#the outlines alone were tragic

[eiswolfzero]

'meet cute' for YOTP 2023 Prompt List August

Wally's just helping a friend out and Bruce is in Central for some business.

Bruce is absolutely gonna know every little detail about Wally the moment he's done with his meetings.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

[kyriearashi-blog]

Why making Aziraphale and Crowley mortal would be more cruel than ending their story with S2

Ever since Michael Sheen replied to a tweet regarding them turning mortal, I’ve seen an uptick in people talking about the theory that that is how their story ends. Perhaps it’s because I just had a death in the family, but the idea of it made me horribly emotional. I managed to outline the reasons why, and wanted to share my thoughts.

1. It undermines Crowley not wanting to become an angel for Aziraphale

It was a huge character growth moment for Crowley, who has been treating Aziraphale gently their entire lives on Earth, to refuse to become an angel to stay with him. To go from refusing to change for him, to changing to a mortal so they can be together, negates this powerful decision. It also feeds into Aziraphale’s idea that they can’t be together as an angel and a demon, which means it would negate any character growth he needs to go through to be able to earn Crowley’s love.

2. Gabriel and Beelzebub were able to be together as an angel and a demon

While Gabriel was willing to change to be with Beelzebub in Hell, at the end they didn’t need to. They could go off together as they were. Why do our heroes, who have experienced so much, need to be humans to be together?

3. They would never be able to go to Alpha Centauri together

While they could technically go before changing, it wouldn’t have the same impact, knowing they could never go again. They met in the stars that Crowley made. To say they can never see them as anything other than fancy wallpaper, for the rest of their mortal lives, simply hurts.

4. They would barely have time together

If they became mortal as we know them, they would have maybe 30 years together. In which time, one would have to watch the other whither and die and be left alone. Then what happens? Do they return to Heaven and Hell? Are they simply dead and gone? Are they reincarnated and meet each other over and over for eternity?

While the latter may seem romantic, it’s simply just as tragic as the other options. They wouldn’t be them. They wouldn’t know the depth of their love, and their story would still end in death, every time. It would be Romeo and Juliet: a tragic and painful romance, that always ends in tragedy and pain.

5. Aziraphale would lose a part of Crowley he loves

Perhaps this isn’t such a big deal, but Aziraphale loves Crowley’s eyes. The color, the expressiveness… he constantly loses himself in them. Obviously, these would be gone, should they become mortal. This may seem like a positive, since Crowley would no longer have to hide behind his sunglasses, but it is yet again a case of changing who he is to be with Aziraphale.

Everyone is entitled to their opinions, of course, but I had to get these thoughts out of my mind, which is already dealing with mourning family. If season 3 aired today, and ended with them being mortal, I don’t think I could handle it. Mortality is too tragic to be thrust upon these beautiful characters.

[jedi-enthusiast]

I've seen a lot of posts on my feed lately that have, in some way shape or form, said "the story of the Jedi is tragic cause the Jedi caused their own genocide" followed by a list of just...stuff that's either untrue or the other option would've been worse in that game of roulette that Palpatine set up specifically to force the Jedi to make questionable decisions and wear them down with the weight of them. (Untagged posts btw, if you're gonna post shit along these lines please for the love of fuck tag it "Jedi critical," there are tags for a reason)

So I'm here to outline why that's complete and utter bullshit in one easy, simple to understand, post! No matter what the Jedi did, or what you think they did, they did not cause their own genocide. The fault of their genocide is solely on those who chose to commit said genocide of their people and culture.

Ignoring the fact that Palpatine's entire plan, the whole point of everything that we see in the Prequels, was to kill off all of the Jedi and erase their culture--so he was gonna figure out some way to do it, with or without Anakin/the clones/Dooku/etc.

You cannot make someone commit genocide against you.

That is the stupidest argument ever.

Committing genocide is a choice, one that you actively have to make over and over again--which we see Anakin do, even long after all (or all except a measly few survivors, most of which were literal children in the Prequel-era and couldn't have possibly done anything to piss Anakin off) of the Prequel-era Jedi--aka the ones that people say "brought this on themselves"--were dead!

The Jedi Order as a whole could've been the shittiest, most repressed group of arrogant assholes the galaxy had ever seen. They could've called Anakin a whiny bitch to his face and told him that Dooku should've gone for his head instead of his arm. They could've danced on his mother's grave and had tea parties with the Tuskens.

And guess what?

They still could not have made Anakin and Palpatine commit genocide against them. It was their choice, and their choice alone.

The only people that had no choice in committing that genocide were the clones and guess who took that choice away from them? Because it certainly wasn't the fucking Jedi!

Which is hilarious because most of these posts I've seen have said something along the lines of "the Jedi used the clones as slaves," ignoring the fact that--even if that were true (and it's not)--Anakin and Palpatine used them as slaves too!

And it was so much worse when they did it because, not only were they not given a choice, they were fucking mind-controlled in order to commit genocide against their will! So they didn't even get the choice to refuse and face the consequences of that--which is an option for them during the Clone Wars, albeit a shitty one.

So no, the Jedi did not bring anything upon themselves.

Start holding Anakin responsible for his own shitty decisions, and start tagging your damn anti-Jedi and Jedi critical posts properly!

[mraprilfools]

Part 1

HELLO AGAIN DEAR SINNERS! IT SEEMS THAT WE HAVE MANY PRETTY LITTLE WALLFLOWERS NESTLING AGAINST THE WALLS FOR MY TRIUMPHANT DEBUT! TRAGIC, BUT I WOULD NEVER FORCE A LADY TO GO PAST HER COMFORT ZONE! REJOICE, FOR I HAVE ROBBED YOU OF COMPLETE FREE WILL! AHAHAHAHA

A POLL HAS NOW BEEN ADDED. BUT THE BRAVE AMONG YOU DO SPEAK, I DO SO LOVE THE BOLD.

@ladyadrasteia666 & @boldlyenchantingfox22 ARE OUR ONLY BRAVE SOULS TODAY AND THUS THEY ARE OUR DIRECTORS FOR TODAYS SHOW! ENJOY

“So many questions!” The radio-laden voice chirped.

All the support that once held you evaporated into a fine mist, forcing you to stumble for your footing. The haunting laughter of your captor echoed around you. He never went far, though his back was to you now facing the singular source of right in this strange place. A large blood-red moon casts a stretching shadow, swallowing your very own.

“Of course, you have a choice to make the only choice you have left!” Alastor proclaimed, finally turning to meet you. The microphone pulled into his chest, hands twisting around the rod as delight stretched that golden crescent. “You asked to be here, but I doubt you remember. Haha! All who enter the show fill a new role and everything they were becomes unnecessary! But it’s nearly time for you to reclaim what you surrendered!”

A mystery wrapped in an enigma, the fuzzy earned denizen typically wouldn’t answer any of your questions with anything but another riddle. And he thrived in it. “And of course, everything happens because it is necessary my dear. You can stay here forever, feeding on the scraps I throw down here. But Hell would be missing its dear leading Lady. How...”

Alastor leaned back, microphone pressed so close to his lips that he could all but taste it. “Tragic! BUT if you want to try and escape on your own I won’t stop you! Why, that sounds ALMOST as entertaining. So how about it my dear, will our dear angel be a Martyr or Leading man?!”

Angry red cracks sundered the concrete between the two of you. The scattered pebbles rumbled and danced as thick wicked magic made the very air buzz and rush up with heat. The frayed ends of the deal maker’s coat fluttered upward in wild patterns, the fierce red eyes fixated on the summoning. The ground beneath swallowed between the etched chalk outlines rising to summon with it an angel wrapped in green glowing chains.

Once those large proud wings would have been pristine, now they were frayed at the edges and ashen dipped in the filth of hell. A man at first glance, but with the mop of golden hair that covered his body and face it was hard to tell. His arms were bound behind him, fingers twisted into a fist. Beneath the curtain of golden matted hair, you could spy a third golden eye to accompany his blue and red.

“An angel guilty of the crime of questioning his superior! Heaven can be even less merciful than I! Even I allow my darling pawns to have the gift of being disobedient. In their heads anyway.” More laughter spilled from Alastor’s shoulder, shaking with mirth. The microphone was cast into the ether as the gentleman spun and took his bow. What happened next, this part of the journey would be taken by you alone.

With a lump in your throat, you stepped forward to meet the bound angel. Fury and hatred burned in each eye, the gag that kept him silent was soaked in saliva and blood. He attempted to throw himself at you, but the harsh green chains had embedded into his flesh, tearing fresh wounds that oozed golden blood. Tears crested in the corners of his eyes, gasp muffled by the saliva-stained cloth.

He was powerless to do anything to you.

Even if he wasn’t bound, you had a sneaking suspicion there would be nothing he could do. The years spent in the show surviving against all the powerful Overlords that been tossed into this purgatory had made you stronger. Even Alastor only held any semblance of control because this was his realm.

You had a choice before you:

You could sunder the chains that bound the angel and search for a way out of the show without Alastor’s help.

You could remove the gag and question the Angel before you make your decision.

Finally, you have come this far! Why hesitate at the last leg of the journey when freedom was right there? Slaughter him without giving him a single word and absorb his power too.

Part 3

[zablife]

Tachipen (Part 5)

Summary: With the flip of a coin, Tommy makes a deal to bring a young gypsy girl into the Shelby clan. Considering her too young to marry, he takes pity on her and employs her as a nanny for John’s children instead. The arrangement soon sours when Tommy believes his horse has been cursed and demands her help stealing from the Lees. When she seeks solace in John’s company, an innocent romance blossoms, but a war with the Lees and Polly’s poorly-timed advice drive them apart in a way that will change their history forever. As the scenes from the present reveal, Y/n must watch the Shelby men go on to love others while she is shut out. However, the events of one tragic afternoon could change everything.

Author’s Note: After a 5 month hiatus, this story is back! I'll be updating more regularly now that I've outlined more of the fic. The story is told through flashbacks, but I will note the year. Tommy meets y/n in 1919 and the story goes thru present time which is the year of the vendetta, 1925. 

Warnings: language, ethnic slur, implied smut, mention of pregnancy, mention of arranged marriage

Part 4

1924

The frosted glass shook as Polly forcefully closed John’s office door, her eyes darting from you to her nephew. “What is this I hear about the two of you sniping at one another like bloody children?”

You and John both started speaking at once and Polly shouted over you to assert authority. “That’s enough! John, perhaps you could explain why you’re even in the office today?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Y/n is perfectly capable of supervising the other girls.”

John opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock, giving the appearance of a fish out of water before you interjected. “He’s been hovering over me for weeks, Pol. Won’t let me finish one fucking job without trying to find a mistake!”

John pointed a finger in your direction as he retorted, “If she could keep her mind on her work instead of her love life for a change--”

“Would you stop?!" you screamed, interrupting him mid-sentence. You felt the emotion welling in your chest and did your best to keep from crying. Running a shaky hand through your hair, you took a deep breath to regain control before continuing your plea to Polly. "I did as I was told. I broke up with Angel and I apologized…” you stopped before you broke down, then continued with the part that stung most, “for the inconvenience.” Those had been the words Arthur insisted you use. He’d probably consulted Linda about it at the first sign of trouble, you thought bitterly. 

Polly softened at your show of emotion, reaching across the table for your hand. “Alright, I think I understand. John, would you leave us, please?” John nodded with clenched jaw, pushing out of his chair with more force than necessary. He looked back at you as he crossed to the door and you swore you saw a brief shadow of remorse cross his handsome features though you couldn’t be sure with the lingering tension between you.

When you were finally alone, Polly began, “Y/n, I’m sorry about this. I know you’re upset about the Changretta boy and I don’t blame you, but what’s done is done. And you must understand that John is under a lot of stress at home. I’m not sure if you know this, but there's another little one on the way,” she said hesitantly.

“Again?” you nearly shrieked. It was the third time in the nearly four years he'd been married. 

Polly nodded slowly. “You see why he’s so on edge lately?”

You swallowed thickly, thinking of how chaotic the household must be with six children, soon to be seven. Although you attempted a shred of compassion for his new wife, you couldn’t manage it. “Yes, I understand,” you said in a quiet monotone. “He has a lot of people depending on him.” It was what Polly wanted to hear so you spoke the words, turning your head away so she couldn’t read your expression.

“Exactly. I know it doesn’t excuse his behavior here, but we all have to learn to get along,” she advised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before leaving you alone in the room. A bitter laugh escaped your throat at the thought of any of you living peacefully after all you’d inflicted upon one another. 

—————————————————-

1919

As the first rays of dawn broke, you sat up in bed, face aching from the bruise across your cheek and your mind reeling from the events of the previous day. If Tommy hadn’t trusted you before, there was no hope for you now with so much cash missing from the betting shop, especially when he learned the Lees were to blame. How could he not think you were involved?

Panic setting into your bones, you decided to make a hasty retreat from Polly’s house while you still could. Despite the throbbing in your wrist, you slipped your dress over your head and silently turned the bedroom doorknob, giving the hallway a quick glance for occupants. With no signs of activity, you slipped quietly down the steps and right to the front door, knowing this would be the most difficult part of your escape. The rusty hinges creaked loudly and you cringed at the noise, well aware of how it carried throughout the house. Rightfully so as Tommy’s voice beckoned to you at the sound. “Where are you off to so early?” his husky voice called out.

You spun around to face him, heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his wrath to rain down upon you. You calculated the distance to the street, wondering if you might still be able to outrun him, when he suddenly closed the distance between you, shutting the door with a gentle push. 

As he stared into your eyes, he spoke again in a much softer voice. “I misjudged you."

You held your breath realizing how close he stood, the heat radiating off his body into yours. Transfixed by the intensity of his bright, blue eyes, you couldn’t help but stare back at him. The anxious flutter you felt in your stomach intensified as you waited to hear what he thought he knew about you.

“What you did for Ada last night was…” he looked away for a moment as he tried to find the words to express the gratitude he felt upon hearing of Ada’s difficult labor and delivery. “Well, my sister and nephew are alive because of you. You could have gone with the Lees, but you stayed here,” he said, emphasizing the last part. You realized he was recognizing the loyalty in your decision, though for you it had been a matter of common decency.

“Thank you,” he added hesitantly and you could tell from the way he said it, he didn’t make a habit of ingratiating himself to others.

“I only did what I thought was right,” you said, averting your eyes to the floorboards.

One look at your tense posture and Tommy took a step back to give you air. He gestured toward the table as he asked, “Will you sit with me?” You nodded slowly, crossing to join him at the kitchen table. Tommy took a seat and lit a cigarette, leaning back and tilting his head as he searched the ceiling through the rings of smoke. Then the words tumbled forth, breaking the awkward silence unexpectedly. 

“About that night in the stable… I brought you here to look after my family and I had to know I could trust you. Charlie thought you might have put a spell on the horse and for a moment I believed him.” Sitting up and looking you in the eye he added, “But when I asked you for the truth, I could tell by your reaction that it wasn’t your doing.”

Your eyes grew wide at his confession. You hadn’t expected him to speak of it ever again and the thought of him bringing it up now made you shudder. With a dismissive air and bitter tone you pushed it away saying, “M used to it. No one trusts gypsies.” You hugged your arms around your body to still your trembling limbs, hoping Tommy would’t recognize weakness in you.  

“It’s not right though,” he said looking you in the eye. “I should never have…”

“No, you shouldn’t, you bastard” you interjected, jaw firmly set at the mention of his cruel treatment. 

Tommy sucked his teeth as he flicked ash into a mug, giving your jab a moment to wash over him before responding. “I suppose I deserve that, but I want to make amends. Can we start fresh?” Tommy asked, blue eyes searching yours intently.

