#they told him to go away because everyone else looked raggedy when they were next to him

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

It remains my life mission to inform people that Toby canonically got turned away from that seaside festival a) back in the 30s or whatever and b) because he was too dripped out.

[wisteriabookss]

An Extensive Analysis of Eris

The recent excerpt from ACOSF has got this fandom spinning on it’s head because it includes a feral-smiling Eris waltzing with Nesta. As a result, people have now delved deeper into his character and whether or not he deserves a redemption arc (or an arc of any kind). 

So naturally, he has been compared to Rhys, because Rhys also appeared to us in the beginning as a cruel, cunning person, who was eventually revealed to have a bigger heart, and a valid excuse (at least amongst the IC) for his behavior.

I made this post to mainly catalogue all that Eris has done, analyze his actions, see if he indeed can be compared to Rhys, and to determine whether or not he should have a redemption arc. 

What We Know So Far

Our first mention of Eris is in ACOMAF, when Rhysand is explaining to Feyre what happened to Mor. I could put the quotes here, but just to save some time I’m gonna make a long story short.

Mor’s father, Keir, declared that she was to be sold in marriage to Eris. Eris is known for being cruel, and Mor begged Rhys to stop it. Rhys brought her to the Illyrian camp for a few days, and she decided to sleep with Cassian in order to ruin her “pure” image. Because she slept with Cassian, Eris refused to marry her. Said, “she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow.” Her family, although it’s not said explicitly, basically beat her, and then dumped her body on the Autumn court border with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem now. Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.

Now, we’re going to look at what he exactly said during this event, given to us from Mor’s POV in ACOFAS:

“Don’t touch her.” Those steps stopped. It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.” 

Cold, unfeeling words. “But—but they nailed a—” 

“No one touches her.”

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris took a step away. Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—” 

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. 

“She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

Now that we have Mor’s side of the story, we’re going to look at what Eris has said about that fateful day during a discussion with the IC in ACOWAR:

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

. . . .

A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

A main takeaway from this is that there seems to be much more to story of what happened between Eris and Mor.

Does that mean him leaving her in the woods is excusable? No. Absolutely not. He didn’t try to take the nail out of her (which would’ve been the bare minimum), he didn’t alert Rhys that she was there, he didn’t do anything to help her. He started to make the situation even more traumatic by saying vile things to her. Whatever reason he gives for not helping her will be just that: a reason. But not an excuse. Those are two very different things.

Eris say’s that leaving her there is one of the few things he regrets. There’s something in that. I’m not saying under any circumstance that he should be forgiven because he feels guilty, thats stupid as hell, but it is showing that he’s not some apathetic, other-worldy evil person. There’s some semblance of a conscious in him. 

He also say’s that one day he’ll tell them why he did it and what it cost him. By what it cost him, I’m guessing he’s talking about the cost of ending his betrothal to Mor, because I can’t think of what he lost by leaving her there. 

I don’t think there’s been any mention of someone getting revenge on Eris because A.) Rhys told Feyre that, “Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” and B) her family was obviously going to do nothing cause they’re the ones who hurt her.

I’m not going to try and theorize what cost Eris had to pay. It obviously is something (or someone) important to him.

But to me, one of the biggest things we got from this discussion is that it seems Eris knows Mor is gay. That secret smile of his that had Mor shrinking, the way he says he knows why she slept with Cassian, and that he gave Mor her freedom by ending the betrothal without giving a reason . . . he knows.

He knew she was gay, so he ended their engagement, no questions asked. And then Mor was dumped in his woods, and he did nothing to help. 

Morally grey, indeed.

(P.S. To the person that posted something along the lines of, “I can’t wait to see Mor’s face when she see’s Eris dancing with Nesta,” . . . get help)

Another excerpt I wanna look at also happens during the recent discussion we’ve just seen, but it has to do with Feyre and Lucien.

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

That little hesitation before he says ‘brothers’. . . sus. That’s all imma say. (maybe there’s more than one illegitimate son in that family . . .)

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there— when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

We see another semblance of conscious here when Eris refuses to take part in the slaughtering of Jesminda. To even be in the same room as it. He then made sure that Lucien wasn’t going to die by making sure Tamlin was at his border. 

I’m not putting these quotes here to say, “Look, he cares about stuff , so let’s excuse everything he’s done.” No. There is no excusing any of his actions. Just like we can’t excuse Rhysand’s behavior in the first two books, or Cassian’s, or Nesta’s, or even Feyre’s, etc. But what we can do is see the reasons for their actions, and try and understand why they acted the way they did. They have their reasons, and Eris has his. (P.S. I’m not trying to compare what they’ve done, I’m just noting that they all had reasons to do what they’ve done, and they all deserve to be heard out.)

Comparison To Rhys

As I said earlier, Eris has drawn a lot of comparisons to Rhys. I agree with most of them.

This fandom has catalogued all of Rhys’s questionable actions like . . .

*TRIGGER WARNING: words like sexually assaulted*

Rhys sexually assaulting Feyre three times in the first book by drugging her, and then compelling her to give him lap dances in front of the folks Under The Mountain. He then displayed Feyre again in a sexual manner in the second book in front of The Court of Nightmares as, and I quote, “The High Lords Whore.” 

In both situations he could’ve done things so much differently. In the first book, he could’ve just, oh I don’t know, kept her in her cell? Or maybe brought her upstairs as a normal person?

And in the second one she literally could have been ANYTHING else. Everyone thinks she’s his prisoner, so why didn’t they go with that? Why couldn’t he have just dressed her in some raggedy-ass clothing, messed up her hair, and then tell her to act super stoic or frightened? Really Rhys, she just had to be your whore? (I know it was consensual but that doesn’t make her persona okay. He could’ve picked literally anything else)

Did he have his reasons for doing this? Yes. Does his reasons excuse what he did? No. You don’t have to make everyone else around you act a part just because you do.

So while we may not excuse Rhys’s actions, we can understand his reasons even if we don’t agree with them. Same with Eris. We know Eris has his reasons, and I doubt we’ll all agree with them, but he still has them.

Let’s also not forget that Rhysand made a deal with Eris and Keir that he would support Eris’s claim to the Autumn Court throne when Eris decides to kill his father for it. He also allowed Keir and his court to come into Velaris, and even though they’ll be turned away by every vendor, he still allowed them in. While he had his reasons for doing this (the Darkling army for ACOWAR) he still did it. It still hurt Mor.

Redemption Arc 

My biggest hesitation in thinking Eris will get a redemption arc is wondering where it would fit in the books for him to have one. We don’t know how if his waltz with Nesta is just a one-time thing or if it’s a result of a friendship between the two. The second book is supposed to be centered around Elain, Azriel, and Lucien, so that could also be a spot where he get’s an arc, maybe through a relationship with Lucian or Azriel. 

Either way, I’m not gonna bring down the hammer and say that he shouldn’t get a redemption arc. Tbh, the term ‘redemption arc’ kinda annoys me because it shouldn’t be about redeeming what was done in the past, but more about learning from past mistakes and taking the initiative to grow into a better person. That’s what I want for Eris. He’s not going to magically be revealed to be this super sweet fun-loving guy like Rhys. I don’t want him to be revealed like that either. 

I just want to see more of his character, see why he is the way he is, and, like i’ve said a million times in this post, know his reasons for acting the way he does. 

One last thing before I go. I’m not interested in seeing any relationship blossom between Eris and the IC, or Nesta, and I think it’s unlikely anyways. There’s a possibility for them to have an understanding, sure, but no friendship. I know there are some people who automatically adore Eris because they hate Mor and that’s just stupid. Mor isn’t my fav either, but I won’t cheer Eris on just because he hurt her. 

That’s all I’ve got. If you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you. Really.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Angel’s Girl

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!reader

Summary: Angel wants everyone to know you’re his girl. Also, part of a request from @brownsugarcoffy​/  Hi! I don't know if your taking any request, but I saw this picture of this necklace with Angel on it. I was wondering if you would write a imagine of Angel Reyes giving the reader a necklace with his name to claiming her as his old lady and now Angel now wants to only see her wearing his name as they make love. I really adore your writing and know you will do it justice. ❤

Warnings: A lil angst, a lil smut, a whole lotta fluff and cheesiness. 

Here’s more of my work or if you would like to be notified here’s my taglist

At some point, you and Angel knew you had a forever kind of love. The kind of love where you get tattoos expressing that love. When it was your two-year anniversary, he propositioned the idea.

He showed you the sketches he drew of your name. He was so excited, that it physically hurt you to burst his bubble. “Angel, I love you, but there’s no way I’m getting your name tattooed on me.” Angel grabbed you by the back of your neck and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know, mi dulce. You’re too practical for that, so that’s why I drew you these.”

Moving his page of his drawing of your name Angel revealed a sheet of paper full of angel wings drawings. The one in the center, immediately caught your attention. “That one! That’s the one!”

“Yeah? You like it?” He asked nervously. Angel had only shown his drawings to you and EZ. He was too insecure to share them with to anyone else.

“Duh! And I’ll get ‘em on my fingers and go like this,” you flicked your wrist. “And tell them my super amazingly talented boyfriend drew them.”

“Handsome. Your super amazingly talented handsome boyfriend.”

“Oh, how could I forget!?” You smacked your forehead. “It’s okay, I forgive you.” He kissed your temple and listened to you plan when you and he would get the tattoos while he rubbed the ring finger you flicked at him earlier, thinking how well it would look with an engagement ring.

--

Angel just loved how you showed off your tattoos. Or better yet how you explained the meaning behind them. Club hang arounds? You flaunted that shit and in the next breath you threatened to punch them dead in the face if they ever disrespect you by flirting with Angel. Dudes hitting on you at the bar? You shot them down with the quickness and told them you only belonged to one person and fluttered your fingers like you were already married.

But one day the tattoos weren’t enough. Angel didn’t know what it was, but he knew he needed something else to say you’re his. An engagement ring was out of the question because he had yet to find the perfect one. Luckily, one day he stumbled onto a heart locket that had his name engraved in it and he knew that was it. That would show everyone you were his old lady.

When he brought the necklace to you, you were automatically in love, but you also had to tease him. He was practically going all caveman on you when he requested you always wear it. ���Damn Angel, I might as well get your name tattooed on my forehead.”

“Angel!” You hit him as he was seriously mulling over the idea. “I’m just kidding, querdia. We want to take attention away from your big ole forehead not bring more to it.”

--

With your forgetful self, one day you forgot to put your necklace back on after the gym. That didn’t sit well with Angel, especially since you and him weren’t on the best of terms.

“Where the fuck is your necklace, Y/N?”

“In the car. I forgot to put it back on.” You set down your gym bag, went into the kitchen and got you a bottle of water.

“You forgot? Didn’t I tell you to keep it on at all times?” His insecurities were flaring up, driving him to be crazily possessive.

“Angel, I’m not your damn property! When you get that through your thick ass skull give me a call!” And with that you ran out the door with him calling after you was cut off by you slamming the door and running into your car.

That’s how you ended up at the bar, listening to some lame pickup lines.

“Angel, that’s a pretty name.”  The guy pointed to your necklace.

Soon as you decided you were going to the bar you put the necklace back on. “It is.” You replied in a monotone voice, keeping your eyes straight ahead. He didn’t take the hint that you were not interested and continued to talk to you.

When you raised your glass to take a sip, he noticed your tattoos and made some corny joke. Somehow, he kept going even though that was like the fifth joke you didn’t laugh at.

From afar Angel was watching the interaction partly amused and partly jealous. He wanted you to tell the guy get lost, but he could clearly see your annoyance and it was funny to him. He decided he’ll let it go on for a little while longer to let you suffer some more unless it got out of hand.

“So, Angel what’s a beautiful girl like you doing here alone?” The stranger was about to put his hand on your thigh, but he finally picked up on some social cues and stopped himself. “I was enjoying my drink and my name’s not Angel.”

“What? It says it right there.” He pointed to your locket. Oh, this man was dumber than you thought. “Doesn’t mean it’s my name.”

“Then whose name is it?” He got defensive, he didn’t appreciate being made a fool of.

“Her boyfriend’s.” Angel finally decided to intervene when he saw the guy become agitated.

The sleazebag was about to be Billy badass, but then he saw Angel’s kutte and became a stuttering mess. “Sor-so-so-sor-sorry man, I didn’t know she was your girl. My bad.” He didn’t even give Angel time to threaten him. He ran off afraid of what could happen.

“Took you long enough off.” Halfway through your one-sided conversation with your unwanted suitor you saw Angel’s reflection through the bar’s mirror. “You knew I was here? Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I thought you would.”

Angel took your glass and drunk the rest of your drink. “Nah, it was too much fun seeing you suffer.”

“Asshole!” You playfully shoved Angel.

He started to laugh but it eventually died down. “I’m sorry, querida.”

“For being an asshole at home or being one here?”

“At home. That shit here was too funny.” He backed away before you could hit him again. “Seriously though, I’m sorry. I don’t think of you as my property. Yeah this,” Angel moved in closer to grab your necklace, “it means you’re my girl, but the deeper meaner is that you own my heart.”

“So that means I’m not your whore you can fuck however and whenever you want?” You asked with a smirk.

“Check, please!”

—

Angel had you twisted up like some damn pretzel, but you loved it. As soon as you got home, he got on his knees and made you cum three times with his mouth and he would’ve gone for the fourth if you didn’t beg him to fuck you.

“Shit! Who’s pussy is this?” Angel was pounding into you, his eyes were focused on your locket swinging against your neck. “It’s yours Daddy!”

“Damn right it is.” He took your left hand and sucked your ring finger. With his hand he took a hold of your neck. “And next time some little bitch tried talking to you, you shit that shit down. You understand me?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whimpered with tears streaming down your face. Angel was too good at this. You could feel another orgasm mounting up and it felt like it would be the most powerful of all.

Angel noticed you trying to hold back your orgasm because he didn’t give you the permission to cum. “Good girl.” He praised you, leaning forward until your foreheads met. “Daddy’s making you feel good?”

“Yes,” you nodded your head, “You’re so big, I can feel you deep in my tummy.”

He pressed a hand to your stomach. “You’re right, princesa. I’m deep in them guts. But can you do me a favor baby girl?”

“Anything for you.” Angel smiled against your neck. “Cum all over daddy’s cock.” And just like that you did. You screamed Angel’s name at the top of your lungs almost drowning out his own shouts of pleasure.

After that thorough round you wanted to bundle up and go to sleep but Angel made you get up. “Hygiene over comfortability,” he said.

As you went to use the restroom, he changed the sheets and started the bath. Just before you joined him in the tub, he handed you your shower cap. It was blissful silence as you two cleaned up.

Again, Angel was rubbing in your left ring finger. Ever since you got the tattoo there, he’s been obsessed, but he never gave the same attention to your middle finger with the other angel wing.

“Angel?”

“Yes, querida?”

“Why do you keep a hand on my ring finger?”

“Man, I thought you were the smart one of us two.” You splashed some water his way and he quickly apologized knowing you could start a splash war like nothing.

He brought up said finger to his lips and kissed it. “Because I can’t stop imagining how good it’ll look with a ring on it.”

His answer appeased you which led you to your conditions of your proposal. Angel listened eagerly and ingrained each requirement in his head. There was no way he was gonna mess this up.

--

He hadn’t been shopping for it, he just accidentally stumbled on it while at the mall. Weeks later, Angel finally found the perfect engagement ring for you. He was so excited that he planned to propose that night, but your nails weren’t done and one of your requirements were to make sure your nails weren’t ‘raggedy’ as you would put it.

Then another couple of weeks later the opportunity presented itself. You were on your lunch break and you came to the clubhouse to spend it with him and the guys. Your mouth was full of tacos like chipmunk cheeks while you yelled ‘No fucking way!’ at Coco and Angel thought there was no one he rather spend the rest of his days with.

He did a quick check of your nails and they still look good from the day before. Yeah there were people around, but it was people you and him consider family. Your hair was done, and you had a nice outfit on, so all the boxes were checked.

“Querida,” he called out to you to stop you from arguing with Coco.

“Yeah babe?” You turned to him and found him on one knee. “Oh my god!” You jumped up and started wiggling around doing some weird celebratory dance.

The guys turned to see what was happening and they all cracked a smile. “About damn time.” Coco slapped the back of Angel’s shoulders. The rest of the Mayans came out with their guns out when they heard your screams, but quickly put them away when they saw what was happening.

Each time Angel tried to say something you would just squeal and continue dancing, not giving him a chance to get one-word in. “Prospect, get her.” Bishop ordered, seeing how uncomfortable Angel was getting from kneeling on the gravel.

EZ wrapped one arm around your shoulders and the other over your mouth. “I know you’re excited to be my sister-in-law, but you can’t say yes if he can’t ask the question. So, can you be quiet and be still?” You nodded your head fervently and EZ released you.

“Thanks, bro.” Angel cleared his throat before looking at you. He was getting nervous again, but then he saw how you had to contain your excitement and he was overwhelmed with love again. “You know I’m not good with words and shit, but I’ll try. You’re my everything, Y/N. You’re my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. I honestly can’t think of my life without you because it would be too depressing. God, I hope this isn’t too corny, but here it goes: what’s the point of an angel if there’s no heaven? So, with that being said, Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Angel was lucky he started to stand up because you tackled him once he slid the ring on. He was attacked with kisses all over his face and he wondered how could he had been worried about you saying no at all.

“You know you’re gonna be stuck with me forever, right?”

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine with that. What’s the point of heaven if I don’t have my Angel with me?” Forever with Angel sounded like paradise and you couldn’t wait.

Tagging: @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @sadeyesgf​ @woahitslucyylu​ @starrynite7114​ @angelreyesgirl​ @blessedboo​ @ourlittlesecretsoveragain​ @sambucky8​ @mygirlrenee​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @my-rosegold-soul​ @angrythingstarlight​ @richonne4life​ @brattyfics​ @lovebennycolon​ @langiinspirations​ @chibsytelford​ @trulysuccubus​ @spookys-girl​ @brownsugarcoffy​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @fvckthisbxtchup​ @theartisticqueen​

[to-boldly-nope]

Snow White- TOS Spock x Reader

Plot: {requested by the lovely @groovyfluxie​ (you seriously come up with the best prompts ever)} You and Spock are transported to a strange planet where each region is centered by a different fairytale and the only way to get out is by living through that tale. So what happens when you get to be Snow White? 

Words: 1388 (yeah I got too excited)

A/N: Yeah, I kinda changed the plot, but not by a whole lot (I hope you don’t mind) and honestly, I’m about to turn this into a series with different characters and fairytales because it just seems so COOL

One moment you were in your quarters, reading, and the next you were in a castle wearing a raggedy dress. You walked over to the balcony and pulled the red curtain back, looking out into the courtyard. There was a wishing well near your window and you gasped.

"Snow White, go out and clean the courtyard!" A woman hissed while opening your door, making you flinch. The woman had thin, arching eyebrows and a permanent scowl. Her head was covered with a balaclava and a crown rested atop.

"Y-yes, ma'am," you stuttered as you ran past her and out to the courtyard. You didn't know where you were or why you were here but you did know that you didn't want to be there. You found a bucket and went over to the well and drew water. Birds sat on the edge of the well, watching you closely. You gave them a look before going to wash the courtyard steps.

