#to herself that it was lack of freedom; convincing herself she and the urge are one in the same

[hauntedurge]

briar does sincerely want to be a good person — or at least one who doesn't cause undue harm — as a result of sincere, if stilted, morality. but another big reason why she wants to be good is as a rebellion against the loss of freedom inherent in the way her urges exist. she fucking hates that she is not always in control of her actions, thoughts, or desires; the existence of "briar" feels incredibly tenuous. thread - bare. most times, she doesn't feel like a person at all — she feels like a body that another person controls, or at the very least that does not control itself. it's a very frightening feeling, and it pisses her off! she's prideful and hates being usurped, let alone in her own skin.

this is all to say that yes, sure, her desire to be closer to chaotic good than chaotic evil is a sincere expression of morality. it's also her screaming and tearing at her bindings.

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.5

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - Shanda makes it home from her nightly mission easily and walks into a tense family meeting. Benjicot Blackwood starts making plans of his own.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, mentions of injuries, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.4k

Things are starting to shape up!

When Shanda appeared back at Stone Hedge she had developed a slight limp. Sneaking inside had been easy enough, Martyn had still been on guard. And she had made her way inside moving silent and unseen all the way to her own chambers. There she collapsed exhausted, but there would be no rest for her now. She lay there for a moment trying to convince herself this was truly reality. First, she was an idiot. She had severely underestimated her opponent and it had almost cost her everything. If he had managed to drag her back to Raventree… She shuddered at the thought.

She pulled herself out of bed by sheer force of will and began readying a bath. Since starting her escapades in the borderlands she had refused all servant assistance in her room. She did her own linens, warmed her own water and got herself ready. It was easier that way, less questions. It gave her a sense of autonomy she had been lacking before. Despite how dangerous the situation truly was, she couldn’t find it in her to stay away. The information would be useful and she couldn’t bear to go back to her boring life before the nightly adventures.

Her father trusted her more than most, putting her in charge of the record keeping and allowing her a say on any matter pertaining to the honor of their house. But it didn’t mean he ever listened to what she said. Shanda had too many brothers to count and inevitably her opinion was pushed down in favor of others. It was hard not to take it personally. How would she ever gain the experience to offer useful advice if she were stuck in these walls all day? Whenever she voiced these frustrations her father would simply urge her to look into taking a suitor up. She always scoffed at the notion that would take her away. And it didn’t guarantee any more freedom than she had now, less factoring in children on any account.

She looked upon her face in a dingy mirror while she braided her hair back. The shadows under her eyes were a tad darker than usual but that could be explained away by working late. Fall approached and soon most of her time would be spent managing shipments for winter. Besides the dark shadows she looked the same as ever. Her shoulders throbbed with every heartbeat and she was sure a couple of ribs were bruised. Today was going to be hell. Taking one last look in the mirror she headed downstairs.

The sky was still gray, though lighter than it had been over the past two days. She knew something was wrong when Martyn was in the main hall waiting for her along with her father.

“Good morning Father, Martyn. What news brings us together on this day?”

The only family meetings they had usually preceded disaster.

“Martyn, tell your sister about the Raven you received.”

Face unreadable Martyn pulled a slip of paper open before reading.

“To the many houses of the River lands. This is a formal warrant issued for the individual terrorizing Blackwoods lands, dubbed the “Redfork Menace”. Countenance is small in stature, remarkably fast and responsible for multiple crimes in Blackwood lands. The charges include: Attempted assault, trespassing, illegal snare traps, and most grievously an attempt to harm the heir of Raventree. Further attempts by anyone to penetrate the land beyond the river will be met with immediate hostility.

Signed, the heir of Raventree Hall”

Shanda stood there momentarily speechless.

***

Benjicot Blackwood approached Raventree Hall feeling giddy. He’d nearly had her this time, the sly little Bracken who kept sneaking into their side of the borderlands. She was so fierce and fought valiantly. It was adorable. It was also incredibly irresponsible. The Brackens were all craven simpering cunts. They were unfit to sit on the land they owned and contaminated the air for the rest of the riverlands. But she was a pretty foul mouthed creature that considered herself so clever. He knew about her presence almost immediately. The guards might not have been sure about her existence but he had been.

As heir he knew all of his lands like the back of his hand, the borderlands no exception. With the increased tension and altercations surrounding the area he had volunteered to join the guard rotation. It would break up the monotony of his normal routine and show he wasn’t too good to work just like the rest of them. After the first time she had appeared he’d sat back and waited, watching her movements and familiarizing himself with her mannerisms. He had studied her so intently that he had cracked her identity on the third occasion he saw her. Her bronze hair had caught in the moonlight where she lay crouched and he pretended not to see her. The answer to why she might be spying on them dawned on him with the flash of her hair. Amos Bracken was a blonde but his wife had auburn hair. Martyn Bracken had the same auburn hair and his twin was of an almost identical shade.

He could have died of laughter at the realization. They were sending her as a scout and spy? Whatever sneaking she did might pass the bar in Stone Hedge but to him she was loud, visible. She never stayed crouched low enough and ventured much too close. Sometimes she would lose track of time, focusing too intently. He hadn’t lied about her skill in covering her tracks though, that was true. She had done well to step lightly and the snares had been a nice touch. But she’d used the wrong kind of rope, he was much heavier than the rabbit string she had brought. But he had played along because it was entertaining and she was trying so hard. It must be difficult to be surrounded by Brackens all the time, no wonder she was so keen to cross over into his land.