“Yes, I think so,” you agreed reluctantly, unsure how this turn of events had happened.

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Because I’d like to invite you to have a seat at the next family meeting.”

Your head was still swimming with Tommy’s apology so you weren’t quite sure you heard correctly. “What? When?” you sputtered.

“Today, we have to go on the offensive now that the Lees have struck a blow and you’re our best hope of understanding their way of thinking,” Tommy explained. 

You touched the bruise on the right side of your face that was turning to a dark shade of purple, thinking of how your sister was one of them by now. What would your scheming do to her, you wondered?

While you were lost in thought, Tommy leaned forward to examine your swollen wrist and you cried out at his touch. He lifted your hand and moved it carefully to see if there were any broken bones, a skill he’d learned during the war while attending to his men. Nodding thoughtfully he replied, “You’ve got a sprain. You should let me wrap it.” 

“Alright,” you agreed, watching as Tommy fetched a bandage and efficiently went about his work, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lower lip. His touch was surprisingly gentle and your mind wandered to the times you’d watched him with the horses. You recalled how they’d responded to him without the use of a whip, only the sound of his voice over the noise of the scrap metal yard. You couldn’t deny that there was something about his presence in this moment that you found calming.

The roughness of his voice cut the silence as he spoke for the first time since he began tending to you. “I’ll be off to John’s now,” he said with a nod as he stamped out his smoke and before you could ask anything more he was gone, leaving you in quiet contemplation of your new role within the family and everything you thought you knew about Tommy.

————————————-

“Open up!” A voice bellowed out before John’s front door swung open, footsteps falling hard and fast on the stairs leading to the bedroom.

John sat up quickly, pulling the duvet over his naked body before reaching for his revolver on the nightstand. Tommy burst in with John cursing, “Fuck, Tommy! When will you learn to knock?” 

“When will you learn to lock your bloody door? The Lees could still be in town for all we know,” Tommy scolded.

As the brothers argued, the woman beside John began to stir at the sound of their shouting. As she rolled over to face John, Tommy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he caught sight of the woman’s familiar dark curls. John covered her quickly though he knew Tommy had already spied his secretary.

John tossed his gun onto the bedside table as he waved his brother off. “Alright, that’s enough! Get out!”

“Fine, but get dressed quickly. There’s business to discuss,” Tommy said, turning to leave. Then hesitating for a moment he called over his shoulder, “Lizzie, I want you at work by nine!”

She inhaled a sharp breath beneath the covers, embarrassed at being caught in bed with the boss’s younger brother. She’d gone to the Garrison to celebrate the new baby with everyone else from the office, but it was Tommy she’d been after. John just happened to be the brother who stumbled into the snug first.

After donning her dress and shoes, Lizzie leaned over with a warm smile and gave John a tender goodbye kiss. His head pounding from the hangover, he gave her only a sliver of affection in return, the reality of what he’d done hitting him full force. When he closed his eyes the only person he could see was you.

“I’ll be going, but I’d like to do this again. You never call me anymore,” she said biting her lip. Pulling back to study him she noticed John’s baby blue eyes didn’t dance with light as they had the night before.

“Listen, Lizzie…” he began, but Tommy interrupted, calling to him from downstairs. “We’ll talk later, yeah?” he said and she nodded cheerfully before pulling on her heels and clicking down the hall.

By the time John joined Tommy in the kitchen, Tommy was pacing like a wild animal. “Where the fuck were you yesterday, eh?” he asked, pointing a finger at his brother. 

John rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head slightly. He couldn’t think clearly. What had happened? Before he had time to reply, Tommy was stalking toward him angrily. “The betting shop was robbed by the Lees. Y/n and Ada could have been killed because you left your post, John!”

“Oh, fuck off, Tommy!” John replied. “This is not my fault! How was I meant to do collections for Arthur and run the shop? Scudboat was there anyhow,” he asserted, pulling his suspenders up with an annoyed roll of his neck.

“Except he wasn’t. He went to Charlie’s yard for the arrival of the new shipment which is why you were supposed to have been back by four!” Tommy said, slamming the kitchen table with his palm for emphasis. Running a hand through his hair he shook his head muttering, “You never fucking listen.”

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, another vision of you suddenly dancing across his eyelids. He’d noticed a deep red mark on your cheek and how you winced when Ada put too much pressure on your hand, but you’d both been so consumed with Ada’s labor. You’d been steadfast delivering the baby, but that was how you were when you were scared, carrying on despite the fear. John’s head shot up as he asked, “Y/n? How is she?”

Tommy let out a heavy sigh as he realized he was finally getting through to his brother, plopping down in a chair he replied, “She has some bruises and a sprained wrist. She was lucky this time, brother, but the danger will increase. The Lees know she gave us information about their operation. They took their money, but now they want blood,” Tommy said ominously. 

John nodded in understanding. He wouldn’t let his concentration lapse again. You were too important and he was determined to do everything in his power to protect you this time. He only needed to bring you home.

———————————————-

The family assembled in the betting shop without noticing you hovering in the corner, feeling woefully out of place. Polly and Arthur were already seated, talking quietly as Polly smoked her clove cigarettes. Lizzie sat with pencil and paper in hand to take notes if necessary, but she didn’t appear nearly as concerned as the others. In fact, she was positively radiant, as though she couldn't stop smiling. You wondered what she had to be so cheerful about, when Isaiah appeared in the doorway, remarking to her, “Looks as though someone had a good night.”

“You know, John,” Lizzie replied with a giggle. Your heart stopped as you watched her bite her lip seductively, wondering what she meant by that. 

Moving to the kitchen to help yourself to a cup of tea, Isaiah sauntered in behind you, clearing his throat to announce his presence. “Why didn’t you come to the Garrison last night?” he asked, leaning against the cupboards with a casual charm he directed at most ladies.

“I was tired. Delivering a baby will do that,” you replied with a smile.

“Of course. John said you were brilliant,” Isaiah complimented you as he removed his cap and smoothed his hair.

“Isaiah, was Lizzie with you and John last night?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

A wide grin spread across Isaiah’s face as he accepted the mug of tea you offered exclaiming, “Yeah, for a bit. Then they told me to piss off. I mean, you know how they are.”

“N-no, I don’t,” you stuttered, hands beginning to tremble around your cup.

“Those two can’t keep their hands off each other! It’s been that way since the war ended. John used to blind her other customers just so he could see her more often,” he said with a laugh. When Isaiah observed your blank expression he continued saying, “You know what Lizzie used to do, don’t you?” 

Shaking your head, you felt your stomach drop and your mouth go dry as he explained their arrangement. Apparently John had been paying her for sex for years. The words stabbed into you as you held yourself up against the cupboards, willing your face not to betray your tender heart in front of a blinder. 

But the terrible feeling of betrayal was overwhelming as you remembered Katie’s words about her father and his whores. You thought John had feelings for you, but clearly you’d been wrong. The pit in your stomach grew as you relived the kiss you shared the night before outside Polly’s house. He must have sensed your hesitation and gone back to someone more experienced and familiar. You felt another twist of the knife as you wondered if he ever wanted you. His brother had forced him to take you in after all and suddenly you felt terribly foolish. Worried your legs might give out at any moment, you excused yourself to take a seat at the table.

The pain only worsened as Lizzie turned to address you with an air of worldly sophistication. “Y/n, it was kind of you to leave John and me last night. One day you’ll see how important it is that a man and a woman have their privacy. I know John appreciates it,” she said with a wink and a knowing smile. As heat seeped into your cheeks with the overwhelming feeling of humiliation, it was almost more than you could bare. Did everyone know John saw you as a child who wasn’t worthy of his attention?

Soon Tommy and John arrived, taking their seats at the table and you found yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you tried to avoid John’s gaze.

As Tommy called the meeting to order you noticed all eyes on you, making you painfully aware that as a non blood relative nor a blinder, you shouldn’t be there. Tommy quickly put everyone’s fears to rest, making it known that he had asked you to be his adviser and no one dared go against Tommy. 

The meeting progressed quickly after that with John proposing an all out war against the Lees. He wanted to see them all cut to ribbons and you could tell by the dangerous gleam in his eye he was more than capable. Lizzie gave him a nod of approval from across the table and your blood boiled at the thought of them discussing strategy together, plotting and scheming as they lay tangled between the sheets. You were past the point of tears by now, coiling your hands into fists below the table.

While no one else came forward with a different thought right away, Arthur quickly agreed to John’s plan. Not one for ideas himself, he went along with the quickest method of handling enemies. 

However, Polly was next to speak and interjected reason before the men could become too blood hungry. “This all began because of greed, Thomas. If we propose to share our contacts with Erasmus and thus the earnings, it might convince them to stop trying to kill us.” You could see Polly favored peace above all else, but you knew Tommy would never settle for half his take. 

Then the idea came to you, born of resentment and retaliation, but an age old solution that would work nonetheless. You knew how to achieve peace if only you could convince your aunt and Tommy.

“There’s another way, but it requires discussion with an elder, my aunt, Zilpha,” you proposed, glancing up at Tommy.

“She’ll see me after everything that’s happened?” Tommy asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“No, but she’ll see me,” you promised him. You could see the wheels in his mind turning as he pondered what you might say to your aunt. If he truly trusted you, he would agree to let you speak on their behalf, however. 

With a small nod he agreed. “Alright, I’ll take you tomorrow,” Tommy said. “You’d better get some rest.” And with that, he left everyone in stunned silence, their fate in your hands.

As everyone filed out of the room, John remained, leaning on a desk. When you attempted to walk past, he stopped you, reaching out to capture your arm. “Y/n, wait,” he called out.

Your eyebrows shot up at his request, unsure why he hadn’t dashed out after Lizzie. It seemed her company was what he craved now so why was he here waiting for you? “What is it, John?” you asked, voice tinged with irritation. 

“I wanted to see how you are,” he said, looking you over with what appeared to be genuine concern. His opposite hand traced the bandage that covered your wrist, eyes trained on your injury as though he felt the pain concealed beneath it. 

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to break away, but John held you to him.

Reaching up to caress your bruised cheek he spoke earnestly, “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have been at the shop. If I had been, none of this would have happened.”

“Well you can’t change it now,” you replied, locking eyes with him, wanting to scream at him about Lizzie, but knowing it wouldn’t help.

“Let me at least try to make it up to you,” John pleaded, rubbing his thumb over your hand. “Come home,” he suggested in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him.

“Why?” you asked, snatching your hand away.

The biting tone had obviously hurt John, a wounded look crossing his face immediately as he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. “Because…because the children and I need you,” he reasoned, furrowing his brow. He’d never been good with words, but he hoped you would hear how much he cared for you with that simple phrase.

The words pricked the hairs at the back of your neck, confirming what you already suspected. There was no love there, only a life of convenience. Biting your cheek to keep from crying, you sucked in a quick breath before replying, “I’m sorry, John, but I’m needed elsewhere at the moment.” You turned on your heel and disappeared into the house.

—————————————-

You spent another night at Polly’s, too upset to return to John’s. When you closed the bedroom door before having your dinner, Tommy urged the others not to pry into the cause of  your sudden mood change. He explained there was a long drive ahead of you in the morning and reasoned you must be anxious at the thought of returning to a camp full of angry relatives.

As you drove to the Lee camp in comfortable silence, you were relieved that Tommy wasn’t the curious sort. However, you knew he deserved to hear what you intended on proposing to your aunt so you began explaining your plan for ushering in peace between the two families. While you expected him to question it a bit more, he only chain smoked as he kept his eyes trained on the road. When you’d finished, you swore you heard a low hum of approval emanate from his pursed lips, though you weren’t entirely sure from his stoic expression.

There was no time for doubt in any case as the car jerked to a halt. You exited your side cautiously, eyes scanning the horizon to find men with rifles stood at attention above you. “Slowly now,” Tommy advised as he stooped to gather a stick and dug into his pocket for a white handkerchief to tie at the top. As he walked up the dirt road toward the vardos circled on the ridge, he waved the makeshift flag. You allowed him to lead until he leaned toward you to whisper, “You’re sure you still want to do this? What of your future, eh?” It was the first he had mentioned you in any of the plans and you swallowed harshly at his insinuation that your fate mattered either way.

“Let me worry about that,” you replied stubbornly, marching ahead. Tommy wanted to laugh at your determination, but thought better of it considering the circumstances. He shook his head as he followed after you, admiration for your courage swelling in his throat. 

Zilpha greeted you with a wary expression upon your approach, face as dark and stormy as the clouds overhead threatening rain. Standing at the doorway of her vardo, she refused to descend until you had both been searched for weapons. Although you understood her hesitation, it stung to be treated as a traitor when you still held love for your family. 

When she was satisfied you weren’t there to harm her, she allowed you to ascend the steps and you breathed a sigh of relief when she extended a wrinkled hand to you, pulling you inside.

Despite having convinced her of your own good intentions, Tommy was made to wait outside. You could tell from her knitted brow, he would never gain her full approval and you knew you would have to work hard to sell his good points. 

After the preamble of commenting on your thin frame and offering up a hearty stew, Zilpha asked why you had come and you wasted no time with your appeal. 

“He’s a smart man, aunt. But he needs strong men,” you explained.

“For what?” she asked harshly, turning to face you with such force, her jewelry crashed together creating a tinny clinking that echoed out like a warning.

“Protection for his growing business. They get the winner in one of every three races before the race even starts. No need for chalks or rafflers. It’s a certainty,” you promised her, believing in Tommy’s operations so that she would have faith as well. 

“It sounds like this Shelby man’s got his hooks in ya,” she said, eyeing you suspiciously.

You bristled at her assumptions, holding your head high. “No Shelby has me, aunt. In fact, I have a unique proposal for you to end the war between you and them.”

“And what might that be?” she said, leaning forward elbows on her knees to hear you better.

“Rumors say Erasmus’s cousin Esme has been running wild. If I could promise a good husband for her, would you give Tommy soldiers? If you do, this alliance will make you a rich woman,” you promised.

Zilpha thought for a moment, recalling the trouble she’d had finding a suitable groom to take on the headstrong young woman.

“And what man do you suggest?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Tommy’s younger brother, John Shelby,” you said, hoping she didn’t notice the way your voice wavered as you said his name. She hadn’t, too preoccupied by your talk of fortune. Without hesitation, she extended a hand in agreement.  

As you both emerged, Tommy searched your face for a sign that the negotiations had been a success. You gave him a small nod and he turned to Zilpha. “He’ll do then?” Tommy asked.

“Bring him round in a fortnight and it will be done,” Zilpha proclaimed. 

The drive back to Small Heath was cloaked in thick silence as you looked out the passenger window. Exhaustion from the long day was beginning to take hold of you, but something wouldn’t let you give in to the need for rest. Although you hoped your plan of revenge might heal your broken heart, the ache only grew stronger. You didn’t yet know it, but regret would soon take hold and there would be nothing you could do to reverse it. 

Cont reading Part 6

——————————————

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Guardian Angel

Chapter 3: You're Still Worthy

Summary: Emotional conversations and difficult choices were on the table for everyone the moment Wanda stepped back into the Avengers compound for the first time after Westview. But just because Wanda is starting over doesn’t mean she has to do it alone. 

Warnings: Trauma, angst, cursing.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This chapter has two distinct parts. The flashback of Wanda’s first moments back in the compound (italicized) and the present day, approximately one year after Westview.

Guardian Angel Masterlist

Trust takes years to build, seconds to break, and forever to repair. Stepping foot back in the Avengers compound for the first time after Westview was freed was the latest in a series of painful and tragic chapters in Wanda Maximoff’s story.