"Cleaning a courtyard, how stupid," you hissed as you dipped a cleaning brush into the bucket. "What is there to clean? It's just going to get dirty again."

You began to scrub the stone angrily. You didn't know if anyone else from the Enterprise was here or if they were trying to look for you. You just wanted to go home. You took the bucket of water and threw it on the steps, rinsing the leftover dirt away. You found yourself going back to the well to get more water.

"Want to know a secret?" You asked the birds still sitting on the well's edge. "Promise not to tell?"

You pulled on the rope, bringing the bucket up. "We are standing by a wishing well. Make a wish into the well, that's all you have to do and if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true."

Inside, you didn't know why you were singing, but you couldn't stop. You peered over the edge of the well and looked at your reflection in the water. "I'm wishing for the one I love. To find me today."

Your voice echoed as if someone was responding to you. At least you know if the rumor was right then your dream will come true.

"I'm hoping and I'm dreaming of the nice things he'll say. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah," you sang with a smile, letting the well respond back. "I'm wishing for the one I love to find me today."

"I do not understand how speaking to a well is logical in this situation."

"Spock!" You exclaimed. "Thank God, where are the others?"

"It appears that we are the only ones here," he stated while putting his hands behind his back. He wore a white dress shirt with poofy sleeves, a blue tunic-like vest, and a red cape around his shoulders.

You tried to walk over to him but a force pulled you away and you found yourself going back to your room. You hid behind the red curtain before forcing yourself to look at Spock.

"Fascinating. It seems as if we are supposed to act out a play. Our characters were not supposed to have a long interaction."

"You mean to tell me for us to get back to the Enterprise then we have to put on an act?!" You yelled while slamming your hands down on the balcony banister.

"I shall see you when time allows," Spock told you before walking away.

~

You were dusting and humming around the little house. You learned that the Queen sent a huntsman to kill you, but he was kind enough to let you go. After that, you found yourself rooming with seven dwarfs. You had to come up with a compromise, of course. If you wanted to stay, then you had to do their chores and for some reason, you happily obliged. Now, an old peddler woman was gifting you an apple for saving her from your bluebirds.

"And because you've been so good to poor old Granny, I'll share a secret with you. This is no ordinary apple. It's a magic wishing apple," the lady said while circling around you like a vulture.

"A wishing apple?" You asked, letting your interest and curiosity get the best of you as you cradled the apple.

The old woman smiled as she knew that she got your attention. "Yes! One bite and all your dreams will come true."

"Really?" You gasped excitedly while holding the apple up to your face. The sun reflected off of it so nicely that you saw a perfect reflection.

"Yes, girlie! Now, make a wish and take a bite."

You came back to your senses and eyed the old woman suspiciously. She gave you a reassuring look. "Oh, come on, dear, there must be something your little heart desires. Perhaps there's someone you love."

You though about her statement. You didn't love anyone because you believed that nobody loved you. Then, your mind thought of Spock. You always looked up to him, but you never thought it was love. He would always play his Vulcan harp when he knew you were upset and he always let you borrow his books. There was also all those times he's protected you during away missions. It was discreet, but you always knew because he would always stand in front of you or put his hand out over your torso. Maybe he did love you, but you knew that you loved him.

"Well," you blushed bashfully, "There is someone."

"I thought so," the woman smiled cheekily, "I thought so. Old Granny knows a young girl's heart. Now, take the apple, dearie, and make a wish."

"I wish-I wish," you whispered while clutching the apple.

"That's it. Go on, go on."

"...And that he will carry me away to his castle...where we will live happily every after."

"Fine! Fine!" She roared, "Take a bite. Don't let the wish grow cold!"

You took a bite from the apple and you didn't feel right. Doctor McCoy has injected you with some weird medicines, but you never felt like this before. "Oh! I feel strange."

You groaned and clutched your head and stomach, the apple still in your hand. It felt like you were going to pass out. You let out a gasp before falling backwards, falling into an eternal slumber.

~

When Spock heard news of a princess in a glass coffin, he knew that he had to look for you. He wasn't sure if the princess was you or not and he wished it wasn't you. He rode by horse throughout the land until a flock of bluebirds caught his eye. Spock followed the flock into a forest valley, where he was met with the reflection of glass.

Spock got off his horse and ran up to the coffin and he saw you. He removed his hat and felt tears well up in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. He didn't know what to do this time. He grabbed your hand, making sure your bouquet was still in place, and gave it a Vulcan kiss before kissing you as a final goodbye.

He kneeled beside the coffin and put his head down. He didn't show much emotion, but he failed to keep them inside. He also failed to ignore the noise and movement above him.

"Spock?" You asked, voice groggy from not being in use.

"(Y/N)?" He asked while looking up at you. You saw faint tear lines as the sun hit his face. "Fascinating. It has appeared that a human kiss woke you up."

"Have you ever heard of a true love's kiss?" You asked, blushing as you thought of Spock kissing you.

He simply shook his head, wondering how he revived you, but he soon forgot about his thought and scooped you up in his arms.

"My hero," you giggled while you put your head in the crook of his neck before the two of you were suddenly teleported back onto the Enterprise. Everyone on the bridge stared at you in Spock's arms and he let you down while letting out a nervous cough.

"Nice to see you two again," Kirk greeted.

"Thank you, Captain," the two of you said in unison while you stared at the floor. You only looked up when Spock placed a Vulcan kiss on the back of your hand.

[a-pretty-nerd]

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 3 

Premis:

When The League of Villains discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word count: 1,556 

Warnings: Panic Attack, themes of depression and self-hatred. Later chapters will include violence and nsfw content. 

A/N: 

I'm gonna try and have a pretty regular posting schedule. From now on I'm going to try posting once a day, even of its just a headcannon, I wanna post once a day now. I'M GOING TO TRY AND POST ONE CHAPTER A WEEK. Especially for this series, I'm having a lot of fun with it but Tumblr doesn't seem to like it and refuses to post it to the hashtags. Sorry, I know this chapter is kinda short, but I feel like this series deserves a slow, intense, burn. 

Don't forget, I have a Patreon, where you can join my discord, vote on new projects, and make requests! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Days passed. 

It all felt like a strange blur. You wondered around the abandoned house the villains called their hideout for the time being. You spent hours watching the news that Shigaraki constantly played. Despite being the daughter of the Japan’s #1 hero, there wasn’t a single report of your disappearance. You were confused. 

“They’re probably keeping the investigation quiet. Y’know, so we don’t see them coming.” Dabi told you one day as you sat on the old dusty couch and watched. You watched helplessly as the group came and went, always having someone stay behind to ‘babysit’ as Mr. Compress referred to it. 

You were allowed to wander around the old abandoned building the villains called their hideout. At first, you thought it was a house but now you realized it was an old office building. The villains mostly stayed in a specific part where they were made comfortable. It appeared that only a certain part of the building had power. Everywhere else was dark and cold and uncomfortable. 

“Yeesh, you stick!-Take a bath!” Twice shouted at you one day. You frowned and crossed your arms over your chest and stuck your hands under your arms. 

“Speak for yourself! Not my fault you guys didn’t exactly grab me a change of clothes, or let me piss alone much less shower!” You shouted in frustration. It all seemed to dawn on them at once, maybe they hadn’t exactly thought this through all the way. 

“Y’know what? You’re right! I’ll be right back!” Toga declared with a smile. 

“Where are you going?” Shigaraki asked as he watched her head for the door. 

“It’s a surprise!” She closed the door behind her and the room fell silent. Spinner soon approached only to recoil in disgust. 

“Twice is right, you do stink.” He grunted. 

“Thanks…” You grumbled. 

“Here take this and go wash off.” He held out a raggedy towel. You were directed to a bathroom with a makeshift shower in it and told to wash off before the bathroom door closed. The water was horribly cold. 

You stood under it and let the water wash over your naked body. Man, you really were dirty. The cold water soon became warmer and you lost yourself in the feeling of it. You closed your eyes and melted. Soon, the feeling of tears running down your cheeks mixed in with the sensation of your wet hair tickling the back of your neck. You crouched down and held your knees to your chest as you began to sob uncontrollably. You couldn’t stop it, the pain in your chest flowed out through your lips are you cried. You held yourself tight, your fingers digging into your legs. The pain was so intense, and your thoughts so muddied, you could see yourself sitting there, just crying. Objectively, you watched yourself and criticized. 

This was all your fault, your mother and father are worried sick about you. All because you pushed yourself too hard and couldn’t fight back. You’re a mess. You deserve this. You’ll die here, they’ll kill you before you can see your parents again. You’re worthless. You can’t even protect yourself. 

These thoughts only made the pain more intense, it made it worse. You sobs grew louder and louder and the pain grew and grew. It got to the point where you felt unable to control yourself. You began lashing out, hitting your own head, and scratching your legs. Then another thought emerged. 

This wasn’t your fault. If it weren’t for him. If it weren’t for your father and his stupid fucking hero work, you’d be home right now. You’d be safe and sound and unbothered by this hero/villain mess. He didn’t even want you to come to Japan, so why were you here? He doesn’t even want you. And your mother, she’s the one that sent you. This was her idea. This was her fault too. Anger fed the pain in your chest and it ached. The attack on your mind and body ragged on, until you heard a knock on the door. 

You felt unable to move, unable to stop. You cursed yourself again. They could hear you, couldn’t they? They could hear you crying. You expected someone to yell, but there wasn’t a voice. The door slowly opened and shut. The curtain was slowly drawn back and two eyes looked down at you. You shook violently as you looked up. Suddenly you became very aware that you were naked. 

“Why are you crying?” Toga asked as she knelt down to get closer to you. You couldn’t respond. “What’s wrong? We’re not going to hurt you, I promise. Hey, don’t cry, it’s alright. Look, I brought you some new clothes.” She reached out a hand and rubbed your naked back. 

“I-I-I’m sorry.” You croaked. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she reassured, “you’re safe here, no one is going to hurt you. And if anyone does, you come to me, alright?” 

“O-Okay.” 

“Are you done washing off?” You shook your head no. “Okay well finish up and try these on. I think you’ll like it.” She set the new clothes on the bathroom counter before leaving you. You sniffled and struggled to stand, but you managed. You took deep breathes and tried to soothe yourself. You felt drained and empty now, if not a little bit better. You stepped out and looked at the clothes on the counter. They were soft and comfortable, how did she guess the right size of underwear but the wrong size shirt and pants? They were just a little big, they fit fine where it mattered, but just a little baggy everywhere else. Definitely not something you’d pick out for yourself, but it would do for now. 

You brushed through your wet hair with your fingers and stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment. Your eyes were red and puffy, your face flushed. It made your heart race to know that everyone was well aware you were crying. You opened the door and everyone turned to look at you again. Oh god. Toga pulled herself away from what looked like a chat with Shigaraki. 

“Damn! One size off! I knew it!” Toga shouted as she approached you to examine the clothes on you. 

“They’re fine, really.” You mumbled to her as she pulled on the pants at the band. 

“Are they comfortable at least?” She asked folding her arms over her chest. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Oh don’t mention it! Next time I’ll have to take you shopping with me!” She smiled. Next time? Take you? You stared blankly at her. She pulled you with her to sit on the couch and watch more of the news. 

“You know. Now that I think about it. I don’t think he wants it out that I exist.” You thought out loud. 

“What do you mean?” Toga asked. You turned to her with a blank face. 

“Its always been a secret. I could never talk about my dad, even when I was little. Everyone assumed I just didn’t have a dad. Even when we came to visit when I was younger, no one knew I was his daughter. If the public asked, I was his niece. They always told me it was for my own safety. I get that now.” You chuckled to yourself. “But that’s probably why there’s no report on my disappearance. No one can know. I’m just a dirty little secret.” 

“Xavier! Over here!” 

Your mother called as she stood partially outside a taxi. Xavier, your “boyfriend” waved back to your mother as she dragged along his luggage. 

“Ms. Y/L/N! I’m sorry I’m late! The flight was delayed, I came as soon as you called.” Xavier was a clean-cut, academic genius. He wore slacks and a button-up on a daily basis. He was incredibly smart with several degrees by his early twenties and already on his way to becoming a very successful lawyer. He was handsome, conventionally so. He was handsome, smart, thoughtful, and generous. He was everything your mother wanted for you. 

But that was it, he was a gift from your mother you took reluctantly. She knew his father from work, it was all set up. You had been together for roughly a year now. You liked him enough to date to try and love even. He was nice and even fun at times. But you were lying every time you told him you loved him. You had been meaning to break it off for some time now, but you were unsure. You feared disappointing your mother, again. You were afraid to hurt him. You thought your trip to Japan would allow you to clear your mind and think about things before making a decision. 

Your mother brought him back to your father. Who was far too busy worrying about you to really care to give Xavier the time of day. Xavier had a very specific quirk, one that came in handy in the legal field. He could tell whether or not someone was lying just by making eye contact with someone. He was now going to be a key player in getting you back. He, like your mother and father, was not going to rest until he had you back. You can be sure of that.

Taglist:

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 9

9/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey | T (for now?) | 4.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Back in DC, Missy helps Scully get to the bottom of what's plaguing her. As Scully's journey gets a bit clearer, Missy drops a bombshell about her own life.

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

Scully’s stomach clenches as the plane touches down on the runway, jostling she and the rest of the passengers around like pawns in its game. Only forty-eight hours ago, she and Mulder had lifted off toward another mystery, another puzzle daring them to solve it. Now she is back, knowing scarcely more than she did then, with a mystery of her own to solve. She is forever chasing ghosts, and trying not to become one. 

As the winged giant rolls into its gate, Scully glances out the window. Thick clouds blanket the sky, an unending greyness rolling out over the city as far as the eye can see. So much for there’s no place like home. She’s been realizing lately that home is a feeling, not a location. Sometimes she feels like she needs a map to navigate her own apartment, or like everyone in DC knows some language she never learned. Well, almost everyone. There are a couple people who speak the same language as her.

And she’s about to see one of them now. The crowd of passengers--mostly suits who had sleepless nights-- stand up in their rows, ready to file out into the bureaucratic machine. The man on the outside of Scully’s row opens the overhead compartment and pulls down his bag and the carry-ons of Scully and the woman next to her. Scully thanks him demurely. She can’t remember the last time someone other than Mulder did that for her.

As they fall into line and shuffle off the plane, Scully wonders what her life will look like next time she boards a plane. With any luck, this will all be a fluke and she’ll be heading back to Aubrey tomorrow. Then again, even if it isn’t a fluke, she’ll still probably join Mulder back in Aubrey. She knows herself.

What would she say to him, then? Having to admit she lied about her reason for leaving, coming back with the type of news that turns worlds upside down...it doesn’t seem fair to him. It hasn’t been fair to her either, but that’s out of her hands.

She had knocked on Mulder’s door before the sun was even up. She hadn’t expected him to be awake, and so was particularly surprised when he came to the door with a towel around his waist. Evidently, he hadn’t expected her either (though who else is coming to his motel door at 6am?) because the longer she stood there in front of his barely dressed body, the more his color drained away. 

Needing a lie lame enough to be true, Scully told him that Melissa had sprained her ankle and would need some help getting around for a couple days.That she asked Scully to come home rather than go stay with their mother, because who better to be nursed by than a doctor? Mulder had nodded, told Scully to go, assured her he could handle BJ and the case. Scully is sure that Mulder knows what she told him is a lie. But he didn’t object, and that’s the permission she needed to feel settled with him and herself. 

She follows everyone off the plane, through the tunnel, and into the terminal. Moments like this remind her of her obsolescence in the universe, and she is somehow comforted by that. She is no chosen one, no messiah nor martyr, no mother of a holy child. She would like to stay that way.

She surveys the crowd waiting to pick up their beloved passengers. All of her fellow fliers, mere faces in her vicinity for an hour or two, are someone to somebody else. She is, too. They are all emerging from obscurity into a realm where they are known, for better or for worse. 

At the edge of the crowd, Scully catches her sister’s unmistakable smile and glowing red locks. She saw her sister only two mornings before, but Missy reacts as if they’ve been separated a lifetime. She engulfs Scully in a hug that just about sends the butterflies in her stomach into hibernation. 

“How are you feeling?” Missy asks, pulling away to scan her sister’s face for the honest answer she won’t give. 

Aware of this, Scully turns the corners of her mouth up. “I’m okay, really. My migraine went away at about four in the morning.”

“So you barely slept,” Missy interjects. 

Scully frowns. “Well, I laid in bed from roughly eight to six. There was sleeping involved at some point, I think.”

“How about on the plane? Did you sleep there?”

“No, you know I can never sleep with strangers around.”

“Oh, right. Did they teach you that at the Academy or something?”

“The things I saw at the Academy taught me that.”

“Oh.” Missy regrets bringing it up. As they head toward the luggage area, she holds out her hand, lets her sister place the handle of her carry-on in it. A silent apology, an acknowledged acceptance.

“So what did you end up telling Mulder?”

Scully is endeared that she has successfully chipped away at her sister’s tendency to call him by his first name.

“Oh god, you’re gonna think it’s so stupid.”

Missy laughs. “What did you say?”

Scully’s voice is rife with amusement. “I told him that you sprained your ankle and needed a doctor around to take care of you.”

Melissa bursts into laughter. “Good girl.” Scully would kick a man in the groin if he ever said that to her, but coming from her sister, it’s high praise.

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

They ignore the elephant in the room until they make it to Missy’s car. The plastic of a CVS bag rustles at Scully’s feet as she settles into the passenger seat. 

“Three pregnancy tests,” Melissa explains. “I stopped on the way.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“But I did.” That had been their father’s comeback whenever someone tried to, as he called it, ‘pity the helper.’ They both smile just a bit, their memory of him alive and well. 

“Can I pay you back?”

“No!” Missy insists. “I’m living with you rent free.”

Scully decides this is a good enough reason to let it go. She crosses her legs, watches her sister pull out of the space. She lets a question float around her head until they make it out of the labyrinth of airport side roads.

“Do you think I would be a good mother?”

Missy flicks her gaze toward her sister. Dana is peculiar in her way. Instead of fishing for sympathy like most people when they ask questions of this nature, she expects punishment. She’s practically asking to have a nail hammered into her cross. 

“You’d be a wonderful mother, Dana,” Missy soothes. “You’ve never had a bad intention in your life.”

“Haven’t I?...I killed a snake with Bill and Charlie once.”

“And you cried afterward. I remember seeing the tear stains on your face when you got home. Not to mention that you were what, five or six?”

“Well, what about Daniel? Surely my judgement was wrong there.”

Melissa sighs. “Okay, I’ll rephrase it. Any bad intention you’ve ever had was paid for with regret, and that’s not true about most people.” She frowns. “It’s always the purest souls who are the hardest on themselves.”

Scully stares through the windshield. She will expend no brainpower on her sister’s implication. She doesn’t believe it to be true. 

After a moment--“Do you remember those Raggedy Ann dolls we had, Betsy and Betty?”

Melissa smiles, nods. “Of course. Betsy was yours, and Betty was mine. We had those little wooden bassinets for them.”

“Right.”

Missy lets the memories flow back to her. “We used to sing lullabies and rock them to sleep. Actually, I’d sing, you’d pray with them. Mom and dad thought it was the sweetest thing ever, and I would get so mad at you. I thought you were sucking up to them.”

