that they were soul mates to one another.

  Both now hoped that one day they could formally be allowed to marry each other but regardless of that day arriving they would forever remain life partners by a vow made by each of them on the third anniversary of them meeting one another. In the midst of their passion came the talk about whether to have children and if they should adopt or inseminate their offspring.

  Their answer had been to adopt, at least for now. There were plenty of war orphans that needed good homes and after all of the killing both had done during the conflict they felt that it was the least they could do. And so after a few months of searching, they formally adopted Rin into their family and nine months later they decided to add another member to their family, at least in part so Rin had someone relatable to play and share experiences with.

  The decision to adopt Shippou had been one of the most trying ones in their growing family. They could play innocent for now but both knew that one day he would find out about both of their past. Both dreaded the prospect that they may have even been the ones to have made the young fox kit an orphan in the first place. But the moment she had laid eyes on him Kagome had formed a special bond with the young kit and Sango had recognized that when she watched the two of them interact.

  Now the two of them sat on the couch in the living room with Christmas carols playing on the television as images of a campfire flickered across the screen, both deep in thought before Kagome suddenly remembered about something else that she was going to mention to Sango.

  "Oh Sango, I've been giving a lot of though lately about us conceiving children of our own...," started Kagome, gaining Sango's full and undivided attention before she continued, "And I agree that one child each would make us a full family. But if and when we do proceed with having children of our own to go along with Rin and Shippo, I'd like you to go first."

  "Kagome! Are you sure about this? I know how much you've been wanting one of your own lately, the way you've been helping to take care of Rin and Shippo and how you interact with them," replied Sango in a startled gush. Kagome smiled and moved her hand from Sango's own hand up to her shoulder.

  "Hey listen, I still have biological family left, I have my mother, grandfather, and younger brother that I can visit at anytime. But I know that you have none of your original family remaining and I want you to have someone that you can call your biological own, someone you can truly appreciate as your own flesh and blood. You could even name them Kohaku, if it turns out to be a boy," said Kagome with a wink.

  "Oh Kagome," Sango sobbed as she started crying, "Thank you so much, yes I'll absolutely take the first child, our third child."

  "Our third," Kagome agreed as her hand moved from her shoulder to her flat stomach. The two leaned in close then for a passionate kiss, only for them to pull apart sooner than appreciate due to the arrival of the pitter patter of small feet.

  "Whatcha'll doing?" asked Rin as she arrived with Shippo in tow, the two of them clasping their hands behind their backs.

  "Oh, just talking about the future," Kagome smiled at them with a light blush on her cheeks, the more heavily embarrassed Sango hiding her blush with both of her hands to her face.

  "Okay then. Hey, about the present, is it fine to have a game night tonight? Shippo wants to learn how to play the new game we got the other day," asked Rin with a 'please' expression written across her face.

  "Sure, why not? If you'll get the game we'll set up the play area," said Sango as her face return to normal and she got up.

  As she and Kagome headed to the table with empty mugs in hand, Sango turned and winked conspiratorially at her lover companion before saying, "You know, we won't be able to have too many 'private' moments once we start expanding again."

  "Sango! Shippo's with us," said Kagome as she lightly blushed herself.

  The three of them were fully seated when Rin skipped into the room and set the game down on the table.

  "Rin knows that we have four players, but the game says it can be up to six! Rin wishes that we had six players for it," said Rin glumly.

  "Cheer up, at least we have four. And as for six, give it a couple of years," said Sango with a quick wink to Kagome.

  Now it was Kagome's turn to hide her face with both hands as Sango burst out laughing while Rin and Shippo both looked on in confusion.

  Plenty laughter was to be had that night however and in the end all three ladies ended up burying their heads in humiliation after Shippo ended up beating all three of them in his first time playing.

  The End

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (2/15)

When Sarah wakes up, her whole body aches, just as she expected, and the light coming through the cracks in the blinds tells her that it must be mid-morning. The light is still coming in through the eastern kitchen window stronger than that of the slider on the west, and has a tilted slant to the way it fades into her tiles. She should really unpack her few belongings, she thinks, but instead lays on the floor for a while longer, simply watching the dust drift in the sunbeams. 

Once she finally gets to her feet, she decides to go see the neighbor, Maggie. She’s supposed to be making friends and not isolating, after all, and if she hasn’t talked to anyone by her appointment tomorrow, her therapist will be mad at her. Not really, but it’ll feel like she’s mad at her, and Sarah hates that. She stumbles on creaky muscles and pincushion legs to the bathroom to pick up yesterday’s clothes instead of trying to unpack anything new. That’s too much for her right now. Sarah pulls on the sweatpants and tank top, kicks at her dirty bandage with a distasteful expression. She should get a trash can at some point, probably. And a toothbrush. She runs her tongue along her teeth and winces, knowing her breath can’t be great. But if she goes to the store, she won’t have the energy to visit the neighbors, and visiting them is probably what her therapist wants her to do. So she should probably avoid breathing too closely to any of them, she thinks as she searches for her shoes and shoves her feet into them. Broken glass is a bitch, and even if she hasn’t seen it here like she did in Chicago, she doesn’t want to take the chance.

Just like Maggie said, she goes to the house on the left. Unlike her own, with a pale blue exterior in need of a power washing, Maggie’s house is a soft cotton candy pink with white trimming and a quaintly sloped roof. All the windows are open, filling the air with the scent of fresh cut fruit and maple syrup, helped along on the sound of off-key singing in nonsense baby talk. It doesn’t sound like Maggie, so it must be her wife. Sarah likes the sound of that phrase- her wife. She could get used to a pair of words like that. Paint them across her bedroom wall and stitch it onto embroidered pillows. It would be a good excuse to learn embroidery.

She almost doesn’t knock on the front door. Her hand moves without permission, though, drawn into the feeling of home that clouds the front step and the little herb garden beneath one of the windows and the toys clumped in one corner of the yard. The wood is solid, real beneath her fist when she knocks. 

“One minute!”

The singing stops, and in the time between knocking and the door opening, Sarah thinks long and hard about just going back home. It’d be easier, for one thing. But she should do this, no matter how hard. Right as the doorknob twists, she slaps her hand over her forearm protectively. She should’ve put on a jacket, or a long sleeved shirt.

Maggie’s wife already has a smile on her face when she opens the door, dressed comfortably in pajama pants and a loose tee shirt, a towel thrown over her shoulder, and caramel hair tied out of her face. She’s pretty the way millenium old forests are pretty. There are kind lines by her eyes, freckles where her skin is bare, and a golden eight-pointed star resting between her collarbones. She looks happy. She looks like what Sarah wants to be.

“You must be Sarah! Maggie told me you might come by,” she says, and steps out of the doorway to gesture inwards. “I’m Olivia, and this-” she points at a high chair containing a strawberry-stained toddler as Sarah comes in, “-is our son Noah.”

“Hi, Noah.”

Olivia walks back to the kitchen, in the same place as Sarah’s but much more homely, with a fruit basket on the breakfast bar, food in the middle of being prepared, and a few scribbled drawings pinned to the fridge by brightly colored magnets. Her sock-covered feet slide a little but she doesn’t slip.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a plate.”

“I don’t need-”

One of Olivia’s hands wave dismissively and she grabs two pancakes from a stack next to the fruit, depositing them on a little blue plate and setting it in front of Sarah, followed by a fork and a container of maple syrup. Noah decides at that moment to make an unhappy sound, kick his feet, and point at Sarah’s pancakes.

“You already had yours, sweet boy. Coffee?”

“That sounds nice, thank you.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“No thanks.”

A steaming mug, chipped along the rim, settles in front of Sarah in the blink of an eye. She lets herself just smell it, clear her of everything else for a moment before she thinks about eating the admittedly fluffy pancakes in front of her. Everything smells good in here. The air is warmer. There’s chaos, but it’s a good kind of chaos that she wishes she could cultivate for herself someday. As she watches and stabs at her breakfast half-heartedly, Olivia finishes cutting fruit and dumps some onto Noah’s highchair tray, some into a tupperware container, and some into a bowl which she leaves within Sarah’s reach in a silent but much appreciated gesture. 

Then she takes a seat herself and uses her fork to tear into a pancake. “You just moved in yesterday?”

“Yeah, from uh, from Chicago.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either.

“Mmm. Long way to come but I get it. It’s peaceful here,” Olivia muses. She has a little smile on her face. “Mag’s from Chicago, I’m from New York. She came for a conference I spoke at, and we hit it off. The rest is history.”

“Nnnn,” Noah adds, pointing at Sarah’s food again and making a whiny sound.

Sarah gives him a small piece to placate him, and when he smiles, she can’t help smiling back. He’s a happy looking kid. She doesn’t remember if she was, and no one has ever told her. 

“If you need help unpacking or getting essentials, need to find anything in town, or just want a friend, we’ve got you. At least one of us is usually home, and I can give you our numbers, if you want them. I know how lonely a new place can feel.”

“Thanks, I… I really appreciate that.”