Ben’s father trusted him to resolve the borderland conflict on his own. He could do it quickly and quietly but where was the fun in that? If it had been the normal scum, he wouldn’t have hesitated to bring them to justice. But the nosy woman interested him and he wanted to escalate the issue. It was no sweat off his brow, he was dealing with a known threat with his Lord fathers permission. And he would bet all of the money in King’s Landing that her father had no idea she was sneaking out at night into Blackwood land. He doubted she was planning to return anytime soon given he’d knocked her off her feet easily and given her a small taste of why it was so stupid for her to be there. All the same he wanted to make her nervous.

Inside the halls of his house he quickly made his way to the maester to put his budding plan into action. He wanted to announce a warrant for her arrest. He couldn’t outright name her, not yet. But he could make it clear to her that he was threatening her, what had she called herself? “Bane of the Blackwoods and the Menace of the Redfork.” He smiled thinking about it. It had taken all of his willpower to stay on his knees pretending to be restrained while she raged at him. It was so hard not to wrap her up in his arms and cart her off home. It would be too easy. No, it was better to do it this way. If he was lucky he might get a bride out of the situation.

Over the past moon the feud had been going nonstop. The late summer air did something that spurred them on, young men in a frenzy constantly causing rifts. Since Lord Grover Tully was older than dirt and not half as useful, it fell to his heir Elmo to dispense justice. Elmo had made it clear on their last summoned meeting that he was over it and rivalry be damned they better hold it together for a while. If Ben started a petty unnecessary fight over a Bracken spy terrorizing them and it was revealed the spy was the only daughter of Amos. Well, a marriage might be a fine way to try and mend the years long rift between the houses. He was frankly unconcerned with her house affiliation and would be honored to free her of it.

“Maester Haine, I have solved the crisis in the borderlands and perhaps in the process solved another of our problems. Come, let us write an announcement. Send a copy to every house in the river lands, big or small.”

***

Shanda has swallowed harshly before straightening her shoulders and looking appropriately concerned. She shoved all of her terror down as far as she could. He’d used her words. Named her, the Redfork Menace. This was a terrible turn of events and the look her father was shooting her did not bode well.

“You look tired. Have you been sleeping well?” Her father placed a hand on her shoulder, feigning concern while he probed her.

“Fall approaches, my duties increase. Worry not father, I will rest in time.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, his eyes flicking up and down examining her closely. “See that you do that. Oh and I suppose since you mentioned the coming fall, I don't need to remind you wolves will be roaming in larger numbers now. Everyone is required to have an escort outside of the keep walls.” He smiled cheerfully at her, squeezing her shoulder before leaving. Once he was gone Martyn quickly dragged her into a room off the main keep. It was dim and appeared to be some storage room with shelves full of bottles and jars.

“You’ve done it now Shan. What happened?”

She grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck. “He’s fast Martyn. Much faster than you would expect. I’m not even sure he’s fully human. I saw him jump from such a high distance and he caught up to me without even trying. Whatever rumors are spreading about him, they’ve failed to mention that.”

She had no intention of going back out maybe ever again. Twice was enough to teach her a lesson especially with her father breathing down her neck. He wouldn’t accuse her outright unless presented with irrefutable evidence. She wasn’t going to slip up and give it to him.

“What about the dagger?”

Shanda pulled it out of the pocket hidden in the folds of her gown and handed it off to him. She was relieved that she had done that right. At least one thing had gone as planned.

“Listen I know I screwed up Martyn.”

She held up her hands in surrender at his angry expression.

“Yes, that's putting it lightly. But it's fine. I’ll just lay low, let this blow over. I can pick back up after the mourning ceremony if the heat has died down. If not, well, maybe we move on to something else for a while.”

His face softened as she spoke. And she confided further in him.

“I believe I may have kicked the hornet's nest here. There’s something wrong with that man.”

She didn’t mention the way he’d made her head spin or how softly he’d spoken to her. Blood rose to her cheeks at the thought and she pushed it away sharply. He’d just threatened to arrest her! He wanted to put her on trial for delusional charges. And most importantly he was a Blackwood lout.

“Don’t worry sister, it's likely I’ll be on guard duty for life. And I wouldn’t miss a shot against Bloody Ben given he comes looking for you.”

Shanda rolled her eyes at her grinning brother.

“This is serious, you know.”

“Oh I know. But I did warn you from the beginning all of this was egregiously stupid. So, I told you so.”

“Whatever Martyn. You wanted something to spice up endless guard duty as well. Fall is nigh upon us though, maybe next time you can accompany me. I bet we could sneak past Pepperwood, he’s always sleeping on the job. Should fire him really but in the meantime we use it to our advantage.”

“Slow down there. Let’s make it through this crisis and the mourning ceremony then worry about it. Have you figured out a way to get Royce out of going?”

Shanda frowned. “I have but you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me later then. I’m going to bed and I already have enough nightmare fuel for the moment. You should get some sleep as well. You look like shit.” He gave her a soft hug before departing.

Alone again she took a deep breath. Her mind swirling with the words from the heir of Raventree. It was obvious he thought this was entertainment. If Benjicot was as fearsome as they said, she should’ve never had a chance to trap him. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach grew as she considered maybe he’d let her snare him. The thought was too much to consider. It opened too many cans of worms and unanswerable questions. Better to put it out of her mind and move on with her life. There would be other opportunities to remind the Blackwoods of honor.