Fury was seated in his spacious office with a glass of Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon. He had a stern expression as he intently watched Wanda's movements on the numerous security monitors placed strategically around the compound. Fury closely monitored every twist and turn she made, remaining vigilant and alert throughout.

A soft knock on his door broke his concentration as he sat there, lost in thought. He straightened up in his chair, alert and ready to face whatever was coming. The door creaked open slowly, and a faint light spilled into the dimly lit room, revealing the outline of a figure standing in the doorway.

“Director, Ms. Maximoff is here,” Maria announced. 

“Maximoff, have a seat. Or do you prefer Scarlet Witch now?” Placing the glass down on his desk.

Maria glanced from Fury to Wanda before taking her place next to the Director's desk. Wanda sat down, trying her best to hide her nerves. The two of them sat in silence for a moment until Fury finally spoke up.

“You know, it’s crap like this that gives me trust issues,” leaning back in his chair, reading the file on Westview. 

“Really? I thought your sparkling personality gave you trust issues,” the redhead whispered under her breath.

“Come on, don’t give me that shit. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing the file onto his desk. “3,892 people. Three thousand eight hundred ninety-two people manipulated, tortured, and held hostage so you could live out some television family fantasy!” he shouted. “Do you know what I went through to keep Westview classified? What I went through with SWORD to make sure you walked out of there alive and not thrown in the Raft?” His anger was growing. 

"It wasn't a fantasy!" she exclaimed, as her emotions finally surfaced.

“It was selfish!” Fury shouted. 

Maria flinched at the sound of Fury's voice before the room fell silent again.

"Director, have you ever lost someone?" Wanda asked, her gaze fixed on his desk.

“I was a Colonel in the United States Army and a CIA Operative. I’ve lost more people than I can count, including my parents. You’re most certainly not the first person to experience grief.”

Wanda looked determined as she raised her head to speak. "I cannot help but feel sorry for the ordeal those people went through," she said with a heavy accent, her voice filled with emotion. Their suffering will continue to trouble me for the rest of my life."

Tears glistened in her eyes as she continued, "When I finally realized the agony I was inflicting, I knew I had to put an end to it. It was a difficult decision, but I have no regrets about my life with my husband and children. We had our struggles, but we also had many happy moments together."

As she spoke, it was clear that Wanda had gone through a lot in her life. Despite the pain and hardship, however, she remained resolute in her determination to do what was right and to find peace in her memories.

Fury exhaled heavily and asked, 'Where are your boys?'

The redhead immediately tensed up, her heart pounding against her rib cage. 

“I need you to be completely honest with me, starting right now,” Fury said. “If you want to remain a member of this team and continue to be a productive member of society, it's important that I know everything. Please understand that no one will hurt them.”

In a moment of urgency, Wanda found herself making a quick decision. Despite her reservations, she hesitantly slipped into Fury's mind as his thoughts were too loud to ignore. She knew that this was the only way she could be certain of his intentions and confirm that he was telling the truth. When she emerged, she was certain that Fury was to be trusted. She responded with confidence, "Billy and Tommy are with Darcy Lewis."

 Fury nodded. “Where is the Darkhold?”

“I destroyed it.” 

“That’s not what the wizard thinks. Strange is sure you wouldn’t have survived the destruction of that type of dark magic.”

Wanda leaned forward in her chair and cleared her throat. "Given everything that's happened, Director, it would be unwise to bet against my abilities."

Fury finished his drink; the ice clinked at the bottom of his glass. "You are dismissed for now, but do not leave the premises," he said.

After leaving his office, Wanda rose to her feet without saying another word. Maria locked eyes with Fury before hurrying after the redhead out the door.

When they were out of earshot of the Director, Maria called after her, "Wanda, wait!"

Wanda stopped moving and stood still with her back turned towards Maria.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Agent Hill empathized. 

"Sorry doesn't undo what I did or what I've lost," she countered. "Every season of my life has led to a goodbye. My parents, Pietro, Vision. No matter what I've done to try and be better, to help others, to heal. It never ends," her voice cracked. "I don't know how the boys survived, but my heart can't take anymore.”

Maria gently placed her warm hand on Wanda's shoulder, feeling the tension and pain in her friend's body. In response, Wanda turned around and fell into Maria's embrace, her composure crumbling as she sobbed. Maria held her tightly, offering a safe and comforting space for her friend to release her emotions. As Wanda continued to weep, Maria could feel her tears dampening her shirt, but she didn't mind. All that mattered was being there for her friend.

*^~^*

Wanda wandered aimlessly around the compound for the rest of the day. The cold and judgmental gazes of numerous SHIELD agents going about their daily routines bore into her like a hot iron, making her feel like she had committed a grave mistake. The compound was the same as she had left, but everything felt different. The once-familiar surroundings now seemed foreign and unwelcoming.

Wanda was not ready to return to her room. The memories of her past life seemed distant and unfamiliar to her now. She was unsure of what to say if she encountered any of her former colleagues. The fear of their judgment and condemnation made her hesitant and unwilling to face them. Lost in her thoughts, Wanda wandered around the compound, hoping to find solace or peace. But the echoes of her past mistakes and the fear of the future kept haunting her, making her feel helpless and alone.

The sight of the gym brought back a flood of good and bad memories of the time spent within its walls. She hesitated before peeking through the sliding doors, ensuring no one was around before stepping inside. The gym had become a sanctuary for her, a place where she could channel her inner strength and work on honing her abilities. Countless hours were spent in this space, sweating, training, and pushing herself to the limits to discipline her body and mind. However, all that hard work, all that dedication, was shattered. The unspeakable grief and loss that followed had left her broken, both physically and emotionally. Yet here she was, standing once again in the same space, her heart heavy with memories and emotions that she had thought she had left behind.

“No matter how often I tried to train you to fight without using your powers, you always resisted.” 

The distinct and familiar sound of a deep, slightly raspy voice reverberated through the spacious gym. She turned her head and was captivated by the sight of Natasha Romanoff, who stood poised and confident on the other side of the room. Natasha's hair was elegantly styled in double braids, and her black workout attire clung to her fit and toned physique in all the right places, accentuating her curves and strength.

Wanda sighed, "Why fight with one hand tied behind my back?" She moved a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Because it makes you stronger," Nat replied, strolling towards her.

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” Wanda admitted.

“I beg to differ,” the widow argued. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Nat quietly observed Wanda's demeanor, noticing the subtle nuances of her body language. The woman standing in front of her seemed to be a mere shadow of her former self, weighed down by the immense burden of grief. It was evident that Wanda was still struggling to come to terms with all that had been lost in Sokovia, Wakanda, and most recently, in Westview. The pain and sorrow etched on her face spoke volumes of the emotional turmoil she was going through, and it was clear that she needed someone to talk to, someone who could understand her pain and help her find a way forward.

Natasha took another tack. “Get in the ring.” 

“What?” she asked.

Natasha put down her water bottle and stepped between the ropes. "Get in the ring," Nat repeated.

“I’m in no condition to spar,” Wanda argued.

“Says the Scarlet Witch,” Nat smirked. “Now, come on.”

Wand released a long, tired sigh and slowly removed her jacket. With a hint of nervousness in her movements, she cautiously stepped closer to the ring, her eyes fixed on the ground beneath her.

“No hand tied behind your back this time,” Nat said, securing her Widow Bites to her wrists.

Natasha took her fighting stance. Wanda mirrored her as wisps of red danced between her fingers. She took the first shot, summoning a wave of telekinetic force toward her opponent. With lightning-fast reflexes, Nat rolled out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the destructive force. Sensing an opening, Natasha launched herself into an acrobatic assault. Her strikes were precise, knocking Wanda off balance. The split-second window allowed Nat to grip her arm and flip her over her shoulder. 

With a flick of her wrist from her backside, Wanda unleashed a barrage of red energy crackling with otherworldly force. The sparring became an explosive dance as Nat deftly dodged and rolled through the chaos, narrowly escaping each attack. Seizing her only opportunity, she countered with a well-timed Widow's Bite. Grunting in pain, Wanda launched her backward into the ropes with one swift motion. 

With a fierce determination, Natasha charged forward. Wanda used the last of her depleted stamina to summon a swirling vortex of red. As the intense aura surrounded her, she directed one final blast towards the Black Widow. Nat mustered every ounce of strength and somersaulted forward through the explosion, landing sprawled on the mat. 

Wanda collapsed, her knees hitting the mat with a thud. She was gasping for air, her body wracked with sobs. Natasha lay nearby, her chest heaving and her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The widow slowly rolled over and crawled towards her, her movements slow and labored. She reached out and wrapped her arms around the redhead’s body, pulling her close. The two women held each other tightly, neither of them speaking. Wanda's sobs echoed through the room, the sound of her pain filling the air.

*^~^*

Secretary Ross glared intensely at the team gathered around the conference table, his virtual presence towering over his desk in a show of authority. He spoke up with a tone that conveyed both anger and concern, "I'm genuinely curious. In what universe do you think I'm going to look the other way while you jeopardize the safety of everyone in existence?" His words hung heavily in the air, leaving no room for doubt that he meant every word.

“I don’t know, Mr. Secretary. Why don’t you pick one, and we’ll find out,” Natasha remarked coldly. No love was lost between herself and Ross.

Maria gently placed her hand on Nat's arm, silently signaling her to maintain decorum.

"If you had taken my warning about Wanda Maximoff seriously eight years ago, we wouldn't face the dangerous threats to all universes she has unleashed. Her actions have repeatedly proven that she is a clear and present danger, and it's time we take action before it's too late." Ross urged.

"We don't judge people based on their worst mistakes," Natasha declared.

"Perhaps you should," he said, his gaze fixed on the Black Widow.

Yelena stood up slowly from her chair, her voice laced with a hint of malice. "Maybe it's time the world knew about your worst mistakes, Thaddeus," she threatened, her eyes flashing with anger.

“And we’re sitting,” Kate said, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and pulling her back down.

"Excuse me, Mr. Secretary, with all due respect, we are not seeking your permission in this matter. As a courtesy, we intend to inform you of our decision. This meeting is solely to share our plans with you and ensure that you are kept in the loop about our steps,” Steve interjected.

“Tell me, Captain Rogers, what is your intended course of action when the witch inevitably betrays your moral compass yet again?” Ross asked, rising from his virtual chair.

“We never abandon one of our own, Sir,” Steve said.

“To be honest with you, Mr. Secretary, the only one here who lacks a moral compass is yourself,” Maria hissed, swiping away his hologram in frustration.

A hard silence fell across the room.

“That went well,” Clint said, as he placed his head in his hands.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but he has a point,” Fury concurred, leaning up against the door frame.

"Are you still here?” Tony asked. “I thought you were off to sail the seven seas,” he snarked as he got up to pour himself a scotch.

“Fury might be right,” Bruce interjected. Are we all forgetting how we met Wanda? Or would you like a replay of the nightmares she put in our heads?” 

“No, I’m not,” Natasha said heatedly, turning toward Bruce. “And I’m sure as hell not forgetting who destroyed the Mind Stone when it meant losing the one she loved. Or who was a split second away from defeating Thanos single-handedly, had he not blitzed the shit out of his entire army.”

“Maximoff took an entire town hostage! She manipulated the realities of 3,892 people,” Fury argued. 

“In a state of shell shock and overwhelming grief,” Maria countered. “You and I both know she would never hurt anyone intentionally or of her own accord.” 

“Are you sure about that? Do you know where the Darkhold is today?” Fury yelled. “Because I can tell you right now, Strange sure as hell doesn’t believe it’s gone.”

“I think you’ve made your point,” Bucky interrupted sternly. His Vibranium hand on Fury’s shoulder.

“Buck,” Sam cautioned.

Thor's booming voice cut through the tense and chaotic chatter, demanding attention from all present. "Wanda is still worthy!" he declared with the power of a god. "We shall leave no stone unturned in our quest to help her regain her belief in herself."

“That’s more like it,” Nat said.

“Let’s go,” Maria ordered.

*^~^*

Upon her return, Wanda made it clear that her priority was to provide a normal and safe environment for Billy and Tommy, free from the influence of her past mistakes or her sterile work environment. She was determined to create a loving and secure home for her boys. After multiple meetings with Stark, Wanda decided to move out of the compound and into a house that Tony had designed. True to form, the billionaire created a spectacular home for her and her family.

The elegant craftsman-style house painted in a soft, creamy white hue exuded a warm and inviting aura, beckoning visitors to enter. The stunning embellished concrete path, beautifully winding its way up to the charming wraparound brick porch and the wide entryway, added to the home's alluring charm. The interior was just as captivating, with each room meticulously furnished and perfectly decorated. Tommy and Billy couldn't contain their excitement as they had room to adorn and personalize to their heart's content. She encouraged the boys to let their imaginations run wild, and they eagerly reveled in the opportunity to showcase their unique interests and personalities.

Photographs adorn the walls, each capturing a distinct memory the family held dear. As Wanda gazed upon them, she was immediately transported back to the bittersweet moments of their life in Westview - a life that was nothing more than a fabrication. Despite this painful truth, she remained steadfast in her desire to preserve a fragment of that existence for her sons, who knew no other place to call home. Though tinged with sorrow, the memories were a testament to the love and bond that the family shared, and Wanda was determined to keep that flame burning, no matter how difficult it was to revisit the past.

The family room is tastefully decorated with a large navy blue sectional couch, two elegant Paisley armchairs, and a beautiful Cherry coffee table that seems to beckon you to come and sit. The room's focal point is a stunning painting by Wanda hanging above the fireplace—a reflection of her creative soul and a way to channel her emotions and thoughts. The built-in bookshelves are a treasure trove of knowledge, holding a vast collection of books for all ages. The shelves are adorned with a few carefully chosen plants, each in its decorative pot, adding a touch of nature to the room. The cozy atmosphere of the family room is perfect for relaxing and spending time with loved ones.

As you enter the kitchen, a beautifully arched doorway frames the entrance, inviting you in. This is Wanda's favorite room in the house, and it's easy to see why. The spacious area is furnished with sleek granite countertops and a convenient center island, making it the perfect place for her sons to sit and share stories of their day at school. As you take a deep breath, the delightful scent of Paprikash or homemade pies fills the air, reminding every guest that Wanda's favorite way to show love is through her cooking.

Through the off-white French doors, one could step into a tranquil and inviting backyard that Wanda meticulously cared for. Her passion for gardening was evident in the way she transformed the space into a lush oasis of greenery. The fragrant air was filled with the aroma of the citrus trees that she had lovingly transplanted, and the raised bed, bursting with a variety of colorful seedlings that had sprouted on the kitchen windowsill, was a testament to her dedication to creating a verdant sanctuary for her family to relax and enjoy together.

*^~^*

"Boys, it's time for cake and presents!" Wanda shouted through the window.

"Coming, Mom!" Tommy shouted in response.

Wanda organized a cozy and warm birthday bash for Billy and Tommy and cordially invited the team and their families to attend. It was the first time they had a group gathering outside of work since Wanda's return to the team. While the adults chit-chatted and caught up with each other in the cozy family room, the youngsters were having a blast playing games in the backyard. Cooper, Lila, Morgan, and Nate were among the kids who enjoyed themselves with Billy and Tommy.

Let's go," Clint exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Bring on the cake!

“Relax, it’s not your birthday,” Yelena teased.

Steve and Bucky, with their arms full of colorful gift-wrapped presents, walked over to the elegantly set dining room table. At the same time, Wanda gracefully lit the candles on the birthday cake, decorated with blue and green icing. As soon as Wanda finished lighting the candles, the friends and family sang "Happy Birthday" in unison, and the twins, Billy and Tommy, eagerly blew out the candles.