Olivia just smiles at her, and a moment later, stands upright in a bit of a rush like she’s forgotten something. She dashes from the room, leaving Sarah alone with Noah, who holds a hand out for another piece of pancake she can’t resist giving him. She probably shouldn’t feed someone else’s baby, but it makes him happy. Children- babies- are so simple. Little things bring them so much joy. They don’t know what anything except happiness feels like.

The loud thunk of books on the counter stirs Sarah from her thoughts and gets her focus on the three thick spines in front of her. One is an encyclopedia of some sort, one is on the types of fish off the Northern California coast, and the third just has little shells hot glued to the spine instead of a title.

“I think you’d like these.” Olivia traces her fingers over the cover of the top book. “Just for looking at, if you want. You can take them home with you, or leave them here and come see whenever you want- I wouldn’t mind the company. It’s a good way to get acquainted with the area.”

Sarah takes the encyclopedia- old with yellowing pages, a white crease in the spine and smudges to the lettering of the front cover, clearly loved- and realizes it’s about urban legends. A bright pink sticky note emerges from the center, new and unworn. It must’ve been placed there recently. 

“That’s the part that I think is most relevant for this town is marked. The fish book is just- it’s just a good look through. And the album is uh, it’s sentimental. So be gentle with it.”

“I will. I promise.”

The smile Olivia gives her is blinding. Pure joy, excitement. It’s not like the way he smiled at Sarah before his hand cupped the back of her neck, but rather that of someone who has nothing but love to give. For the first time in a while, Sarah is almost excited. She wants to look at these books. She wants to connect. 

“You’re welcome to hang around a bit if you want. I’ll just be hanging around the house for a bit, but I’ve got a study at four- Maggie should be home by then. We’re gonna eat at around eight, if you wanna join us.”

“Thanks but I think-” she thinks it’s too much in one day. Too much energy she doesn’t have. “I think I better head home for a bit. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course.”

Olivia hugs her briefly but tightly, and wishes her a good day as Sarah carries the three books back home and sets them on the floor next to her towel. The couch is uncomfortable. Wrong. Not hers. She opens the encyclopedia first, turning to the marked section, and just stares at it for a good ten minutes. There’s a lot of text, small and dense and too much for her to process, but the picture included is mesmerizing. It’s of a woman with dark grey skin and long black hair, her lips pouting and eyes slitted like a cat’s. But it’s not a woman. It’s a mermaid, her torso melting into scales that look to have been hand painted into the book but obviously haven’t been. 

“Mermaids,” she tells the book.

The book says nothing back.

She doesn’t have it in her to read and sets aside the encyclopedia, skips over the fish book, and opens the album. In glittery capital letters, it reads “AVA” on the first page above a picture of a much younger Olivia sitting in the shallows of the ocean with a blonde little girl, smiling with gap teeth at something just above the camera. Maggie probably took the photo. Sarah slips her fingers beneath the page and turns it to reveal more photos, tucked into the stiff plastic sleeves. They’re all of the same little girl, but it becomes quickly apparent that she isn’t a little girl. Where she should have legs, her waist lengthens and trails into bright blue and gold scales. Most of the photos are similar; the girl- Ava, if Sarah had to guess- frolics in the waves, often with Olivia and/or Maggie. There’s an image of her presenting cupped hands full of pearls to the camera with an innocent smile. As the photos go on, she gets older. The photos seem to have more time between them.

Three quarters of the way through the album, there are no more photos, and the last one is dated two years ago. Ava looks to be in her early twenties, smiling and holding little black picture- an ultrasound. Sarah reads the caption on the back of the photo. 

"Baby brother on the way!"

After that, nothing. 

Sarah finds herself looking at the picture a bit longer, studying Ava's face. She's really pretty, with a stunning, genuine smile and wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes like the ocean. Her tan skin is dotted with moles, but instead of studying it, she slams the album shut. She's not supposed to look at women like that, naked women like that.

But then two words come back to her like a gift from God. Her wife. Maybe it's something she's allowed to have. Maybe. Sarah isn't ready to think about it either way and crawls over to the couch. It'll be more comfortable than the floor, she thinks, as she imagines what it might be like to meet Ava. Does she smile as much in real life? Is she more solemn? What does her laugh sound like? The photos stick to her memory even though she shouldn't think about them. 

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

also on ff.net and ao3

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin and whoever else asks me.

A/N: Yep. It’s been forever. And to add insult to injury, this is only Part 1 of 2. But umm... yay content?

***

SOS. My boss is wearing a powdered wig, and a guy in US flag speedos and nothing else just spilled punch down my dress. ES

What's this? A damsel in distress? Sounds like a perfect opportunity for a certain bearded gentleman to swoop in. One with cocktail knowledge and combat experience. Where is dear Rambo tonight? KJ

Don't call him that. And he's in Belfast, doing research. You know, like academics are supposed to do? ES

Ah, yes. Research. I've heard of it. KJ

That's it? No daring rescue plan? We have a code T here. ES

Code T? KJ

T for Transparent. As in, my dress. From being soaked through with punch by that asshole. Am I painting a clear enough picture? ES

I assure you, the image is extremely vivid. You might've led with that. Where is this damnable affair taking place, again? KJ

***

Emma

It wasn't that Emma was ashamed of where she came from. Not exactly. Recent election results aside, she had to acknowledge she hadn't ended up teaching American History by accident. Even when her country frustrated her, you had to admit, it was never boring. It was just...

She'd never been a foreigner before. Not really. A week in Cabo. That time Mary Margaret had forced her to third-wheel on a couple's ski trip to the Laurentians. Because that wasn't awkward at all.

But if she'd thought her American-ness would be a novelty in Scotland, she'd been seriously deluding herself.

Between the onset of summer vacation, the Instagram-worthy architecture and the enduring appeal of Jamie Fraser, there had never been more Americans in Edinburgh than there were at that moment. The Outlander Effect, they were calling it.

And Emma couldn't exactly miss them. They were everywhere, and not just herding en masse down the Royal Mile. On the bus. Crowding into the Jinglin' Geordie on Open Mic Night. Talking group assignments in the Starbucks line. Hell, a lot of her own students came equipped with homegrown accents, her class allowing their studies to mesh seamlessly with the syllabus back home.

Most encounters were pretty jarring. Like listening to your own voice played back on a recording.

Do I really sound like that?

She hoped not.

Did it really take me that long to figure out it isn't pronounced Edin-burg?

No comment.

Do I really have trouble translating common anglicisms?

Only sometimes.

Usually when they came out of the mouth of someone like Will Scarlet, and she couldn't tell if he was using some highly localized Derbyshire dialect, or if he was just fucking with her.

Sure, Killian tried a little too hard to sound like some kind of dashing 17th-century buccaneer most of the time, but at least it was still recognizable as a form of English. With Will though, she could never really be sure.

Still, after nearly a year, she liked to think she had a handle on things. She could order a 'Laphroaig' without completely mangling it, and knew enough to keep an umbrella on her person at all times. And if and when her cravings for American snack foods struck, they were being plenty satisfied by her local Sainsbury's, who kept one shelf fully stocked with all of the Twinkies, Peanut Butter Cups, and Lucky Charms a girl could ever wish for.

So when her Head of Department was looking for volunteers for their annual Fourth of July barbecue, Emma had to admit she did try to get out of it.

It was her own fault, really. It was summer. She should've been sunning it up in the Algarve with the rest of her colleagues, day drinking, and returning her skin tone to a less deathly pallor. Instead, she was the sucker who'd been roped into teaching Summer School classes to a revolving door of international students, who were keen to let some of the school's reputation rub off on them, without the three or four year commitment. Every three weeks a new lot arrived, and Emma's life descended into Groundhog Day as she repeated her lectures anew, reliving the same debates and excuses on a constant loop.

So she only had herself to blame when the department head went looking for warm bodies, that hers was the only one still lingering in the corridors.

"Great!" her boss said, clapping her hands together. "Don't forget to wear something festive!"

Festive.

There was no way this wasn't going to be a disaster.

***

The damsel in distress line might've rankled her, but she had to hand it to the guy, he came through.

Fifteen minutes after she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom after The Fruit Punch Incident she was summoned curbside, arms still determinedly crossed over her chest, to where a black cab sat idling, an incorrigible Englishman leaning against it holding up a leather holdall.

"Does Elsa know you went through her closet?" she asked, eyeing the bag.

"Who do you think paid for the cab?" he grinned.

Emma really needed to send that woman a fruit basket or something. Did people still do that? Send fruit baskets? Elsa would know. She probably went to one of those fancy Swiss finishing schools, where you learned shit like that.

The bag even smelled expensive as Killian handed it over, his eyes dropping for the first time to properly take in her ruined outfit, and lingering.

"Don't even say it," she warned, as he fought to suppress a grin.

She was never wearing a white sundress again. Ever.

"If anyone could pull it off..." he began, but a warning finger cut him off.

The picture of innocence, he raised his hands and stepped away. Which was precisely the moment Emma realized they were not, in fact, alone.