Shanda left the storage room and wandered up to the library tower to start her actual work. The shipments and bills that were always waiting for her. Her desk was full of little scrolls, much more than should’ve been there for the early afternoon. Sorting through them, a spike of ice shot through her chest. They were all from the river folk. Derry, Frey, Lothston, Mallister, Mooton, Mudd, Piper, Ryger…. The list went on as she identified the seals. Damn near every lord in the land had sent a letter.

Shoulders slumped, hands trembling, she broke the first seal. “The most noble and honorable house Derry will not tolerate the recent slander noted to us just after dawn this morning by House Blackwood. Derry and Bracken share a rich history and a trusted friendship. Should the situation call for an escalation, House Derry will not answer. A fourth altercation in the worst storm season in a decade would not do us well.

Warmly, House Derry, Lord Willard Derry.”

She sat very still trying not to rage at the idiot Blackwood who was going to draw the Tully eyes straight to Stone Hedge. Slamming her hands on the desk she knocked all of the remaining scrolls on the floor and began to pace furiously.

[aquata-the-champ]

Follow The River, Follow Your Heart | Aquire Wings

Date: Early May 2024 Featuring: @fiend-ofthefae @jameshawks Warnings: Kidnapping, guns, water peril

Catch up:

Don’t Follow the Faeries

Follow the Faeries

James follows Aquata and Briar to Elfhame and truths are revealed.

BRIAR

The King of the Riverlands had spent too long in the Mortal Realm. With every tug of his beloved’s hand, it felt more a wound to his heart than anything. A queen with fight in her was a logical choice, someone who would challenge his whims and intelligence. He needed her to urge him to be better than he was, to kill his ego. 

She would see how much she would love it soon. Soon, Aquata wouldn’t be pulling away from him like she is now. He just had to get her over the initial shock of it all, Briar told himself. “Will you stop it?” He snapped at her, still trying to loosen his grip on her hand. Briar wished that holding her hand felt a lot different than it did now.

“I just want to show you the truth. Why I am the way I am, why I disappeared. Everything, Aquata. Stop fighting me. You’ll come around when you finally understand.” He could only say those last words because he had truly convinced himself of them. That maybe at the end of this, his little Dewdrop would finally see him, understand him, want him too. 

AQUATA

This was a mistake. Now Aquata realized how stupid she had been, following Briar out of— what? Curiosity? Stubbornness? Some foolish belief that she could thwart whatever his evil plan was?

Well, now she realized there was no evil plan. The plan was her.

Aquata had no desire to be anyone’s “queen.” She wanted to go home, and see her sisters, and see James— oh, if she could see James again, she would stop lying to herself and everyone about how she felt about him. She just knew it. But that seemed unlikely at this point.

“I understand perfectly!” Aquata argued. “And I want to go home! Take me back to the gate, now!” 

BRIAR

Her shrill cries for freedom wounded the fae. Is this what he gets for trying to show her a whole new world? A world that could be hers if she wanted it? Two ends of his personality strained inside his head, the century old fae that cursed her for such indignation and the nonchalant nearly human who did care for her. 

“You don’t make demands!” He yelled back. “I am trying to share something with you that no other mortal has ever had before my lifetime. I want you to see me! To see who I am, what we could be!” 

The fae bent to her height and slowly let go of his glamour. It would have gone right before entering his realm, but he stayed in a form she would recognize for Aquata’s sake. He told himself it was so she could hold onto something familiar… but was he just afraid she’d be scared of him? His usual pale skin dimmed to a pallid greige, silver tipped his ears and angular features. His blue and purple veins showed through the skin and streaked down his arms like rivulets. Claws and eyes seeped into an inky black, like they’d been smudged with coal. The lack of iron in his blood apparent with the greys, blacks, and blues washing over Briar. He kept his mouth tightly shut, in fear his fangs would be too menacing, he loosened his grip on her tiny hand lest a claw leave a mark on his delicate dewdrop. 

He wasn’t sure who was more scared anymore. 

AQUATA

Aquata was no stranger to magical transformations. She was a mermaid, after all. But there was no denying that Briar’s new form was menacing. Was she in over her head? Should she try to run now?

But where would she go? Aquata had no idea where the gate was.

“I- I-“ she stammered, but she had no words. She stopped walking, taking a shaky step backward. “I’ve seen enough. And I don’t want any of this. Now tell me where the gate is!” 

BRIAR

For a second, he felt closer to a home than he’d ever had when Aquata looked at him without wavering. She was strong like the ocean that crashed under the castle halls, of course she could withstand the sight of him. He recalled the night of prom, the torrential rains beating the side of that castle. He remembered how she looked in the candlelight and how he told her of the place they stood in now. She’d be receptive then, though only after he explained he wasn’t finding comfort in a demon attack. 

So much time had passed since then and now all she could see was the demon in front of her. She stepped back. 

Words felt like iron, sizzling from within. Red hot temper got the best of the fae, he reached for his captive’s cheek a little too brusquely, “Are you scared of me? You don’t even know what you’re turning down, Dewdrop. Don’t be so obstinate!” 

AQUATA

Aquata’s expression hardened, and she pushed Briar’s hand away. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And stop calling me that,” she retorted.