Scully laughs. This is the first time she’s heard of her sister’s woes. “Missy, I was three. There was no conspiring going on.”

“Say what you will, but your stocking was always a little bit fuller than mine.” She smirks at her sister, who blushes and looks at her lap. 

Dana has the unfortunate distinction, at least in Melissa’s mind, of being the favorite daughter. Bill Jr. always was and will be the favorite child. He molded to all their parent’s expectations of him, never deviating from the upstanding family man they imagined when holding him for the first time. Dana had done well up until she decided on the Academy. As Missy reminded her countless times, it wasn’t that they hated her going into the FBI. It just wasn’t in their vision for her, that’s all. 

Missy doesn’t fret about her place, even finds it somewhat funny. She isn’t the least favorite child per say (thanks Charlie!) but she is the least favorite child her mother is still in contact with, and that’s a title that takes some maneuvering. 

Scully laces her fingers together, rests them in her lap. “Do you remember telling me that I wasn’t a good mommy one night when we were putting Betsy and Betty to sleep?”

Melissa looks to her sister so quickly she practically forgets she needs to be watching the road. “No, of course not.”

Scully can’t meet her gaze. “Well, I know it’s a silly thing, and we were just children, but it’s stayed stuck in my brain for all these years.”

“Dana, you had probably just finished a ‘now I lay me down to sleep’ prayer, and I felt like I needed to knock you down a notch.” She pats her sister’s shoulder. “There was no truth in it, and I’m sorry it’s bugged you for so long.”

Scully shifts in her seat. The CVS bag crackles as her heels bear down on it. “I’m afraid it’s turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point.”

Melissa won’t give weight to her sister’s worries, but won’t discount them either. “The good news about a self-fulfilling prophecy is that you can always change your thinking...You don’t believe in psychics, so don’t try to be one.”

Scully looks at the dashboard, then her sister. “I would hug you right now if we weren’t doing 75,” she coos.  

Something has clicked in her head, some comfort she has long been depriving herself of. Sometimes words fill in the cracks left by those that preceded them. The right words go even further, it turns out. The right words give you permission to heal. 

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

A dreadful anticipation plagues her as she and Missy walk up to the apartment. She wants to get it over with, even if it goes badly (and she knows it very well might). She craves the relief of surviving such an ordeal. Scully imagines that this is what the French must have felt on their walk to the guillotine. Except instead of the relief of surviving, they got the release of death. Scully is not ready for this yet.

Missy unlocks the door, ushers her sister in. Dana is not used to coming home and finding things in different places than before, Missy can tell from the inquisitive look on her face. She is surveying her territory, updating her memory bank. Looking for the exit signs, maybe.

Melissa closes and locks the door. Letting her sister set the pace, she leaves the CVS bag on the side table. Dana has already taken the carry-on and suitcase to her room.

Her room, Scully finds, is a shrine to sameness, everything looking exactly as she left it two days before. Untouched and completely under her control...these are the reassurances she requires now. She lifts the suitcase onto her bed but leaves it zipped. Its fate is no clearer than hers at the moment. Then she places the carry-on on her dresser, makes a mental note to let Mulder know she made it home safely, and returns to her sister in the living room.

“Have you eaten?’ Missy asks, edging toward the kitchen.

“I won’t be able to until we get this over with,” Scully replies, making her priorities clear.

“Okay.” Missy won’t fight her on this one. She retrieves the bag off the side table, perches at her sister’s side. “Are you ready now?”

Scully screws up her face. “No, but yes. I just need to know at this point.”

Missy takes her sister’s hand with a specific kind of gentleness, like a fairy godmother about to cast a spell upon her princess. Scully is willing to be led. She follows her sister into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet while Missy pulls the pregnancy tests from the bag. Scully tries not to think about any moment beyond the current one as her sister opens each test, lines them up along the counter. 

“Do you want me in here or outside?” Missy’s tone matches the sympathy that Scully needs.

“Outside, please,” Scully says sheepishly, wishing she could have some guts for once. If no one else witnesses this moment, then maybe it’s not happening. Flawed reasoning that even Mulder wouldn’t agree with, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Okay. I’ll be right on the other side of the door.”

Scully nods her thanks as Missy slips out of the bathroom and shuts the door quietly. Left alone, she feels the crushing gravity that has been trailing her all along. She’s almost certain that her heartbeat would be visible through her skin if she looked. 

She stands, picks up the first test, opens the toilet. Her hands shake so violently that she thinks she might drop the stick in the toilet, which would be a pretty terrible way to return her sister’s kindness. She pulls it away and takes a deep breath to steady herself, holding her arms out in front of her like a sleepwalker. All the things she’s seen, and she’s never been as scared as this moment. Never felt the life she knows and has grown to love so acutely threatened. Never balked at the future in such a fervent way.

It occurs to her that she might seriously need her sister to come in and help her. The thought of that is just pathetic enough to kick her into action. Her hands are barely any more steady than before, but her resolve is ironclad. 

On the other side of the door, Melissa listens as a long period of silence is broken. She’s sitting down, her head resting against the wood, a hand laid against the door like it’s the chest of a lover. 

Silence again, ruptured by Scully’s quiet murmur. “Will you hold on to the test, please? And read the result when it’s ready?” She didn’t know she would need this, but she does. 

“Of course.” 

Scully cracks open the door, passes the stick to her sister. “I wiped it off.” 

Missy suppresses a laugh. “I wouldn’t care if you didn’t, but thank you.”

Scully closes the door quickly, not wanting to hold eye contact with her sister, not wanting to accidentally see the result herself. “Two minutes, right?” Her voice is on the verge of breaking.

“Yes, Dana. Two minutes.”

“Should I wait to do the next one?”

Missy eyes the test, waiting for it to make up its mind. “You can go ahead. It’ll take two minutes too.”

“Okay.” Scully’s voice is barely audible.

“Or you can wait,” Missy offers. “I just suspect that you’d want to check the accuracy as soon as possible.”

“Uh-huh.” She grabs the second test, wearily sits back down. 

Missy’s voice reverberates through the door. “I’ve done this before you know. For myself and for a friend.”

“Really?” Scully’s brain had tricked herself into thinking she was all alone.

“Mm-hm,” Missy confirms. “Mine were never positive, but hers were. I went to Planned Parenthood with her.”

“Oh.” There are things, Scully realizes, that she has neglected to think about. Or maybe she’s putting that off until she knows for sure. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more of an act of self-preservation. Her gut feeling is that she wouldn’t, but she never envisioned herself in a situation like this. If there’s any situation where it’s justified, it’s this, right? Not that she has a problem with it; women should be able to choose for themselves. She just always thought she knew what her choice would be. 

Melissa lifts her eyes from her watch, looks at the door as if she can see her sister through it. “It’s ready.”

“It’s been two minutes?” Scully’s voice rises.

“Uh-huh. Do you want me to come in or…?”

Scully scrambles up, lays the second test on a fresh piece of toilet paper. “I’ll come to you.”

She opens the door, kneels to be eye level with her sister. Prayer position is in close proximity. She bites her lip, her dilated pupils begging her sister to either curse her or free her.

A thin smile appears on Missy’s face as she flips the test so that Scully can read it. “Negative.”

One line. One very defined red line set against the white space. Has anyone, Scully wonders, ever gotten a tattoo of that?

“I--” Tears burst out of her instead of words. She lands in her sister’s arms, utterly unsure of what she’s feeling. Relief, yes. Happiness? Not quite. Sadness? Something like that. 

Missy smooths her sister’s hair down, holds her in the tightest hug she’s probably had in decades. “How do you feel?”

Scully is tempted to ask how her sister does that, always there with the tough questions. Instead, she gulps air until she’s calmed down enough to talk. 

“I don’t know,” she laments, tears streaked down her reddened face. “I thought I would be glad but...I just feel numb. Like I went down the wrong fork in the road and missed something important, but I don’t even know what it is since it didn’t happen.” She sniffles. It sounds like a heart breaking. “I just know it’s supposed to be there.”

“I thought you didn’t want--”

“Not under these circumstances, no. But then...when else is it gonna happen?” Her voice is a sheet of glass. “Because it doesn’t look like any time soon.”

Missy hugs her once again, rocking her back and forth. She overflows with warmth, sympathy, and love. “Honey, you have plenty of time to make your life what you want it to be.”

Scully sobs into her sister’s neck. She feels like an emotional hemophiliac, constantly hemorrhaging pain. Every time she thinks she’s bottomed out, there’s farther to fall. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she says, wiping her face. “I didn’t know I would be.”

Missy pulls her in a third time. “Don’t ever apologize to me for anything, even the things you’re actually wrong about.”

Scully laughs half-heartedly. “Oh!” She realizes then. “We still have two more tests, don’t we?”

Missy nods, smiles empathetically. “The second one should be ready by now.”

Scully is about to get up, but Missy lays a hand on her back, beats her to it. “I’ll grab it.” She strides into the bathroom, picks the stick up off the counter, and takes a look. Again, she flips it so her sister can see. “Negative.”

Scully presses her lips together, a stopgap to any further emotional reaction. “We should do the third one then, just to be sure?”

Missy detects a lift in her sister’s voice, a space she’s made for hope. “Whatever you’d like, Dana.” It seems that her sister will always end up disappointed through no fault of her own, no matter what she wishes for. This chills Missy to the bone.

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

The sisters share dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for lunch because this is the kind of food Melissa buys when left to her own devices. Missy dunks hers in honey mustard, Scully takes hers plain. Remnants of anxiety hang in the air; Scully’s plight remains unresolved, and they are well aware of that. Whatever path they are walking, this is just the beginning. 

The phone interrupts their silent reverie, and Scully hops up to disguise the fact that its ringing made her jump. “It’s probably Mulder,” she tells her sister. “I meant to call him when we got home.” Missy nods, continues with her nuggets. 

Scully grabs the phone off the wall. “Hello?”

“Hey, is Mel there?” It’s a sweet, flowery voice, very different from the one Scully expected. She furrows her brow. Could Mel refer to her sister? She’s never heard anyone call Melissa that. “Who is this?” Missy looks up, watches her sister curiously. It’s not Mulder, evidently. 

The woman on the other line clears her throat. “It’s Trinity. Am I speaking to Dana?”

“Yes, this is Dana,” Scully says slowly, unnerved by the caller knowing her name. “Are you calling for Melissa?” Scully offers, hoping she might get out of this scot-free. 

Hearing this, Missy wipes her hands on a napkin, gets up, and rushes toward Scully, holding her hand out for the phone.

Scully ignores her, keeps the phone to her own ear as the caller speaks to her. “I am, but I was actually wondering about you. Mel told me your worries. How are you doing, Dana?”

Scully is now particularly spooked. Who is this woman, and why does she know all of her business? Missy pokes Scully in the bicep, then gestures for the phone. Scully hasn’t seen her sister this greedily desperate since she snuck out the window when she was seventeen and needed Scully to unlock the front door so she could get back in before their parents woke up.

“Um, Trinity is it, Missy--Mel wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay! It was nice to finally meet you!” the cheery voice practically sings. Scully just nods and makes her usual ‘Mulder you’re crazy face’ as she hands the phone off to her sister.

“Hi, Trin.” Missy speaks in a rush. “I can’t really talk right now, but Dana is home and all the tests were negative so she’s doing okay. I’ll call you tonight, alright?”

Scully can hear the voice on the other line, but she can’t make it out. Her sister says “I love you, bye” into the phone, then hangs up.

Scully raises an eyebrow, feeling it her duty as the little sister to pry. “Who was that…?” 

Missy puts the phone back on the wall, circles around to her plate, sits down. She answers calmly, casually. “That’s Trinity. She lives in Portland, we used to waitress together.”

Scully slides back into the seat across from her sister. “How come you’ve never mentioned her? She seems to know a lot about me.”

“Well, you’re the reason I moved to DC and all.”

“I didn’t know you were still in contact with anyone from the West Coast.” Scully picks a stray crumb off one of her nuggets, thankful that her sister is in the line of questioning for a change. 

“I bounced around the area for three years, of course I have friends from there.” She grabs her own empty paper plate, points to her sister’s. “Are you done?”

Scully pushes the plate--with two uneaten chicken nuggets--toward Missy. “With the food, yes. Not with the questions.”

Melissa takes both of the plates to the trash, then rinses her hands in the sink. “Yes. Does that answer your question?”

“Depends. What do you think my question is?”

Missy dries her hands on the dish towel, swivels to face her sister. “Is Trinity my girlfriend? Because yes, she is.”

Scully’s mouth drops open the slightest bit. She had known Missy was bi, but she had never met any of her girlfriends, not even in passing. Missy tended to keep them to herself, fearing that the Scully family might encroach on the holy ground she created. “Really?” she asks excitedly. 

“Uh-huh.” Missy sits back down at the table. “For nine months now.”

“Are you serious? That’s incredible, Missy! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Missy just raises her eyebrow. Scully feels like she’s looking in a mirror. “What? You know it doesn’t bother me.”

“Sure, but mom, and Bill…”

“I don’t think that mom would be upset by it,” Scully answers level-headedly. “Surprised maybe, but not mad.”

Missy balls up a napkin, tosses it back and forth between her own hands. “I don’t know that she would be, I just...don’t trust that she wouldn’t. And besides, nothing mom says or does will change how I feel about Trinity. So it’s not really a pressing issue. No need to cause a scene.”

“I can’t believe you moved here without mentioning her. I wouldn’t have let you leave her, you know.”

Missy laughs. “Oh, I do. That’s why I didn’t say a word.” Scully’s laugh is her first genuine one all day.

“She seems very nice,” Scully says, flicking a crumb off the table.

“Oh no, she’s a total bitch,” Missy replies. There’s a moment of silence while Scully figures out that was a joke, then they both laugh.

“Just kidding. I love her very much.” Missy’s smile could melt ice. “I’m glad you got to talk to her. Now my two favorite ladies have technically met!”

“I’m afraid to ask whether I’m in first or second place.”

Missy reaches out across the table. “I moved across the country for you, honey.” Then, with a smirk--”But I could move back any day now, so watch out!”

Scully smiles, nods. She can’t imagine what these past few weeks would have been like without her sister near. She hopes Missy never goes away again, as unrealistic a thought as it is. If there are angels on Earth, her sister is one. But Mulder too has emerged as a force in her life; no one destabilized her life quite like him, but he would be her rock if she let him, she knows this. She owes him a call. She knows that too.

[aethelar]

For @evening-rose-309 who sent a prompt about a dog

“Would you stop?” Newt hisses, tugging his sleeve out of his soul’s mouth.

“Newt?” Leta asks, hesitating and cocking her head at him curiously. Newt can - just - see the shadowy outline of her own soul, something small and inquisitive peering over her shoulder. It’s a mark of how well he knows her, how close they are as friends, and the fact that she’s never seen so much as a stray tail-wag of his own soul is something he tries not to think about.

“He’s worrying again,” he says, frowning down at the dog. “Which he doesn’t need to do, because nothing’s going to go wrong.”

The dog - his soul - raises an unimpressed eyebrow and snags his other sleeve to try again.

“Oh,” Leta says. “We can go back, if you’re worried. Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“What - no, I’m not worried. He is. It’s fine. C’mon Leta, we’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She’s already leaving though and he scowls in ungracious defeat. “If your soul’s worried then you’re worried,” she calls back to him. “The mooncalves will be there next full moon.”

The dog, black and white with a luxuriously silky coat, trots smugly after her and barks when Newt is too slow to follow. “Heel,” Newt snarks as he obeys. “Sit, stay. Roll over. I thought dogs were meant to be loyal and obedient, but no. I got the overprotective worrywart. Do I look like an overprotective worrywart? No. Clearly, you’re someone else’s soul, or just some random dog ghost that appeared in the night and stole mine. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Newt, you’re muttering again.”

He pulls a face at Leta. Then another at his soul, who is looking immeasurably happier now that they’re headed back in the castle instead of out to the forest at night, and is carefully scouting round corners for prefects.

Newt rolls his eyes, but dutifully hides behind a tapestry when he’s told. It’s his soul doing the telling, after all. You can’t argue with yourself.

Except, apparently for when you can. Newt’s expelled, his brother’s gone to war, he’s going to follow him - and his soul won’t let him go. “He’s Theseus,” Newt hisses, yanking his sleeve back and continuing to shrink his stuff into the battered suitcase he found. “We’re not going to leave him.”

The dog dances in place, as frustrated as he is, then tries to steal his registration forms. “Give those - hey! Do not chew that up, that’s the only ID I’ve got and I need - hey!” Newt salvages the soggy scrap, then throws it down in disgust. The charm’s bust; it displays his real age, too young to sign up.

“Listen,” he says, then levitates his case out of reach. “Listen damnit. We can’t stay here. What else are we meant to do? It won’t be that bad. We’re not backing out, so could we please just - could you do what a soul is meant to do and back me up for once?”

The dog whines, ears back, tail curled down. He crowds closer to Newt, butting his head against Newt’s lanky, unmuscled form and growling softly at the fake ID. “It won’t be that bad,” Newt repeats quietly, reaching out to stroke behind his ears. “We’ll be fine. Are you going to help me fix the charm?”

His soul does. It’s better than it was before.

War is not better. War is worse. The dog curls round him at night and leaps between him and enemy spells and once when Newt falls unconscious he feels his soul pulling him out the mud before he drowns. War is worse, and on his worst days he hides with the dragons and admits to his dog that he was right and they should never have come, and his dog rests his head on Newt’s knee and licks his face to comfort him.

“Hush,” he mumbles. “It’s not illegal, it’s heroic. We’re saving lives.”

He gets a flat stare in response, followed by a deafeningly loud bark. Thank god he’s the only one who can hear it, because there’s at least four guards that he can see. “You are entirely far too concerned with the law,” he says. “Where did I go wrong with you. Do you think I should use a shield charm, or go invisible and rely on stealth?”

In answer, the dog huffs, then grabs his sleeve and tows him round to the circus’ back entrance. Newt hadn’t even known high-top tents had a back entrance. “See?” he says. “We’ll make a hufflepuff of you yet. Let’s go free some unicorns.”

In Egypt, they fall ill. That’s the only way Newt can explain it. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, or what’s causing it, but he feels - tight. Too tight. Constrained. He wakes up gasping for breath with his fingers clawing at his throat, but there’s nothing there. The dog flinches at things neither of them can see, hackles raised and backing Newt into defensible corners when the shadows come too close.

There’s nothing there. Newt knows there’s nothing, he’s checked, but the dog is on such high alert and being so overprotective that they barely make it out of Cairo alive. The thunderbird is safe, though, and when Newt stumbles his way through a splinching his soul hauls him over the sand to a sheltered place to hide.

“Oh fuck,” Newt says, staring at his leg with wide, shocky eyes. “Oh fuck, it’s, what do I do, I never - I got expelled half way through that course, I don’t know what to do, it’s bleeding oh my fuck.”

The dog noses at his hands, teeth catching on the end of his sleeve, and Newt curls his fingers instinctively around the bottle. “Dittany?” He reads. “What do I do - hey, wait what are you - ow.” The dittany burns, but it does its job, and Newt’s leg slowly reforms into something he can walk on.