"In a spot of bother, milady?" came the cheerful greeting from the figure still wedged into the backseat of the cab, waving at her.

Robin. Attractive single Dad Robin, with the Oxbridge accent, criminal mastermind father, and good sense to keep his eyes averted.

"What the hell?" Emma hissed under her breath, whacking Killian in the shoulder. "Are we charging admission for my humiliations now?"

"Easy, lass," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "I was out with Robin when you texted. I was hardly going to leave him on his own, now was I? Not very good form."

She glanced back to where Robin sat, whistling to himself, then back to Killian. "Oh, so now you're the honorable one?"

"What's this?" he scoffed. "An attack on my character? And after I've orchestrated such a dashing rescue? A fair maiden in distress and I'm on the spot."

The indignation would've been a little easier to swallow if his grin hadn't been quite so… wolfish.

"Yeah, right," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "Like this isn't making it into your column."

He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. Just offered her a clumsy wink, and motioned to the building before them.

"One good turn deserves another, don't you think?" he suggested, and Emma's stomach dropped. "How does one merit an invitation to an exclusive gathering of expatriates, exactly? Do they check passports at the door? Make you recite the Pledge of Allegiance?"

He held his prosthetic over his heart, and affixed a solemn expression.

"Wrong hand, asshole," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging his hand back down by his side.

"Probably for the best," Killian shrugged. "I confess I don't actually know the words. Does the School of Rock version count?"

"You seriously want to go up there? You know they're celebrating their independence from the English, right?"

"I'm a journalist, Swan. An arbiter of truth. Would you really deny me the materials I need to make an honest living?"

"You're a hack," Emma grumbled, clutching the bag of clothes to her chest.

"Aye, that I am," Killian agreed, dropping his voice at least an octave. "But a rather dashing one, don't you think?"

So this is how Killian Jones got what he wanted. The ol' razzle dazzle.

It wasn't entirely ineffective. With a huff of annoyance, Emma walked over to lean by the window of the cab. "What do you say, Robin? Want to see my countrymen cut loose and fight about politics?"

He tilted his head, considering her offer. "Do you really put marshmallows in your sweet potatoes?"

"Different holiday. But yeah, we do."

"Alright then," he said, gathering up his belongings where they were strewn across the back seat. "I'll be there presently."

Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cab, she turned back to Killian, who was looking unbearably pleased with himself. Even more than usual.

"Lead the way, lass" he declared, with an exaggerated bow.

"It's a little too late to play at being the gentleman, don't you think?" Emma pointed out.

"Oh?" he asked, his gaze unnervingly direct. "And why is that, Swan?"

If he was trying for intimidation, then he really didn't know Emma well enough. Instead, she simply turned to lead the way back up the stairs to the front stoop, bag swinging by her side. "I'm just saying…" she replied in a sing-song voice. "A gentleman wouldn't have looked."

***

When Emma pictured a Fourth of July barbecue, she pictured hot dogs, hyperactive neighborhood kids with water pistols, and sunshine. The Edinburgh version was something very different.

For one thing, it was not a family affair. For another, she doubted you could even really call it a barbecue, when there was no grill in sight. And unfortunately, for Emma, the party was still in full swing when she returned after her costume change, all of her dreams for a quick getaway evaporating along with the last of the punch.

If anything, the numbers had swelled with a sea of Uncle Sams and Lady Liberties spilling out into the garden, wine glasses in hand. If Emma hadn't already realized the gross pay disparity between educators and administrators, the garden would've really sealed it.

You couldn't swing a Heriot Row townhouse on Emma's salary. Hell, you couldn't even swing a Heriot Row parking space on Emma's salary. Yet somehow, the university muckety-muck who'd been bullied into hosting this little soiree didn't seem to have that problem.

At least the booze was free.

Emma looked longingly over at the refreshments table, but gave it a wide berth. The last thing she needed to do was ruin her borrowed sweater. It was a little on the tight side, but she did appreciate its fuzzy warmth. Even as she wondered if Killian had purposefully picked out the preppiest sweater he could find, or if she was just cursed.

"Hey," came a call from her left. It was a guy in a Captain America outfit, with none of Chris Evan's dimensions. "Ivanka, right?"

Emma looked down at herself, wondering if that was the name of the designer. "I'm sorry?"

"You're dressed as Ivanka Trump, right? Nice."

He was gone before she could deny it, and she glanced back to the gilded mirror in the hallway in alarm. With her hair recently straightened, she had to admit to a passing resemblance. If you squinted.

Oh god.

She had to find the boys and get them out of here, before she was pilloried as a Republican infiltrator.

She scanned the crowd, but the only person in a leather jacket she saw was channeling Maverick from Top Gun. Frustrated, she headed out into the garden, where she spotted Robin, cornered amongst the shrubberies by a very determined looking woman in a Wonder Woman costume.

Was Wonder Woman even American, technically?

Whatever the debates on her true origin, Emma had to admit the woman pulled off the look, even if the cleavage spilling out from the neckline of the outfit was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. She was fully fixated on Robin, her fingers trailing up and down his arm, laughing at one of his anecdotes.

As she walked by she shot him a questioning look, in case he needed an assist, but he just gave a wink, and started in on a new story.

Hot Single Dad Robin still had it. And something told her he wouldn't be up for any plan that involved cutting out with her early.

Heaving a sigh, she liberated a Coors Light from an icebox and took another turn around the garden.

"Ivanka?" Another woman asked, her look practically accusatory.

"Elle Woods," Emma blurted out. The sweater was baby blue, not pink, but it was the best she could come up with on the fly.

Hurrying away from that interaction, she rounded a pillar and finally came upon her quarry, sitting alone on a bench beside a gurgling water feature.

"And here I thought you'd be the life of the party," Emma said, snagging the space beside him. She gestured towards where Robin was getting half his face mauled off by Wonder Woman. "Was every other member of the Justice League taken?"

She was rewarded with the ghost of a smile, but his gaze was still fixed ahead, not really seeing, as he rolled an unopened bottle of Budweiser between his fingers.

"You okay?" Emma asked, taking the bottle from his hand and removing the cap with a well-placed tap against the side of the bench.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?" he asked, ignoring her question as he accepted the open bottle.

"A bus shelter in Framingham, Massachusetts." It was more detail than he was expecting, and she nearly laughed at the sudden brightness in his eyes. "It was my first beer. You kind of remember stuff like that."

"You has your first beer in a bus shelter in Framingham Massachusetts?" He repeated it back, like there was something especially weird about that.

"Yeah. I was 14, and in between foster homes. Stole a six pack from the Stop and Shop after the clerk told me off for browsing the magazines. And then some old army vet at the bus shelter showed me how to take the cap off against the side of a trash can."

He furrowed his brows. "You're trying to get me to open up by revealing things about yourself. Which you never do."

"Maybe," Emma offered, taking a swig of her beer. "Is it working?"

He took a long sip on his own bottle, made a face, and then settled it back into his lap. "You mentioned a brush with the law, as a teenager. I'm assuming that wasn't for underage drinking at bus stops?"

Emma grimaced. "Not so much. Possession of stolen goods, with intent to sell. I got lucky. The watch I had on me was worth just shy of $500. They knocked it down to a misdemeanor and I got probation."

"You stole a watch?"

"No, my skeezy boyfriend stole a case of watches. I just happened to be wearing one when he called the cops to frame me while he took off to Canada with the rest."

"When he what?! Please tell me this wanker is dead in a ditch somewhere." Emma had to admit, she didn't mind his tone. Like he might go out and finish the job, if need be.

Emma shrugged, picking at the label on her bottle. "Probably. I never saw him again after that."

"So that explains it," Killian huffed.

"Explains what?" Emma asked, preparing to get defensive.

"Your Walsh fellow's appeal. I'm guessing he wasn't the larcenous type?"

Oh. Not even remotely.

"Yeah, he was the kind of guy who washed out his jars before he put them in the recycling. He was kind of the anti-Neal."

"That was his name? Neal?"

"Neal Cassidy," Emma sighed. "And yes, like the writer. He had it changed when he was 18 as a Fuck You to his Dad."

"Well, he sounds like a right tosser."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And not all that clever, if he thought losing you for a case of watches was an even trade."

That had Emma looking up, sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue. But instead of making fun, Killian's expression was deadly serious, eyes meeting hers directly. Like he actually meant it. Emma's gaze flicked back to the label on her beer, nearly entirely peeled away by this stage, and fought to keep her face level.

"You think so?" she asked, her words coming out less jokingly than she intended.

"I do."

It was the answer that had her looking back up again, a frown forming. "Killian, I-"

"You're worth at least two cases," he added. "Maybe three. I mean, what are we talking here? Cartier? Rolex?" His eyebrow was raised again in that familiar roguish way.

Emma let out a breath, and extinguished the tiny flame that burned somewhere inside her stomach. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

"You're hilarious," Emma replied deadpan. "And if we're going to continue sharing, I really need something stronger than this," she said, tipping back her head and draining the last of her bottle.