To be totally honest, though, the thought did cross her mind. Here was a future laid out in front of her. Here was power, and she didn’t even have to do anything to gain it. All she had to do was go with Briar. He was so powerful anyway, maybe it was inevitable. Maybe it was better to give up now, and maybe she’d even like this new life he was offering her.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never leave her father alone like that.

Without warning, she suddenly turned on her heel and tried to run for it. She had no idea where she was going, but Aquata at least had to try. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t. 

BRIAR

The fae lunged for the little lost girl knowing if she ran she’d be truly gone. Whatever she ran towards would forever be out of her reach, delving into his realm alone. The flora sweetly called to mortals damning them to stay forever, the fauna howled and tempted fools to the water. His reflexes were superior in every way, it wasn’t hard for Briar to grab her around her waist and fling her over his shoulder. 

“You won’t find home that way, just a horrendous trip and fall into a shittier situation than being with the king,” he began to head towards the castle again. The pair of them would be slower, but he could protect her much easier with her feet off the ground… Briar wished he could have swept her off her feet in some way other than this. 

JAMES

James wasn't close enough to reach out to call out. His rifle out of ammo by now was tucked away. His hand gun close to his side as he ran.

They argued and Aquata bolted.

That was his girl. Never give up. Always fight back. 

She was outpowered though by the fae and James was pissed off.

There was a good chance he was also outpowered by the Fae but James wasn't going to worry about that right now. He had handled all the creatures this world had thrown at him so far. He would continue to do so now.

Pulling his gun back up he aimed straight for the man.

“I suggest you let her go right now! Set Aquata down and we can all walk away peacefully!”

AQUATA

Briar picked her up and kept walking like it was nothing. And now Aquata was in real danger of losing her nerve. Even as she continued to struggle, she had to wonder if it was even worth it. Once she got away from Briar, she’d still be lost in the fae realm, surrounded by carnivorous creatures and with no way back to the gate. If it even still was there.

Just as her hope started to falter, Aquata saw him. James. So he’d gotten her message after all.

She tried again to wriggle free, her will to fight returning now that she knew there was a way out. If James had been able to follow them here with his magic, surely he’d be able to get out of here. “James!” Aquata cried. With Briar momentarily distracted, she finally managed to get free and bolted toward James.

BRIAR

Well this was an unexpected turn. He found himself cursing his past self, if the Queen were still kicking that gate would have been sealed immediately upon his arrival. A sneer painted across his face. It was pathetic to watch the mortal yell idle threats and ruin his chance to convince Aquata to stay.

With a flick of his wrist, an arm of the river lifted and engulfed the boy, ripping him away from his feet and into the currents. 

“Don’t worry, Dewdrop. I’ll end his would-be long, suffering life here. No sense in making him suffer,” Briar called out lazily to the scene of chaos before him. 

JAMES

James was against water magic, in a place where water was plentiful. He knew it in that moment he didn’t have a shot. If the other tried to drown him, forced him under water.

But James knew over confidence. It would be the key. This man wouldn’t kill him, not directly, not because he couldn’t but because he underestimated just how much James would fight.

The water slammed into him and James fired. He couldn’t see where he hit but his aim was true. Locking the safety on his gun he tried to get it to Aquata. “Shoot the son of a bitch.” Was the last words he could get out before he was pulled into the river. One last breath and he stopped fighting.

He needed the man to think that he was too weak to fight. To let him loose.

Yet it wasn’t the water James needed to fear. 

He felt the grasp on his leg, his arms pulling him down.

The man didn’t need to kill him, because the river would. Reaching down to his ankle he freed his last gun and fired at as many creatures as he could. Their blood swirling around him as more and more continue to drag him below and awhile he could hold his breath for awhile, it was getting harder to.

AQUATA

Aquata caught the gun, but when she looked down at it, she had no idea what to do with it. She didn’t know how to fire a gun! What the hell?! And since when did James??

But before she really had time to contemplate that, she saw James disappear under the water. And there was no more hesitating. Aquata dove into the water and transformed, her tail popping out of the waves, brilliant royal blue. She scanned the water until she found James and darted toward him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him toward the surface. 

JAMES

James swore he was hallucinating at first when he saw Aquata in the water beside him, When her arm wrapped around him pulling him back to the surface. But he knew he wasn’t when he broke the surface with a gasp looking at Aquata up and down.

“What the-” James was still out of breath as he swiveled his gun back to Briar (Still name unknown to him) The fact Aquata was a mermaid was going to have to be unpacked later. Not when they were still in danger from both the man infront of them and the creatures in the water.

Which were weirdly not grasping at them still.

“Call them off.” James stated simply and although Aquata was basically holding him up as he still caught his breath he tried to put himself in between her and the fae.

BRIAR

Briar hissed as the bullet grazed his arm and sizzled, the presence of iron was small but he could feel it. 

By the time he looked up from his blue bleeding wound, another shimmering blue caught his eyes. A tail. A mermaid tail, and not one of the dull grey monstrous ones from the river before him. She was beautiful, and how did he not see it? He felt a fool, but no more a fool than the gunman who intruded in his realm. 

“You’re an idiot if you think anyone can control those monsters!” He called out, seeing the fins poking out of the water. He wouldn’t have spared a second thought to the boy in the water if Aquata wasn’t also in there with him. 

The king rushed to the waterside and with a fluid motion of his hand, pushed the water back in a wave knocking the fae mermaids away from the soggy mortals. “Hurry, they’ll be back in seconds.” 