“Huh,” he says, as the dog inspects the scar. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

The illness doesn’t go away. By the time Newt gets to New York he feels like he can barely breathe every time he wakes up, and he spends the first morning throwing up in the toilet and cursing the fact that it wasn’t just sea sickness like he thought. The dog sticks close, too close, so much that it’s almost hard to walk through the crowded city streets.

“Is it a wizard thing?” Jacob asks, the fourth time Newt’s had to stop and wait for his soul to stop blocking the way. Jacob’s own soul is a monkey, Newt thinks, maybe one of the primates - he caught a glimpse of it when Jacob was staring in wonder at the creatures in his case. Not for the first time, Newt wishes he could share his dog with someone else. Not everyone. But. It would be nice, he thinks, for some people to see him the way they sometimes let him see them.

“No,” is what he says out loud. “Wizard souls aren’t any different from muggle ones, as far as I know. Mine just disagrees with me a lot.”

“Oh,” Jacob says, taken aback. “I’m... sorry?”

Newt would laugh, except his dog is curled miserably around his knees, staring out at the world as though it would hurt him. “Don’t be,” he says, dropping a hand to bury in the silky fur. “He’s just looking out for me. I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

In MACUSA’s holding cells they’re interrogated by a man called Percival Graves. Newt’s dog tries to rip his throat out. When they’re sent to be executed, the dog bites through the cuffs before Pickett can even crawl down to them, and barely gives Newt time to rescue Tina before he drags them away. They run through secret passages and disused access tunnels and Tina looks at him funny and asks how he knew they were there, and Newt waves the tattered ends of his sleeve at her in answer.

After, when Graves turned out to be Grindelwald and Picquery threw him in a cell, when Tina’s reinstated and Jacob’s forgotten and Frank is flying hurricane-high and riding the wind to Arizona, Newt stands on the dock and watches his boat pull out of the harbour.

“We were meant to be on that,” he says, but it sounds distant even to him. The dog gives him a muffled bork in reply, teeth clamped around his wrist, tail tucked low between his legs.

He’s started looking raggedy. His silky fur is going bald in patches. There’s a red welt developing around Newt’s neck from where he wakes up in the morning and has to remember how to breathe.

“Ok,” Newt says, letting his soul pull him insistently back to the city. “I’m coming. It’ll be ok.”

“Oh,” he says when he finds the man. He’s in chains, rough iron that suppresses his magic and has rubbed his skin raw and bleeding. It matches where the dog is losing fur.

“The fuck are you,” Graves rasps, shifting to hunch protectively over the little sugar-glider in his hands. It too is chained, one spelled iron-link that closes around its throat like a collar.

“Um,” Newt says, trusting his dog to keep watch while he works on undoing the wards. “I’m Newt. I think I have your soul.”

Graves freezes. His gaze darts between Newt and the dog, and there’s something undeniably vulnerable about realising that he can see him. The dog steps between them, hackles raised, and growls a warning, and that, of all things, makes Graves relax.

“Yeah,” he says, a vaguely hysterical note to his voice that suggests he thinks he’s dreaming. “Mangy mutt that likes to fight. Sounds like me.”

“You should see him when he’s had a bath,” Newt says mildly. “He’s very handsome.”

The wards fall, and Newt busies himself with releasing the chains and misses Graves reaction. When the last iron link cracks open he feels it like a weight lifted off his neck, and the sugar glider squeaks and scrambles up to sit on Graves’ head.

“You’re going to drag me on an adventure, aren’t you?” Graves asks, sounding resigned. “And then you’re going to get in trouble and I’m going to have to rescue you.”

“Well,” Newt says. “You’re going to make a fuss about breaking the law, and then you’re going to worry too much about everything that could go wrong. But you’re also going to be there to make sure it doesn’t go badly wrong, so that’s ok.”

Graves barks out a laugh, and chokes through the coughing fit that follows. Both Newt and the sugar glider hover awkwardly over him, Newt with a spell to ease his airways, the sugar glider with a tiny hand tugging comfortingly on his ear. “Sounds like me,” Graves says when he can speak again.

“Good. But first, you’re going to come home and get better and I’m going to fuss over you until you’re well again.”

“And that,” Graves says, and raises a finger to stroke the sugar glider with a fond smile, “That sounds a lot like you.”

[7r0773r]

Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh." 

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them. 

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)

[aaliyah-babe]

The One With The Butt: Part Two

pairings: eventual joey x reader, jamie x reader

authors note: i own nothing from friends, all credit goes to their respective owners. feedback is always appreciated!

feedback is the glue that holds my writing together!

you all walked into monica’s apartment and there stood rachel, in the living room,

“ta-da!” she yelled happily,

“are we greeting eachother this way now because i like that,” chandler pointed,

“look! i cleaned! i did the windows, i did the floors. i even used all those attachments on the vacuum except for that little round one with the bristles, i don’t know what that’s for,” she said to you and ross,

“oh yeah nobody knows,” he asnwered, “and we’re not supposed to ask,”

“well what do you think?” she asked,

“great!”

“it looks amazing,”

monica walked around the coffee table and stopped dead in her tracks,

“oh, i see you moved the green ottoman,” she pointed out and your eyes widened,

“uh-oh,” all of you said,

“how did that happen?”

“i dont know, i thought it looked better there. and i- and also it’s an extra seat around the coffee table,” she said,

“yeah, it’s interesting. but you kno what? just for fun,” she picked it up, “let’s see what it looked like in the old spot,” she put it down and examined it for a second, “ha! well, it looks good there too, let’s just leave it there for a while,”

“cant believe you tried to move the green ottoman,” pheobe scoffed,

“thank god you didn’t try to fan out the magazines, i mean she’ll scratch your eyes right out,” chandler told rachel,

“guys, i am not that bad!” monica argued,

“monica, let’s be honest with ourselves, you are,” you told her,

“yeah, cause remember when i lived with you? you were like a little...” she started imitating music from Psycho, moving her arm up and down,

“that is so unfair,” she complained,

“oh come on. when we were kids yours was the only raggedy ann doll that wasn’t raggedy,” ross agreed with you,

“okay, so i’m responsible, i’m organised, but hey i can be a kook,” she sat down,

“all right, you madcap gal,” ross said walking over to her and the rest of you joined them, “try to imagine this, the phone bill arrives, but you don’t pay it right away,”

“why not?”

“because your a kook!” you exclaimed,

“instead, you wait until they send you a notice.”

“i could do that,” she said,

“okay, okay. then you let me go grocery shopping and i buy laundry detergent but it’s not the one with the easy-pour spout,” rachel plays along,

“why would someone do that?” everyone gave her a look, “one might wonder,”

“someone’s left a glass on the coffee table,” chandler starts, “there’s no coaster. it’s a cold drink, it’s a hot day. beads of condensation are inching their way closer and closer to the surface of the wood,”

“stop it!” she yelled, “oh, my god. it’s true, who am i?”

“monica, you’re mom,” ross said which lead monica to gasp, while pheobe began immitating Psycho music again,

“uh-huh,” joey walked in, talking to the phone, “oh, my god! okay! okay, i’ll be there,” he hung up the phone, “that was my agent. my agent has just gotten me a job.... in the new al pacino movie!”

“what?!”

“oh, my god!”

“what’s the part?” monica asked,

“can you believe this? al pacino!” joey said excitedly, “this guys the reason i became an actor, “i’m out of order? you’re out of order! this whole courtrooms out of order!”” he quoted,

“wow, what’s the part?” pheobe asked,

“just when i thought i was out, they pull me back in!” he yelled again,

“come on, seriously joey what’s the part?” ross asked,

“uh...” joey began mumbling and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion,

“you’re....” rachel began mumbling, “what?”

“i’m his butt double, okay?” he told you and all of you began giggling, “i play al pacino’s butt. he goes into the shower and then i’m his butt,”

“oh, my god,” monica laughed and you buried your head on chandler’s arm to stop laughing so much,

“come on you guys, this is a real movie, and al pacino is in it! and that’s big!” he exclaimed,

“oh no it’s terrific, it’s- you know you deserve this. after all your years of struggle you’ve finally been able to crack your way into show buisness,” chandler joked making you laugh harder into his arm.

“okay, okay fine make jokes. i don’t care. this is a big break for me!” joey exclaimed,

“you’re right, it is,” ross started, “so you going to invite us all to the big opening or?” he joked making you laugh even harder.

it was the next morning and you had woken up to shuffling in the living room, and you could hear someone talk faintly on the phone,

“yeah later, of course, i’ll just say i have work, okay, i love you baby, bye,” you heard your boyfriend say to the phone and you frowned, anger striking through your body. you decided that you would play dumb and act like you didn’t know, for now.

walking out, you smiled at the person you hated most right now, “morning, baby, who was that?” you asked him and he shrugged,

“i uh, it was gracie! yeah, actually she called, asking if you could work extra hours later?” he asked you and you shrugged, then realisation hit you, he’s saying that because he knew that gracie doesn’t work on fridays so he could have his girl over, wait, was gracie his girl?

“i actually can’t tonight, i’m going to spend some time with joey, congragulate him on his part in the movie,” you told him,

“oh okay, i’ll just call her and let her know,”

“okay, actually i’m gonna head over there now just to wish him good luck,” you said, leaving the house in your robe and pyjamas.

instead of going to joeys, you went to monica’s, knowing she could help,

“mon?” you called out, before hearing her answer you,

“yeah?”

“can i talk to you, for a sec?” you asked and she nodded,

“what’s up sweetie,”

“okay, i think jamie may be cheating on me,”

“what?!” she yelled,

“i know! i woke up and i caught him on the phone with someone who i now think is my boss but anyways, he said something about telling me he was going to work late, saying i love you, calling them baby, and then told me it was gracie asking if i could work late hours tonight so now i think it’s gracie he’s sleeping with cause she doesn’t work on fridays,”

monica’s eyes were wide with shock as she just hugged you, “did you confront him?”

“no, not yet at least. how should i?” you ask her,

“i dont know, you’ll figure it out don’t worry,”

“thanks mon, is joey still home?”

“yeah he’s in his apartment,” she told you and you nodded going to his apartment before knocking, and walking in.

“hey joey,” you said to the guy who was putting his shoes on,

“hey y/n, are you okay?” he asked you, concerned painted on his face,

“yeah, i’m fine, just wanted to wish you good luck today,” you told him and he smiled at you, god you loved that damn smile.

“thank you,” he kissed your cheek,

“you’re gonna be great, remember me when your famous joey or else,” you joked,

“could never forget you,” he said with a smile before leaving.

chandler walked out of his room, with aurora attached to his hip,

“oh, sorry you two,” you apologised and she smiled,

“aurora this is y/n,” chandler put an arm around your shoulder, “y/n this is aurora,” he put an arm around hers, letting you go,

“hi, nice to meet you,” you said, and she smiled, hugging you,

“yes, it’s nice to meet you two,” she turned to chandler,

“i really got to go, ethan is probably waiting,”

“okay,” he frowned before pulling her in for a kiss, you shielded your eyes a little before leaving.

you guys were all hanging out in monica’s apartment and chandler was sad because he and aurora had split because of ‘andrew’

“look at it this way- you dumped her,” ross tried to reason, “right? i mean that woman was unbelievably sexy and beautiful, intelligent, unattainable...” ross trailed off, “tell me why you did this again?”

you saw joey walk in and you smiled, “hey!”

“hey, wait a minute! werent you the guy who plays the butt in the new al pacino movie?” monica asks,

“nope,” he sighs, sitting next to you, you frown and rub his leg,

“no? what happened big guy?” ross asked,

“big guy?” chandler sneered,

“it just felt like a big guy moment,”

“seriously joe, what happened, are you okay?” you ask him,

“i got fired!” he put his hand over your,

“oh!” everyone said sadly for the boy,

“yeah they said i “acted” too much with it,” he sighed, “i told everybody about this! now everyone’s gonna go to the theatre expecting to see me...” he trailed off,

“oh joey, no one will be able to tell,” rachel tried to make him happier,

“my mom will,”

“there’s something so sweet... and disturbing about that,” chandler told you all,

“you know, i’ve done nothing but crappy plays for six years and i finally get me shot and i blow it!”

“maybe this wasn’t your shot,” monica told him,

“yeah, i think when it’s your shot, you know, you know it’s your shot,” ross agreed with his sister, “did it feel like your shot?”

“hard to tell. i was naked,” he told you all,

“i don’t think this was your shot, i don’t even think you just get one shot, i really believe that big things will happen for you,” pheobe said,

“yeah, you’ve just gotta keep thinking about the day that some kids will run up to his friends and go, “i got the part! i got the part! i’m gonna be joey tribbiani’s ass!”” you reassured him,

“you think?” he looked at you and pheobe, and you both nodded, “that’s so nice!” he hugged you both,

“i’m sorry, joey. i’m going to go to bed, guys,” monica told you all,

“uh, mon. you’re leaving your shoes out here?” rachel asked,

“oh- uh-huh!” she said,

“really? just casually strewn about in that reckless haphazard manner?”

“it doesn’t matter. i’ll get them tomorrow... or not, whatever,” she walked inside her bedroom,

“she is a kook,” ross said,

“i’m gonna head home, see if my boyfriends cheating on me,” you said without realising,

“what?!” they all gasped,

“oh right, yeah i heard jamie say to someone on the phone earlier about telling me he’s going to work late...” you finished explaining the rest of the story to them,

“oh, my god,” pheobe sighed,

“mhm, okay well i’ll see you all tomorrow, update you guys then,” you said to them before leaving and catching a cab to jamie’s apartment,

“wow, can you believe that? jamie? a cheater?” ross asked,

“i know, and did you see how happy y/n looked when she first met him?” rachel agreed,

“i’m gonna kick his ass if he is,” joey said,

“we all will,” chandler agreed,

without knocking, you walked into his apartment and heard moans coming from the bedroom, yep, they were having sex.

“oh jamie!” you heard- gracie yell.

walking into the room you barged in, “fuck you! and you gracie! what the hell is wrong with the both of you? oh my god!” you yell before running out, ignoring the calls from jamie.

let me know if you want to be mentioned in future taglists!

taglist: @zestygingergirl

[molluskwritesfic]

The Waif ~ Prologue

As an alien science experiment, she remembers nothing. Knows no one. With nowhere else to turn, Claudia must rely on the Doctor and his companions for help. She's mutating. The Doctor knows more than he's telling. But why does the Time Lord seem to hate her so much? Rated M.

Chapter Warnings: Death

Masterlist - Fanfiction.net - Ao3

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Prologue

If anyone living near the water in Cardiff happened to glance out their window around three in the morning, they might fearfully close the blinds, thinking they had seen a ghost sitting in the empty street. It was the right weather for it. Cooler than usual. Moisture hung heavily in the air from an earlier rain, making power lines drip and windows fog over. The stars were bright, but there was no moon. Perfect conditions for lost and wandering souls.

So if someone were to see the barefooted young woman with pale skin and long dark hair in a loose white dress, sitting on the curb with her knees pulled to her chest, they might have speculated that she was an apparition. To the wandering mind that was characteristic of humanity, she may as well have been the forgotten remnant of a car crash, or maybe she’d simply gotten lost. Maybe she had been kidnapped by a psychopath and her body was dumped into the water not three hundred yards away. Maybe she’d been on her way to meet a lover with whom she’d planned to elope. Maybe she murdered her own children, and then taken her own life in her grief. 

But no one looked out, and no one saw her. 

Smooth concrete pressed harshly against her rear and rough asphalt grit angrily against the bottom of her feet. She picked loose grit from between her toes, which were wet and starting to go numb.

She was on the side of a road, and that was about all she knew. In a lonely corner of a sleeping city, where the only sign of life was the intermittent blinking of the caution light suspended on a drooping wire over the center of the road. 

She couldn’t really find it within her to worry over her predicament. In order to be worried about where you are, you have to know where you’re going; and in order to know where you’re going, you have to know where you’ve been.

She knew none of these, so she was just sitting.

When the creaking sound started, she didn’t know what it was, or even enough to be able to begin piecing together what it could be. But when the homeless man shuffled around the corner with his rusted cart, she knew that it never could have been anything else.

The homeless man was old. So old, in fact, that she wasn’t sure if the creaking was coming from his cart or from his bones. He had a long white beard down to where his belly button probably was, hidden away underneath the crust of several layers of tatty clothes.

The homeless man came to a stop beside her, took a blanket from around his shoulders and, beard swaying like a poorly charmed snake, laid it on the ground.

“Here, take a seat on this,” he said. “It’s more comfortable than the ground.”

She told him that it was kind of him, and moved to sit on the blanket. He sat beside her, removing his raggedy hat to expose a thin halo of hair.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he spoke after a few moments of quiet.

“No,” was all she had to say. She didn't know enough to say whether she had or not.

“I’m called Mr. Stray,” the homeless man greeted.

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but her mind wouldn’t tell it what to say. “I don’t know.”

“No name, huh?” Mr. Stray smiled warmly, as if at a sad memory.“I’ve tried that before. You’ve got to have a name. You can’t get anywhere without a name.”

That seemed like a strange notion to her at the time, but if the homeless man said it, then it must be true, and so she figured that she could use one.

“Where do people get names?” She asked.

“Usually you get them from your parents.”

She should’ve known that. Parents. Her quiet mind mulled over the concept like a computer just beginning to boot up, mulling through mental files with increasing accuracy and confusion as she found that her mind was inexplicably devoid of the information she was seeking. 

“What if you don’t have parents?” She asked quietly after a moment, voice wavering slightly.

Mr. Stray nodded, thinking he understood her plight. “Then you can make one up. No one would know the difference. I made mine up. When you’re old and got nobody and nothing to hold you to it, you can have people call you what you want. Everyone calls me Mr. Stray, though the people that knew me twenty years ago would’ve called me something else.”

“Why?”

“That, missy, is a long story.”

She wasn’t sure if she knew any names, and suggested that he should give her one.

The idea must’ve been funny to Mr. Stray, because it made him laugh. But after a moment he seemed to take it seriously, as his brow furrowed and he seemed to be thinking hard.

After a minute or two of deep thought, he said one word. “Claudia.”

“That’s pretty,” she decided. “I like it.”

“It comes from the Latin word ‘Claudius’. It means ‘lame’ or ‘crippled’.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Life isn’t very nice,” he said wisely, stars reflecting in his pale blue eyes. “It’s better to know it and carry it with you than to pretend. That’s why I called myself Mr. Stray, cause that’s what I am. A stray mister.”

“I don’t want to pretend. I’ll be Claudia.” Claudia decided, rubbing her toes to warm them.

The old man chuckled warmly. “Tomorrow, I’ll help you out, and show you how to get around as a stray person, but I’m tired now. I’m going to get some sleep.”

She told him that was fine, and that she would be here in the morning.

The homeless man stretched out long on his ratty old blanket. He stared up at the sky for a bit, scratched his chin, then his nose, and twiddled his thumbs.

“So damn restless,” he complained to his young companion, who had been sitting quietly, staring out along the street. “Must be the cold.”

“Must be.”

After a while, the Stray Man finally managed to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

He didn’t wake up again.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Back Off

Bard x Reader

I would love a protective/slightly jealous bard, angsty romance style. Probably SFW, but suggestive behavior is fine if it fits the story. Thank you~

Growing up, things were not the easiest. 

Though many have it much worse given the state of this little town on the water. 