"When I was looking for extra chairs earlier, I think I saw a wet bar in the study. Fancy a dram?" Killian asked, rising to his feet.

"Oh, so you're journalistic snooping does come in handy sometimes?"

"More than sometimes," he said with a grin that would fell a lesser beast. And suddenly Emma wasn't so sure the flame was truly out.

Later, she still couldn't recall whether he'd held out a hand to take her empty bottle, or to help her up. All she knew, was as they moved from the garden back to the party proper, she had Killian's hand in hers.

***

Reasons Not To Push Killian Jones Up Against The Nearest Wall And Have Your Way With Him:

1. Hello, work event. Have some goddamn professionalism.

2. You're wearing Elsa's clothes. Don't make this weird.

3. You like him, and never talking to him again would suck.

4. He would definitely allude to it in his column, and you would have to emigrate. Again.

5. Graham. Oh, fuck. Graham.

***

The upstairs study was everything you'd expect from an overpaid university administrator. Soft red leather furnishings. Framed certificates covering an entire wall. A solid oak desk that could, hypothetically, bear the weight of two people at once.

And, oh yeah, the promised wet bar.

Emma was not, nor had she ever been, a cheater. And even if she and Graham were still only in the "getting to know you" phase of tentative texts and PG-13 cocktail hours, she knew betraying that would still be a shitty thing to do.

So when Killian offered her the glass of whisky, she didn't do what she wanted to do, which was down the lot and drag him towards her by the collar. Instead, she sat on the red leather couch as far from him as possible, and held the glass in front of her like a shield.

"Reminds me of your jacket," he said with a smile, letting his hand glide against the upholstery. Emma's skin still tingled from where his hand had gripped hers, so unused to foreign contact.

She took a gulp of her drink, and let it burn down her esophagus in penance for her crimes. Only once she'd regained sufficient control of her hormones did she speak.

"So, are you going to tell me what's been up with you?

"Up with me?" Killian replied, his oh-so-innocent look oh-so-unconvincing. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," Emma said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "The sudden phone emergencies. The brooding. The black eye. You've been different lately. Kind of… subdued, for you."

In answer, Killian drained what was left of his glass, and turned to face her. "Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He didn't sound happy about the fact.

Emma shrugged, taking another sip. "You can't kid a kidder."

He considered that, finger tapping absently against the side of his glass. "Perhaps not. Very well then. The truth: The magazine is broke."

It wasn't what Emma had been expecting. What had she been expecting? A secret drug habit? Abusive new girlfriend? Fight Club?

"Broke?" she repeated.

"Utterly. But instead of accepting the inevitable, and bowing out gracefully, my brother, well-intentioned idiot that he is, decided to take what was left in the coffers and make a few wagers."

Emma's heart sank into her stomach. "He didn't."

"Oh, he did. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently. Lost the lot. Bloody prat. Thought he'd come back a conquering hero. Instead he's having to dip into his own savings to keep the whole operation afloat until he can find a way to pay back his bookie."

That explained the black eye.

"And no one knows about this? Don't you have accountants or something?"

"There is a fellow, Tim, who's been covering for him. Let him take out the entire balance in the first place, didn't he? So now he feels equally culpable. So there's Liam. Tim. Me. And now you."

"Elsa doesn't know?"

"Not in so many words. She isn't bloody stupid though. He's been decidedly distracted on the homefront. Probably thinks he's having a mid-life crisis or an affair or something stupid. Would be easier to just tell her, but the problem is, he knows if she finds out about it she'll feel obligated to help."

"Well, that would be a good thing, right? No more, uhhh…" Emma waved a hand over her eye.

"Well, when Elsa's parents died, they left her a good deal of money. Most of it went towards the house, and setting up her sister in New York, but there's enough left to get Weaver off his back. Problem is, my brother's pride would never let him accept it. And then there's the matter of Elsa's aunt."

"Elsa's aunt?"

"She owns the magazine. And let's just say, she's not quite as err… understanding as Elsa can be. If she gets word of it, there'll be criminal charges."

"Fuck."

"Fuck,' he agreed, leaning forward in his chair to pour himself another whisky.

"And you've just been carrying this all around on your shoulders for what? Months?"

"But what magnificent shoulders, wouldn't you say, Swan?" The grin was almost leering, but not in a good way. More in a defense mechanism kind of way.

"Don't do that," Emma chided, leaning over to smooth the wrinkle above his brows with her fingers. "Just be you."

"And how is that?" He asked, with a look of such genuine curiosity that her hand paused somewhere in the region of his jaw.

"Same as me," Emma shrugged. "A little fucked up. A little scared."

She leaned forward then, and placed a kiss on that same spot above his brow.

Maybe it wasn't where she'd wanted to kiss him five minutes ago, but it felt right. She heard him inhale sharply underneath her, but she didn't immediately break contact. Not until his face relaxed, and his arms came up to wrap around her waist.

She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and his on hers, breathing each other in. Comfortable fucking silence.

Only when her phone started chirping in her pocket did she pull away at last, steadying herself on his shoulders. "You're going to be okay, Killian Jones. You and your fucked up family."

The grin was wry, but it was real.

"You going to get that?" he asked, ducking his chin down to where they were practically intertwined. Probably best not to add vibration to the mix.

She fished the phone out of her pocket, and checked the caller ID.

August.

He never called. He sent ten page letters typed up on his pretentious vintage typewriter, but he never called.

With a look of apology, she peeled herself off of Killian's lap, and hit accept.

"August? Is someone dead?"

"Em! Where are you?" Wherever he was, he sounded cheerful. And just a little bit drunk. Well, it was the Fourth of July.

"Where am I? I'm in Scotland, where I'm supposed to be. How much have you had to drink?"

"Nooo," he corrected, words slurring a little. "I mean, where right now? Someone in your department told me you were at this party. But no one remembers seeing you. Are you here?"

Emma's stomach lurched. "Party? You mean, in Edinburgh?"

"Of course, in Edinburgh! The party I'm at, it's at… hang on," his words muffled as he conferred with nearby partygoers, "17 Heriot Row?"

Oh. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking August and his fucking surprises.

"I'll be five minutes. Stay right where you are."

Feeling the color drain from her face, she ended the call, and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her borrowed jeans. "We need to get downstairs. I need to-" She looked around for a mirror, but there were none in the vicinity. Of course.

"Lass?" He had her by the elbow, holding her still. "What has you all a-flutter?"

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. "You remember I mentioned my friend August?"

"Knee still creaks when it rains, August?" The boy did have superior recall. "Novelist August?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he's downstairs."

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Halloween Special

Boys and girls of every age Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

Come with us and you will see This, our town of Halloween

This is Halloween, this is Halloween! Pumpkins scream in the dead of night

This is Halloween, everybody make a scene! Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright

It's our town, everybody scream! In this town of Halloween

I am the one hiding under your bed Teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red

I am the one hiding under your stairs Fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

This is Halloween, this is Halloween!

Halloween! Halloween! 

Halloween! Halloween!

In this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song

In this town, don't we love it now? Everybody's waiting for the next surprise

'Round that corner, man hiding in the trash can Something's waiting now to pounce, and how you'll

Scream! 

This is Halloween Red 'n' black, and slimy green

Aren't you scared?

Well, that's just fine Say it once, say it twice Take a chance and roll the dice Ride with the moon in the dead of night

Everybody scream, everybody scream!

In our town of Halloween!

I am the clown with the tear-away face Here in a flash and gone without a trace

I am the "who" in the call, "Who's there?" I am the wind blowing in your hair

I am the shadow on the moon at night Filling your dreams to the brim with fright

This is Halloween, this is Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!

Tender lumplings everywhere Life's no fun without a good scare

That's our job, but we're not mean In our town of Halloween

In this town Don't we love it now?

Everybody's waiting for the next surprise

Skeleton Jack might catch you in the back And scream like a banshee Make you jump out of your skin

This is Halloween, everybody scream Won't ya please make way for a very special guy

Our man Jack is King of the Pumpkin patch Everyone hail to the Pumpkin King, now!

This is Halloween, this is Halloween Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Halloween!

In this town we call home Everyone hail to the pumpkin song

La la la la la la la la la la (Halloween! Halloween!) La la la la la la la la la la (Halloween! Halloween!)

Ohhhh yes, today is a special day indeed! We're about to dive into not only what I'd call the four most definitively “Halloween” Pokemon in the entire series, but a group of some of my top faves in the entire franchise's history. I've never stopped appreciating Halloween, even long past growing too old to be trick-or-treating. I'm already big into Autumn as my favorite season but Halloween only escalates that aesthetic appeal.

Nothing gets me quite like that child-like spooky look. The Jack-o-lanterns, black cats, ghosts, gargoyles, and slimy critters. (And the PUMPKIN REESE'S CUPS) Obviously I'm quite into more adult-oriented  horror like Silent Hill, Creepypastas, and DOOM. But nothing beats some wholesome all-ages Halloween creepy monster creation for me. And Pokemon's of course had no shortage of that. Especially in these later Generations.