AQUATA

Aquata didn’t have time to think about what she’d just done— how she’d revealed her identity that she worked so hard to keep secret, and that of her whole family too. All she could do was focus on keeping James’s head above water. 

And then the water receded. Aquata coughed, not because she was choking on the water, but in sheer surprise at having it suddenly disappear. She looked up at Briar, arm dripping with blue blood, commanding the waters, and she fully understood now what she’d gotten herself into. What she’d gotten James into.

But he had secrets of his own, didn’t he?

Another mercreature snuck up beside her and Aquata hardly thought of their similarities— she thought of James earlier, dipping beneath the water, and shoved them out of the way. But their grip on her tail was firm and icy. “James, get out!” Aquata gasped, pushing him toward the riverbank.  

JAMES

James knew the other couldn’t control them but he was much more adequate to deal with them then either James or Aquata at the moment and thankfully he was. Not that he would give any props to him for it. Briar had tried to kill him and if it wasn’t for Aquata he probably would be dead.

James accepted her help to get on land but immediately swung himself around to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her up with him. He wasn’t letting go until both of them were back on land and unfortunately that meant leaving his back open to the Fae. The gun already laying on the grass beside the riverbank.

AQUATA

Aquata was going to try and continue to fight the mercreatures off herself, but then she felt James’s strong hands around her waist and she remembered that she wasn’t alone. She had an ally here— a capable one, too. 

And for all of the qualities she liked about James, his capability in a fight wasn’t one she was aware of until now. She felt a sudden surge of affection, and she knew with him there, Aquata would be okay. Just before he pulled her out of the water, Aquata transformed her tail back to her legs. As strong as it was in water, her tail wasn’t much use on land.

She yanked on her shorts as soon as her feet were on solid ground and then, sopping wet, legs trembling, Aquata threw her arms around James and clung to him. “You’re okay,” she murmured.

JAMES

Aquata was on land, James was on land and while he already knew the dangers on land were just as great as they were in water, this was the first moment that he had her back in his arms. Safe for the moment.

He should have lunged for his gun, held it back up to the man but he just wrapped an arm tighter on her waist pulling her against him.There were so many things that could have gone wrong, that still could go wrong but for this moment they were safe. Setting his free hand on her head he pressed her face gently into his shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.” James promised kissing the top of her head gently. He needed this, while his heart might still be pounding it felt like it was finally slowing with Aquata in his arms.

His eyes darting up to the Fae almost daring him to try to separate them again. James would fight those creatures again and again if he had to. Even if he was the one that had almost died in this equation. 

BRIAR The scene played out before the king in a way he didn’t like. He held the river back from the happy couple just enough for them to leave unscathed. Stupid, stupid mortals. 

A jealousy rose in him like a riptide, taking away any sympathy he may have had for the guy. His bullet didn’t help his case. He ran up and kicked the gun into the water before approaching the pair. “Who the fuck are you and why are you here? You might as well have just signed your own death warrant,” he condescended to James. 

He wanted to be nicer, show Aquata he could be a just king, someone she could grow to admire. But in the heat of the situation, the stinging of the graze, he couldn’t find it in him to excuse the boy for his intrusion. He would address Aquata personally later… if she ever wanted to speak to him again. 

JAMES

It wasn’t his last gun, the one he had originally tossed to Aquata was abandoned behind them so James wasn’t out of moves, not yet. And even then he still had a couple tricks up his sleeve. Pulling himself and Aquata into a standing position he made sure he was standing infront of her glaring equally at the Fae.

“Let’s see. You basically kidnapped my girlfriend. What the fuck did you think I was going to do. Not show up and help her. She doesn’t want to be here.” But the Fae wanted to think he could kill him sure. Signed a death warrant, sure. James had signed his death warrant many times on many different missions. He was still breathing.

The fear would never stop him from protecting someone.

AQUATA

My girlfriend.

Okay, yes, there were more important things going on here than Aquata’s little DTR moment, but this was arguably also an important thing. A lot of things that had seemed so confusing before suddenly were very clear. Aquata wanted to be with James. And not just in some casual, undefined way. He called her his girlfriend and for some reason it had taken a trip to another realm and the brink of death to realize it was what she’d wanted all along.

“Okay, I did follow him here— but only because I wanted to find out what he was up to,” Aquata clarified. “I never agreed to being your- your queen or whatever!” she added, turning her attention back to Briar. “And if you really cared about me, you won’t hurt him. Because I- I love him.”

Aquata choked on the words slightly, but not because they weren’t true. She just hadn’t meant to say them so soon… but she meant them, didn’t she? She did love James. His smile and his teasing and yes, his arms around her, calling her his girlfriend.

“I know you know that, Beck. Briar, I mean. Because you saved both of us just now, and you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t want me to be happy. So- just let us go, alright? I know we had something once, or maybe we might have, but I think we both need to move on.”

BRIAR Every new word uttered felt like a separate whirlwind for the fae. He felt like a fool, a nefarious fool who went to the ends of her earth to steal her away in an attempt to have her the way he wanted. Briar never wanted this. He wanted Aquata, his fiery little dewdrop who always put him in his place. Except, she wasn’t his. Not now, and maybe not ever. 

Time passed quickly for the fae, he’s lived nearly a century, every year felt like mere weeks to him. But for them… so much had happened in so little time. The ocean tides found a new shore to crash into, she fell in love. 