There is poverty everywhere, hungry children with raggedy clothes, and food shortages constantly, but no matter how the people plead and weep, the master of this town does nothing. He cares more for his gold and brandy than any person or animal, his only motivation being the chance to make more money and bleed the people dry of everything they have so he may support his over the top, extravagant lifestyle. 

To say you were riddled by hardships would be an overstatement, but growing up with a young seamstress mother and no father left you hungry most nights and scrounging for loose coins on the boardwalks some days. She was only 19 when she had you, after all. 

There are many a children like you, though, and you use this fact to keep you from becoming a martyr. 

As you grew older and your mother more frail and sickly, you began to take over her seamstress duties and run her little business so she could rest more and try and regain some of her strength. 

Only, she never did get stronger. Her health continued to decline, and at the age of 54 she passed in her sleep.

Those were very hard times for you, and for a while you began to wonder if it was even worth it to go on when you knew nothing was waiting for you in the future anyways. 

Change can come in many different forms, and the change for you came in the shape of a tall bargeman awkwardly trying to find a dress for his oldest daughters birthday (she was turning 14, and is now 16). 

You remember that day quite fondly (and very vividly). The way he hesitantly entered your home-ran store, and looked around until his eyes fell upon you. 

You'd seen him around before, sometimes in the barge waters and other times in the market. You also knew his name, for the people of Laketown (especially the women) speak very highly of him for being 'a man of the people.' 

One cheerful greeting and unsure explanation later, the two of you were looking at your fabrics and pre-made garments. He didn't seem to have a clue of what to get her, so you did your best to help him and asked simple questions about her measurements and all of that. 

All he could do is show with his hands approximately how big she was, and at the time it made you laugh. Eventually you just told him to send her over later on and you'd collect your measurements for free.

When you said 'free' he seemed surprised and was very reluctant and stated that it wasn't a good idea, but you only smiled and said rather flirtatiously, "I can give discounts to handsome men if I so desire." 

That certainly shut up his denial of your assistance. 

After that day, he began to come to your home-shop more often. Sometimes to pay you to mend his clothes, sometimes to buy things for his daughters and son, and others just to chat idly and see how you're doing. Around that time you began to give him your extra scraps of fabric for free, and it served to make his youngest daughter, Tilda, ecstatic every time. 

Bard gave your shop very high praise to his friends and people he sees on a daily, and suddenly you found that you've got much more business than you had before. 

You thanked him with a dark blue long-coat, lined in some part on the inside in fleece. You didn't have much fleece, but you really wanted to make him this gift. 

When you first tried to give it to him, he refused to take it saying that it was much too nice and you could fetch a pretty price for it if you sold it instead, but you only dropped it off at his home later and told Sigrid to give it to him for you. 

He came back the very next day wearing it, a bit sheepish and there to thank you instead of give it back like you thought he would. 

Suffice to say, your history with Bard is not the longest nor does it go back very far, but it's still the deepest and most important one you've got. 

Anyways, you'd never taken Bard for the jealous type, and for the most part you were right about that assumption... for the most part. 

You get all sorts of people in your shop at various times during the day. Usually they buy something or look around and promise to come by when they've gotten paid, but sometimes you'll get a 'suitor' that waltzes in, confident that you'll say yes to his sudden proposal. 

When you tell Bard of these occurrences he usually just laughs and asks what you said, though he does seem a bit frustrated when you recount the more... forward men that wander into your shop. 

And it seems that you'll have another story to tell him when he comes by later, because suddenly a man you haven't seen in your shop before comes sauntering in. From the armor he wears and emblem of the town, you realize that he's just another pet of The Master. 

Regardless of your disdain for his type, you put on a pleasant smile and ask, "Hello sir. What can I do you for?" 

He looks over at you with fake surprise on his face, acting like he's only just noticed you, and bows politely, "Miss Y/N, a pleasure." 

"Do I know you?" You ask slowly, wondering how he even knows your name in the first place. 

The man shakes his head no, "No, but I know of you. My name is Elton, my lady." 

Oh gosh, another one of these. 

"Well, alright. To what do I own the pleasure of your appearance here, Elton?" You say it with a fake coyness, really all you want is his money, and give him a small smile. 

It seems that he think's he's won you over at the smugness that replaces his kind smile, "I came to inquire on if you'd like to accompany me to a party The Master is throwing in his halls tonight." 

Haha, yeah, no.

You keep the kind smile on your face and deny just as sweetly, "No, I'm sorry but I'm going to be busy for the rest of the night." 

His confident grin drops when you say no, "What?" It sounds like he's shocked that you're denying him. 

"Um, I said I cannot... Was I not clear?" You remain calm and keep your facial expression pleasant. 

"No...?" He asks slowly, his voice turning a bit angry. 

You take a step back and glance around your front room briefly, suddenly not feeling very proud of yourself. 

He takes a step forward when you step back, and now you're wishing you had just said yes and sent him on his way.

"Why would you say no? I can give you everything you could ever want, why would you say no?" He sounds mad, and as much as you would like to leave this situation, you're in your home so you can't just walk out. 

"I-I said I can't, n-not that I don't want to..." You don't want to, in fact, but you're beginning to worry for your safety. He has power, and no one would blink and eye if he were to do something unsavory. 

"And why can't you? It sounds like you're making excuses." Hell hath no fury like a man with his ego wounded. 

You're at a loss for words, so you just stand there like a deer caught in headlights and don't say anything at all. 

He reaches up and grabs your shoulders suddenly, causing you to flinch, and he demands again, "Tell me!" 

The sound of the door opening gathers both of your attentions, and you're relieved to see Bard standing there. 

His expression is one of surprise, and everything is still as he examines the scene before him. When he takes in your frightened state, the imposing figure of Elton looming over you, and his hands on you, his countenance shifts to one of anger. 

"B-Bard!" You cry, a bit more alarmed sounding than you meant to be.

He steps in and slams the door behind him, demanding harshly, "What are you doing? Take your hands off of her." He doesn't yell, but he doesn't need to, to sound scary. 

Elton digs his fingers into your shoulders a bit harder, making you wince, and asks, "Or what?" 

Yeah, he probably shouldn't test him. 

"I won't tell you twice." 

His voice is dark and if it were aimed at you, you probably would've started crying. 

Elton slowly lets his arms fall back to his sides and turns toward Bard, then glances back at you and 'tsks', "Such a waste." He then brushes past Bard and slams the door on his way out. 

As soon as he's gone you slump back against the wall and press your hands against your face, just taking a moment to breathe and calm your rapidly beating heart. 

"Are you aright?" You hear Bard ask from just in front of you, his voice soft and concerned.

When he got there, you aren't sure, but you don't reply to him right away with fear that your voice may break. 

He reaches up and takes your hands in his gently, pulling them down to rest in his between the two of you. "Y/N?" 

You look up at him slowly and give him a shaky smile, "S-Sorry, I'm just a bit shaken. I though he was gonna hurt me." Your smile drops and you look back down at your feet, feeling a bit embarrassed. 

"You know I won't let that happen." He releases your hands and instead pulls you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head as he tries to help you relax a bit, "Bastard was lucky you were right there, I would've-" 

You wrap your arms around his middle and he pauses, letting his hand rub along the expanse of your back, "Sorry..." He whispers, realizing you probably don't want to hear about the illegal acts he would've most definitely committed against him. 

Bard sighs and slowly unwraps his arms from around you, "He might come back." He states suddenly, glancing back towards the door, "At a time when he knows I'm not here like everyone else does." He says 'everyone else' bitterly, no doubt referring to the other suitors who like to visit during the day when they know he's busy working. "Maybe I should have Sigrid and Tilda join you throughout the day... they could keep you company and call for help if he comes back." 

Gosh you love his girls, so having them around more often would be pretty nice. "Yeah, I would like that..." Having him here with you has successfully made you a lot less frazzle.

"Everyone else?" You question after a moment, though you already know who he's referring to.

"Oh don't play coy, those buzzards who swoop in the moment I leave to vie for your attention." He reaches up and rubs your cheek with his knuckles, "They just want what isn't theirs," he states, adding at the end, "Not that you belong to me, of course." 

You giggle quietly at his back-tracking, standing up on your toes so you don't have to look up at him quite so much, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're being  jealous." You say teasingly, moving your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. 

His hands fall to your waist and he pulls you up against him, pressing his forehead against yours, "And if I am?"

Another short laugh leaves you at his 'challenge', and respond to it by pressing a kiss against his cheek, "I don't know, I would've thought you'd know already that I'm all yours, metaphorically speaking." 

"You are... just as I am all yours in return." 

[pregnant-javert]

Can we still send prompts? If so is there any chance you could write melaudrey reuniting on the train after melanie’s rescue from the research station? (a sort of continuation of that 2parter you did where the 10car train saves melanie and she has that talk in bed with alex) i’m curious to see melanie’s reaction to audrey being held captive lmao

Hey anon! I really liked this prompt, and I have finished a fic for it! I had to sit on it for a while, but it’s there! Under the cut :) this will be posted on AO3 later! tw for suicidal thoughts.

When the door to Audrey’s mini-prison slides open, she doesn’t expect Melanie to be standing just beyond the threshold. It’s been a long, torpid day—Till came to check on her, but she seemed distracted—Audrey was left alone while everyone was busy with looking after the newly-reclaimed Melanie. Evening settles over the room slowly: the light turns pink, then orange, then dark red. Audrey spends the day pacing the room, her head empty. She’s sitting in the corner when the other woman shows up. “Melanie?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice hoarse and weak. “It’s me. Back from the dead.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” Audrey says. “When I saw you on the tracks.”

Melanie is holding an oxygen tank, and catches Audrey staring at it. “Yeah. It’s my newest accessory. I hate it, but I can’t breathe without it.” At Audrey’s expression, she adds, “It’s not permanent. Just until my lungs heal.” She sits on the floor next to Audrey, leaning against the wall.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see for myself if they actually took you. I didn’t believe it when Layton told me.”

“Well, I’m here now. Unsurprisingly.” Audrey remembers Alex’s snarky remark: are we bringing anyone we actually want? It still stings, three days on. She chooses not to mention this, however. “How are you feeling?” she asks instead.

“Like I’ve been gassed. And run over with a truck.” As if to demonstrate, she dissolves into a fit of dry coughing. Audrey moves to help her, but Melanie pushes her away. “I’m okay,” she says once she’s regained her breath. “It just happens sometimes.”

Audrey feels a shot of guilt, for every injury Melanie sustained can be traced back to Wilford’s doing. Why didn’t she try harder to stop the train? Instead it was Alex who ended up going against Wilford, slashing his neck. It occurs to her that Melanie has no idea what she did. Audrey went to Big Alice after Melanie left. She doesn’t know that I’m hated, or that I pushed everyone away. It’s so tempting to not reveal it at all, to not add Melanie to her shit list. 

“By the way, Alex told me everything,” Melanie says, ruining that fantasy. “I’m surprised you were with him. I thought you’d never go back.”

“He has a way of dragging you in.”

“Don’t I know it,” Melanie sighs. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. They roughed me up when they brought me here.” As if to demonstrate, Audrey shows Melanie her wrists, with the bruises refusing to fade. She doesn’t expect sympathy, but Melanie does say she’s sorry about it.

“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t there when they took me.” Audrey sighs, leans back against the wall. The train shakes and judders as it goes over the tracks. “You probably hate me now. For what I did to the others. What I did to Alex.”

“Yeah. I must admit, when she told me everything, it was hard not to storm in here and slap the shit out of you.” Melanie scoffs, then says, “You’re lucky I feel like shit. The only thing that stopped me from doing that is the fact I can’t breathe.”

“Does that mean I have something coming later?”

“Maybe. I mean, a fucking tiara? Seriously, Audrey?”

Audrey groans. “Don’t remind me.” She thought she was on top of the world then, safe by Wilford’s side as train royalty. You should dress in a way that reflects your status, darling. What did that matter now? Audrey was lower than low. A hostage on a pirate train, the bottom of the pecking order. “I acted like an idiot.”

“I almost didn’t believe it. That’s not you. That’s not who I remember.”

“He does a damn good job of making you think it is.” Audrey swallows. “It felt good being like that. Not caring about anyone else. Living in luxury. Until you realise you’re nothing more than a lapdog.”

“Did he hurt you?” Melanie asks softly.

“No, he didn’t. Until he let them hurt me.” Audrey indicates the axe scar on her neck. She almost wants to cry thinking about it. “Anyway, why do you care?”

“I don’t know. I’m just asking.” Melanie might have said more, but she drops into coughing again, desperate and wracking. Audrey holds her up while she goes at it, and even though it finishes quickly, the other woman struggles to catch her breath. “Fuck,” she says. “My lungs feel like they’ve been shredded from the inside.”

“It’s only been three days,” Audrey says ineffectually.

“Yeah, I know.” Melanie sits back, looks out the window. “The cold strikes again.” They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long time; the only noise being Melanie’s laboured breathing. The sun has set properly, and the cabin is rapidly descending into darkness.

“I’m genuinely sorry about Alex,” Audrey says. “She didn’t deserve me treating her like shit.” She means this: if there’s any regret she has, it’s how she treated the younger girl. Audrey remembers, far too vividly, the look of pain on Alex’s face whenever she said something cutting. Lighten up, she’d say. Why do you take everything so seriously? Alex had tried her best to hide it, but Audrey knows how painful it must have been, to be shut out of Wilford’s graces because of her. She’d tried to apologise to Alex yesterday, but was received with open hostility. Exactly what Audrey deserves.

“I’m sorry too,” Melanie says, surprisingly. “I shouldn’t have left her. That was my biggest mistake. Thinking that she’d be safe with you and Wilford.”

This remark doesn’t even sting, because Audrey knows it’s true. “I tried to apologise yesterday. For what it’s worth.”

“What did she say?”

“It wasn’t good. I can’t say it.” You can shove that whiny apology up your ass, Audrey. That was what she’d said, before storming out of the cabin. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Melanie says tiredly. “My daughter doesn’t owe you anything. Not after what you did.”

“I get it.” Audrey sighs. “Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know. I think we’re at an impasse.” Melanie draws her knees up to her chest. “I know you’re just a victim like everyone else. But I can’t see past what you did to Alex. In that way, you’re no better than Wilford. Why? What did she ever do to you? She’s just a child, who was missing her mom. Didn’t you ever feel like that once?”

“My parents were awful to me. I was glad when they died.”

“Even so.” Melanie lays a hand on Audrey’s arm. “I know this isn’t you, Audrey. I know it’s not. You’re kind, tenacious, and fiercely protective of everyone in Third Class. I want to give you another chance, because I know how Wilford is”—her voice cracks—“but I can’t stand seeing my daughter hurt. Especially by someone like you. I thought you were better than that.”

“I thought so too.”

“I can’t reconcile it,” Melanie says, drawing away. “Every time I look at her, I think of all the abuse she suffered at you and Wilford’s hands. I can’t look at you the same way. Knowing you were capable of that. Are capable of that. I really am sorry. If it wasn’t for her, this might have gone differently. But Alex is my first priority now.” She sighs, readjusts the nasal tube. “Can you help me stand? I don’t think I can get up from this floor without passing out.” Audrey does so, pulling Melanie up from her seated position. She wobbles, but stays on her feet.

“When are we getting back to Snowpiercer?” Audrey asks.

“You’ll have to ask Layton that,” Melanie says, her face distant and impassive. “One last thing.” The slap comes so fast Audrey doesn’t have the time to dodge. It’s not a ladylike action: Melanie puts her whole shoulder into it, and it nearly takes Audrey off her feet.

“Ow,” Audrey says, rubbing her jaw. “Fuck.”

“That’s for Alex. And everyone else you screwed over.” Melanie lets out a breath. “Now we’re even. If I ever catch you mistreating Alex again, I promise there’ll be more than that coming. I will never let you hurt her again.”

“Alright,” Audrey says, her ears ringing too hard to say much else.

“I’ll ask someone to bring you food,” Melanie says by way of farewell, then she sidesteps Audrey and leaves the room. She’s left alone again for a couple of hours, when the door opens just a crack and a stale sandwich is pushed through the gap. Audrey catches a glimpse of Alex’s distrustful face before the door slams shut again.

Pretty lousy dinner, Audrey thinks as she chews the sandwich made of Snowpiercer cheese and raggedy lettuce. It’s hard to feel grateful for it, even though any ‘nice’ food is a considerable indulgence. She overheard Alex suggesting they give her the protein blocks from the Tail.

The sun has fully set, and Audrey can’t find it in herself to turn on the light. She crawls to her sleeping bag, zips herself in. The darkness matches the gloom she feels inside. She has nowhere and no-one—not on this train, or Big Alice or Snowpiercer. Is there even any point in living? Audrey knows the others won’t let her die—she’s too valuable. Wilford will almost certainly kill her, though, and that seems almost enough. Zarah might not even intervene.

When I die, Audrey thinks, I won’t be around to see everyone hate me. Everyone will get their wish—and so will I. She doesn’t even have the strength to cry about it: she just lets the numbness wash over her, and guide her into a fitful sleep.

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

Into the void

Chapter 2 

Word Count: 3,054

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

I am abruptly awakened by an annoying poking in my side. I groan a bit and try to slap the annoyance away. The poking in my side stops, but now there is a finger poking my cheek nonstop.

“Okay. I’m up. Just stop poking me with that infernal finger before I bite it off.” At that moment, maniacal laughter echoes in the closet. “Anti?” I’m still half asleep when I open my eyes. Beautiful blue eyes are looking straight into mine.

“Ha-ha. Still half asleep, are ya?” Sean chuckles as I scramble for my phone. My cheeks are on fire the moment I hear his cute Irish boi accent. After scrambling for what seems like hours, I finally manage to turn the video off. “Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I must have been super tired from the flight.” I mumble as I try not to freak out again. Sitting up, I look over at Sean and realize he is sitting on the floor. He must have seen my confusion because he scoots back a bit. “I figured if I was sitting on the floor, ya might not throw another loaf of bread at me.”

“Mark is never going to let me live that down. When I die, it will read. Here lies Bri. She threw a loaf of bread at Sean’s face. Sorry about that, by the way. My body went into panic mode and decided to attack?” Sean just laughs at me and starts to stand up.

“Neither of us will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes a commemorative video and tells his fans about all of this. I’m just glad it was soft.” Sean smirks and holds a hand out to me. I hesitated very briefly before taking his hand. With a quick tug, Sean has me out of the closet and on my feet. Huh. Sean is a lot taller than I realized. I mean, I didn’t think he was super short, but I thought he was my height. I’m 5’7”, so I’m not exactly short either, but he seems to be about the same size as Mark.

I stretch for a minute, trying to work the kinks out from sleeping in the closet. Sean walks over to the door to give me a bit of space. Which I very much appreciate. I can’t hear the conniving bastard anywhere, and that makes me very concerned. That means he could be plotting my next humiliating moment.

“You know he did that on purpose, right?” My question seems to confuse him. He cocks his head slightly with a questioning look. “He knows I’m a spazz, so Mark waited to tell me you were gonna stay here, at the second, just to see what happened. Though I don’t think it went down exactly as he expected.” 

We stare at each other for a moment before we both start to laugh. It takes a few seconds for us to calm down. “That does sound like something he would do. He told me you were staying here for a while, but he didn’t warn me that I would have to watch out for flying objects!”

“Exactly! I’m sure he’s hiding somewhere plotting his next big prank.”