In fact, between these four I'm about to cover, Klefki, Sliggoo, Malamar, Spritzee, Honedge, Espurr, and Braixen/Delphox, Gen 6 feels like arguably the most Halloweeny Generation out there so far. Probably part-way why I'd call this my third closest to favorite Generation.

But in any case, let's get to covering these four. Yes, just as a little Halloween treat for y'all I'll cover two lines today!

708: Phantump

And right off the haunted mansion gates, we're getting treated to some James Turnery goodness! I've not brought him up in a while so I don't sound like a broken record, but for whatever it's worth, he's the designer that's made gold like Golurk and Mandibuzz as well. Sadly this and Trevenant are his only additions this time around, but I'll definitely not complain!

Phantump is just an absolutely precious little ghost kid! And that's not even an exaggeration, this thing is literally the ghost of children that got lost and died in the woods. Which of course is arguably one of the most dire-sounding Pokedex entry tidbits ever. Just something to keep in mind when you go around catching these or beating them up for experience.

Phantump is simply too cute for words though. It's trying to spook you but in a way only a child would know how, going up to you and making a little stereotypical “oooooooo!!!” ghost face and scream. It's the perfect blend of spooky and ADORABLE. I even like how the bark marks on the side of its eyes look like sleep-deprived/stressed out little eye bags. Such a tiny detail as an itty bitty little line just adds so much more personality to this thing.

Another reason I'm so excited about these four. Like Bug/Water, Grass/Ghost up until now has been something I was yearning for hardcore since like, Gen 3. There's so much potential in the type between haunted trees, jack-o-lanterns, and just generally spooky-looking woodland monsters that it pained me to see both Gen 4 and 5 go by with nothing. Ohoho, but then I got to Route 16 in my first playthrough of X to lay eyes on a wild Phantump for the first time ever and to find it's A HAUNTED STUMP! FINALLY, MY PRAYERS ANSWERED!!

Personal Score: 10/10

This literally has eaten up one page on a word document so far and we're still only on the FIRST POKEMON HERE...

709: Trevenant

Things only get spookier as we move on down to Trevenant, and god yes. I've wanted a haunted tree Pokemon for so long. It's just such a staple to Halloween, and Ents are a high-fantasy monster that have been missing from Pokemon anyways. And I'm so glad they meshed the two ideas into one here. It's even better by not just being a bipedal tree so much as a literal tree that uprooted itself and uses its hunking roots as legs. Hell yes.

Trevenant in general is just one of the coolest spooky Pokemon in the whole series. And even one of the conceptually more frightening in the entire game as well. This child spirit has grown so angry to those that want to harm the forest, that this thing can root itself to bend a whole forest to its will, forcing anyone polluting or chopping down trees in its forest to get lost and never be able to leave. But to other wild Pokemon and those that respect the forests, it is kind to.

In fact, this Pokemon has one of the spookier moves in the whole game. Its signature move, Forest’s Curse, changes the opponent’s type to Grass. Seems simple and innocent enough on the surface. But there’s a ridiculous amount of implications with this move. Forest’s Curse. Ever so somewhat implying that Trevenant may turn its human victims into trees themselves, permanent fixtures in Trevenant’s forest. That and there’s a ridiculous amount of existential dread in the thought of being polymorphed into an inanimate object. Becoming just another tree in the forst, which no other person would be able to distinguish you from any other tree.

Trevenant is just a nearly-perfect tree ghost. The decrepit barely-alive tree look, the cool, somewhat pale color scheme. The rad branch-antlers. The aforementioned root legs. The piercing red cycloptic eye. How the breaks in the bark for an unhinged-jaw kind of mouth look. This is a Pokemon clearly designed by Halloween lovers and for Halloween lovers.

Personal Score: 10/10

This Pokemon was MADE FOR ME.

710: Pumpkaboo

Oh, but the Halloween goodness doesn't stop there. Imagine my delight when I continued exploring around the routes I found Phantump on only to encounter THIS THING. THIS CUTIE. THIS BLACK-CAT-JACK-O-LANTERN MONSTER. I've wanted a pumpkin critter in Pokemon for about as long as I can remember. Ever since I’ve become so obsessed with Halloween. Things like Cacnea, Spiritomb, and maybe even Lampent/Chandelure have given us fairly close approximations but nothing to exactly hit the specifically, undoubtedly, undeniably Halloween mark that is a clear as horrid night Jack-o-lantern. And the wait has more than paid off.

The one sole flaw I can think of with Pumpkaboo is that it'll probably the peak of Halloween creatures we'll get in Pokemon PROBABLY for good. Like, I don't know if we'll ever get more Halloweeny than a thing that is half black cat, half bat (and pretty much half vampire), half pumpkin. It's impossible. You can't out-Halloween that in a single cohesive creature. You just merged three to four of Halloween's biggest icons into ONE creature so seamlessly. It even comes with a signature move Trick-or-Treat!! Which does what else but turn its opponents into fellow GHOST TYPES. GHHHH.

Pumpkaboo is just a brilliantly unexpected twist on the usual jack-o-lantern monster. There's a countless number of em that have the pumpkin as the head with the usual face carved out of the front. And as much as those never get old for me, Pumpkaboo is just such a fun and unique take on it! The pumpkin is more like a body; still with little eyespots carved into it, but the head is poofing out of the top of the pumpkin, looking like a merging between a black cat and a vampire bat. Like I've been saying, you've fused so much Halloween into one adorably poutty and yet clean and coherent critter than I can't handle it. I'm gonna be reduced to a dribbling MESS over here.

And as a fun bonus, it even comes in different sizes! And with slight stat changes to go with those sizes. You can use the smaller and less durable but faster tiny Pumpkaboos or the huge, bulky, but slow ones.

This is just ENTIRELY Halloween goodness. And I'm being spoiled by Gamefreak over here. Wanted a Grass/Ghost for years and years? Here, have TWO LINES OF TWO EACH. Jack-o-lantern a hard want on your Pokemon wishlist? Here's a little bcatkin to absolutely ERADICATE my expectations. This is so perfect for me I would almost half suspect Junichi Masuda himself to come to my doorstep and tell me to never ask them for anything ever again.

Personal Score: 10/10

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HAMBOLEEN!!!

HANDBAMBOWEEN!!!!!!!!!!

711: Gourgeist

We’re finally at our final addition on this spooky parade. Sadly Gourgeist doesn't make a bumbling buffoon out of me quite like Pumpkaboo does, but I still love the thing a lot. It's still a different and cool flavor of squash monster, just fairly different from Pumpkaboo's. It's a little LESS genius of a mish-mash too but oh well.

This like we're looking at something of a creature I liked to look at as more of a giant melty candlestick hanging out of a gourd. May or may not be the intention, but y'know.

Gourgeist is still a very lovable Halloween monster in its own merits! It's more or less got the same face, and I love me tiny little fangs. (Even if they only show with its mouth open) The hair-hands are also really neat, and generally are a monster feature that doesn't get used enough. And the fringe covering one eye too. It's like a Hot Topic brand of Halloween!

And it does get a much more traditional pumpkin carving face too. It's just different ENOUGH to not be a bit odd how Pumpkaboo looks one way with Gourgeist totally another. You could somewhat even see it as a face-marking adaptation, like how many moths adapt a pattern on their wings that look like a giant face to scare off predators. It would've been nice to see the cat-bat parts played up in a Pumpkaboo evolution, but Gourgeist has enough goodness going on its own where I'm not upset of course.

I just generally love its shape too. A real odd body shape between the arms being on its head and the pear-shaped silhouette to it. It's easily one of the Pokemon I have the most fun drawing when I find the mood to. It's just so. Drawable. And pretty. Oh hey, that's another thing! We don't have that many pretty-creeps in the Pokedex yet. So there's another niche Gourgeist can fill!

Personal Score: 10/10

Everyone! Everyone wins!

Oh and one more thing! I don't talk about shinies a lot in these reviews obviously but I wanna highlight these just because on top of being some of my top favorite Pokemon in the whole series, they even have some of my top favorite shinies in the whole series!! Phantump and Trevenant not only rock the absolutely beautiful white with red accents color scheme, but that's actually based on a real tree! White aspens are indeed white-bark trees that have leaves that grow red in the fall. So PRETTY.

And while Pumpkaboo and Gourgeist's aren't seemingly based on anything in particular other than some alternative jack-o-lantern decoration colors, you just can't go wrong with black, purple, and yellow. So good.

So that's only BONUS POINTS for some already glorious Pokemon.

Happy Halloween everybody! Stay spooky!

[Archive]

[mrneighbourlove]

Constricted Souls: Ch 5. A Slither through the Underground

Blue and White were exhausted and sleeping peacefully as Leere started to wake. She found herself in the coils of Bonegrinder, who was also resting peacefully.