Briar didn’t lose his nerve, but he lost his bite, “I- I didn’t know…”

He looked down at his own otherworldly form and up to Aquata, “I thought, I thought that showing you all of this…” he gestured to the castle in the distance. “I thought you’d want to see it all. To learn why I acted how I did to you, all the things that didn’t make sense then. I loved you too, you know. Maybe, in my own way. I don’t know.” 

The fae sighed and looked at James, he still felt like the guy was a bit daft for entering a mysterious magical gate with no regard for himself. Still he could respect it, knowing what he was going after… “You. You trespassed into a realm you have no business being in. You’re lucky to be alive. But I’m glad you did. I’ll help you both leave… just, keep this little couple’s retreat to yourselves?” 

He had a lot more to unpack in his own head and time, he couldn’t begin to process any of it now. For right now, he just had to take the loss of his life and her boyfriend back home. The fae king could lick his wounds some other time. 

JAMES

She loved him.

Well that was a lot to unpack and his mind was still whirling. Trying to find the best way out of here if Briar didn’t just let them walk away. And after everything he had seen he didn’t trust it. But James wasn’t the person to talk them down. He didn’t have the rapport.

Even if his pride wanted to say that it wasn’t luck. James had left a trail of destruction behind him to get here.

His pride also wanted to bristle at them talking about a past something with him right there. But he’d play this smart. There was a lot to talk about after this. 

“So you want us to just walk away. That no one speaks of this again?” James questioned still unbelieving of the man in front of him, to just give up this easily, to move on, but they all had secrets to hide. That much was obvious.

AQUATA

Briar’s words struck her, as powerful and sobering as a cold river current. So that was what that had been after all. Love. Maybe if things had been different, maybe if Aquata had been ready for that a year ago, maybe if Briar hadn’t turned out to be the ruler of a freakin’ fae kingdom…

Well, in any event, her feelings had changed. And there were a million what-ifs she could ask herself, but none of them changed the way she felt about James. Her heart stirred at Briar’s offer, at his willingness to help them go home and to support Aquata’s choice… but this time, it wasn’t love that she felt for him. It was something Aquata would have expected even less a year ago: she admired him. And she thought he would probably make a pretty good king after all.

“Y-yeah,” she said shakily in response to James. She still hadn’t really processed all of what happened, but as long as “no one speaks of this” covered her tail (Neptune, she still couldn’t quite believe she’d done that) Aquata felt okay. “Fair enough. Nothing happened here.” She gave Briar a meaningful look. “Thank you. I mean it. And I’m sorry.”

BRIAR “I will not share any of this to anyone from your world, as long as you give your word to do the same, yes.” It was a strict enough wording that Briar could be sealed to it and still take the liberty to talk it out with his cousin… 

He did actively try not to roll his eyes at Aquata’s new interest, so he just turned to her, “You’d do well to not apologize or say thank you to a fae. It means you owe us something. You’re lucky I’m so kind and forgiving,” he smirked, well aware of all the times he could have taken her at her word. “Now, I believe I owe you both an escort out of my kingdom.” 

JAMES

James clocked the wording, he wouldn’t be a very good secret agent if he didn’t. But if he was saying thank you’s and sorry’s meant someone was owed something, James just the same needed to be careful on what he was saying to them.

“As long as you do not endanger anyone in our world. I give my word I will not speak of what happened here to anyone from our world.”

BRIAR

Briar didn’t exactly like James’ wording, but he wanted him to go away more. “Right. I can’t lie and I can say I don’t intend on hurting anyone. You all have such short lives anyway, there’s really no point.”

He quickly recloaked himself in his human glamour. Blues and blacks receded under pale skin and very normal ears and nails. He began to walk back the way they came, following the river, and brushed past Aquata. She still felt like the sea, salty and energizing. But just like the sea, she wasn’t his to claim. “I’m sorry too,” he whispered. 

[dearest-and-nearest]

After she killed her stepfamily, there was a paladin, who adopted her. Everyone thought she survived unknown serial killer's attack and Glassred agreed. She grew up with knowledge, that if she will control herself, her parent allow her to become a true paladin. She swore her oath at 16 years old and slaughtered her order next year. She got burn face from her parent, while killing them

One name, a lot of feelings: Gortash. The closest feeling to love she felt toward him. Glassred wanted to eat him, to make her own sacrifice, not for Father, but for herself. She admired him, she allowed him to laugh at her Father and laughed with him. He was her everything

She thought she's charming. No, she's scary

Lack of wisdom. And it's true

Glassred doesn't respect gods, except Bhaal (pre-tadpole) or Bane (in game)

She woke up mute, scared and angry. More beast, than a tiefling. Roaring, because she couldn't speak normally, staring instead of talking, it's lucky Laezel didn't kill her when saw.

Nothing. She tried, but there was only emptiness

She hates wildness. Dirt, weather, dirt, cold water, dirt and did i mention dirt? Her hair need proper care, not river water for washing!

It's a surprise to some, but Glassred blends in well with the crowd, knows the hot spots where you can quickly find a fool to gut and is generally very good at navigating city life. In theory, she can even disguise herself and pass as a regular citizen, but she's too uncomfortable without her armor, so she doesn't do that

Glassred was weak during act 1. Mute, covered in scars, she couldn't even speak normally. She needed something to become stronger and found it in tadpoles. New power was too desirable and soon Glassred started to consume every tadpole party found. She even ate astral one, didn't care about consequences.