“I don’t think so? He told me he had to finish recording. I figured the least I could do was make your lunch since it looks like I interrupted the two of you. That’s why I came looking for ye.” Sean looks so adorable when he blushes. It’s only a slight tinge, but it stands out on his pale skin. It gives me some ideas for a prank or two in the future. “I don’t think I like the look on your face. That’s the kind of look that Mark has when he is up to something.” He backs into the hallway with his hands up as if I might attack him.

I give him an innocent smile as I follow him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just going to the kitchen.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll just see about that.” We joke the entire way to the kitchen. My anxiety is all but forgotten. 

My eyes must be playing tricks on me because as Sean passes a mirror in the hallway, his reflection seems to flicker. For a second, it looks like Anti, green hair and all. Very strange because he hasn’t dyed his hair in forever. His hair is his natural brown color.

What in the actual fuck is going on with me today? It must be because I fell asleep watching those videos. I’m starting to doubt my sanity. I’ll have to lay off the Dark\Anti obsession for a while. Otherwise, someone might try to commit me to a nuthouse.

“Bri? You ok over there?” My head snaps to the kitchen, where Sean is standing by the island. I realize I’m just standing in front of the mirror. I take one last look into it, but all I see is me. “Um. Yeah. For a minute, I thought I saw….” I shake my head, realizing how crazy I would sound if I finished that sentence. “Nothing. Never mind.” I smile when I walk over and see a plate with a couple of sandwiches on it.

“If you’re sure.” He returns my smile and pushes the plate towards me. There is a flash of some emotion in his eyes before it disappears. Worry? Concern? I shrug it off and go rummage in the fridge for something to drink. Cans of Mountain Dew are sitting on the bottom level. Ah, my sweet addiction. Mark makes fun of me all the time because I usually have one with me. Yeah, it’s terrible to drink if as much as I do, but I really don’t care.

“So, any idea on how long Mark is gonna be holed up there?” I start digging into one of the sandwiches. Sean looks up from his phone and laughs. “How do you feel about being on camera?”

“What?”

“I said, how do you feel about being on camera?” Sean puts his hands on his hips, giving me a giant smile. “Um...Ok, I guess? Why?” I have no idea what’s going through his head, so I’m just going to roll with it.

“Great! Mark’s getting everything ready now, but in 20 minutes, all his fans are goin ta know we are staying here. You’re going to make your first appearance on the channel!” He is so enthusiastic about this that it’s hard to say no to him. “It’ll be great! All you’ll have to do is say hi. Mark probably won’t start recording until we get in the room. So, hurry up and eat. I’m goin ta see if Mark needs any help setting up.” He slaps my back and is practically bouncing as he leaves the kitchen. I watch the mirror as he walks past it, but nothing weird happens.

I really, really, really need to lay off those videos. They’re making me hallucinate. Either that or the flight messed me up more than I thought. I sigh and start thinking about this new development that Mark has thrown at me unexpectedly. I should have known Mark would have more than one trick up his sleeve. First, it was Sean, and now it’s getting me on camera. I really am going to murder him. Slowly. Like maybe Criminal Minds style. Munching on the sandwiches, I start scheming at ways to get back at Mark. I’m just finishing the second sandwich when my phone goes off.

Mark: Hey, you finished yet?

Bri: Just finished. Why?

Mark: We have everything set up. We’re just about ready for you to come in.

Bri: Give me 10 min. Let me brush my raggedy ass hair and maybe put on a new top.

Mark: Let me know when you’re done.

I put my plate in the sink and grab my drink. Rushing upstairs, I hear laughter coming from down the hall. It sounds like the guys are having fun. When I get to the guest bedroom, I immediately start looking in the duffel bag for my brush. It only takes a few seconds to find it. My hair is short, black with forest green highlights thrown in here and there. It doesn’t take very long to get it thrown up in a high ponytail.

Next, I rummage through the suitcases until I find my Loki shirt. I head to the bathroom to make sure I look semi-decent. The hairs on the back of my neck start standing up, and I get the creepy sensation that somebody is watching me. The mirror doesn’t show anything, but I look around me because I be paranoid like that. There’s really nothing in here with me, but the sensation only gets stronger.

“Back off, ya spooky bitch!” I sort of whisper/shout in the bathroom. I still can’t find anything here, but it never hurts to set boundaries, in case of, you know…. ghosts. That weird feeling fades away, and I feel like I can breathe again.

Well, that’s not terrifying at all. I check the mirror one last time, grab my drink, and head to Mark’s recording room. I can hear Sean’s voice but can’t make out what he is saying.

Bri: Yo. I’m outside the door.

Mark: Come on in.

“What’s happenin Cap’n?” I saunter into the room and see Mark and Sean sitting at the desk that’s along the far wall. They both turn to look at me with a slight smirk. There is an extra chair by Mark that I head towards.

“Hey, guys!! I know you thought Sean was the surprise guest, and he is, but I have someone else I want to introduce you to. This is my best friend, Bri. We grew up in Cincinnati, and she has finally decided to come for a visit.: Mark laughs into the camera as I give him a push.

“Hardy har har. It’s not my fault you moved so far away, you little shit. Keep it up, and I’ll start posting pics. You thought the Septiplier ship had sailed before? It’ll be 20 times worse once I send these bad boys out into the world.” Mark starts groaning while Sean holds his hands up.

“Whoa. Whoa. Hold it there. Don’t bring me into the equation. I didn’t do anything. I’m pretty sure that ship doesn’t need any more references.” We giggle, and I start looking at the screens in front of me.

One monitor has a bunch of technical stuff up along with a box showing the three of us. Another screen has a chatbox that seems to be really active. Comments are flying by so fast that it’s tough to read, though one reoccurring word catches my eye. Checking my phone really quickly, my suspicion is confirmed. “Hey, so I have a question I need to ask everyone watching.” I stand and get behind Mark. I place my hands on his shoulders and start squeezing. Not enough to hurt but enough for me to feel him tense a little. “How mad would y’all be if I murdered our Markimoo here? I was under the impression I would be on a video, not walking into a Live stream.” 

I give Sean a smirk that instantly puts him on guard.” Neither did Sean. I’m thinking that they might need to beg for forgiveness.”

“He told me not to tell you!!” Sean instantly points his finger at Mark while laughing. “I’m too adorable to be murdered, plus I was afraid if I told you, you wouldn’t show up, and then people would think I was crazy.” Mark leans his head back, giving me puppy dog eyes.

“Fineeeeeee. I won’t murder you, but you’ll have to make it up to me with a very incriminating picture. I’ll be taking the picture so I can post it later, and you won’t be able to delete it.” I ruffle the hair on his head as I get back to my seat. They both give a big dramatic groan. “Now, do you see why I wanted her to show up, though I am slightly regretting it.” His gestures get wilder the more animated he gets. It’s all I can do not to rub my hands together and cackle like a witch. 

The stream goes on like this for a few hours. The three of us crack jokes and play a few games together. I watch the chat and answer the questions I can catch. Sometimes they are about me, but a lot are about Mark and Sean. Most of those are just about wanting a shout-out from the guys.

It’s about 6 pm when I finally have to call it quits. Even with the nap I had, I was tired. “Alright, everyone, I enjoyed being here with you guys, far more than I thought I would, but I’m outta here. It was my first time going across the country, and my body is yelling at me for it.” I wave my hand at the camera and try to suppress a yawn. Mark and Sean make cute little pouts and give a fake sigh. “Aww, well, if you must. Everyone give Bri a round of applause. She is a natural in front of the camera. I might even have her join in some of my other videos.”

I take a bow and walk sluggishly towards the door. As I open the door, I feel a hand gently lay itself on my shoulder. I throw an elbow back, thinking it’s Mark, but I don’t make contact with anything. I quickly turn around and make karate-chopping motions, but no one is near me. The guys are still at the desk. Sean looks back at me and starts laughing. “What the fuck are ya doin? I thought you were leavin?”

I do a few more karate chops, just to be funny before I straighten up. “I’m pretty sure a spider tried to attack me; I’m showing it who’s boss. I doubt it will ever try that again, now that it knows I have mad skills.” Mark and Sean laugh and go back to what they are doing. I continue on my way out, severely freaked out. Chica is lying just outside the door, and when she sees me come out, she starts wagging her tail.

“Who’s a good girl? That’s right, you are the bestest doggo in the world!” I love on her a bit and then pat my leg to get her to follow. “Come on, girl. Let’s go outside for a bit. This house is being a spoopy bitch, and I don’t like being inside a horror game.”

We make it outside without an incident. I immediately go flop in the grass on my stomach. I’ve been here less than 24 hours, and I’ve seen some weird shit in the house. I would chalk it all up to ghosts, but that doesn’t explain why I saw Anti in that mirror. I know I still haven’t been sleeping but a few hours here and there, but that shouldn’t make me see things, should it?

There is no way the egos are real. They’re just something Mark and Sean made up. I may like the concept of them, but there is no way I want to meet Anti or Dark for real. Chica comes over to me, trying to lick my face, causing me to laugh. “Alright, girl. Let’s go back into the spooky house because I need some sleep. If I can…” We go inside, and I go back to the guest room. I don’t even bother changing into my pj’s. I just flop into the bed, falling right to sleep.

The Darkness is alive.

My heart is in my throat as I jerk awake. The dreams are all a blur, but I vaguely remember the Darkness trying to hurt me. The bedroom is pitch black, and I struggle to find my phone on the side table. After searching for what seems like hours, I finally find it and check the time. It’s only 3 am, way too early to be up. 

I can’t sleep anymore, so I get up to get a drink. Not sure if it’s remnant feelings from my dreams, but the darkness in the house feels alive. Almost suffocatingly so. I’m paranoid and jumpy as I walk to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I open the fridge and grab the milk. I really don’t need any sugar right now. After filling the glass, I put the milk back. That weird, creepy feeling is back, and I fucking hate it so much. I quickly close the fridge and turn around, punching the air in front of me.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I came here to get away from my life for a bit. Whatever you are, I don’t care! I haven’t even been here a day, so you need to quite with the spooky shit before I lose my damn mind!” I accentuate that with a few karate chops wildly thrown around.

A deep chuckle seems to come from all around me, making me run for the hills. I leave the milk and make a beeline for the stairs. I grab a pillow and the blanket from my bed and run for Mark’s room. The Darkness pulses as if alive, making me a trip on the blanket. I quickly right myself and quietly enter Mark’s room.

Mark’s bed is high enough off the ground that I can throw the pillow under the bed. I wrap myself in the blanket and slide under the bed. Like a child that knows the monster in the dark is real, I make sure every part of me is covered, including my head. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable place to lay, but I wasn’t staying in my room while this spooky stuff is going on. I was so going to talk to Mark about this in the morning.

“It’s not real,” I mumble to myself over and over again. Every once in a while, I throw in a “Leave me alone.” It feels like forever before everything starts to feel normal again, and I can fall back asleep. 

A precious, dreamless sleep.

[yastaghr]

Nest(l)ing

I've been writing this one for a while now. It's a hypothetical alternate universe to Grey where Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics are at play.

Summary: A serious of snapshots for Blue's nest building as an Omega, from his first nest as a child to his first nest on the Surface.

Characters: Blue = Underswap Sans, Stretch = Underswap Papyrus, Edge = Underfell Papyrus, Red = Underfell Sans, Underswap Gaster

Warnings: Homelessness, Domestic Violence, Implied Rape/Noncon, Bad Brother Stretch

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26583658

The Gaster of Underswap #832 was a lover, not a fighter. Well, in a way. Romantic or sexual love? No. Platonic love, especially parental love? Yes, please. He would happily talk about his amazing little 5 year old and his adorable little 14 month old to anyone who gave him the slightest excuse. Blue, at 5 years old, was so bright, a cheerful little thing that was always smiling about something. Stretch was still small for a 14 month old, but he was crawling around now quite easily.

Blue was coming up on his 6th birthday, so when Gaster walked into his boys’ room and encountered a roughly circular mess it wasn’t that much of a surprise. His family had always matured early. Still, he wished that Blue didn’t have to go through this so soon. He remembered his own transition, and Blue was going to be ridiculed when he started school and already had to deal with heat suppressants.

The hardest thing about heats, though, was definitely how they made you feel. Blue seemed to currently be in a down state. He was sitting in the middle of the mess looking frustrated and overwhelmed.

Gaster knelt down and held out his arms for his son, who predictably crawled right into them. He rocked Blue gently while his little star cried into his shoulder.

Eventually the tears dried up and Blue patted his leg to get his attention. “DADDY, I DIDN’T MEAN TO MAKE A MESS! IT JUST… IT FELT LIKE I HAD TO. I JUST NEEDED TO HAVE ALL MY SOFT THINGS AROUND ME, BUT IT JUST DOESN’T SEEM TO WORK NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I MOVE THEM.”

Gaster smiled softly down at him. “That’s okay, my little star. This is a special thing. I can show you how to do it while I explain it, okay?”

“OKAY, DADDY. WHAT DO I NEED TO DO?” Blue immediately said.

Gaster couldn’t be prouder of his little star. Blue had immediately taken personal responsibility for this. He was amazing. “Well, the first thing I want you to do is help me make some piles. We need to take all the soft things and make piles for blankets, pillows, and toys. Can you do that?”

Blue nodded and set about cleaning up his mess, his little blue tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. While he worked, Gaster explained. “Now, what your body was telling you to make is called a nest. Omegas like you and me always like to have a nest. It’s a vital comfort to our instincts. Remember, I told you about what being an Omega means?”

Blue nodded as he placed the last stuffed toy into a heap. “YEP!”

Gaster smiled at him. “Good. Now, the next step is to set up your pillows in a rough circle. Can you do that for me?”

Blue nodded, stuck his tongue out of his mouth in an adorable display of concentration, and arranged his pillows. The shape was more like an oval than a circle, but that didn’t really matter. It was rounded and that was all that mattered.

“Well done, Blue. Now the next step is to lay your blankets over the pillows so that the extra blanket covers the center of the circle. Does that make sense?” Gaster asked.

“UM… I THINK IT DOES? SO I MAKE THE INSIDE OF THE CIRCLE BE COVERED IN BLANKETS THAT ALSO GO OVER THE EDGE OF IT? LIKE… LIKE THAT TIME WE MADE PIE CRUSTS TOGETHER AND WE PUT THEM IN THE LITTLE BOWL THINGIES, RIGHT?” Blue rephrased what Gaster had said, a trick Gaster had taught him to help him make sure he really understood things before he jumped into doing them. He was proud of his son for remembering how to do it.

“Yes, exactly!” Gaster confirmed. Blue smiled his beautiful, shining smile and giggled. Then he got to work, covering the base of the nest just like Gaster had said. When he was done he turned to Gaster for guidance. The scientist and proud father explained the next step, “Okay, Blue. The final thing you need to do is take the soft toys and line them up just inside of the pillows. That way you’ll have something to cuddle with.”

Blue did as he said and arranged his soft toys inside the circle. He didn’t have many of them, but the few he did have he loved and cherished. Most of them were gifts from Gaster’s co-workers and boss. Gaster’s meager salary wasn’t enough to buy his sons very many things. There was one he had gotten for his son, a little stuffed skeleton that he'd found in the dump and washed thoroughly before giving it over.

“IS THIS GOOD, DAD?” Blue asked quietly.

Gaster blinked his way out of his reverie and smiled at his son. “Yes, Blue. It’s a beautiful little nest, and I’m very proud of you for building it so well.”

Blue beamed at him, then crawled into his nest and sat down. He patted it gently, getting used to the feeling of having it around him. Gaster left him to it. Your first nest was a very special place.

=====

Blue stared at the measly collection of semi-soft things he’d managed to track down in despair. There weren’t nearly enough to build the nest he wanted - no, needed to make. Without a nest this abandoned building he had found wouldn’t count as a home, and that would mean that the 6 year old Stretch would break curfew and become a rule-breaker like him. Blue would do anything to avoid that fate for his little brother. Anything.

Resigned to his task of building a makeshift nest, the 10 year old Blue grabbed the first ancient pillow he had pulled out of a dumpster behind a mattress shop and set it out. He used the remaining six to form a circle. It was a very small circle. There was no way that it was going to fit both of them. That was okay, though. After his stay in the hospital that had lasted for months as a kid he was already a rule-breaker, so he didn’t really need to be in the nest. All it needed to hold was his little brother.

After the pillows went down Blue lined the nest with the moldy towels and ripped blankets he’d managed to scrounge up. There were just enough of them to make it work. At least the small size of the circle allowed for that.

When that was done Blue set the handful of stuffed toys he had managed to save from their old apartment along the rim of the nest. He took extra care with the little stuffed skeleton. It was a gift from his father, unlike all the other toys. Blue didn’t know what had happened to Gaster in that accident, but he wanted to cling on to the few reminders he had that his father had once loved him.

He surveyed the finished nest with disappointment. It wasn’t nearly up to the standards of the ones he had built in the past during his heats; it was clunky, moldy, raggedy, and small. It would have to do for now, though, because Blue didn’t have any other supplies to make it better.

=====

The 18 year old Blue didn’t fight against his brother when he duck-taped him to the wall in his room in the house in Snowdin. He figured it was just a prank, and it didn’t seem that harmful. That idea was quickly shattered by Stretch’s own actions. The 14 year old turned an expression on Blue that he’d only ever seen on the faces of his rapists. Then he turned around and started methodically destroying the nest Blue had only just finished building.

“STRETCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!” Blue called out, distress evident in his voice.

Stretch turned on him the most condescending look Blue had ever seen. “destroying this stupid waste of space, bro. you’re a rule-breaker. you don’t deserve to have a nest like this. you haven’t earned that privilege with all the slutty behaviour you’ve been showing lately.”

“STRETCH, WHAT- I WAS IN HEAT! YOU TOOK AWAY MY HEAT SUPPRESSANTS BECAUSE YOU SAID THEY COST TOO MUCH. WHAT DID YOU EXPECT ME TO DO? ALL OMEGAS ACT WANTON WHEN THEY’RE IN HEAT, AND I WASN’T EVEN ACTING LIKE THAT AT ALL! I LOCKED THE DOOR TO MY ROOM AND DIDN’T COME OUT UNTIL MY HEAT WAS OVER. I DIDN’T EVEN TRY TO FIND A HEAT PARTNER! MAKING IT THROUGH A HEAT WITHOUT ONE IS-” Blue was interrupted in mid sentence.

Stretch snarled, “i don’t care about your excuses, blue! everyone in town could smell you. they were all ravening after you! i’ve never heard so many gross things in one week. if you’re going to cause problems like that you don’t deserve anything soft or comfortable. maybe if you have to sleep on the floor you’ll understand how not okay it is for you to make me that uncomfortable! now, shut up or else!”

Blue gulped and did as he was told as his mind raced to try and understand. He knew what Stretch thought he did wrong, but he didn’t know what he could have done differently. He’d done everything he could not to make his heat into a burden on others! Why did Stretch want to punish him for that? Pale blue tears dripped out of his sockets as he forced himself to watch Stretch rip, shred, and tear all of the soft things he’d used to make his nest. The drip turned into a torrent when Stretch found the stuffed skeleton. Blue cried out, “NO, STRETCH! PLEASE, NOT THAT ONE! DAD GAVE THAT TO ME JUST BEFORE-”

Stretch growled at him. “what did i say about shutting up? just for that i’m going to take my time destroying this one!”