Leere looked around, startled at where she was in the dark. The darkness made her uneasy at the best of times. Her body was warm and dazed. As the princess’ eyes adjusted she saw the arachnid twins sleeping peacefully. Feeling her body, she found Bonegrinder wrapped around her like a blanket. She simply rested with her eyes open in the dark as she pulled the snake close.

“Hrmm… go back to sleep, tiny princess.” Bonegrinder felt Leere moving and slightly shifted his coils, thinking he was holding her too closely for her comfort. “After you, Blue, and White going at it for four hours, you need rest.”

Leere pulled him back, her high no longer around. Without the warmth of his body, she felt a shallow coldness. “Did we have sex too? I can’t remember.”

“No, tiny princess, no, you were simply too tired. Do not worry, Bonegrinder received plenty of amusement just from watching the glorious show.” The Anagari used his tail to tug a fur blanket over Leere’s pale body. “He is glad you had fun with the sisters. Tell him, tiny princess, do you feel sated?”

“...I’m sorry. I think I took advantage of you and the twins. I feel cold...”

"Bonegrinder thinks the twins are never going to complain about such a thing." He chuckled at Leere, using his coils and placing them over her body along with the fur, careful not to crush her. "Better?"

"I don't know. After you removed a single sigil... I feel off balance." She crawled to look him in the eye. "Promise me you won't remove any more."

"Would you rather Bonegrinder put it back?" The Anagari asked as she told him how she felt. "He only tried to help you, tiny princess. He would never do an innocent harm."

"I don't want you to remove any more in case something worse happens."

"You worry about this old snake. Tell him why?" Bonegrinder asked of Leere. "You know he will be just fine, regardless of what happens to him."

"Because no one is invincible. I don't want another friend to die because of me..."

"Bonegrinder will be fine, Leere, you see, he cannot die, not yet. There is still too many who depend on him, who he must care for." The old snake assured the princess. "His magic is old and ancient, but he is bound to this earth until he has finished what he is set out to do. Believe him, tiny princess, he has no use for lies."

Leere placed a finger to his mouth to silence his lips. "I never said you are a liar. Just... if you are as old as you say you are, than you have the wisdom to know I'm right. But maybe you are correct, however, I’m still not at ease. Promise me. Promise that we are done with the magic bounded to me."

"Bonegrinder would not lead you astray, Leere, the magic that had evil latch onto you is no more." He held up his hand, using his own magic for emphasis. It was an odd sphere of purple and white, swirling and crackling. The magic formed into a shape of Leere and how evil used to be drawn to her. However, now, it was no more, no longer trying to dig the hooks into her. "You are safe."

He didn’t agree to the promise. She suddenly felt a wave flow up her spine and into her head. 'No you aren't.' A simple powerful voice spoke in her mind. Leere's red eyes widened as she looked at him. She was still cursed. Either spiritually or mentally. She always would be. "I don't feel safe."

Rising off the bed, she looked for her clothing. "Can you show me around? Turn on some lights?"

"Poor girl, you are in the presence of an ancient monster and still do not feel safe. He does not know what else to do to assure you that you are all right." Bonegrinder used his magic to light some of the torches in his chamber. He then used his long tail to gather her clothes and offered them to her. "If you are cold, he can provide something warmer. In the catacombs, it is never warm."

"Just my clothes please. And your company is all I ask for really." Leere finished putting on her clothing that Bonegrinder offered. Cold. She felt cold. "I want to see this Hive you've created down here."

"Very well, tiny princess. Come, Bonegrinder will show you who all he cares for and who all depends on him."

Leere gave the twins a kiss in their sleep, and followed Bonegrinder back into the rest of the catacombs. Leere felt her heart burn like frostbite. Power stolen from the monsters having infested in her. "So would you describe yourself as a Kingpin Bonegrinder?"

"Bonegrinder formed this for the people who needed a place to call home, who needed somewhere to go when no one else would have them." The Anagari told Leere as he picked her up and placed her on his back while he slithered. "Criminals were rampant and tried to harm some of the weak innocents. He sought to remedy that, and found himself in charge of the dangerous and the meek. Now, all live in harmony, knowing that his word is law. No one wants for anything, no one needs anything, all is provided, as long as all is obeyed. A tight ship, some may say, but as you can see," He gestured to the open areas of the catacombs, where children played freely and the elderly were cared for with a smile. There were stations full of food, places to mend clothing, a few areas for fresh bedding, and of course, the entrances to each Hive member's domain. "We take care of our own."

Leere got off Bonegrinder to view the living quarters up close. "Mother and Father wondered why the homeless population had naturally decreased with time... how do you manage all the supplies in such secrecy?"

"It is easy to manage with eyes and ears everywhere, when people want to keep a secret a secret." Bonegrinder told Leere as no one gave the monstrous Anagari a second glance. "All those who are able have a job to do, no one stays here for free. Even some of the elderly take turns sewing, serving, resting... the children go and learn under certain apprentices to have a better future. We ensure all are cared for, and everyone is happy to have what they need."

"Apprentices? What about school?" Leere felt she was almost hypocritical. As a kid and teenager herself, she didn't like it most of the time, but she excelled at her studies. Only sibling that really kept up to her, and even went above, was Ralnor. She was grateful for her education though.

"The old ones teach the young ones, and the young ones teach the old ones." Bonegrinder chuckled at Leere's questions. "If you wish to see the library we have on learning books, then you are more than welcome to do so."

"Library?"

"Library, bathing house, sleeping quarters, training ground, need Bonegrinder say more?" The Anagari listed the commodities the catacombs had. "With a little magic and engineering, we even have light."

"It's a shame you don't live in a castle instead. You almost sound like Dracula."

"Heheheh, Bonegrinder doesn't drain his victims of blood, that's White---HEY!" The Anagari felt several children climbing on his tail. "Off!"

"Ride, ride, ride!" The children chanted with giggles, not moving even when Bonegrinder shook his tail a little.

"Off, you little brats, Bonegrinder has work to do."

"Ride, ride, ride!"

"... fine. You get off when he gets to his chambers, understood?"

"Yay!!!"

Leere stared blankly at the kids, before she fully registered that a dozen little cubs had swarmed the giant snake man and forced him to allow them to ride him like a pony. It caused her to laugh rather unprofessionally.

"Hmph. Thinks Bonegrinder is like horse, just able to jump on him and ride to nowhere." The Anagari huffed under his breath, and then stopped at the entrance to his chambers. "Off! Go do your chores!"

"Aww, one more ride?"

"Bonegrinder said off, and he means off, the lot of you." He wriggled his tail up and down, the children still hanging on here and there. "Right now or no dessert tonight."

"Aww, okay!"

Once the children hopped off his tail, the Anagari slithered back into his quarters.

Leere passed one of the kids a chocolate bar from her secret pocket as he ran off. "You are quite the charmer Bonegrinder."

"Hrn... Bonegrinder has told those brats not to climb on him, he is not this so called 'playground' he keeps hearing about." The Anagari then deposited Leere on the soft pillows before slithering over to his shelf. He collected his pipe and some herbal leaves to smoke for a nice and calm demeanor. "Though they do not listen."

"Hey, you got an extra joint? I need something to calm my nerves."

"Then take this." Bonegrinder offered her his pipe. "Blue made it for this old snake."

Leere took a puff of the pipe, letting her lungs fill up before blowing out. "What's your purpose Bonegrinder? And why live in Hyrule?"

"He is seeking someone who he has yet to find." Bonegrinder balanced Leere on his coils. "Someone as old as him, but more so evil. His trail led him here. The Hive, however, was unexpected... but they needed him."

Leere nodded, her mind starting to slow down, yet stay focused on Bonegrinder. "Someone hurt you, didn't they."

"Hrm... that is a tale for another time, tiny princess." Bonegrinder did not want her to be upset over the past. There was nothing she could say or do to fix the sins of history. It was so long ago, memories he wished to forget. "You have many burdens on your mind. Bonegrinder is not going to add more to it."

Leere leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. In the darkness above her, she tried to imagine stars. "Why you call me tiny princess? Why do you call yourself in the third person Bonegrinder?"

"Because you are a tiny princess; delicate, porcelain, and sweet. Just like how princesses are in the old books." Bonegrinder spoke of how he saw Leere, not exactly of how she saw herself. "Bonegrinder is... Bonegrinder. No longer his old self, no longer someone who his old self would know. That one died with the past."

Leere looked back down at him, cracking an eyebrow up at him. "Excuse me? Ok, ok. How'd you describe Ralnor than?"

"... a pretty, bratty, gloomy prince."

"HA! But he's much more delicate than me!" Leere stood up, feeling a rant rise up in her. "I'm far from delicate. Or sweet. I carry myself properly because it gets you things from those who think they can manipulate you, when in turn you are pulling the strings all along. I have a PhD in Archaeology! People don't guess I'm a doctor when they look at me, but I am. It gives me clearance to go to any grave I want, and do what I want. Most don't understand what I do. I'm the hero that goes unspoken. Covarog thinks he's so great in saving the world. Gets a pretty wife on top of that. Fame and fortune. I get to live with nightmares and documentation that goes to a museum no one cares about."