After the birthday song ended, Billy and Tommy opened their presents excitedly while their mom looked on proudly. The team made sure to honor Wanda's request for no Stark-enhanced gifts. Tommy's gifts included a pair of stylish Nike sneakers, a shiny new scooter, a high-quality baseball glove, and a popular video game he had been asking for for months. Billy, on the other hand, received a high-tech microscope that he could use to explore the world around him, a remote-controlled drone that could fly up to 100 feet in the air, and a brand new sketchbook with Prismacolor Premier colored pencils, so he could continue to develop his artistic skills.

"Okay, here's one more small gift, but let's not devour it all at once," Wanda cautioned as she placed the personalized candy bags from your shop in front of the boys.

“Candy!”

“Sweet!” 

"You can each choose a couple of pieces, and we'll save the rest for later," their mom instructed as the boys rummaged through their bags.

Tommy whirled around the table and embraced his mother. "This is the best birthday ever, thanks, Mom!"

“Yeah, Mom, this was awesome!” Billy followed. 

"Mmmm, this is good," Tony said, returning from the kitchen where he had raided the bag of candy you made for Wanda.

“Excuse me, that’s not yours!” Wanda scolded.  

“I don’t see your name on it.” Tony argued.

Crossing her arms, the redhead insisted, 'Turn it around.'

“Well,” Tony paused. Calligraphy is a lost art,” tossing her the bag.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” she muttered.

*^-^*

Maria and Natasha decided to stay with Wanda to help her with the post-party cleanup. As they put things away, they noticed red wisps of magic floating gently around the room, lifting empty plates and glasses to the sink. Wanda had always been careful about using her powers outside of missions. Still, resisting the temptation to make things a little easier for herself was hard, especially when her house was full of messy superheroes who weren't particularly good at cleaning up after themselves. As she was putting away dishes, one of them unexpectedly slipped from her grasp and hit the floor, shattering into two pieces.

"Are you okay?" Maria asked as Natasha carefully picked up the broken plate.

“I’m fine, just a bit clumsy,” the redhead insisted.

“Like mother, like sons,” Natasha teased.

“Oh yeah,” Maria said with a grin. “Nat told me all about your little adventure. She said you were smitten.”

"I was not smitten!" Wanda insisted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You had a goofy grin when you came back to the cafe,” Natasha said, scoffing.

“I was simply being a good Samaritan,” Wanda argued.

Natasha's lips curled into a playful smirk as she said, "Oh?" And who were you pretending to be when you purchased those candy bags for Billy and Tommy from Y/N's shop?"

Wanda's eyes widened as she asked, "How did you find out? And more importantly, how do you know her name?"

“Wands, I'm a spy. If one of my friends leaves with a stranger and goes to their apartment alone, you can bet I will check them out.” 

“Well, nothing happened. I got her some ice for her ankle and left, and I didn’t even know it was her shop,” Wanda dismissed. Besides,” Wanda whispered, peering over at her boys asleep on the couch. “Billy and Tommy are just starting to feel at home here. I would never do anything to put that in jeopardy… Not again,” fidgeting quietly with the wedding ring still holding tight to her finger. It had been a year, but she still hadn’t found the strength to remove it.

“We know you wouldn’t,” Maria reassured, placing her arm around her shoulder. “But you are still worthy of the chance to be happy again, honey.”

“Just because you’re starting over doesn’t mean you have to do it alone,” Natasha added. “Is that what Vis would have wanted?” 

*Chapter 4 coming soon*

[enihk-writes]

[haunting]

pairing: tang bo x chung myung

summary: just another ghost story.

word count: 0.33k

author's note: so i was writing a few outlines for my xreader fic and got halfway through the tragic doomed yuri between my oc and the reader i had planned and thought to myself, you know what? why not double the pain and give it to the next person? (tangchung) so the next time you listen to nightglow just know that hoyoverse is the root cause of all my issues. there are other reasons but they are my no.1

═══════════════

everywhere he goes he cannot escape that man's image standing beside him as a faded memory he's starting to forget. like sand falling between his fingers he can't remember what he loved most about that man — was it the way his name fell off that man's tongue? was it the way his nose would be filled with the scent of incense and herbs when he woke up to that man nursing him after another night of being blackout drunk? was it this or was it that or...

chung myung barely remembers much else other than the name of the man who plagues his dreams and waking thoughts whenever he's granted the gift of a lonesome moment.

hyung-nim

he was a younger man that followed his tail, no. that man never followed his tail, the two of them were very much equals in more ways than one. the only person who he never had to worry about leaving behind wasn't with him anymore.

what was chung myung to do now?

he's found traces of that man in his descendants, some have his face but it's not him. it never could be. even his home that he's been in multiple times in the past has changed, what was there left?

he's become friendly with his descendants, trying to catch every glimpse of that man in these people. he hopes they don't catch onto how he's using them to fill the emptiness left behind in that man's shape in the place that was always his, the one right next to him.

he's growing tired of waiting for his better half to come back.

bo-ya

chung myung downs another bottle of wine while sitting up on the rooftops one particular night, bringing along snacks that he couldn't finish alone. who's going to nag at him for drinking too much now? it's not fair that he has to take care of himself all alone. come back quickly tang bo, he doesn't know how to live with your ghost.

[fatewoven]

It starts, as ever, with hunger.

The world responds with a heavy silence as his figure remains motionless beneath the Ossuary's unforgiving reveal; the taut pull of muscle, an adjustment of his stance, arms at the ready despite the lack of visible weaponry. He's a collection on a child's shelf, prodded at with sharp, biting things for the sake of cruel curiosity; observed behind magic thick as laminated glass like an insect caught on a hot summer's day. An awful discovery to unearth mortality in such a sunless place, the hours nonexistent, days foregone — lost to the slow drip of salt water throughout the prison as he's fed things worse than bile and any poison.

His stomach didn't even have the strength to reject it anymore.

Distraction comes in the form of a memory, viewed from younger eyes: Illario raising a jar above their heads as the sun's rays refract on the walls of his room. His cousin could stare at scorpions, moths, grasshoppers, and spiders for hours. Watch them feed. Watch them die over the weeks, keeping the ones frozen in their death curls for days longer. A strange way to pass the time when they could be training, but Lucanis never reviled him for the interest. Not when he looked like he wanted to cry each time they failed to survive captivity. "Female spiders eat the males after mating, Lucanis. I can't decide whether that's tragic or not."

"Referring to yourself and Maria after she yelled at you in the streets, are you? You'll live yet to find another one to warm your bed."

And how Illario's face twisted with rage! (How much his cousin resented their differences, the stark chasm that he cannot yet cross to catch up to the favored Dellamorte. A pity Lucanis never saw it as a young man, never addressed it with the gravity needed. Never offered comfort they both wished for.)

Not back. There.

His heart seizes. Then restarts with after an aborted stutter.

A ghost of tenderness skims over features still too gaunt. Still too pale after months of drowning. Lucanis opens his eyes — and hears not the constant, weary churning of the sea. The wind picks up here, surrounding the secluded area from three cardinal directions. Neither cold nor hot, but a mix of perpetual spring-autumn tides as he takes stock of his, their, surroundings. Spite?

You were going back. Again. Pressed close, always close and deeper than skin, the spirit's timbre rumbles down his nerves, and Lucanis tilts his head back against cool stone. They're somewhere up high, he realizes as Spite frets about, this steel-smoke besotted spirit who cares too much to relent for even a moment. Too stubborn, just like him. Obstinate as it is loyal. The breadth of the Fade stretches in a dizzying landscape, one devoid of an end to the horizon as he looks around from the top of the building to find equilibrium — the kitchen hall. Safe at the Lighthouse, at least.

Too tired to argue, let alone disagree with its bitter-bitten observation, Lucanis lets the demon curl closer, the twilight hues of its outline merging with his in a facsimile of what could be described as an embrace. "A dream, nothing more." Can't keep every dream. At bay. Stop dwelling already. Within the Fade, his personal demon feels more solid; he wills it to be more solid, trusting in it to maintain this mutually beneficial arrangement with murmured praises. Spite, feathers ruffled, expression set in such a way Lucanis wouldn't be able to recognize it in a mirror, sighs and rests its head on his sternum. His hand, torn to the bone by serrated knives and mended countless times over, hovers between those outstretched wings. The not-feathers require no preening, but he goes through the meditative motions anyway; a balm to both their senses.

"If you say so." Such a demanding creature, his determination! Lucanis entertains it if only because it's simple, harmless fun. A far cry from the violence they hatched from, forced to share a rather rotten existence. Quicker than a blink, Spite's face materializes in front of his own. It leans in, head tilted avian-thoughtful. I demand so. And the impression of its affection is soft, this dream-woven thing, gentle and paradoxically bold, teeth and want sharp as a serrated blade. Lucanis hums into it, warm against the frown of its lips, limbs loosening — no longer curling inwards like something dying.

Crisp air. Sunlight on water. The morning after the thunderstorm.

Intense is one word for it, and the pulse matching his own echoes as a melody in the magic-tinged air. A headache lessened. A nightmare dissipated, even by a margin. It mellows the stomach-churning hunger to something much more bearable.

He shivers as claw-like fingers drag against his core, at the assumed soul every mortal must have. Mine, whispered against the skin. Spite thinks of the rotten husk of his heart as dear, and Lucanis lets it continue with its delusions. "Give me better dreams, then." The proverbial throw of the gauntlet, edged by a grin, is met with equal persistence. He laughs, and Spite echoes the sound with the flutter of its wings, always there to catch him.

[skepsiss]

Long Road Ahead - pt3

Third part of a mini pining series. I’m switching back and forth between Steve and Eddie’s POV. These are going to be sad until they’re not! So prepare yourself for some heartache. I feel like something a lot of writers don’t explore is the fact that Steve would really struggle with accepting his queer-ness in the 1980s. It’s tragic and it’s terrible, but being a bisexual/gay man in the 80s was absolutely terrifying. So I wanted to explore a more difficult transition for Steve and how much it hurts to go for what you want versus what the “safe choice” is.

TW: NSFW (18+ sexual/explicit themes and imagery), homophobia, the F-slur.

2,700+ words, Steve’s POV. Direct continuation from Part 2.

Pt1  Pt1.2  Pt2   Pt4

--

Steve said his goodbyes and quietly shut the front door after Eddie left. He had sent Eddie home with a fresh pack of ice, the evening sun sending dark shadows across the street as Eddie walked away. He had offered to drive him, insisted even, and Eddie had refused. He was meeting up with some guys from the band, he didn't need a ride, he was fine. Steve had asked until Eddie's tone had truly shifted into one of frustration before Steve dropped it. He didn't want Eddie to get hit again. He didn't trust that he was going to be alright. But Steve shut the door after him, lingering there for a long moment with his hand on the door nob before he thunked his forehead against the cool wood.

Steve closed his eyes, a deep frown etched into his face as he stood there, knocking his head ever so slightly against the door until it started to hurt. He felt like an idiot. He felt tortured and insane. Why was he thinking like this?

Steve let go of the door and pulled away, rubbing the spot on his forehead and turning to look at his house. It was dark except for the light coming from the living room--the floor lamp still barely illuminating the corner of the room where he and Eddie had just been sitting. Besides that, the corners of his house were shadowed and gloomy, doorways leading into blackness as the stairs before him stretched unwelcomingly towards the upstairs hallway. Steve hated being alone. He hated when the house was dark and he knew he was going to be sleeping in this house by himself. 

Steve sighed and walked up the stairs, leaving the lamp on so there was a semblance of warmth to the house as he trudged his way upstairs. It was a warm evening so he meticulously went from room to room and cracked the windows, knowing from experience that the whole upstairs got muggy by morning if you didn't let the evening breeze in. He did his room last, opening the window all the way before staring out at the forest in his backyard. The trailer park was just beyond the forest, off to the North-West of Hawkins, on the outskirts of the land the government once ravaged. 

The dying light of sunset eased from the sky, the blue-black of the horizon slowly fading against the dark outlines of the treetops. If he squinted Steve could imagine that he could see through the woods and straight to Eddie's front door. Wondering if and when he'd make it back home. His stomach flopped unceremoniously, the pinch of anxiety over whether or not Eddie was going to be okay.

Some jackass had just hit him earlier in the day... how did he feel remotely safe enough to walk around by himself? Steve supposed it had to do with the fact that there had literally been a manhunt for Eddie only a few months back, this was probably nothing compared to the threat of being ripped limb from limb by an angry Christian mob. 

Steve drew the curtains on his window a bit so he could break his view of the forest before him. He didn't want to dwell on this, but that was all he had been doing for months. It had started out as an annoying inch that Steve had tried to ignore, how he had noticed and watched and paid a little too much attention to Eddie. He hadn't liked it. It had bothered him just how much he was noticing every little thing about Eddie.

Why? It was annoying. He didn't like that he wanted to spend all his free time with Eddie, that he had ruined multiple dates with pretty girls because he had been distracted thinking about him instead. It was torture and he didn't want to entertain the truth behind it. He needed to just... shift his focus and find a girl he really liked. Easy. 

Steve touched his neck subconsciously as he walked out of his room, fingers running over the tendons and where he knew the hickeys were. That's what this date had been. He had met a lovely, hot girl and she had accepted a date, it had been fun, but when it came down to it Steve could feel that he was forcing himself. She was great, maybe not the one, but fun and pretty enough that dating for a short while was doable. They were young and she was more than willing for things to shift from a gentleman's interest into something more physical.

He could have gotten laid.

He hadn't. He had rebuffed her smoothly and driven her home. They wouldn't talk ever again. 

Steve flicked on the light to the bathroom across the hall from his room. The light shone off the clean white countertops and peach wallpaper creating the illusion of a show-home from the magazines. 

Steve huffed slightly, leaving the door open as he peeled off his shirt and turned the fan on. He undressed and climbed into the shower, standing there in the quiet for a moment before turning the water on. 

He disliked the way he felt right now: how wrapped up he was in his own head. For what? Because of Eddie? This was miserable. 

Steve ran his fingers through his own hair thinking about how Eddie had smiled even though his lip was cut and swollen. How the purpling around the corner of his mouth had slowly grown over the course of the night. He had smiled, joked, and shared something so personal Steve hadn't known how to feel about it. He knew. Or he had at least assumed that Eddie's father was that kind of guy, but hearing it was another thing altogether. 

Steve had wanted to comfort him, wanted to touch his cheek and tell him that he was sorry to hear it. How could anyone think about treating you that way? Intimate and strange. Steve had resisted for a long time, but it was impossible for him to deny the fact that he had feelings for Eddie. And when Eddie had smiled at him? Puckered his lips and stared at him with a shine in his eyes. Steve had really felt like he was going to kiss him--like an idiot.

Steve raised his hand and touched the spot on his neck where the hickeys were, frowning yet again at how this had all transpired. He didn't want to date Eddie, he didn't want to entertain the idea of being with Eddie. Eddie liked men, but he didn't like men like Steve. The crowd he ran with, the things he liked to do... it didn't mesh at all with the lifestyle Steve wanted to live. They got along fine, they could spend time together, but it wasn't something sustainable. They all knew that Eddie was going to turn his back on Hawkins someday soon and never look back. Steve probably was never going to leave Hawkins.

Steve felt his throat get tight and he scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to banish the thoughts. He forced himself to think about work and Robin, his friends, and when his parents were getting back home from vacation. What he needed to do around the house. 