Blue watched in horror as Stretch summoned a sharp bone and started cutting tiny pieces out of the “bones” of the skeleton. The pieces were no bigger than an ant, and he took his time to shred them and scatter them all over the mess he had made of Blue’s room. Blue closed his eyes, trying to save himself the anguish of watching this destruction.

“hey! if you don’t open your eyes right now i’m letting in the rabbit gang. they’ve been especially hungry for you this whole time. i’m sure they’d be overjoyed to know that you had offered to… satisfy their hunger.”

Blue knew exactly what his brother meant, and he opened his eye sockets in shock. Had his brother really threatened to- he had, hadn’t he? New tears flooded his vision. How could his own brother threaten to do something like that? Hadn’t he raised him better? Or had he raised Stretch right, and Blue really did deserve to be treated like this? It had to be that, right? He’d given up everything to keep his brother safe, healthy, and happy. Stretch was just giving him the treatment he deserved.

Blue forced himself to watch Stretch destroy the rest of the nest. It made him feel horrible, like the time he’d been forced to swallow boiling water by one of the gangs in Waterfall. His throat felt raw and inflamed, his hands were trembling, and the tears were pouring down his face. It felt like Stretch was destroying the only safe thing Blue had left. He just must not deserve even that.

=====

Edge stared at Blue with confusion that bordered on consternation. What was this weird little Omega doing? He could smell the beginnings of a heat on him and offered to go get him some suppressants, but that brother of his said no. Edge had accepted that. They were clearly in some kind of relationship, so, if he was his brother’s Alpha, he might have decided that Blue didn’t need the suppressants. If he wasn’t, he might know that Blue’s Alpha didn’t want him taking them, although why an Alpha would want an unprotected Omega off their suppressants was a mystery to him. Edge didn’t want to judge.

All of that made a certain amount of sense - right up until he caught Blue, half naked, washing his clothes and saw the lack of a claiming bite on his body. That changed everything. If Blue wasn’t claimed, why would Stretch get to tell him whether he could take the suppressants? Unclaimed Omegas got to choose that for themselves! Edge promised himself that he would ask Blue the first chance he got.

He did, but Blue’s reaction confused him even more. He’d looked at the ground in a haunted way and said, “IT’S NOT MY CHOICE TO MAKE.”

“NONSENSE,” Edge dismissed. “IT MIGHT NOT BE IN YOUR WORLD, BUT HERE, IT IS; BY LAW, WHICH YOUR BROTHER IS OBSESSED WITH OBEYING. WHY WOULDN’T YOU GET TO CHOOSE FOR YOURSELF?”

Blue still didn’t look up at him. “IT’S TOO EXPENSIVE, EDGE. WE CAN’T-”

“BLUE,” Edge reached out and tilted his skull up to face him, “THEY’RE FREE HERE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO PAY.”

“REALLY?” Blue asked, his voice shaking. “WE - I CAN TAKE THEM AGAIN? I DON’T HAVE TO LOCK MYSELF IN MY ROOM TO KEEP FROM BEING RAPED? I DON’T HAVE TO GET TAPED TO THE WALL JUST FOR GOING INTO HEAT?”

Edge gaped at him. Then he shakily held out his arms for Blue and knelt down on one knee to make them closer in height. “I… THAT���S… I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY. RAPE, HERE, IS ONE OF THE BIG 4. THAT MEANS IT’S PUNISHABLE BY DEATH IF THE VICTIM WANTS LENIENCY ON THEIR ABUSER AND A MAGIC CUFF FOR THE FIRST OFFENSE IF THEY DON’T. THAT’S WHY HEAT SUPPRESSANTS ARE FREE, SO NO OMEGA IS TAKEN WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION. AND… WHY WOULD SOMEONE TAPE YOU TO A WALL FOR SOMETHING YOU CAN’T HELP? YOU’RE AN OMEGA, AREN’T YOU? YOU HAVE TO GO INTO HEAT.”

Blue stepped back from him and put on a cheerful smile. Edge knew it was fake. He’d worn the same smile himself, many times. It was as fake as fake could be. He didn’t have the energy to press for the truth, though. Pressing was something that had been Red’s forte.

“WELL, IT’S A LITTLE TOO LATE FOR THE SUPPRESSANTS NOW, SO… I CAN GUARD YOUR ROOM SO THAT NO MONSTERS COME NEAR AND TRY TO HURT YOU OR TAPE YOU TO THE WALLS. I’LL ALSO GIVE YOU MATERIALS FOR A NEST. WHAT DO YOU PREFER, WARM MATERIALS, FLUFFY MATERIALS, OR MATERIALS THAT ARE EASY TO CLEAN?”

None of that seemed like it would be a reason to burst into tears, but that’s what Blue did. Edge went to stand up to hold him, but Blue backed even further away from him, so Edge sat back on his knee. “BLUE, I’M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU. I WON’T MOVE UNTIL YOU SAY. OKAY?”

Blue had backed himself into a corner. He was shaking from his skull to his feet. Stars, Edge thought, what had been done to this poor Omega?

“I’M NOT SURE HOW I UPSET YOU. WAS IT SOMETHING ABOUT THE MATERIALS FOR YOUR NEST?” The other’s nod was barely distinguishable from his trembling, but Edge had practice with that with Red. “WOULD IT FEEL BETTER FOR YOU IF YOU GOT TO PICK OUT THE MATERIALS YOURSELF?”

Blue, finally, found his voice. “I’M NOT ALLOWED TO. I CAN’T- I CAN’T-”

“YOU CAN’T WHAT, BLUE? YOU CAN’T PICK FOR YOURSELF? DO YOU WANT ME TO PICK SOME FOR YOU?” Edge asked.

“I C-C-CAN’T BUILD A NEST. I’M NOT ALLOW-W-WED TO. NO, NOT… NOT ALLOWED. I D-D-DON’T DESERVE TO. NOT AFTER WHAT-T-T I’VE DONE,” Blue sounded like that idea had been beaten into him. Edge needed to tread carefully.

“I DON’T KNOW OF ANY REASON WHY I WOULDN’T LET AN OMEGA BUILD A NEST. THAT WOULD BE LIKE STRIPPING AN ALPHA OF THEIR WEAPONS, OR A BETA OF THEIR TOOLKIT. IT WOULD BE TORTURE; PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE AS WELL AS PHYSICAL. I WOULDN’T EVEN DO THAT TO A CHILD RAPIST,” Edge said quietly.

That idea made Blue flinch. Interesting. He needed to talk to Stretch later on. Privately. That’s what he thought until Blue spoke. “IN OUR W-W-WORLD, ANY CRIME IS THE FAULT OF THE VICTIM FOR NOT TAKING ADEQUATE PRECAUTIONS. I… I’M NOT VERY GOOD AT TAKING ADEQUATE PRECAUTIONS. I’VE BEEN R-R-RAPED A LOT, AND I BROKE THE RULES, AND SO I DON’T DES-S-SERVE TO HAVE A NEST.”

Edge closed his eyes to hide his anger. That was so messed up he didn’t even know where to start. Who had taught Blue that? Why did they think like that? How long had this been going on? All he could think to say was, “THAT’S WRONG.”

Blue swallowed, trying to maintain that happy smile. “I KNOW, BUT I WAS JUST A KI- NO, THAT’S… SORRY. THERE’S NO EXCUSE FOR LETTING THAT HAPPEN. I’M JUST GLAD I KEPT MY BROTHER SAFE FROM IT. HE WAS SUCH AN INNOCENT AND HAPPY CHILD. I DON’T THINK I COULD LIVE WITH MYSELF IF HE HAD HAD TO GO THROUGH WHAT I DID.”

“NO, BLUE. THAT’S NOT WHAT’S WRONG. YOU NOT DESERVING A BASIC PART OF YOUR NATURE BECAUSE YOU WERE THE VICTIM OF SUCH A BIG CRIME? THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG. YOU NEED A NEST. YOU DESERVE A NEST. I WILL DO ANYTHING IN MY POWER TO MAKE SURE YOUR NEST IS KEPT SAFE. PLEASE BUILD A NEST, BLUE. FOR ME, IF NOT FOR YOURSELF,” Edge said, clasping his hands and shaking them in the classic pose of pleading.

Blue eyed him like he was crazy. That slipped into thoughtfulness as he looked around like a cornered animal waiting for the attacks to begin. Then, as quietly as Edge had ever heard him, Blue said, “CAN I HAVE THE FL-”

“blue, what the hell are you doing out here? where’s your shirt? you’re flirting with our host, aren’t you? seriously? how disgusting. why don’t you just drag him into the bedroom and betray me completely?” Stretch’s scathing voice carried over Edge’s shoulder. Edge felt his spine stiffen and had to resist the urge to let his pheromones do the talking.

He turned around and glared at Stretch. “HE ISN’T IN HEAT YET, AND I DON’T SEE YOUR CLAIM MARK ON HIM. I DON’T SEE ANY CLAIMS ON HIM. AS AN UNCLAIMED OMEGA, HERE, HE HAS THE RIGHT TO DECIDE ABOUT SUPPRESSANTS, MATES, AND NESTS FOR HIMSELF. IT’S TOO LATE FOR SUPPRESSANTS TO WORK, SO I WAS OFFERING TO GET HIM THE NESTING MATERIALS OF HIS CHOICE. HEATS ARE AS UNAVOIDABLE FOR OMEGAS AS RUTS ARE FOR ALPHAS. I'M GIVING HIM MY PERMISSION TO TAKE OVER MY BEDROOM FOR THE DURATION OF HIS HEAT. IT’S THE SAFEST PLACE IN THE HOUSE. NO ONE CAN BREAK INTO IT ONCE IT’S LOCKED FROM THE INSIDE.”

Stretch glared back at him, flexing his pheromones and trying to seem like a big Alpha. Edge hated posturing like that. He easily overpowered Stretch’s smell and stalked him down. “YOU WILL LEAVE BLUE ALONE. YOU WILL WORK ON THE MACHINE. THEN, MAYBE, I’LL LET YOU TAKE HIM HOME WITH YOU, BUT IF I FIND OUT ONE MORE MESSED UP THING ABOUT YOUR UNIVERSE I WILL ADOPT HIM AS MY OWN FAMILY AND KEEP HIM HERE.”

Stretch slunk away from him, then ran out of the house. Edge sighed and turned back around. Blue was shaking so hard he was barely able to move, but he was trying to present to Edge like a good Omega. Edge sighed. “I’M NOT GOING TO CLAIM YOU, BLUE. NOT WHILE YOU’RE IN HEAT AND CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT. I WILL PROTECT YOU AND GET YOU THE FLUFFY NESTING MATERIALS, THOUGH. WHY DON’T YOU GO UP TO MY ROOM AND GET STARTED?”

Blue nodded slowly and crawled up the stairs to Edge’s bedroom. Edge sighed and headed for the shed. What a mess. Still, he’d managed to fix even worse conditioning in the past. Red had turned out okay, hadn't he? Edge could do this. He believed in himself.

=====

“okay, blue, i get that your world is weird. but how come you haven’t built a nest yet? is it just a thing for during your heats in your world, or do you need new materials, or what?” Red asked. Blue froze where he was chopping tofu for some tacos. Red just waited. He knew that stuff like this could be an unexpected minefield thanks to Blue’s past. He just hoped that this wasn’t going to be too bad of a pothole in the end.

“I… NESTS ARE MORE THAN JUST FOR HEATS. NESTS ARE AN IMPORTANT THING TO THE PSYCHE OF THE OMEGA. A HOUSE WITH A… PROPER OMEGA IN IT ISN’T CONSIDERED A HOME WITHOUT A NEST. AT LEAST, NOT IF THERE’S A CHILD IN THE HOUSE. THAT MEANS THAT THAT CHILD WOULD BREAK THE RULES IF A NEST WEREN’T MADE. AND NESTS CAN BE MADE OF ANYTHING, AS LONG AS THEY’RE ROUGHLY ROUNDED AND VAGUELY SOFT,” Blue answered him.

“then why haven’t you made one? is it because of some stupid thing about you breaking the rules?” he asked cynically. Most of Blue’s problems related to those stupid rules, sooner or later. Whether that was through the laws, the infrastructure, or that brother of his, his Queen was the real one at fault. She’d written those damned rules in the first place.

Blue carefully set down the knife, but Red could see how his hands were shaking. He ached to grab them and soothe them, but he didn’t want to cause more trouble like he had last time. “IT… IS. AFTER STRETCH FOUND OUT ABOUT WHAT I USED TO DO, WHEN WE FIRST MOVED INTO THE HOUSE IN SNOWDIN, I BUILT A NEST RIGHT AWAY. BUT, JUST WHEN I’D FINISHED BUILDING IT, STRETCH… HE TAPED ME TO A WALL AND MADE ME WATCH WHILE HE DESTROYED IT. HE EVEN D-D-DESTROYED THE LITTLE SKELETON DAD GAVE ME… HE SAID I DIDN’T DESERVE A NEST BECAUSE I’D CAUSED SO MANY MONSTERS TO GO WANTON WITH MY HEAT. I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

Blue gulped. His whole body was shaking now as he stepped further into the memory. “I EVEN LOCKED MYSELF IN MY ROOM WHEN HE SAID I COULDN’T GO OUT AND BUY MORE SUPPRESSANTS. BUT… PEOPLE STILL SMELLED ME. HE DIDN’T LIKE HEARING WHAT THEY HAD TO SAY, SO HE SAID… THAT IF I SLEPT ON THE FLOOR I MIGHT LEARN NOT TO MAKE PEOPLE ACT LIKE THAT. HE SAID… IF I DIDN’T WATCH, HE’D TELL THE RABBIT GUARD I SAID THEY COULD U-U-USE ME. AND I THOUGHT… I DID EVERYTHING I COULD TO RAISE HIM RIGHT, SO… IT HAD TO BE M-M-ME, RIGHT? I HAD TO HAVE DONE SOMETHING WRONG FOR HIM TO DO THAT TO ME… AND IF I REALLY DID SOMETHING WRONG, THEN I SHOULDN’T TRY TO MAKE SOMETHING THAT I DIDN’T DESERVE, AND HE SAID I DIDN’T DESERVE TO MAKE A NEST, SO… THAT WASN’T RIGHT, WAS IT?”

Red shook his head. “nope. he was being a jealous asshole of an alpha that wanted to control you. also, he was being a regular asshole, too. i’d never try to do that to an omega and i’m a fucking beta! especially with how rare they are.” Blue quivered to face him, just like Red thought he would. Blue had told them about the previous timeline, and Red figured he must have at least gotten to a heat, but the way Boss was he wouldn’t have wanted to put pressure on Blue if he was just going to leave. Red could relate, but Blue had decided to stay here, so he needed to know. “yeah, the birth rate for omegas here has been really low for a few centuries. they’re down to less than a eighth of the population. omegas who can carry a child to term? they’re rarer than moldsmaals.”

“THE OMEGA GENE ONLY MANIFESTS WHEN THE MOTHER FEELS COMPLETELY SAFE AND RESPECTED BY THEIR ALPHA,” Blue said monotonously. “THAT’S WHY THE QUEEN HAS RULEBREAKERS TREATED SO BADLY. SHE DOESN’T WANT THEM REPRODUCING.”

Red bared his teeth. “fuck that. we’ll take them all and treat them proper! starting with their nests. d’ya wanna go splurge on materials? boss and i’ve got a lot saved for this, and you deserve the best nest that money can buy. we can even find you a skeleton plushie, or maybe get someone to make you one. how does that sound? only the best for our mate.”

Blue hesitated. “IN THE LAST TIMELINE EDGE SAID HE HAD MATERIALS FOR ME TO USE. I DON’T WANT TO WASTE YOUR MONEY BUYING NEW ONES.”

Red felt safe enough now to press a kiss to Blue’s teeth. “are you kidding? those are from the public stocks. our queen made a giant stockpile for emergencies. you get to own your own nest now, baby blue. besides, most of what we’ll be getting is replacement clothes and blankets for edge and me. you’re our omega, so your nest should smell like us as well as you.”

Blue’s bright eyes filled with tears. Red could see the happiness in his face, though. “YOU REALLY WOULD LET ME USE YOUR THINGS?”

Red kissed him again, wiping those tears away from his Omega’s face with a smile. “of course, baby blue. now, let’s go raid our closet and get you some stuff to start with. then we can head out to the stores and get shopping!”

=====

The Gaster of Underswap #832 was a lover, not a fighter, and he found it odd that he found himself so much more at home in a world where people had once had to fight for a living than he had in the one he was born into. He still wasn’t into sexual or romantic love, but he had found a new form of love to enjoy after he and the other Omegas had been rescued; grandparental. He loved talking about his twin grandchildren to anyone who would listen. They were still just soulings in Blue’s belly, but he knew they were going to be amazing. After all, with parents like they had, how could they be anything else? He couldn’t wait to meet them.

Right now, though, he was content to help his son and his son’s datemates settle into their new home here on the Surface. He was amazed at how much stuff they had. Blue had 3 boxes; Red and Edge had 18. Considering that most of Blue’s stuff had been stolen back in Underswap #832, it wasn’t surprising that the ratio was so off. That just meant that Gaster got to take him out shopping like he’d always wanted to! Taking Red and Edge as well was a wonderful bonus!

Tonight Gaster had insisted that the others rest while he put away their purchases. When he was done he couldn’t help but check in on them. They weren’t in their bedroom, so the next place he checked was the room with Blue’s nest.

There, asleep in the nest lit only by the light of the moon through the blinds, were Red, Edge, and Blue. Blue was sandwiched in the middle of them, being hugged on both sides by his loving mates. His shirt had ridden up to expose his swelling belly. Two still-white soulings glowed through the light blue of his ecto. They flashed at him slightly, and he pulsed his magic back, then closed the door, smiling, on his son’s well-deserved peace.

[panda-noosh]

Could you possibly write a Remus Lupin x Slytherin reader? Possibly where they were partnered up for a project (potions?) and maybe readers all cold towards him but eventually warms up to him? And everyone’s skeptical of their relationship but she does something that shows just how much she loves him. Maybe him telling reader he’s a werewolf? Idk, I love your writing and I can’t wait to see if you like this request! 💙

It's weird how your relationship with Remus Lupin started with you hating him.

  Hate is a strong word. It was more dislike, but not because he had done anything wrong. Remus Lupin, though he hung out with the Bad Kids, was the definition of a Try Hard. He did all his homework, showed up to class on time, sucked up to teachers because – according to him – he knows how hard they have it. He was one of them students that acted sixty years too old. He was smart, and confident, and he had a smile that lit up the hallways better than any lumos spell ever could.

  But he was also a Gryffindor.

  That was the kicker back in the day. Slytherin and Gryffindor were just never meant to mingle, and that's the hill you were fully prepared to die on. Even when Professor Slughorn put you and Remus together for a project in potions class.

  People snickered when you approached his desk. He was sat with his back ramrod straight, shoulders drawn, his raggedy robes straight and pristine. You remember him giving you a smile when you made eye contact, remember the butterflies that gripped your stomach, remember shoving them away as soon as possible.

  You sat down beside him and pulled out your books. Remus watched you, his lips still twitched into the tiniest of smiles that only widened when he realised you were looking right back at him; the only different being, you were scowling.