"... so you assume no one cares about you, tiny princess?"

"Not the general public. And my family, they care, but they don't understand my pain. They can't comprehend... the things I've been through. So that's why, like Rinku, I leave for long periods of time." Leere took another hint of her pipe. "To be truthful Bonegrinder... what you are doing here, could be seen as dangerous. Gathering men, woman, and monsters of guilty nature. Yes, you control them, but like any rabid dog, they could get out of their cage at any time and bite out at the public."

"Maybe what you need to do, tiny princess, is find someone who you can share with, your pains, your truths, your fears, your nightmares... every part of you that you feel like you don't need to hide." Bonegrinder shook his head as Leere mentioned how dangerous his organization could be. "A rabid dog has no reason to bite the hand that feeds it, tiny princess... Bonegrinder has his ways."

"No. But it bites the kids who get too close to the fence." She leaned close, passing the pipe back. "Sheer-Khan doesn't like me. I've heard rumors that the orc wants to go to war. That's dangerous. And I have very distinct way of handling danger to this country and its people." Shaking her head, she sighed. "I'm just cautious. I'm sorry if I come across as rude, but if you see a threat to your family, to your well being and home, you take it out of the picture."

"Then, do you see this old snake as a threat to your family? Your home, tiny princess?"

"No. Not you. Not you individually." She looked around in the dark to hear if others were listening in. This drug was making her hyper aware of her surroundings. "I think if Ralnor saw you as a true threat he'd have asked me or Dad to do something about it. No. You are complicated, but you aren't evil."

"That's the thing, tiny princess, Ralnor does not realize that Bonegrinder means him no harm... he assumed that himself." Bonegrinder sighed as he shifted Leere slightly so he could reach and offer her more leaves for the pipe. "Though Bonegrinder saw an opportunity; one to keep the pretty prince's mouth shut and to keep a flow of information. However, you must not worry about the Lynel and the orc. Both are loyal to Bonegrinder, would not betray him."

"Good. Too be honest, they seem like total tight asses. And the orc screams 'bitch' energy."

"Heheheh, my loyal Lynel and orc are definitely uptight, but not assholes... most of the time." Bonegrinder patted Leere with the edge of his tail. "You must learn to trust others a little more, tiny princess. One day, you will meet your sunshine and be happy."

Leere took hold of his tail tip, and started to stroke it. The scales felt so warm in her hand. "This tiny princess is started to get annoyed, Boney. I wonder, is 'this' your 'happy bone'?"

"Annoyed? Perhaps he should call you porcelain doll instead?" Bonegrinder jested with a small grin, running a claw through her dark hair. "Ha! Far from it."

Leere gave a teasing purr as he put the claw through her hair. "I must be honest with you Bonegrinder. You make me more comfortable than any human man I know. Every time I've tried to open up, it has backfired in ways that leave me scarred. But you're different. Maybe a monster that’s bulletproof is the friend I need."

"Tiny porcelain doll... what you truly need is a sense of peace." Bonegrinder carefully chose his words. "Someone who doesn't run, who understands, who listens... someone who sees you for you. Bonegrinder will be a friend, a companion if you wish... but his heart has always belonged to another."

"Just call me Leere, seriously." She listened to his words, and felt the emptiness in her. "I never will. And I think I'll come to an understanding with that. Just... friends with benefits work for me. Something to numb the pain and have someone who understands."

"What if Bonegrinder told you that one day you will meet your sunshine, tiny Leere? Would you believe him? Or laugh at an old snake?"

"I doubt it." Leere scratched her head, shaking it once more. "I'm fine with living out my purpose as this world's dark silent protector until the day I die."

"Heheheh, you would be surprised, tiny Leere, at all Bonegrinder knows." He patted her back and then laid back on his pillows. "This old snake needs to rest, beautiful doll. Keep him company while he dreams?"

"What kind of company are you looking for?"

"Someone like you. Tiny, soft, and warm." Bonegrinder then took his pipe from her. "Careful, princess... that is addictive."

"So are you." She leaned beside the massive snake, two beings with complicated histories slithering up to each other. "You never answered my question on what types of friends you wanted to be."

"You said friends with benefits are usually the only kind that works for you." Bonegrinder snickered, loving to tease the princess. "Unless he is going senile, that is what he understood. However, if you are interested in love making, that will have to wait until another time." The huge snake waved his hands and the lights in his chambers extinguished, leaving only the glow of his eyes. "It is now nighttime and time to rest."

"Agreed. And their are more benefits than just love making." Her eyes glowed too as she nestled close under his chin. "When we wake we explore the temple. Deal?"

"Very well, porcelain doll." Bonegrinder closed his eyes and sighed softly. "One good thing about Anagaris, so he has been told... they are very good for keeping away nightmares."

"That's all I need right now."

~

Hades shook his head seeing the twins sleeping in their bed. He pointed them out to Sterling Silver with contempt. "Look at how she drained them. The witch is a danger."

"Hrm, I wouldn't complain if she wanted to drain me, she's a looker." Silver then snorted when Hades gave him a glare. "Look, I'm sure the twins know what they're doing. Not to mention, the girl is the size of a twig, we could easily snap her in half before she even tried anything... if she did want to try anything."

"Follow me." He took Silver to the battle that had taken earlier in the catacombs. The plasma burns still sizzled, their noses taking in a toxic smell. The Lyenl pointed to a pentagram that stained the concrete floor. It reeked of brimstone. "That was a gateway to hell. A powerful one that I can still feel the effects of. Wizards and Witches have always held advantage over most worries. She's a necromancer and a blood magic user. She is a threat Silver. Open your eyes."

"All right, all right, I believe you. Though what makes you think that Bonegrinder can't control her?" Silver shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, for fuck's sake, he's even got Red under his control, and Red is from hell."

"Because he's a demon. She is human. But worse, I believe she carries something not of hell in her."

"You know that unless we present solid proof, Bonegrinder will tan our asses."

"Mortuus are not as tame as Hylians. They are crafty. I worry that his sanity clouds his judgement." The Lynel paced around the pentagram. "He allows all these worms to fester around him. First the Prince, and now the Princess."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Bonegrinder is our friend, our master, the one who took care of us... well, me. I'm not about to go and do something behind his back." Silver knew better than what Hades was hinting. "If you want to do something to the Prince or the Princess, you are on your own. Bonegrinder has never led us astray."

"No... but his mind is becoming weary. I worry that he will snap before he can complete his destiny. And I won't let others poison his mind more than it has been by time already."

"All right, I'll admit Bonegrinder is a little off his rocker sometimes, but if he's as old as the rumors say he is, he's got some leeway to be a bit weird." Silver then asked. "Besides, what if he's doing this for a reason? You and I both know damn well that he has visions of the future."

"I can only hope he chooses right. And god forbid he doesn't lay with her like the Twins have."

"I doubt that will happen, Bonegrinder has... certain tastes." Silver tried not to make a face. "We will keep a close eye on her, and if we suspect any ill intent, we'll act. Agreed?"

"Agreed. Now go due your duties Silver. And wake the twins so they get to work. I have an appointment of my own to attend to."

"Very well, but remember; we do nothing unless she threatens him."

"I don't repeat myself twice. And I don't forget."

"You better not, pussycat, you're almost as old as he is."

"... You want to join the same position White and Blue are in?" He turned to the orc menacingly.

"Pffft, we all know that White and Blue would do any position for you, pussycat." Silver snickered. "Go do your chores, I'll go do mine."

Hades growled, thinking about tearing the orc a new one. He staved off those thoughts though. First, he had to take care of the mess in this room. He could make Silver beg later after all.

[moralityblurred]

from dusk til dawn s1 starters

send a number 1-120 or ‘🐍’ for a random starter, or send a sentence below the cut

“Sometimes you just get up, and you just know it’s gonna be one of them days. Open your eyes and you look and nothing but bad road.”

“Seeing how I’m stuck between no place and nowhere, the only folks come in here are the a strange ones.“

“You add it up, you see how you’re spending your life from sunup to sundown, and you make the most of that time. ‘Cause it fleets.”

“You think that I can’t get us out of this situation, like I’m some kind of amateur. I brought you into the profession.“

“It’s just you and me now. We are it, all right? And, hey, brother that is a beautiful thing.”

“You shouldn’t call people stuff! You know?! It’s rude!”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you looking to redecorate this place - in shades of red?”

“Let me ask you a question, huh? You got a wife and kids, people that love you that are gonna hate seeing you all stitched together like a sock puppet in the local morgue? Then why don’t you put that weapon down and come on out from behind there, hero? 'Cause us, we ain’t got nothing to lose.”

“I don’t care if he’s banging the first lady, okay? Get him on the line!”

“She’s not a secretary, and she hates to be called that.”

“Trust him because he sees things you don’t.”

“Now, you’re not gonna make me count to 3, are ya? 'Cause I can’t count that high.”

“I didn’t get shot so these sons of bitches could ride off into the sunset.”

“The only mistake that I’ve made is stopping my train of thought to listen to this bullshit.”