He lathered shampoo into his hair and it almost worked to distract him enough before his mind started to wander again. Steve didn't want to be gay. He didn't want to have to think about what it meant... that he was unmistakably drawn to Eddie. How he frowned and felt his stomach pull when Eddie would laugh and roll onto his back on Steve's bed, joking with him. How slowly and begrudgingly he had begun to admit that he wanted to do things with Eddie that weren't friendly. Imagine intimate moments and romantic rendezvous, kisses under porch lights and in the back of Steve's car. How he could easily imagine Eddie's hair bunching up in his hand as they leaned on walls and pressed into one another. Eddie was boney and just a touch taller, he'd be able to feel his hipbone through his shirt if he put his hand on his hip.

Steve stuck his head under the spray of water and rubbed his own throat, the feeling of tightness back and threatening to make him do something stupid. He wanted to scream, or cry, or something, he didn't know. So he swallowed, letting the suds wash down over his body and disappear down the shower drain. 

What was he supposed to do? Confess? Confess to what? He didn't know the first thing about liking a guy and frankly, the idea terrified him. Eddie had been cornered and attacked in the street just earlier today, Steve didn't want that reality for himself--

He was terrible. Eddie had been hit and all he could think about was how to avoid that for himself. A fate tangled in heartache and pain. He didn't want to be gay. He liked women, but it felt like the longer the summer drew on the less that was true. He liked women, just not as much as he liked Eddie.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face again, shuffling to lean back against the shower wall as he frowned at himself. He was an idiot. Everything about him was idiotic. Out of any guy he could have liked, he had chosen Eddie Munson? A boy with curly and tangled hair that grew past his shoulders, whose face was practically elastic with how wild his expression could get, whose passion was for nerdy games and metal music. They had nothing in common. Nothing. But when he smiled... god. When he looked back at you from under his bangs and he stuck you with this soft and uncertain look... when he fidgeted and picked at his nail polish and tried to sit still when he was listening to you. How passionate he was about his music and how lost he could get in a conversation about nothing.... Steve could listen to him talk for hours. Eddie never tired of talking. He'd jabber on, smiling, laughing, teasing... and after some time all Steve could think about was kissing him. Was leaning forward and indulging in his mouth and how much he loved watching him talk. How badly he wanted Eddie to kiss him with that mouth.

Would Eddie kiss in a shy, needy way? Or would he be all fire and intensity like he was when he talked about music? Steve wanted to know. He wanted to know if Eddie would hold the back of his head and push him up against a wall, stick his tongue in his mouth instantly, and make Steve groan with the passion behind it. Or if Steve would have to encourage him to know it was alright; Steve having to gently guide him to lean back so they could indulge, Eddie's fingers eventually finding their way into his hair so they could share a deep kiss. How, either way, Steve would want to touch his waist and lean in closer, press against him, and hope that Eddie's breath would shudder like his would. Steve let his eyes slide closed, putting his fingers to his own lips as the water hit his chest. He shouldn't be imagining kissing Eddie, but it wouldn't be the first time. 

Eddie's kisses would taste like ash and his hair would smell like smoke. Steve didn't mind, he had smoked once upon a time and he could live with that. Live with that... like this was a long-term thing.

Steve slid his hand down his own stomach, pushing aside the warning bells in his own mind. He shouldn't be doing this, but it wouldn't be the first time for this either. It wouldn't be even close to the first time he'd gotten lost in a fantasy about Eddie and held himself as he feverishly jacked off. How he had woken up early some mornings and been so desperate for the fleeting images of his dreams he'd roll on his stomach and knees and moan into his pillows imagining it was Eddie touching him instead of his own hand. How he had yelled Eddie's muffled name more than a dozen times over the summer.

"Eddie...." Steve gasped quietly, eyes still squeezed shut as he slumped against the shower wall and stroked himself. He so badly wanted Eddie to walk through that door and lean over him. His curls would get damp and hang limp around his face; skin speckled with scars and tattoos. Steve wanted to know what that scar on his chest looked like. He wanted to soothe his hand over the bumpy skin and hold his neck and tell him he didn't care about it. That he still thought he was beautiful. 

His mind made inexact images of what that would look like and how Eddie would be timid with his acceptance. He'd lean in and kiss him, tender at first until he slowly muscled Steve's hand away from his cock, taking over. Steve would stare him in the face, the both of them panting and staying so incredibly close that Steve would be able to smell the cigarettes on his breath. 

"Eddie--" Steve swallowed, imagining wrapping his arms around his neck and thrusting into his grip, the head of his cock bumping up against Eddie's thigh. 

"I want you--so badly," Steve gasped, imagining Eddie sucking his throat, that he was the one leaving the welts behind on his neck. How he had only been able to think about Eddie when his date had kissed him, and how badly he wished he was in the backseat of his car with him instead. 

"Eddie--" Steve groaned, craning his neck back so he was looking up at the ceiling of his bathroom. Imagining Eddie's voice bouncing off these tiles saying his name as well. Imagining it was Eddie's hand that was jerking him eagerly and roughly. 

Steve chewed his bottom lip, thinking about kissing the hurt away from Eddie's mouth--kissing the sorrow out of his eyes. How slippery and deep Eddie's tongue would feel sliding down his throat, his hands squeezing around his erection until it was painful and so good Steve couldn't help but cum for him. 

Steve gasped loudly, moving his hand quickly as the images of Eddie slowly faded from his mind. He grunted and closed his eyes again, pulling in even breaths and slowly frowning at himself. It always went like this... his orgasm, followed by bitter disappointment. 

Steve rinsed himself off, lingering in the shower as he made sure everything was clean and his hair was conditioned. He felt miserable the whole time. He leaned against the wall and started wondering again if Eddie was okay. If he had met up with the band and if he had gotten there unscathed. 

He was pathetic, Steve was, a true coward thinking about how he could avoid being called a faggot... running away from it all as Eddie faced it head-on. That he wasn't hiding. Not really. Steve should be facing it with him, he should be at his elbow bearing the brunt of whatever was to come, but instead, he was cowering in his shower thinking about impossibilities. 

Steve finished in the shower and dried himself off, not bothering to get dressed--he was home alone and no one would care if he walked down his own hallway naked. He stared into the dark space as he got there, standing in the doorway and looking at the starkness of his childhood room. Everything felt so fake... everything was so... bland. Why did Eddie like coming over here? 

Steve pushed past the feeling the crawled onto his bed, laying down despite the fact that it was hardly 10 pm. He told himself it was because he was going to wake up early, wake up and go for a run and then a swim, and keep up his fitness. Bed early, up early, drift through the day as the summer sun beat down on everyone in Hawkins. Work, occupy himself, and hope he made himself tired enough that he didn't have the energy to whisper Eddie's name into his pillows and dream about him. Tired enough that he could pretend that he wasn't already horribly, desperately in love with him.

Pt1  Pt1.2   Pt2

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Eleven.

Nice bit of smut and fluff to finish off the week, besties! Thanks to you all for reading and engaging, you are absolutely the best ever!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Words - 4,004

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

His fingers skimmed over her shoulder, Emma enjoying the soft, tickly contact, even more so when he added a few kisses.  

“This mark,” he began, fingertips tracing the outline. “This isn’t from him too, is it?” He hated to think just what infliction could have caused the dark red mark that ran about six inches down over her shoulder blade.  

“Birthmark.” He felt his insides uncoil, Emma continuing. “It’s called a port wine stain. They’re more common on the face, and usually much angrier looking. Mine’s quite pretty, I’ve always thought. Mom always used to say it looked like someone did a whoops with some Merlot over my back.” 

He smiled, thinking it was a cute way to describe it. “Cassie mom, or Marie mom?” 

“Marie mom.” Her eyes saddened a little, biting her lip. “I know you told me that I shouldn’t, but it still hits me, the feeling of guilt over how I equate Marie to the word mom more than my actual mom. It doesn’t mean I love my birth mom any less, it’s just that...” She trailed off there, her emotions seeming to cloud her articulation of how she felt.  

“Marie was the only person you had looking after you for a really long time. Like I said, I guess it’s only natural you see her more as your mom, since you had more time with her than you did with Cassie.” He knew it was something that troubled her deeply, but it was to be expected, he supposed. After all, Marie had been in her life longer than Cassie, tragic as that was.  

They’d also shared a bond through deep, unabating trauma. They’d clung to one another in times of anguish, and that couldn’t be discounted as anything Emma should feel guilt over. Her bond with Marie was very, very deep.  

Stroking her hair, he continued with his thoughts. “You bonded closely with someone who said in her own words that she wanted to be your mom, there’s no reason to feel guilt for that. Not under the circumstances. Fuck, Emma. You deserved someone, and I think if your mom was still alive, she’d be thankful to Marie for protecting you as much as she could.” 

Nodding against the covers bunched beneath her head, she could believe what he’d suggested would be true, if her mom was still alive. “I think I began to see her even more as mom after we learned my parents had both passed, because she was all I had as far as a parental person was concerned. I needed it, to not feel so alone, as I did after I found out they’d died. I always felt this little slice of comfort that even though we were so far apart, we were still under the same sky while we were parted, and then I didn’t even have that any longer.” 

What an interesting choice of words. “I used to think the exact same thing after my dad went away. I fucking hated that my mom thought I should just forget about him, all because she wanted to. Like, what the fuck is that? He was my dad, I wasn’t gonna just blink and forget he’d ever fucking been there, y’know?” His jaw tightened a little, Emma sensing the resentment there he held. “I wanted to go visit him, but nope. Not allowed. I guess as an adult I understand it a little better now, mom’s reasoning. She didn’t want me following in his footsteps.” He paused, laughing before gesturing to himself with a sweep of his hand. “And what did I go and fucking do?” 

“Ibarra two-point O,” she chuckled, reaching to stroke his chest. “When you said you joined the MC because of your dad, it wasn’t just because of his influence, was it? It was to try and be close to him again, rebuild on what you’d lost while he was away, right?” 

“Yeah, exactly.” He looked down, closing his eyes for a few moments. “Wasn’t long enough.”  

“What happened to him?” Her question was tentative, Emma sensing from the little she knew that it was a sensitive topic for him, his father’s demise.  

He explained it all, the rumbling turmoil within the club, the cavernous split that had led to Diaz shooting his father in the back of the head. Emma’s own experience with a different fraction of the criminal underworld meant that of course, she understood the layers of greed, corruption and deceit that could be harboured by those seemingly meant to be on the same side. 

“Thought I’d feel better for taking out Diaz the exact same way he fucking murdered my father, and I did for a while,” he revealed, Emma turning onto her back and pulling him close, Guero resting his head just above her right breast. “I guess loss isn’t that easy, though. He got what he had coming to him, he ain’t here no longer, but neither is dad.”  

Her arms tightened around him, moving a hand to weave her fingers into his hair, stroking his scalp with her nails. “I think we both have some ghosts that’ll hang around a while, don’t we?” 

He looked up at her, snorting softly. “Baby, I got one. You? A whole fucking morgue full of ‘em. Seriously, how the fuck you’re not completely buried by it all, I don’t fucking know.”  

“I think you finding me in the corner again last night is testament to the fact I’m still buried,” she spoke, leaning to kiss his forehead. “I’m learning how to heave the weight off of me a little at a time. That processing which began while I was in the container, finally letting it all wash over me, what had happened, I’m dealing with it all now. Opening that kind of floodgate, mother fucking Mary, it’ll take a long time before all the water stops flowing through.” 

“Until it does, you got me right here to help you keep your head above water,” he pledged, lifting his head to kiss the side of her neck. “It doesn’t have to drown you any longer, even though I get that it isn’t gonna go away overnight.”  

She smirked, turning onto her side. “Be nice if it could, hmm?” They were both a little heavy with the burden of what haunted them, deciding instead to sink into something much sweeter as they began to share slow, sumptuous kisses. With arms coiling around one another and hands stroking, they explored and adored one another, Guero moving from her side, placing a kiss upon her navel before... 

“Mmmm.” Oh, how she would never tire of him going down on her, the sensation of a mouth between her legs completely new to her, since no man before him had ever done it. The tip of his tongue ran in languid licks from her opening to her clit, slow yet firm, seeming to hit her deeper than the soft, pink flesh they bathed.  

Each lick seared through her, burning like falling stars raining beneath her skin, the focus of his tongue moving to circle and flicker upon her clit, breathy exclamations driven from her elegant throat as her body arched. The fever of it misted her spine, a glitter of pleasure flashing over her nerves, her cunt streaming against him at he ate her hungrily, the feel of her pooling against his tongue pouring golden through him, his cock twitching with the need to sink into her.  

Sitting up, he kissed his way to her mouth, and the taste of herself on his tongue was sweet and sharp, moaning against his lips, feeling him guide himself to her, the hard mass of him running in sweeping glides through her folds. He made her yearn for him, fucking her slit without actually moving to penetrate, her nails sharp at his shoulders as she rolled her hips against the hard heat, moaning into their magmatic kisses. 

Each ridge of his cock dragged over the silken wet of her, the push of the very tip smearing precum over her clit as he rubbed himself upon her, drawing an almost wounded cry from her throat as she shuddered. The heat of it roared through her, tingles cascading as she came, the stretch of him breaching her adding to it, his thumb dragging her clit to keep the sparks crackling. 

She was breathless in the wake of it, head fuzzy, but not too much that she hadn’t seen what he’d seemingly forgotten.  

“Um, Guero?”  

He was somehow hoping that she might be too aroused to notice what he’d forgone. “Mmhmm?” 

“Forgetting something, aren’t you?” She cast her eyes to the nightstand, raising her eyebrows, starting to laugh as he grumbled.  

“Just one time, please? Come on, I fucking hate condoms.”  

She shook her head. “No. I’m not even thinking about risking it, no way. Doesn’t matter how much I want a baby, it’s way too soon for us, and I have too much of my own mess to sort out before I add a small person to that.”  

“Yeah, but our kid would be so fucking cute,” he jokingly protested, Emma closing her eyes and shaking her head as he began to laugh. “And maybe,” he continued, kisses peppered along her jaw, beginning to move slowly in and out of her, “maybe I just wanna know how it feels to fill you with cum, then watch it dripping out of your perfect little pussy after, too.” 

“Dirty talking me into it won’t change my mind.”  

Once again, he grumbled in annoyance, Emma widening her eyes. “Retreat! Out!” she giggled, pushing against his forehead with her index finger, laughing more as he moved to snap his teeth at it.  

Finally, he pulled back, reaching for the drawer. “Fine.” He pulled one on quickly, steering back into her, heat encompassing him as he sank to the hilt and pulled back, her hips twitching against his. She nuzzled her nose against his, smiling as her fingers ran in trails up his sides, the tattooed flesh erupting in goose pimples.  

He was heavy within her, and each rolling thrust fractured little storms beneath her skin, swirling tempests that whirled up her spine, his teeth gently nibbling her lower lip as her mouth hung agape. 

“Those pretty moans, baby.” he murmured, his mouth pressing to hers, a slight rotation of his hips evoking more of them, his cock hitting her at the kind of angle that had her thighs quivering. Lifting her legs a little higher, her cunt sucked him in deeper, moans pooling and spilling into their kisses, Emma thinking she’d never seen anything as beautiful as the glinting obsidian of his aroused stare. 

His fingers laced with hers, placing her hands back above her head, teeth scraping at the column of her neck as he bore down into her harder. The wet sounds of his cock sliding into her made the little mumbled words of pleasure falling from her lips lost to his ears, the lewd sound spurring him, his thrusts becoming faster as his head fogged with the amazing sensation of her clamping around him.  

Her cunt poured around him, Emma feeling the thick vein that ran the length of his cock pulsing against her tender walls, pulling from his grasp, her nails sinking into his shoulders and pulling down to graze over his back. He shuddered atop her, teeth nipping her neck, his groan all smoke and salt as he rucked into her harder.  