Before tadpole she was extremely proud. Greatest daughter of Bhaal, the most beautiful and the most dangerous, his perfect creation. She was sure about her role, her life and her future... until memory loss. After that? She's annoyed, angry, wants freedom from her "beloved father".

Glassred loves killing. Slaughter others, gut them and then eat their corpses - it's her nature. Her Urges just encourages things that already exist in her, so there is no surprise in her madness.

Glassred is actually a pretty good liar. Most people don't realize it, seeing her as a stupid brute, and it's all the more satisfying to shock them by showing them that she's actually quite clever and cunning. Very few know how easily she uses her appearance to make people see her as someone far dumber than she is

She's afraid of becoming Bhaal's mindless puppet. When she discovered his plans for her (procreate with her, force her to birth new spawns from him), she was disgusted and decided to do whatever she can, but not become his.

She wants power, authority, to be in control of her life. She dreams about becoming something more, maybe even goddess. No wonder, Bane was happy to see her among his followers. He laughed so hard from this irony: daughter of Bhaal become worshipper of his foe!

She covered in scars and among them there is one name. Gortash. They carved their names in each other's flesh long ago. Now she forgot everything, but sometimes she traces this scars with her finger. She can't understand what she feels, but it remind her... sorrow?

She doesn't believe in love. Her relationship with Gortash? Not love, only desire. Glassred tried to convince herself in it, afraid to admit she could fell in love with baenite, Chosen of her Father's foe. After memory loss she doesn't believe she can love or be loved and that's why Gortash's reaction was so surprise to her.

She became very close with Gale. Not love, but friendship, strange bound between wordless maniac and erudite wizard. He reminded Gortash, even through she didn't remember and couldn't understand why she felt so comfortable with Gale. He, in turn, sympathized with the mute and scarred girl and sincerely wanted to help her. They didn't love each other in romantic way, but she wanted to help him free of Mystra and encouraged him to become a god.

She never tried to hide it. Why? Everyone already think she's guilty, because of her race, her appearance, her broken oath. She is a monster and doesn't shame of it.

Emma Ruth Rundle - Medusa, I Monster - Who Is She?, АИГЕЛ - Плохой

Beast, monster, disgusting thing - everyone sees her as just that. That's why Glassred was so surprised by Gortash's behavior, which is funny, because that's exactly what she is, it's just that Gortash deludes himself into seeing her better than she is

She doesn't care. Monster? Whatever. It's cute Gortash loves her, but she doesn't care! Well... maybe a little...

A baenite necklace given to her by Gortash. She had kept it by chance, and after she woke up she couldn't remember who had given it to her, but she thought it was clearly valuable, and because of that she thought she worshipped Bane.

Before the amnesia she was even friendly, after all, they had been together since she was 15, and the fact that he swears at Gortash, it happens, her father swears too, so what's next. After the amnesia, she looks at him like he's fucking crazy. She'd call him that, but she's mute most of the time, so she doesn't say anything.

Before the amnesia, Glassred had genuinely admired and loved him, saw him as the greatest god, though she didn't want to spawn any children from him. Afterward? Disgust. Hate. The one who wants to control her, manipulate her - can she be loyal to him even a little? She flatly refused to become his chosen one, choosing death over belonging to him.

Glassred despise those who receive orders. She sees them as weak, who don't deserve respect or even thought about them. That's another reason why she admires Gortash so much

She used to work under pressure. Usually do it in silence, after tadpole she doesn't like to talk, feeling uncomfortable with speaking

Relax, darling

She's going to save Gortash from Bane no matter what. Save him or die in the process, she doesn't care.

30 Questions for your Dark Urge

These questions can be used as an Ask Game or just answering them all for fun character development!

(Tav edition here)

What circumstances led to your Dark Urge becoming their Class/Subclass?

Did your Dark Urge have any romantic and/or sexual relationships prior to their illithid adventure? If yes, who was it with and what was it like? If no, how did they feel about being single?

What would your Dark Urge consider to be their greatest skill? Is this accurate?

What would your Dark Urge consider to be their greatest flaw? Is this accurate?

What opinion does your Dark Urge have about the Gods?

How does your Dark Urge react to waking up with memory loss?

Did your Dark Urge recall any childhood memories? If yes, how do they feel about the revelations? If no, was it by choice or lack of options?

How does your Dark Urge feel about the wilderness?

How does your Dark Urge feel about the city?

What motivates your Dark Urge to either embrace or resist the tadpole?

What motivates your Dark Urge to either embrace or resist the Urge?

How does your Dark Urge feel about being a bhaalspawn?

How does your Dark Urge feel about killing?

How good of a liar is your Dark Urge? How do they feel about lying?

What is your Dark Urge’s greatest fear?

What is your Dark Urge’s greatest desire?

What is your Dark Urge’s greatest regret?

How does your Dark Urge feel about love?

Has your Dark Urge become particularly close to anyone romantically and/or platonically in their journey? If so, who, and what is the relationship like? If no, why not?

Is your Dark Urge open about their Urge or do they try to hide it? Why?

What are 2-3 songs that your Dark Urge would relate to?

What first impression does your Dark Urge give off to strangers?

How does your Dark Urge feel about what others think of them?

Does your Dark Urge have a treasured item with them? If yes, what is it and why is it special? If no, how do they feel about item sentimentality in general?