“I’ll see you on the other side, cabrón.”

“Even if you have to follow them to the gates of hell, you kill them for me.”

“You had five years to improve yourself, and you played dominos. Is that why I risked my ass to bust you out of that prison transfer?”

“If it had been you in there, you would have got shivved on your first day on account of your piss-poor people skills.”

“I don’t need people skills. I’m a prodigy.“

“Do not dismiss the importance of becoming self-sufficient. Look at the world around you, brother. It’s coming apart.”

“And the man who cannot build his own shelter or gut his own food is just courting disaster.”

“Well, I’m about to apply my fist to your goddamn face, okay?“

“Just because I live in the woods doesn’t mean that I can’t plan a job anymore.”

“Here’s to getting rich and fat. And dying in the arms of a beautiful woman.”

“You’re like a classic Freudian test case, you know that?“

“The border’s still an hour and a half away. By the time we get there, it’ll be swarming with badges.”

“You know, whenever I heard stories in the clink about you losing your edge, living out in the woods like grizzly Adams, I never really believed them.“

“Something’s coming. Something bad, and you and the rest are just a bunch of sheep sleepwalking to the slaughter.”

“Look, I know you like to grieve like you’re alone on an island sometimes, but you’re not.”

“Something happened in that bank, something that got you killing, and you haven’t stopped since.“

“Souls are like… popsicles. Some are sweet, some are bitter, some are strong, and some are weak. There’s a whole rainbow of kinds. Might as well come in a variety pack.”

“We’ll stop. All right? We’ll stop, we’ll, uh, we’ll ditch the car, we’ll get rid of the teller. And whatever’s going on with you… We’ll fix it. Okay?“

“You touch her, I will personally make sure you spend so much time in the hole, your own brother won’t recognize you when you get out.”

“The world never gave you anything. All the world ever did was take.“

“But right now, I need you to trust in the pagan power of technology and please look up that border crossing.”

“This is an ancient weapon used in ritual sacrifice. It’s been written about. Never seen. This should not exist.“

“Well, the eye-in-hand motif appears in codices going back 3,000 years. Represents the two most important gifts a God can bequeath on a man… The ability to see and the ability to take action.”

“You know, I’m not just some dipshit triggerman who screams at bank tellers to open their drawers. I am a scientist, a master tactician. I am a lock artist.“

“Did you forget that I cased that bank for three weeks? That I knew every teller’s schedule upside down, inside out? That I knew that they would be stocking that ATM when you pushed your way in?”

“You’re playing some kind of game with me. You’re trying to play a trick on me. You think that I can’t hear your voice inside me head?!”

“Yeah, I’d say this, uh, little adventure you’re on might be cut a whole hell of a lot shorter than you think.“

“She was consumed and transformed and became a mistress of the night, a harbinger of the next realm.”

“I hear things inside my head, and sometimes she talks to me!“

“This is not who we are. This is not who you are.”

“ This is all gonna be a memory when we get to El Rey. It’s gonna be blue agave… Sunshine, and beaches. Just you and me, buddy. It’s you and me.“

“For so many of us, the journey is one of solitude. We tell ourselves we must walk this arduous road alone. Face whatever comes, no matter how terrible.”

“You see, our eyes are the source of our energy. You can always feel somebody’s eyes on you, but what you’re actually feeling is their energy directed right at you. Now, what happens if you close your eyes? You cut off your energy. If you can just shut down, not only will people not see you, but they’ll see through you.“

“My daddy says a lot of things.”

“It was like you were bleeding, like you were hurting inside.”

“ Everyone should have their hero switch in the ‘off’ position. I make the plan. Everybody executes it, or I execute you. Simple as ‘Sesame Street.’"

“I’ve tuned in to something. And it is showing me the way.“

“You’re part of the last line of defense between chaos and order.”

“We’re gonna survive this 'cause we’re a family.“

“You got nothing to say, huh? That’s funny. I could have sworn you gave me an "f. u.” look.“

“My mistake. Maybe it wasn’t an "f. u.” look. Maybe it was an “I’m gonna make a move” look.“

“You see, you point at what you want to die. You pull the little trigger. Little bullet comes out here. Little bullet hits you right there. Then you don’t look like Bruce Lee anymore.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of not talking.“

“I’m a professional thief, not a killer.”

“That is the third time you’ve disobeyed my direct orders, and nearly got two more men killed for it.“

“Maybe… I’m hoping we hit 17 potholes. So I can empty this entire mag in that smartass mug of yours.”

“Look, I don’t want to have to do this, but I’m gonna have to kill 'em, okay? It’s the only way.“

“Okay, for a while now, I’ve been getting these… signals, I guess you could call them.”

“Guys like that, need to be reminded that power shifts. And as soon as I get the chance, I’m gonna shift it right up that whack job’s ass.“

“You know, a life of looking over his shoulder – isn’t gonna bring him any peace.”

“You take that gun off my brother before the ounce of forgiveness that I have on reserve goes away…“

“Now, I know that you thought you could. I do. But that was before you had your finger on the trigger, wasn’t it? You see, now that you do, you’re worried about the consequences, whereas I am not. That’s why your hand’s shaking and mine’s steady as a rock.”

“Look, if I don’t kill everybody in here, we are never gonna make it.“

“Well, maybe that’s what the voices are telling you, but they’re not calling the shots right now, okay?”

“You three stay out here with the devil’s rejects, have your own little altamont.”

“You do not close a deal behind enemy lines, [name]. You do it on neutral ground.“

“And you think you’re better than me? You too good to have a drink with a common thief?”

“Now, like it or not, we are a family… A broken, messed up, sad excuse for a family.“

“We ain’t got to shoot anybody in the back to make a statement.”

“You just sat down to the table. It’s a little early to fold your hand.“

“You kept saying somebody was calling you here, right? What did you mean by that?”

“Rinche, you’re early to the party, and I don’t remember seeing your name on the list.“

“Obsidian. So much more than steel. It’s a dark mirror. It showed you things, didn’t it?”

“I want you to see this place for what it really is. I want you to feel what I’m feeling.“

“I’m your goddamn brother, and you treat me like I’m the ugly stepkid in the attic.”

“Let me ask you this. Is this really where we belong?“

“No. I’ve seen them in a vision, but I have no clue what these things are.”

“Turns out, you’ve been a part of this club before I even knew it existed.“

“We’re standing on sacred ground.”

“I could feel her inside my head, and she was pulling me close. And, yeah, I think it was to this place.“

“You need a PhD to figure that out?”

“You’re one rude little bastard.”

“35. You did the last one without me, big papa, and it got you tossed in the can.“

“You’re so up your own ass right now.”

“Trick is to find the light again, share it with those you love before it’s too late for all of us.“

“Do you honestly think that I would be here if I was gonna bail on you?”

“So that’s what she taught you to do with your little knife. Back-stab.”

“I’m getting real sick of you calling me a traitor.”

“I wanted to show you who I was on my own terms.“

“You’re stronger now. I’ve drawn that out of you… steel sharpening steel.”

“That was a cruel and ugly thing to do to an innocent girl.“

“These stories are just ancient history to most people. But I always believed the power they spoke of was true.”

“Now, I can do ‘Temple of Doom’, man, but ‘Crystal Skull’, I’m out.“

“There’s nothing but death and misery that way.”

“Time’s like a ribbon… Finds a way of knotting itself into a bow.“

“You’ll be an immortal among mortals, a king among men. You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. All you have to do is ask.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this story before… young girl plays lost and afraid, hooks a guy, and he falls in love with her. He’ll do anything to protect her. Next thing he knows, he’s lying face down in a swimming pool, reading his own narration.“

“You’ll become more than you ever were… Beyond fire and water… Beyond light and dark… Beyond dusk and dawn.”

“Sorry, brother. Things are about to get a little weird.“

“Whoever has the purity of mind to withstand the trials will be deemed worthy.”

“You made it personal, and that’s why you blew it.“

“You don’t believe he can be saved, do you?”

“We were gonna keep you around for inside information, but there’s been a change in plans. You’re going to serve a higher purpose.“

“You have no idea what I live with day in, day out.”

“Sooner or later, we all dance with the reaper.“

“I think our trickster brothers are trying to pull a fast one.”

“The serpent is filled with her blood. She’s inside me now, [name].”

“I don’t know who you are anymore. I don’t know what you are.“

“[name], something evil and vicious has taken hold of you.”

“When you bite someone, it’s like… it’s like you can feel their life run right through you.“

“I could never hate you as much as you hate yourself.”

“How can I imprison someone when I’ve been in chains my whole life?“

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to change their fate?”

“You know, it’s funny this whole thing kind of reminds me of this job that we pulled about seven years ago in Cheyenne. Yeah, it didn’t just go sideways. It went three ways. We pulled it off, though, didn’t we, brother? You remember Cheyenne, don’t you?“

“You taste like sh1t, by the way.”

“You ever find that beach and blue agave, you let me know. Maybe I’ll come join you.“