“Fuck, oh, you feel so good!” she gasped, hands touring the flexing muscles in his back, her hips driving up against his as their mouths locked together again in steamy, smouldering kisses. Little flint strikes glimmered at their point of fusion, Guero moving to kneel before her, pushing her legs back to touch her chest, his thumb dragging in a slick rub against her clit.  

It streaked through her, tendrils of pleasure winding tight and creeping up her spine like vines, her cries loudening as he began to pound into her in frenzy. Each hard thrust scraped sparks that glinted down to her very marrow, his cock unrelenting until it broke over her and shone like the neon of a rainbow.  

He left her utterly dizzy and fuck drunk, accepting the settling of his body back into her arms, Guero only moving to pull the condom off and knot it, casting it to the floor before lying breathless against her chest once more.  

“Mother fucking Mary,” she panted, stroking his clammy back, her senses still tingling. “I really, really love sex. At last.”  

He looked up at her, his smile soft. “Glad I could be the one to show you it’s meant to be different to what you knew.”  

Beaming at him, she stroked his face, kissing him with clear affection. He adjusted his position, lying next to her, a thigh slotted between hers, Emma stroking his chest. “I always wondered if I’d be too damaged to enjoy it, having sex with somebody if I ever managed to get free. I knew that what he put me through wasn’t right, and that no matter how it made me feel, that it wasn’t my fault. I think that’s why – except for that one moment yesterday – I've been fine so far. 

“The way I look at it, I didn’t lose my virginity to him either, because I didn’t have sex with him. Sex is consensual, and what he did to me wasn’t. In my mind, it was you I lost it to, the first man who was inside me because I wanted him to be there.” 

His eyes softened as he looked down at her with a little disbelief, shaking his head as he hid his face for a second. “Stop it, that’s too fucking adorable.” He emerged after a few moments, kissing her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll take that, though. I will.”  

In the grand scheme of her recovery, enjoying a sex life that was normal and healthy might’ve been small, but he was glad he could play a part in it. A very active one, it seemed. One that contained certain requests he wasn’t expecting to hear.  

“Are you fucking serious?” 

His barked response of surprise made her snort laugh. “Yeah. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like.” 

His eyes continued to round. “I ain’t trying to discourage you, but really? With this fucking huge thing?” 

“Yes. Is that going to be a problem?” 

He shook his head rapidly. “Not gonna be a problem for me at all, but for real, you sure? I mean, some girls in the past have seen it and chickened out of even letting me all up in their pussy, but really, you wanna try anal?” 

She turned over, straddling his hips, leaning to run her tongue in a circle around his nipple. “It sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of it. I get it, you have a really big dick, but you’re capable of being gentle, right?” 

“I am.” 

“And do you have lube?” 

He thought for a moment, knowing he had bought it in the past for that very purpose. “I think so.”  

Leaning back, she reached for the nightstand drawer, rooting around, making an ‘aha!’ face as she produced the bottle, wiggling it in her grasp. “Well, look at that? You do. Looks like my anal cherry is getting popped, doesn’t it?” 

Leaning to him, her kisses were all smoky heat, his arms wrapping around her. He turned her onto her back, enjoying the stroke of her nails at the back of his neck before slipping from her grasp, burying his mouth between her legs. He began laying slow, firm, flat licks over her clit, his hands stroking paths of heat across her thighs, smiling against her folds as he watched her begin to gently writhe.  

Grasping her butt, he squeezed the cheeks firmly, holding her spread, his tongue trailing down to run over her puckered muscle a few times, her arousal skyrocketing when he brought his thumb to her clit at the same time. Pleasure prickled over her skin like hail, her hands grasping her tits as she pinched her nipples, crying out as his tongue circled faster.  

“Yeah, mamacita likes having that pretty little butthole licked, huh?” 

She chuckled, squeaking when he turned his head to bite the round of her ass cheek. “Apparently so.” 

Her pleasure flushed strongly, her gasps filling the air like the tinkle of sweet music, Guero grasping her hips and turning her as he laid on his back with her above him. Wetting his fingers in the sodden warmth of her cunt, he slowly slid one, then two up her ass, lips locking around her clit and beginning to suck.   

Her mouth dropped open, the wail of abandon so loud she scarcely believed it came from her throat, pleasurable tingles raining down on her, heat sizzling to her bones. He smiled against her soaking folds, sucking on her clit gently, evoking more of those beautiful noises from her, his fingers breaching her deep.  

Releasing the suck on her bud, he gently circled it with his tongue, a grunt of lust gravelling his throat. “That feel good, blue eyes?”  

“Oh, my fucking god, yes, it is!” 

The feeling of his fingers scissoring her while his tongue rolled, warm and relentless at her clit, had her completely set adrift from herself, moaning virtually incoherently, shimmers of anticipation roving through her body as her lean muscles twitched and corded. Her reactions indicated to him strongly that she was ready for him.   

He moved out from beneath her, Emma catching his lips in a kiss of fiery eroticism as she smeared lube onto her hand and grasped his cock, working his shaft until it was rigid and slippery while he groaned at her neck before manoeuvring himself behind her.   

With a gentle push, he breached her, sliding in carefully before stilling. She whimpered softly, needing a second to adjust, and he gave that to her, his heart thundering in his chest. It’d been a long time since he’d been with a woman brave enough to take him anally, and it was almost too arousing for him, being hugged in such soaking, tight constriction.  

He felt her relax a fraction, inching in a little further, the moan that poured from her causing his cock to throb, her nails dragging the sheets as her back moved in a serpentine response, her skin prickled with goose pimples. All of that from one slow, steady thrust. For Emma, the stretch was painful, hissing a little as he tried to move forward again, feeling him still immediately. As soon as the pain subsided, though...  

“That alright so far, baby?” It didn’t hurt to check, even though she looked to be very much enjoying it.  

“Jesus fucking Christ, please don’t stop. Fuck, that’s incredible!”  

That definitely confirmed it, Guero more than just a little surprised. He’d never seen a woman act quite so aroused from anal before, usually the initial response was that of extreme pain, but for her, it was anything but.   

It was the kind of exquisite tightness that made his heart continue rapidly hammering in his chest, like a caged bird attempting freedom, his cock throbbing as he gripped her waist, moaning a deep, barbarous rumble. The narrow, slick heat of her consumed him as he began to quicken, still holding back a little for the sake of not wanting to hurt her.   

“Harder, fuck! Please!” she cried out, her words negating his consideration for her and giving him the go ahead to begin driving into her with more force. She made the kind of noise he’d expect from a wild animal in heat, a sound that did not cease the further uncontained her was with her, his fingers leaving pink crescents at her waist, the other hand reaching forward to grip her shoulder.   

For her, it was absolute heaven, being anally nailed by the most beautiful, big cock she’d ever felt, her fingers clutching the pillows, one hand slipping between her legs so she could rub her clit in time with each deeply delivered thrust into her. God, he was too good.   

She felt foggy as he dragged her insides at speed, groaning incessantly, little whispers of the word fuck flittering over his lips as he felt himself twitching, adding to her pleasure in the most incandescent of manners by reaching to penetrate her bereft walls with two fingers, those slick muscles gripping him with a grateful squeeze.   

He needed to do everything he could to drive her to the same undoing as his own body raced towards, not wanting to arrive without her, needing to feel the gratification of her milking his orgasm from him, twitching around him until he unloaded within her. 

He chased it like a predator running down its kill, unhinged efforts and verbal grits tipping them both into the absolute divine as he shot stream after stream of silky, warm release inside her.  

“Fuck,” he panted, folding at the waist, resting his head to her back as he slowly pulled out, moving to sit on his heels and watch his load begin to trickle out over her slit. He might’ve been sex drunk and a little tired, but the sight made his insides pulse with desire. “Fuck, that was so hot.” 

Turning over, she shuffled near, running her tongue up his chest. “Wasn’t it, though? My butt kind of hurts a little now.” He snorted with laughter, not surprised, Emma moving her mouth to his nipple, biting down softly as her hands stroked swirls over his arms. “Worth it, though. I’m going for a shower; I need to cool the hell down. Don’t leave me waiting.”  

She left him absolutely fizzing, Guero flopping down on his front, chuckling dirtily to himself. “Damn, she’s amazing.” Seeing her sexual confidence grow as rapidly as it had was thrilling enough in itself to him, how comfortable she was with him. The fact that she’d let him do something he really enjoyed but seldom got to partake in, that she had thrived upon just as much, well, he lay there a little mindless for it until realising he had a naked woman in a hot shower waiting for him.  

Rinsing the conditioner from her hair, she smiled as a very gorgeous man stepped into the bathtub with her, his arms sliding around her waist as he nuzzled the side of her neck, Emma stroking the thick planes of muscle that stretched across his upper back. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the warmth of the water and the tightness of his embrace, his fingers slipping down to grasp her butt as he kissed her from her throat to her shoulder.  

Suddenly, a flash of her showers back at the mansion entered her head, scrubbing herself raw, repulsed at having Rocco’s body on top of hers, smelling him upon her skin. Burying her face against Guero’s neck, she brought herself around, his scent yanking her from the memory, reminding her where she was. Long gone, was where she was.  

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing the tattoo upon the side of his neck. 

“What for? Getting this beautiful ass all soapy?” he chuckled, sudsy fingers working in swirls over her flesh. 

She laughed softly through her nose, moving her head to face him. “For everything. You’ve been so good to me, taken care of me, given me a home, security, everything I haven’t truly known for a really long time. You’re the best.”  

He smiled in acknowledgement, kissing her forehead, the water cascading down over them as their mouths pressed together, kisses of adoration offered as their arms tightened around one another. While her body thrived upon the touch of the man that held it, she knew it’d take much longer for her head to stop returning her to the past.  

At least now, though, she had what she’d so desperately craved; a future.  

[the-moral-of-the-rose]

Yesterday Road, Today Road, Tomorrow Road...

Perhaps it's just another manifestation of my overthinking, but it seems to me that the three paths in Long John's Bush might have been written as a metaphor for Emily's life. Each path seemed to be somehow linked to a person who was important to Emily.

The paths were named by Emily and her friends, because: "The To-day Road is by the brook and we call it that because it is lovely now. The Yesterday Road is out in the stumps where Lofty John cut some trees down and we call it that because it used to be lovely. The To-morrow Road is just a tiny path in the maple clearing and we call it that because it is going to be lovely some day, when the maples grow bigger." (Emily of New Moon).

TO-MORROW'S ROAD (EMILY'S AMBITIONS AND DREAMS. TEDDY KENT):

The metaphor of Tomorrow Road was most clearly outlined. On the one hand, of course, it symbolized Emily's passion for writing and her ascent to the Alpine Path of glory and fame. As for the character with whom Tomorrow Road was most closely associated, it was Teddy Kent.

First of all, To-morrow Road never changed its name, even though by the time Emily reached her early teenage years, the maples grew big. In Emily Climbs, Tomorrow Road became the place of Teddy and Emily's meetings, where they shared their dreams and hopes for the future: "Then Teddy came for me and we walked together up the field and through the To-morrow Road. It is really a To-day Road now, for the trees along it are above our heads, but we still call it the To-morrow Road—partly out of habit and partly because we talk so much on it of our to-morrows and what we hope to do in them. Somehow, Teddy is the only person I like to talk to about my to-morrows and my ambitions. There is no one else." (Emily Climbs).

To-morrow Road was a place that marked the milestones for both Teddy and Emily (Teddy especially). Here he told Emily that his mother decided to allow him to attend Shrewsbury High School; here he told her that he had received an art scholarship and was going to the college in Montreal. Here he proposed. Here she was waiting for him with Dean's letter.

It seemed to me that Teddy and Emily's relationship was all about the future. Thorough Emily Climbs they seemed to think that they couldn't be each other's "today", because they both had their own separate dreams ("to-morrows") to conquer before they would be free to set on their rainbow quest together. (Side note: Montgomery skillfully mentioned that To-morrow Road was in fact - already To-day Road).

By the end of Emily Climbs, as their romance started to blossom, Emily's initial reaction was fear. Early on, she realised that she served a jealous goddess. We didn't get a glimpse into Teddy's feelings, but it was obvious from the start how ambitious and passionate he had been for his art. Perhaps it was something more than just a fear of Emily's refusal that drove him to silence when he had meant to ask her to wait for him? The scene itself happened on To-morrow Road (another symbol that it wasn't their time yet, perhaps?). During this scene, they both experienced a clash of two extremely strong passions: on the one hand, the desire to improve their art and fulfill their ambitions and dreams, and on the other - an awakening love. Teddy, before leaving for Montreal told Emily that there were two things in life that he had wanted "tremendously", but never told her that having her as his wife was one of these things.

I wonder if Juliet and Douglas Starr's tragic story might have forced Teddy's silence. Douglas Starr had once been young and ambitious too, but wouldn't have been accepted by Murrays because of his poverty. The result of this love was tragic; Juliet's elopement broke her family's heart and both she and Douglas died early, leaving Emily all alone. Perhaps Teddy felt that he might have been tolerated as Emily's friend, but not as her suitor. Since he seemed to doubt in his own success (especially since his chosen profession rarely resulted in a fortune), he might have been more likely to keep silent.

One quote of this scene between Teddy and Emily has always intrigued me:

"We walked along the To-morrow Road—[...]—until we reached the fence of the pond-pasture and stood there under the grey-green gloom of the firs. I felt suddenly very happy and in those few minutes part of me planted a garden and laid out beautiful closets and bought a dozen solid silver teaspoons and arranged my attic and hemstitched a double damask table-cloth—and the other part of me just waited." (Emily Climbs).

Because... was it possible that she had seen herself from the future? This was the exact spot where Teddy reconciled with Emily by the end of Emily's Quest. Where he had finally confessed his love [1]. But, most importantly, this was also a spot of the very last scene of the trilogy: Emily, waiting for Teddy to tell him that Dean had gave them a Disappointed House as a wedding gift [2]. There was a certain symbolism in Teddy coming to her - the exact opposite of To-morrow Road's scene that took place in Emily's Climbs, where it was Emily who went away, leaving him alone: "Teddy was looking at the dim gold of Blair Water and scowling. Again I had a feeling that night air was not good for me. I shivered, said a few polite commonplaces, and left him there scowling." (Emily Climbs).

In a way, their story came into full circle. They both achieved success and overcame their own biggest faults (pride, insecurities, selfishness, vanity). Unlike their seventeen year old selves, they got to know what loneliness meant - they found out that their ambitions were not enough to fulfill their heart's desires.

By the end of trilogy, Emily and Teddy still had their own "Alpine Paths" to climb, but from this time, they would have each other's help and support. They also had the dreams of future they share: of home, fireplace, toast and bacon and marmalade.

YESTERDAY ROAD. THE PAST AND FAMILY TRADITIONS. LOST DREAMS. JULIET MURRAY, DOUGLAS STARR, DEAN PRIEST.

Yesterday Road symbolized the past, for it used to be lovely once. Perhaps it might have been a place where Douglas and Juliet used to meet (their own "To-day Road"). For each member of the Murray family, Yesterday Road might have had a different meaning. For Elizabeth, it could have symbolized either her youth, either a period when Juliet was a child; for Laura - her former love for Dr. Burnley; for Jimmy - his lost potential; for Juliet - her childhood, family, first love.

For Emily, Yesterday Road symbolized family traditions (the chapter in which Cousin Jimmy told her family stories was titled "The Book Of Yesterday") as well as her parents' love story. All that shaped her as a woman and a writer, but also nearly became an obstacle to fulfilling her dreams. Due to Juliet's elopement, Aunt Elizabeth almost kept Emily from receiving an education. The whole family tried to marry Emily off to cousin Andrew, so that Juliet's story wouldn't repeat itself. During Emily's later years, Yesterday Road might have symbolized Emily's lost hopes and dreams.