  “Do you want me to do the work?” you asked. “We don't have to talk.”

  Remus tilted his head.

  You rolled your eyes. “Don't act dumb, Lupin. Your mates aren't exactly gonna go easy on you if they know you're being all chummy with a Slytherin.”

   Remus raised a brow, glancing over his shoulder at Sirius and James, both of whom had their heads ducked over a steaming couldron; James's glasses were much too steamed up for him to even notice you and Remus, and Sirius was too busy trying to read the ingredients to care about anything else.

  Remus turned back to you. “I think it's alright.”

  You slumped down in the seat next to him, pulling the potions book towards you. It was a simple potion, you remember, but you had never been too good with potions in general; you never knew how many times to stir them, even though it clearly stated it in every recipe. Slughorn always gave you the disappointed head shake and extra homework. Or, to make matters worse, he partnered you up with Gryffindors to see if that would help the situation.

  “I'm Remus Lupin, by the way.”

  Your head snapped up. “Huh?”

  “Remus Lupin? That's me. I realised we never introduced ourselves.” You stared at him, mouth slightly open. Remus chuckled and shrugged. “Well, not formally.”

  “Uh, no. No, you're right. We didn't.”

  Remus paused, staring at you expectantly.

“Oh, right, yeah. I'm Y/N. Y/N L/N. Slytherin.”

  “Oh yes. I forgot you Slytherin's always have to announce your house when you introduce yourselves.”

   You narrowed your eyes, ignoring the brush of his fingers against yours as he tugged the book back to his space. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “To have House pride? Absolutely not.” He glanced at you through the corner of his eye. “To think you're better than everybody else just because of your House? That's a different matter.”

  “Who said I thought I was better than anyone else?”

   “Who said I was talking about you?”

    You folded your arms over your chest. “You Gryffindors think you know everything; you don't. You don't know the first bloody thing about me.”

   “I know your name,” Remus replied casually. “And now I know you're in Slytherin...”

  You groaned and slapped his arm. Remus chuckled, and you remember the noise reminding you of honey drizzled over a delicious dessert or something weird like that. It was only for a moment, a space of time in which you blanked out and just focused on that noise, slightly hoarse, totally rare because usually, anything Lupin said was overshadowed by the boisterous comments of his two best friends.

  You shook yourself out of it as fast as possible, turning back to the task at hand. You would get this potion finished, and then you could move on. You would never have to speak to Remus – or another Gryffindor – ever again.

  But that's really not how it turned out.

  After that initial potions class, Remus appeared everywhere. He was like a curse. You told him this a few years after leaving Hogwarts, and he had laughed until his side hurt and tears were falling down his face. But at the time, it really was exactly like that. Every corner, Remus was stood. Every class, Remus was present. Every glance across the Great Hall, Remus would meet you halfway.

  It became exhausting until you finally spoke to each other again, and then it was a little easier. He was really easy to speak to, which was a surprise, considering he still had that slightly superior lilt to his voice, and that annoying trait known as Being a Gryffindor. You sometimes found yourself reminding him that you were a Slytherin, not a four year old, and he could talk to you like a human being every once in a while. These little warnings always flustered him, but instead of finding it amusing, it kind of warmed your heart – he was putting in the effort. He was catching more and more of his demeaning mistakes and trying to fix them, and you could appreciate that. It was more than any other Gryffindor had ever done for you.

  It was your sixth year when Remus finally asked you out.

  Two years of constant back and forth, talking to him at the back of classrooms and in dark little alleyways that James and Sirius found suspicious, but really were nothing more than platonic rendezvous'. By your sixth year, it was obvious you liked each other, even to the two of you. There was none of that old school Oh my god, I hope he likes me bullshit – you knew he had feelings for you, and he knew you had feelings for him, and by your sixth year, it became a task of just. . . asking each other out. It was the question of who was going to make the first move.

  And it was Remus, as you hoped it would be. You were beginning to lose restraint every time you saw him, having to cut the meetings short just to stop yourself from grabbing his face and kissing him.

  He asked you very politely, as was Remus's way. Holding your hands, probably thinking up some romantic poem he could spit out to settle the mood, even though he knew full well you would probably laugh. To this day, he still insists he never once thought of reciting poetry to you, but you fail to believe him. Nonetheless, he had said the magic words of “Will you go out with me?” and you had said yes, and later on he had kissed you good night, a pleasant little peck on the lips that made everything real.

  Things were difficult. You can't deny that, but you also can't claim it was a surprise. James, Sirius and Peter accepted the relationship with open arms, but the Slytherins jostled and joked with you, calling you a traitor to your house because you came to bed every night grinning from ear to ear with the smell of Remus's cologne on your robes. It got to you a few times, but Remus was always there to remind you that none of it mattered – not really. This was high school, for crying out loud. Give it another few months and you wouldn't even be thinking of these people again, and he was right in that respect. You can't even name half of them now; no one but the Death Eaters.

  But there were comments. Little ones that wiggled their way into your brain and made you second guess everything, which was rare for a Slytherin back then. Maybe they've evolved since your school days, but Slytherins were known for being confident in their own decisions. They didn't second guess anything. They were too stubborn to do that.

  But hearing people say Remus didn't love you so many times over, giving you detailed reasons – it was hard to ignore. It was hard not to listen.

  You remember the night you broke down. You and Remus were walking across the gardens in the winter, the early night being the perfect backdrop for such a firey scene. James and Sirius had waved you both off, but your mind was elsewhere, and Remus could tell. He could always tell. He was good at that intuitive stuff.

  He took your hand, startling you out of a daydream that was the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down. You looked over to see his feathery eyebrows arched, a tiny frown playing on his lips. That crease was between his brows, the one he still gets when he's confused or worried, the one you always flatten with your thumb before giving him a kiss to settle whatever nerves he is feeling. Back then, however, you slipped your hand from his and tucked it in your robes.

  Remus inhaled sharply, startled by the rejection but not pushing you any further than you wanted to go. “Are you alright?” His famous words.

  “I'm fine,” you replied. Your famous words.

  “You've been acting weird since lunch. You can talk to me if you want.”

  “I don't have anything to talk about.”

  “You always have something to talk about. You haven't even told me how your potions exam went-”

  “I probably failed.”

  “You never fail.”

  “There you go again, acting like you know everything.”

  Remus raised a brow, stopping dead in his tracks. You looked to the floor, biting your bottom lip, trying to draw your unnecessary anger back into your body, but it was so, so difficult with the Slytherins' comments whirling around in your brain.

  “Right,” Remus drawled. “Something's clearly bothering you.” He grabbed your arm, drawing you back gently. He was always gentle, even back then. “What's wrong?”

  You looked him in the eyes, confident and bold, just as you were meant to be. “Is this a mistake?”

  His grip slackened for only a second before his thumb started rubbing circles into your arm. “W-what are you on about?”

  “This. Us. Is it – like – stupid to think it could work?”

  “Y/N, where the hell is this coming from?”

  You tugged your arm from his grip, nearly stumbling. The tears hit you unexpectedly, making you feel so daft, because you had always been told never to cry over a boy. Relationships in high school were never meant to work out – that was the unwritten rule. That was how the world worked.

  “I don't know,” you choked out, swiping a heavy hand across your eyes. “People in the common room have just been talking, and they said you've been really secretive recently, and you're probably cheating on me-”

  Remus grabbed your arms, bundling you against his chest. He was trembling, either from cold or nerves, you didn't know, and you still don't know, because you and Remus don't like to talk about how you were both feeling in those moments. You describe the setting and the situation, but not the internal things – those are too dark to describe, even to the person you love.

  “Stop,” he whispered against your hair. “Don't believe a word they say. You know I'm better than that. You know me, Y/N.”

  You closed your eyes, letting the tears slip into the fabric of his robes. “But it just makes so much sense. You have been shifty lately, and we're so different from each other, I wouldn't even be surprised if-”

  “I love you.”

  You jerked back. That was the first time he'd ever said it, and maybe he didn't mean it in the moment. You were both exceptionally young, didn't really know what love was, but he said it and it made your heart jump because no one – no one – had ever said it to you so firmly before.

  He met your eyes and laughed, a sound of disbelief. “Yeah. Yes, Y/N, I love you. More than anything. So – so you have to believe me when I tell you that there's more to it than just. . . just me acting shifty.”

   “What is it, Lupin?” you demanded. “Because I can't get it out of my head that you're sneaking around, keeping secrets from me when I tell you everything. You're the one person in this entire world who I trust more than anything, and it just fucks with my brain to know you don't feel the same way-”

 “I was bitten.”

  Such a tense moment. Life changing, both for you and Remus. There was a moments silence, like you were mourning a death or something. Around you, the night felt so loud, the crickets in the grass suddenly ten times louder, the brush of tree leaves against your ankles now sounding like sandpaper against concrete. Remus stirred a little bit, a sober drunkard, and you leaped forward and grabbed his shoulders before he could topple over.

  “Bitten?” you said, still holding him up, even though he was perfectly fine by that point. “Remus, bitten? What do you mean?”

  “Bitten,” he repeated. “Teeth. Claws. Wolf. That kind of thing.”

  Your stomach turned. Half of you was screaming to turn and run, get to safety because there was no way in hell anybody bitten by a werewolf was safe to be around.

  But then you focused on the feel of his shoulders beneath your palms, and his warm breath against your face, and you remembered those nights where he would softly kiss your lips, pull away, see if you wanted more before giving you exactly what your face portrayed – more.

  You had meant it when you said you trusted him with everything. He was your everything at that point, even so early on in the relationship, and maybe a part of it had to do with the fact that everyone else doubted you would ever make it as a couple. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor wasn't possible. Maybe, in the beginning, you just wanted to prove that you could do whatever you wanted. However, it morphed into something completely different over time, to the point where the thought of running away from him because of this news was just ludicrous, out of the question.

  Instead, you squeezed his shoulders and said, “Okay. Okay. I – uh – I understand now.”

  His eyes had softened, tears trekking down his face, glistening like melted iron in the moonlight. He shook his head a few times, but you grabbed his jaw and held him still, pressing tiny kisses to his cheeks and his nose and his lips as his shoulders shook.

  “I'm serious, Remus. It's okay. Everything is okay.”

   “I'm a monster,” he grumbled, and in that moment, you could hear the growl to his voice, the wolf inside him ready to burst.

  You held him tighter.

  “You're perfect,” you whispered into his hair, already greying at the age of seventeen. “I've got you, Remus. I'm not going anywhere.”

 And you never did.

  You left school holding his hand. You got married, a cheap wedding that was more just the signing of papers than a massive ceremony, but it was perfect nonetheless. You supported him through his struggles back then, and you continue supporting him now. You don't have any intentions of stopping.

[hellyeahomeland]

“Catch and Release”: an HYH recap

LOL I guess we need to discuss these new opening credits? It’s a real throwback, incorporating some of the more famous images from the first few years of the show, especially young Carrie (also I don’t remember the maze as much the last few years but it was there, and it features heavily this year as well).

Some notable audio clips:

Saul: You had a relationship complicated enough to lie about. Carrie: Yeah, it’s complicated! I lost seven months of my life!

Saul: You will become the focus of an investigation that will define the rest of your life.

Saul: Please God, tell me you haven’t…

(had to include this cap because I’m trash)

So… this should be fun.

The episode opens right where the last one left off. Carrie is visibly disturbed by the site of Yevgeny walking out of G’ulom’s office. She wastes no time asking G’ulom what the hell they were doing there. He plays coy and says they’re just businessmen but Carrie is doing her whole righteous indignation, “New Car Smell” thing. She says he’s got to take back his comments about the POWs. There’s a pointed exchange where Carrie says they’re prisoners of war and G’ulom counters that they’re terrorists and OH MY GOD how much heavier could the Brody parallels get?? Anyway, G’ulom is very unconvinced by Carrie’s argument, which basically boils down to “please?” She seethes the whole way back to the CIA station and says her first mean thing to Jenna this episode.

Later on the phone with Saul, she asks if he knew Yevgeny was there. “Of course not,” Saul says, though I’m not really sure I believe him. But apparently they can’t do shit about this as it was part of the terms of Carrie’s release. Which I guess they forgot to mention in her debrief.

Elsewhere in Afghanistan, Max is talking to the DoD’s version of Siri. His Hot Marines give him all a hair tousle, which he hates (obviously), but which also seems to be some sign of good luck. The nice guy in the hat from the last episode notably does not touch his head, so I’m sure he’ll be dead in 2-4 episodes. Apparently the DoD Siri is better than the real thing because he manages to comb through some conversations of Haqqani talking to his son about ending the war. Saul says this is “black and white” evidence, because as we know everything that happens on this show is “black and white.” He’s convinced that if he could just talk to Haqqani, they could end this war together. This is one of Saul’s more insane plans but it will probably work because: Saul.

Back at the CIA, Carrie’s gotten an “anonymous tip” which is basically a name written in large block letters inside an envelope. She manages to use a computer successfully and discovers the name is of a woman who was involved in a government corruption probe that got ~mysteriously~ shut down when it uncovered actual government corruption. How quaint! Anyway, then her husband was killed in a car bomb that was probably meant for her. So she’s justifiably pissed and probably has dirt on G’ulom that Carrie could use.

Carrie proposes to Mike Dunne an operation wherein they pretend to interview her for a job while Carrie breaks into her apartment to find said dirt. Mike Dunne brilliantly suggests Jenna for the operation since apparently Jenna set up a fake NGO with all her downtime on account of not being let outside. Their conversation goes something like this:

Carrie: Wait, just last week you told me Jenna is sort of an idiot. Mike: I said she was stuck in the starting gate. That is a horse racing analogy. Carrie: [raises eyebrows] Mike: We need her idiocy to add a little drama to this otherwise straightforward operation you’ve devised.

Later, Carrie prepares with Jenna:

Carrie: I’m phrasing this next bit as a rhetorical question with an obvious answer, because I don’t actually believe you know the right answer, because you are an idiot. Jenna: I promise I’m not an idiot. Did Mike say I was a fuck-up? Carrie: No, I said that. Jenna: Oh, right. Carrie: Are you not a fuck-up? Jenna: [blank stare]

Meanwhile, Tasneem is observing the transfer of Taliban POWs from Guantanamo, including one who is carted off on a stretcher. Also Saul is nowhere to be found. Between the ambulance and the “where the FUCK is Saul” of it all, this scene has several of the same elements of the iconique ending of “A Red Wheel Barrow.” Like Carrie then, Tasneem knows something is fishy.

…and something definitely is! Saul’s not back in America like Tim Guinee says. He’s with Haqqani’s cousin, one of the released POWs, trying to convince him to hand deliver a letter to Haqqani in exchange for his immediate freedom.

Saul and Haqqani’s cousin arrive in Peshawar, where Saul hands over the letter to Haqqani, which he then reads via voiceover. It’s all very “A False Glimmer.” He pleads with Haqqani to meet with him, claiming “it’s only the men with guns who can make peace.” Which, I guess?

The next day, Carrie’s operation is a go. Samira leaves right on time for the interview with Jenna’s fake NGO and Carrie and her crew easily break into her apartment. They don’t find much, until Carrie notices a burqa with a USB sewn into the hem. Incriminating evidence sewn into fabric that is discovered at the last moment is my FAVORITE device on this show.

Carrie is victorious in her search but Jenna royally fucks up the interview, because she’s an idiot (and a fuck-up, apparently), revealing that she knows about the “audit” Samira took part in. Jenna, you literally had one job! To her credit, Samira realizes what’s going on almost instantly and then takes a photo of Jenna. We have to stan!!

Samira doesn’t get away though. They abduct her and take her back to the CIA station, cuff her, and throw a hood over her head. Carrie is enraged, claiming they’ve just traumatized her all over again and now she definitely won’t talk. After a few seasons of getting a hood thrown over her head, Carrie sympathizes.

She does her best “here’s the lay of the land” with Samira and gets her to tell her the significance of the documents on the USB drive. Samira wants G’ulom arrested and says she can wait two more years, or even twenty, to take down G’ulom. Carrie knows the best they can do is just cut him at the knees by advancing the peace deal. In the end, she convinces her.

Carrie calls Saul from a big abandoned building, location unknown, which is supposed to be an army base. Key phrase: “supposed to be.” Samira’s documents show evidence of an entirely fabricated Afghan Army battalion. That’s right, G’ulom is a scammer! He’s been funneling millions of dollars meant for the Army base into his own pocket for years. Incredulous, Carrie exclaims, “We’ve been enabling this motherfucker for 18 years! What is wrong with us?”

In Rawalpindi, Tasneem pays a visit to her retired stepfather Bunny (last seen in season four). He’s fallen asleep in his massive garden shooting squirrels with a pistol. The neighbors are complaining.

Tasneem: If you took down the bird feeders, the squirrels would stop eating the bird seeds. Bunny: I prefer this. Also, that’s not fair to the birds. Tasneem: Is this a metaphor? [Later] Tasneem: Stepdad, I think Saul is up to no good. If he talks to Haqqani directly, there could be a real breakthrough. Bunny: Unacceptable. We must control everything. Tasneem: How far am I allowed to go then? Bunny: The Americans hate us and our God. Go as fucking far as you please. Tasneem: Coolio, it’s murder time. 

Wearing a nice set of gold bar earrings, Carrie is back in G’ulom’s office, presenting him with a slew of incriminating evidence about his scam. He has two hours to walk back the statements before she shares the papers with his own government, who’d likely have him killed. Finally she has leverage, but G’ulom still manages to give a menacing speech about how peace will be terrible for everyone. Carrie doesn’t relent.

Poor Max has not gotten any alone time at the Army base in Afghanistan, but he has realized that the ISI definitely know that Saul is in Peshawar. Apparently the Taliban does as well. Twist of twists, the ISI aren’t preparing to hit him, they’re preparing to hit Haqqani. Saul yells at the Taliban’s convoy to stop but it’s too late. Amid the panic, Saul is abducted again. I honestly cannot. How many times has this been? This was not the Homeland Greatest Hits I had in mind.

Later, Carrie is stomping her way through the streets of Kabul. She ends up at a bar with the rest of the crew. She says something encouraging to Jenna and orders a “soda water,” both of which are not things I would have expected Carrie to do. Mike Dunne is like, Carrie when the fuck are you gonna leave? Carrie does a cute lil’ shrug and randomly asks where the bathroom is.

That’s right, we needed Carrie alone and somewhat lost because YEVGENY IS BACK. Somehow he looks even hotter than last week. Apparently he gave the anonymous tip, which makes no sense.

Yevgeny: I thought you were gonna thank me. *wink wink* Carrie: I am so confused. Yevgeny: Who else would have done something so nice for you? *wink wink* Carrie: I am maximum confused. Yevgeny: Don’t play dumb. *wink wink* Carrie: I am more confused now than that time I saw a screensaver. Yevgeny: Hey, maybe we could go to Banana Joe’s together? *wink wink* [fades into darkness]

The episode closes somewhat awesomely with Saul, still blindfolded, entering a cement fortress. The blindfold comes off, his beard looks raggedy. I’ve seen this all before. Haqqani walks in. He’s not dead. Saul’s thanking the heavens, and then Haqqani smacks him across the face with a rifle. Cut to black. *chef’s kiss*