The person who directly referred to Yesterday Road was Dean Priest: "I shall carry pictures of you wherever I go, Star," Dean was saying [...] "pacing up and down in this old garden—wandering in the Yesterday Road—looking out to sea." (Emily's Quest).

In the second part of the trilogy, Dean Priest directly admitted that he was aware that Emily's future would not be his future: 'I hate to hear of your to-morrows—they cannot be my tomorrows.' (Emily Climbs).

During the year that he and Emily had been engaged, Emily rarely thought about the future, and felt anxious about it: "Always to be afraid of to-morrow? Content—even happy with to-day—but always afraid of tomorrow. Was this to be her life? And why that fear of to-morrow?" (Emily's Quest). In the rare moments that Emily thought of her future, she saw Teddy, instead of Dean in those visions. "She saw herself there in the future—flitting through the little rooms—laughing under the firs—sitting hand in hand with Teddy at the fireplace—Emily came to herself with a shock. With Dean, of course, with Dean. A mere trick of the memory." (Emily's Quest).

Perhaps Emily didn't understand what Dean subconsciously realized: that he would never be able to fulfill Emily's future: "to let myself dream something that couldn't come true—that I knew ought not to come true—" (Emily's Quest). During the year they spent together, he allowed himself to dream, but was left with nothing more than memories and ashes. And so, for Dean a Yesterday Road symbolized the one golden year of his engagement; the only glimpse into real happiness he had ever had. Emily became his yesterday. It is interesting how he worded his letter, containing his wedding gift: "And some day I will come to see you in it. I claim my old corner in your house of friendship now and then." (Emily's Quest). Again, he doesn't refer to her future, but her past ("my old corner").

TODAY'S ROAD: CHILDHOOD. FRIENDSHIP. ILSE BURNLEY.

Today's Road symbolized Emily's happy childhood and her friendships. It is the one path that never seems to be stained with bitterness or regrets. As for a character that simply screams "TODAY" - it is obviously Ilse Burnley, who never seemed to care about the past or think of the future:

"As far as Ilse was concerned it seemed as if no quarrel had ever taken place. “Why, that was yesterday,” she said in amazement, when Emily, rather distantly, referred to it. Yesterday and to-day were two entirely different things in Ilse’s philosophy." (Emily of New Moon).

"Ilse was growing, too, blossoming out into strange beauty and brilliance, knowing no law but her own pleasure, recognizing no authority but her own whim." (Emily of New Moon).

"Ilse had always been a merry, irresponsible creature." (Emily's Quest). "All her life she had done exactly as she wanted to do whenever the whim took her. No sense of responsibility whatever." (Emily's Quest).

Besides, Ilse seemed to be the contant "today" of Emily's childhood and youth. She couldn't be Emily's "to-morrow", though, for both girls would have to carve their own separate futures, build their own homes in which the other one would be a cherished guest: "we'll visit each other, you and I—and compare our children—call your first girl Ilse, won't you, friend of my heart—" (Emily's Quest). Emily didn't seem to mind visiting the house Ilse was going to build with her imaginary husband; but she did mind being a guest at Teddy's house, few years later when Ilse repeats her invitation: "When Teddy and I come back and set up house in Montreal you must spend every winter with us, darling. New Moon is a dear place in summer, but in winter you must be absolutely buried alive." Emily made no promises. She did not see herself as a guest in Teddy's home." (Emily's Quest).

That's perhaps the difference: Ilse would be a vital part of Emily's future and vice versa, but it would be their husbands who'd be a part of their to-morrows. Even when Ilse got married to Perry and the three friends reunited, Emily's life wasn't complete. Perhaps it couldn't be, because Ilse - dear as she was - couldn't fill a certain longing in Emily's heart and soul - the voice that needed Teddy's love and presence.

Headcanons for the Long John's paths:

Juliet and Douglas used to walk through Yesterday Road. He asked her to marry him there. Before she eloped, Juliet had a good cry there. She was thinking of her half-sibling and her father - she loved them fiercely, despite everything.

Teddy and Emily said their wedding vows in Long John's Bush, under the firs where they used to meet and where they reunited. (Both Aunts were absolutely mortified by this idea). Or, if it wasn't an official ceremony, at least they had repeated the vows there. (Let's be real, Emily would definitely repeat her vows after the ceremony, changing "Frederick" into "Teddy").

The future generations liked playing on To-day Road.

The names of the paths were never changed, even if the paths themselves did.

The children of four friends invented their own names for the paths, though.

The quotes [1]-[3]:

[1] "Suddenly I heard Teddy's signal whistle in the old orchard. [...] We walked along the To-morrow Road—it has grown so beautiful that one wonders if any to-morrow can make it more beautiful—until we reached the fence of the pond-pasture and stood there under the grey-green gloom of the firs. [...] I'm going to work hard—I'm going to get everything possible out of those two years,' Teddy said at last,[...] '"And when I come back—' he repeated—stopped again. "'Yes?' I said. I don't deny to this my journal that I said it a trifle expectantly. "'I'll make the name of Frederick Kent mean something in Canada!' said Teddy." (Emily Climbs).

[2] "It came clearly and suddenly on the air of a June evening. An old, old call—two higher notes and one long and soft and low. [...] It came again. And Emily knew that Teddy was there, waiting for her in Lofty John's bush—calling to her across the years. She went down slowly—out—across the garden. Of course Teddy was there—under the firs. [..] He put out his hands and drew her to him, with no conventional greeting." (Emily's Quest).

[3] "How very—dear—of Dean. And I am so glad—he is not hurt any longer." She was standing where the To-morrow Road opened out on the Blair Water valley. Behind her she heard Teddy's eager footsteps coming to her." (Emily's Quest).

[ultrajaphunter]

Launched in 1923, the S-44 was one of few “old pigboats” that saw extensive service in WW2 when the US Navy was desperate for Submarines after the onset of Pearl Harbor.

Serving on such boats took extra courage! I find these boats unique in that they were not the more well-known modern Gato or Balao-class boats,

but already had 20 years of service behind them when asked again to serve their country in time of war!.

With the leaks and deficiencies in these older submarines

(e.g., limited depth, speed,

no rear tubes,

and range capability), these boats still nonetheless served with distinction in WW2. S-44 earned two battle stars and has the distinction of being the first US Submarine in WW2 to sink an enemy cruiser -

that of the IJN heavy cruiser Kako in 1942 during the Battle of Savo Island!

But she was also tragically, the only S-Class boat to be lost to enemy action when she was sunk on 7 October 1943, as a result of surface gunfire with the Japanese Destroyer Escort Ishigaki off the Kuril Islands.

She was lost with only 2 survivors out of a complement of 38 crew (Lt.Cdr. Francis Elwood Brown went down with the ship).

Given this unique history, I wanted to build this boat!

I originally wanted to build the resin 1/350 S-Class model by Blue Water Navy but,

found it is very rare (if anyone has one, I am still interested as I collect 1/350 USN WW2 submarines).

With no luck in getting the 1/350 BWN model,

I decided to scratch-build one in 1/72. Given I had more time than usual with Covid19,

I started this project only in June 2020 and expect to finish in a month or so –

a record for my scratch-built projects which can last about a year minimum.

Here are pictures of the model in-progress thus far. It is not yet finished as I STILL have to add the many rivets found on these old boats!!!

The model was based on an old vacuform kit of a generic S-Class boat by the now defunct Combat Models.

However I found the old vacuform kit),

was not accurate in shape nor detailed enough as a start.

So far, the approach was to use the Combat Models as a guide to re vacuform the hull based on new plans I bought.

Methods included thermo forming,

along with styrene,

bass wood,

metal,

photo-etch,

resin casting,

and lots of gizmology parts from the spares box!

There is no major definitive book outlining the details of these old boats!

I relied solely on two grainy photos that exist of her as she exited Philadelphia Naval Shipyard in her last refit in summer 1943.

I also used photos of her near sisters (S-42 to S-46),

to guess at the rest of the details that could not be ascertained in those two old photos...

You will note that the boat had many details that are not symmetrical and aligned such as the flood holes (remember this boat was constructed in 1920!).

This is replicated on the model on purpose based on period photos of her flood hole arrangements.

While I thought a submarine would be relatively easy to scratch build,

I take that back as she has tons of little deck details.

The conning tower alone has about 150 parts itself.

In total, there will be about 400 parts to this “simple” sub.

It is not all scratch…the deck gun is from White Ensign Models

(but with more details added),

and the AA gun is from UM.

The S-44 was the only boat to mount this massive 4”/50 deck gun,

and her near sisters had the smaller 3” guns.

The paint scheme is of utmost challenge as she was simply “all black”.

I do not know how to go about it, but will tackle it one step at a time.

Thus the model represents S-44 after her final refit in June 1943,

and in what she might have looked at the time of her loss near Japan –

an old boat with a more modern conning tower!

This model is a tribute to all the crew on that boat, and those submariners still on “eternal patrol”.

I hope to contribute it and find a home for it one day at some naval museum.

More Pics on FB - Harvey Low

[thenntrewrite]

This a rough outline of what I had in mind for the start of my rewrite, but I wanted to share my thoughts here as well:

Essentially for the very basic layout of the rewrite, I had the idea of the first half following the journey of a rare hybrid—Aleron/Morgan—go through many centuries of her life and building up as an all powerful mage—though she's not entirely alone. It'd be original content mixed in with some Holy War where important moments are focused on that all leads up to the main part of the rewrite. But I'm wondering if perhaps I should focus on the main rewrite, and then do flashbacks of important moments throughout all those centuries in between.

Nothing's truly set in stone yet though. I'm just spit-balling and seeing what sticks. But doing a build-up would work in my favor for another reason outside of character development—I planned on making Meliodas and Elizabeth go from enemies to lovers to friends and make their soulmate bond more platonic by the time he meets 107th and final Elizabeth. I still want their relationship to be what kicks-off the main story and what puts Meliodas through 3,000 years of depression and hell, but, uh, what if he had a companion that he sees occasionally throughout those many centuries?

Spit-balling some more, but I imagine Aleron and Meliodas would also be enemies to friends to... eventual lovers. But it'd take a lot longer for that last bit. Hell, it'd take at least a few centuries for the second bit to occur. They wouldn't be true companions until then. The ultimate slow-burn (A truly self-indulgent rewrite). But the rewrite, if I were to start it three-thousand or so years ago, would be right when the Holy War was at an all around high and many people were dying left and right. Morgan (known at the time) was a somewhat neutralist on the matter, not finding a lick of interest in the war, but would help if called upon to the best of her ability. She was only a few centuries old at the time, and her magic wasn't as strong as it would be later in life, but she spends her time studying and practicing whenever she's not plucking off demons. She has a strong distaste for most races for her own reasons, and I believe most of them wouldn't like her since she was born from two different races. But since her mother is a highly respected Goddess warrior, and her father a highly respected faerie king, her existence is tolerated. In turn, she tolerates others and their existence. After some tragic deaths relating and unrelating to the Holy War, Morgan abandons her birth name since it 'died with them' and becomes a true neutralist living out on her own. She stays out of the war altogether and keeps to herself and her studies, only lifting her weapon out of need than out of obligation. Morgan can't recalls how the war ended, but it only takes a few centuries before she meets Meliodas sometime after the fifth or so Elizabeth. I imagine she stumbles upon him and tries to pretend she didn't see him, but the ever-growing doctor/alchemist in her can't really ignore the stench of blood. Her morals may be skewed now, but she can't ignore the oath and promises she made, so the first step in their bond is making sure the demon prince doesn't die.

This would become a tale of not only tragic soulmates, but the story of something new forming.

[poisonedfate]

hi it's been like 3 months, so wondering how u feel about ur statement that "the kindness in this show is as hated as magic itself." (context: this was specifically about merlin&morgana and 02x03) because did u mean 'kindness is a futile effort that means little in this tragic story' or like 'merlin's story is rejecting and transcending human kindness for the greater good' or [something else/more nuanced that i have overlooked]

i NEED to know what made you bring this up. was this the ep you were rewatching?

anyways. not sure if any of your 'guesses' quite fit. i meant it as - similarly to magic, it's the cause, it's the reason and it's the sword you fall on. in a lot of the instances where someone showed kindness, it eventually became something twisted. on a larger scale you have morgana and merlin - their decision making, their driving force. beyond that, however, are the 'stand alone' happenings - again, a bigger one would be the treatment of mordred, but we can also reference things like kindhearted trust or inkling to help someone. magic is not without its twist and turns, its good and bad in generic terms. and neither is kindness.

magic is the focal point of the story, of course. it's the context, the clear outline of plots and what not. and it is engrained in the very heart of the show. magic is hated, mistreated loudly. kindness on the other hand is almost subtextual. it's not addressed as often, not in the actual "main focus here" and "listen to my actual words" kind of way. and yet. it is, just as magic, a good thing turned sour. something that can and should be a source for good, turned dark and twisted. the magic bit does not need to be explained, i'm sure. the kindness bit, i'm certain you can understand by now. the very use of it, the faked kindnesses, the played up, orchestrated ones, to give another example, somewhat parallel the uses and choices when talking about magic.

as much as the hatred of magic is highlighted in the series, kindness is mistreated through the actual writing, the very content of plot driving. no one is walking around saying "kindness is a crime". but the parallels you can draw? in this conversation, magic comes from the view of characters, kindness comes from their actions. both twisted into something more sinister.

i hope that answers your question.

[carpentergirl]

A Few More Minutes

Sam and Tara get trapped by Ghostface... Probably not the best time for Tara to have an Asthma Attack.

Author’s notes: I was inspired by @autism-swagger post about Tara’s asthma in scream 6 kinda outlined this.

This is my first time writing so idk if its anything people will like so good luck ig.

I probably dragged this out too much.

Just Sam and Tara being well Sam and Tara. 

Word count: 3871

: )

Sam and Tara had left their apartment rather early in the morning. More like Sam had a plan to get out of the house before Tara woke up. But in usual Samantha Carpenter style things never went as planned and Tara was miraculously up already and Sam acquired her presence anyway.

She didn’t mind her company of course, she just didn’t want to pull Tara down the path she was heading. But Tara being well- Tara would not take no for an answer and rushed to get ready.

Moving to New York was not the fresh start Sam had hoped it would be, Rather her reputation or persevered reputation preceded her to the big city where everyone had their opinions. Some were sympathetic to the young woman who had tragically been caught up in a legacy bestowed upon by her estranged father who died before she was even born. While others believed that Sam was Billy reincarnated and was meant to finish what he had started all those years ago, much believing in the story that Richie and Amber had tried to create.

Sam knew little to nothing about her father besides of course the conspiracy and movies about him. That wasn’t enough for her. Of course she didn't set out to miraculously find out he was a great guy and was just misunderstood as most cliche villains would be- she knew that wasn’t the truth. Her father was no villain, he was true evil but despite that and even if she hated to admit it- he was still a prominent part of her and she was desperate for some identity outside of ghostface.

Tara during the transition was- well, again, Tara. She didn’t say much about moving. She didn’t say much about anything as a matter of fact. She was just happy to once again be with her sister. After basically fending for herself ever since Sam left she was having a hard time adjusting to having a helicopter parent. She would never admit it but having Sam be there for her, especially when she didn’t want her to be, was something she could never find the words to thank her for. Tara didn’t deal too much with her past in the new city. She didn’t want to live in the past. It was too painful to remember the town of Woodborough. Everything she had gone through and all before the ghostface attacks. She’d rather forget it all. Some people were curious but rarely cruel, or maybe she never gave them the chance to be, Tara avoided people like the plague. The only time you would find Tara in any social situation is if she was about 3 shots too gone which is what led to Sam’s alleged stalking.

But at the end of the day Tara would always be with Sam, as long as Sam would have her of course.

Even with that being said Tara found it extremely difficult to be blindly led by her older sister into a psycho’s lair. Yes, Tara knew she asked for this when she volunteered herself as Sam’s companion for the day and yes Tara could at any point leave and go back to the safety of their apartment but she’s made it this far right?

“I don’t know, maybe we should go back home?” Tara sheepishly suggested her feet planted firmly on the sidewalk outside the abandoned movie theater. She knew why they were there, she knew Sam wanted answers, she just wished the answers didn't have to be so creepy.

“T, I told you not to come, I’ll call Kirby to come and get-” “No. You’re not going alone.” The girls bantered walking up to the entrance.

The lair was exactly the same as the first time they were there. When Gale had brought them looking for insight on who the newest masked freaks were. To no avail, it was just a ganky collection of Ghostface memorable. Pieces from the killers and victims. An unsettling tomb of whatever screwed up legacy Billy had started.

Tara knew Sam had been itching to come back, alone, she saw the way Sam gawked at her father’s robe, the knife he had used to murder people. She saw Sam’s need for answers and Tara knew she didn’t understand and she knew couldn’t understand which is why she didn’t want to get in between Sam and the answers she was looking for.

They crept their way through the shrine and Tara started to get uneasy. Everything about this gave her the untimely shiver of impending doom. It was almost as if every step brought her closer to the end of her being. She slid her hands over the display cases filled with bloody artifacts to some infamous murders and innocent victims, who, just as herself, had been brutally attacked. She was surprised that nothing of hers ended up behind the glass walls to be shown off like a trophy.

At the head of the room were the costumes, the same ones that made Tara shutter at the sight of even if it was nothing more than a costume at a party. Her eyes fell on Amber’s. Someone who had not crossed the oh so complicated mind of Tara Carpenter in a long time. A weighted rope had wrapped itself tightly around Tara’s heart and given into gravity. She didn’t want to think about Amber, the worst part of Woodsborough.

She noticed Sam in the center once again examining her father’s robe, she just couldn’t understand any of this, and quite frankly she didn't want to. It was becoming all too much for Tara.

“Sam, I don't feel well.” she said taking two puffs of her rescue inhaler, cursing herself for not using her orange one earlier in the morning, the one that prevented asthma attacks.

“Okay, Just a few more minutes and we'll get out of here.” Sam said concern glistening in her eyes but she was too close to turn around now- surly tara would be fine if they stuck around for a few minutes more.

Tara nodded, agreeing that a few more minutes wouldn’t kill her, she walked around the theater trying to find more theatrical attributes rather than the homicidal ones she was far too familiar with. She wandered past the wretched museum into the old concessions rooms looking at the abandoned candy trying to pinpoint a possible year of extinction for the theater.

She ran her fingers through the dust again causing her to cough again. Tara should’ve known better than to be stirring up dust when she was already at a  disadvantage for the day.

The youngest Carpenter had been looking at an old movie’s reel, trying to make sense of the little pictures in the frame holding them up to the light. She heard something behind her fall and she jumped to attention slowly turning around. To see absolutely nothing.

I'm losing my mind. Tara thought to herself, after all the shit she’s been through, she thinks it finally got to her.

And got to her it indeed did. The next time Tara heard a suspicious noise she once again contributed it to her new found psychosis and hallucinations. Until it was no longer a hallucination she could write off but instead a menacing Ghostface who had grabbed her from behind.

Tara let out an ungodly scream before laying a blow to the reaper’s stomach with her elbow and kicking at their knee. In which she was freed enough to take a running start and right into Sam’s arms.

The two  Carpenter sisters now found themselves one again being chased down by a robed figure. They raced to navigate the halls of the abandoned movie theater trying to escape.

Tara was not faring well to begin with and definitely not now with this whole running situation. She miserably tried to keep up with Sam running- stumbling was more like it. Her breathing was unsteady, panic glistened over her as she tried to keep up. While they had only been running a few minutes her anxiety coming face to face with a reaper once again was an accelerant for disaster and was taking a toll on her.

“Sam” the younger sister gasped, reaching out for the taller girl “I-”  Tara coughed.

Sam turned to the smaller girl chopping her step, Tara was hunched down at the waist, hands on her knees as she tried to stabilize her breathing.

This was all her own fault Tara thought to herself, if she wasn’t so instant on going then she would’ve remembered her inhaler this morning. Then again if she hadn’t been there then Sam would’ve been with Ghostface alone and without warning.

Everything burned. Her lips were dry and her mouth felt chalky, usually meaning it was time for an inhaler dose and possibly even something stronger. Her throat was on fire as if it was trying to burn a way to breathe for her. Sam grabbed her wrist pulling the girl with her as she heard the clatter of Ghost Face getting closer to them.

The next time the girls came to a stop was about 20 seconds later when Sam felt the tug of Tara hitting the ground, before she had only felt the staggering of the smaller girl which was enough for her to keep Tara in tow.

“Tara!” Sam yelled for her attention as the youngest carpenter grasped at her chest in a desperate attempt to let air in.

“T, calm down. You gotta try to calm down.” Sam rubbed circles into the girl's back while trying to pull her back up and failing Tara’s legs struggling to support her.

“You can’t out run me forever” Tara’s eyes found her sister’s, filled with tears and pure fear across her face. For the first time Sam was really forced to take in her appearance. Her lips tinted white with sweaty glistening skin over the color she had lost making her look ghostly.

Sam tugged Tara up yet again, this time taking the little breath she had left. She had to do something, there was no way Sam would let GhostFace get to Tara. Forcing the smaller girl to her feet and starting running once again, as fast as she possibly could she was basically dragging the girl who could only be heard by the rapsiness of her gasps. Then she spotted it, the storage room in which she had earlier caught Chad and Tara in successfully cockblocking them… again. She basically threw the younger girl in the room and barricaded the door with a shelving unit. Surveying it for anything useful as a means for defense with no luck.

Tara’s face had taken on an unnatural tone. She choked on her coughs. No matter how hard she tried she simply could not get air in. It seemed impossible.

Her mind was panicked. She could not go out like this. So miserably choking on her own inability to properly breathe. She could not die running from the fool who thought it was a good idea to dress up as her ex girlfriend, her sister’s father, a complete psycho.

She did not survive Amber’s attack to die like this. She did make this far to die because she couldn’t remember one day’s dose of medication. She couldn’t die. She wasn’t ready.

“Your inhaler” Sam questioned as Tara hadn’t already thought of that. Sam patted her pockets and then checked  the younger girl’s she knew Tara just had. She watched her put it in her pocket. She never left her house without it. And the extra one was in Sam’s backpack- of course the one she had tossed at the sound of Tara encountering Ghostface. Sam’s face dropped as she realized the inhaler simply wasn’t there, she grabbed her phone to use as a flashlight hoping it had just fallen out when she pushed the younger girl in. No such luck.

The stutter in Tara’s chest caught Sam’s attention again. Making her give up hope on the inhaler and resort to an escape plan. She pulled out her phone once again and found the previous texting chat.

Core Four

Sam: Trapped in the theater, Ghostface has us pinned in the storage closet.

Chad: We’re two blocks away, Mindy is on the phone with 911

Sam: Tara is bad- Asthma Attack- please hurry

Sam breathed a few moments of relief before the shuddering of her sister demanded her attention.

“Okay Tara, hold on a few more minutes.” Sam cooed, pulling her in close.

Sam could hear Ghostface clattering around in the halls looking for his next victims.

“Tara, Tara, Tara..” The voice menaced.

“Making me pick up after you, did your mother not teach you to pick up after yourself- oh right.” Tara was barely able to keep the focus on anything but her desperate need for air. She barely even processed what the menace was taunting her for.

Sam tried to keep Tara calm as the threats got louder.

“Well, at least I know you won’t get very far.” He threatened. Almost as if on cue Tara had let out a violent cough causing her body to shake. Sam quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound and not give away their location.

Tara was fading in and out; she could only see the outlines of the things around her, and her ears started to ring on top of the pounding of her heart instead of processing the sounds around her. SHe felt the strong arms around her body and the hands covering her mouth. She needed air and these hands in her way were not productive.

Sam cringed at her primal impulse to pull her arms away from her face.

The innate instinct to protect her airway.

Sam only held her tighter stiffening up against the wall.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” Sam kept whispering in her sister’s ear as she clawed at her. She felt Tara’s heart on her forearm, beating so hard it threatened to burst out of her chest and the way Tara’s breaths were pulling on her palms erratically and the exhaled air making them feel sweaty.

All Sam could do was cry.

She never wanted to hurt Tara, She wanted nothing more than to let her go and comfort her, but she knew if she did that they’d be moments from discovery and they were at a disadvantage.

I’m so sorry was all she could say before it was a blubbering mess.

A few more seconds had passed Tara weakly pried and then dropped her arms to her sides. Her head dropped back into Sam’s shoulders and Sam felt the smaller girl’s weight fall into her. She slowly slid down the wall now sitting with Tara hoisted up between her legs. Slowly moving her hands away from Tara’s face and pulled her in closer, putting her head to her chest- hoping she would still hear her heart. Which she did. She noticed her blood-tinged lips and Sam’s hands. She sobbed as Tara continued to take uneven breaths and let out quiet gasps.

“I’m so sorry baby girl.” The guilt ate at her. It was a normal occurrence for Sam- knowing that all of this had happened because of her, if she had never found that diary, if she had never confronted her mom, if she never mentioned her real father then Tara would not be suffering the way she was.

They wouldn’t be stuck in a supply closet of a freak’s shrine of psychos.

“Oh Samantha, you thought you could hide from me.” Ghostface teased and was extremely close to the sound of it. Oh how badly she needed the others right now, there was no way to get out, and no way to protect Tara.

She heard the crunch of plastic outside the door “Oops” Ghostface muttered undoubtedly crushing the younger girl’s inhaler that he had discovered earlier. Sam slowly slid out from under Tara gently lowering her to the ground. She grabbed the rod she had found in the room earlier, it wasn’t much of anything, mostly likely a discarded mop or broomstick. But it was a last-ditch effort for Sam to defend herself. She positioned herself on the other side of the door waiting for the menace to step in.

She heard the doorknob jingle. Still blocked by the shelves.

Sam was panicking. Her ears started ringing and all she could do was prepare herself for yet another dance with the devil. She tried to remain focused on the now pushing door; it wasn't until the shelf was knocked over that Sam was zoned in and swung her “weapon”.

“Woah,” he said, catching the rod before it made contact with him.

“This is- um Inventive,” he said finally entering the room. Sweaty.

“Chad?” Sam questioned coming down from the adrenaline that had instinctively been released in her system.

She rushed over to Tara.

“Is he gone?” She questions pulling Tara’s limp body up from the ground and struggling to support her.

“I think so.” Chad said, quick to help Sam pick Tara up.

He reached for his pocket uncovering an orange inhaler. Which Tara clearly hadn’t used this morning if Chad had it. She looked down and saw the blue one crushed to pieces in the hall and shook her head.

“It’s too late for that- we have to get her to a hospital.” Sam rushed him out the door. Mindy came running up to them.

“There’s no one here” She huffed out trying to catch her breath and for the first time Sam had heard the sirens all around the building. The police must’ve scared them off so she tried to rationalize.

Chad carried Tara bridal style out of the building and straight to the stretcher. Tara was ghostly white and her lips started to tint blue. Chad shuddered at how lifeless she felt in his arms.

Sam dodged the police and reporters who had gathered around asking her what had happened.

She hopped into the ambulance as the paramedics worked on his sister urgently.

Sam sat impatiently in the waiting room of the ER. Chad and Mindy there, somehow Kirby and Gale also made it there. Honestly it was all a haze to Sam.

“Tara Carpenter.” The Doctor called out to the room of eagerly waiting family members, Sam was up in an instant.

“I'm her sister.” She begged the Doctor for him to say that Tara was okay.

“Tara went into respiratory distress earlier, as a result of her asthma, luckily we don’t believe she suffered any permanent damage to her brain and she shouldn’t have any long lasting effects but we definitely want to keep her overnight to be sure. Just a few more minutes and we could’ve been having a very different conversation.” The doctor explained. A wave of relief washed over the group. This wasn’t Tara’s first close call but it was definitely the closest in a long time.

“But the blood” Sam mentioned to the doctor, as she raised her hands as proof. “X-rays are clear, just some popped capillaries from all the coughing.” He added placing a reassuring hand on Sam’s shoulders.

The older girl rushed to Tara’s room, her sister set up a heart monitor and oxygen though she was steadily breathing again. Sam stood frozen at the foot of her bed. Kirby made her way into the room leaving the others in the hallway.

“Sam…” She started. “She’s okay. You saved her.”

“I didn’t fucking save her Kirby, I almost killed her.” Sam shook her head. Her palms striking her temples. Still stained with some of Tara’s blood.

“I put my hands over her mouth. I could feel her fighting me. I suffocated her.” Sam cried, pulling her hands into view.

“You did not suffocate her, you saved her. You did what you had to do to save her.” Kirby pulled Sam’s hands down and held them. She pulled her into her arms hearing what had happened in that room for the first time.

Kirby had basically adopted the Carpenter duo as her own, she made them her responsibility even if they all liked to pretend that Sam and Tara had everything under control.

It was easy for Kirby to come in and help. It was easy for Sam to let herself go in the agent’s presence. It was even easier for Tara to relate to Kirby and accept the advice that she would offer even if it was the same advice Sam would suggest- It must’ve sounded different coming from the older girl.

“She didn’t even want to be there, she asked me to leave and I- I made her stay” Sam continued to cry into her ‘older sisters’ chest.

It wasn’t long until Sam composed herself and put on her brave face for the rest of the group and they all gathered around in Tara’s room. Sam next to her bed of course rubbed circles into the smallest girl’s hand.

Tara had regained some color, still much paler than her usual complexion, but better than before. Her lips were once again pink and she had lost the gleam of sweat. All to the group's relief.

No one dared to leave even as the early hours of the morning threatened to trap them in the hospital.

Soon the silence was broken by Chad offering himself to get chips and snacks from the vending machines which he would later regret because

A) he used all of his cash

and B) Girls are too ‘particular’.

The group shared jokes and conversations trying to move on from the earlier events and living more in the moments they were all together. They had grown quite the roar almost as if they were in the sister’s apartment and it was a casual Friday night. Arguing over what M&M flavor tasted the best with Sam reluctant to admit she thought they all tasted the same because- well didn’t they?

First there was a cough. It came from the smallest member of the group. They all stopped mid debate, assessing the situation. They watched as she stirred in her bed sitting up frantically and coughing “SAM” she yelled between her coughs.

“Tara” Sam grabbed her. “It’s okay, breathe, you’re alright” Sam cooed.

Tara took in her environment no longer in a dark dusty theater but rather in a bright antiseptic room surrounded by the worried faces of her friends, Family.

She took a deep breath in, she was sore but it didn’t burn, she was able to breath without a fight. She relaxed into Sam’s touch.

“Jesus christ I never want to do that again.” She chuckled. After a pause of her remembering the earlier events. Everyone laughed.

“Glad to see you’re doing better.” Kirby grabbed the girl’s knee in support.

They continued the night moving onto the next candy flavor they could debate about. After of course Tara added that the blue M&M is the best tasting one. And Sam could not have been more grateful to hear such ridiculous words come out of her mouth. They were okay, Sam prayed to stay like this at least for a few more minutes.