How does your Dark Urge feel about Sceleritas Fel?

How does your Dark Urge feel about Bhaal?

How does your Dark Urge feel about giving and receiving orders?

How well does your Dark Urge function under pressure?

What advice would you give to your Dark Urge?

What are your Dark Urge’s intentions/goals after the end of the game?

[lyledebeast]

In one respect, and maybe only one, The Patriot stands apart from similar war epic/action movies in the late 90s/early 2000s.  There is no big heroic speech.  Roland Emmerich’s Independence Day gives us Bill Pullman’s Fourth of July speech; Mel Gibson’s Braveheart gives us blue-faced William Wallace’s “Freedom!” speech.  The Patriot gives us a hero who delegates inspiration duties to his eldest son, who is less than successful. The people he tasks himself with convincing to join the South Carolina militia are his French and Indian war buddies, and they need very little convincing when it comes to killing redcoats.

When Benjamin Martin does try to persuade with words, he fails.  His pleas to avoid war at the Charles Town assembly early on only get him judged by his peers and son.  His attempts to placate Colonel Tavington only put his family in more danger. His success in persuading Cornwallis to free his men owes far more to what Cornwallis thinks he sees through his spyglass than to anything Martin says. In the face of trauma--whether his children’s, his friends,’ or his own--he is dumbstruck. Yet the movie never presents his lack of ability with words as a moral or intellectual failing. The same may be said for the other Patriot men.  Nothing Gabriel or Burwell says convinces Martin to join the war effort; Tavington’s actions do.

What becomes interesting, then, is who does produce effects through their words.

On the Patriot side, it’s girls.  Considering that she has fewer lines than any other comparatively important character, Susan Martin’s words are potent, so much so that her first ones in the movie are censored by her older brother.  Gabriel reinterprets “I hate him and I hope he never comes back” to Martin as “she loves you and she misses you” in order to spare his feelings.  When she speaks to her father herself, though, her words are even more powerful,  Her “I’ll say whatever you want me to say” speech heals her relationship with her father (and, apparently, her own trauma).  Anne Howard has the power to influence men who are not even related to her. Where Gabriel’s pleas fail to inspire the men of Pembroke church to join the militia, her shaming tactics succeed. She reminds the men of what they’ve said about liberty in the past and urges them to follow through with actions.  One by one, they look lovingly at their wives and children, and stand.

Anne’s tactic is a popular one in this movie, also used to great effect by its villain.  No character does more with words than Tavington. Not only does he speak violence into existence almost every time he’s on screen, but he uses other characters’ own words to lure them into participating in or condoning violence. When Captain Wilkins tells him “There’s no honor in this” when asked to burn the church with the militiamen’s families locked inside, Tavington reminds him: “Did you not say that those who take a stand against England deserve to die a traitor’s death?” Wilkins burns the church.  

When General Cornwallis tells Tavington he wants him to capture Martin, Tavington echoes his earlier words to call attention the reversal of his position: “I can catch him for you, but to do so requires the use of tactics that are, what was the word Your Lordship used? ‘Brutal,’ I think.” It’s worth noting that Cornwallis never verbally orders him to make use of these tactics.  He silently acquiesces by shifting the focus to how Tavington will be rewarded for Martin’s capture.  The power of words in this scene belongs entirely to Tavington.

It is, ironically, Tavington’s love of irony and using people’s words against them that gets him killed.  His words to Martin--”Kill me before the war is over, will you? It appears you are not the better man”--are not only his last but they give Martin the time and warning he needs to prove that, actually, he IS the better man by fatally stabbing him.  If Martin is totally ineffective with words, he is impervious to them as well.

But it’s one thing to have a hero who cannot use words effectively, but quite another when only girls and the main villain can.  Here, the movie seems to be making a point about wordiness and manly virtue, and it is that they don’t go together. That’s pretty extraordinary for a movie about the American Revolution, set in the 18th Century.  Thomas Paine? Thomas Jefferson? Obviously, the power of men’s words played an enormous role in the American Revolution even happening in the first place.  Skill in rhetoric was a vital part of 18th Century masculinity, at least for educated men, and it’s hard to imagine a man who is less effective with words than his betrothed or his young daughter being seen as anything other than an object of ridicule and/or pity. The strong, silent brand of masculinity popularized onscreen by John Wayne, Sylvester Stallone, Bruce Willis, and Mel Gibson has its origins much, much later. Like so many things about The Patriot, it’s centrality here tells us much more about American men in the late 1990s/early 2000s than anything remotely connected to American men in the 1770s and 80s. 

[auburnflight]

Jeanne, Vanitas and Agency

From the little I’ve dipped my toes into it, the VnC fandom seems pretty heated regarding Jeanne as a character. In drastic situations, I’ve seen accusations of misogyny based solely on someone’s comments on their feelings about Jeanne... a single character. And while yes, critiques can certainly be rooted in misogyny (must women be strong all the time? must they be submissive?), I think it’s important to consider not just the character herself, but how the story treats her and why we’re making the critiques we are.

Given that points of view in the fandom are so polarized, I’m going back to canon--to the text itself--to orient this essay. In particular, I’m going to focus on the point of agency--the freedom to make one’s own decisions about one’s self and one’s course of action. This goes beyond just Jeanne’s background as a borreau, trained to fight and follow orders. Agency is also consequential in her relationships with other characters and with the story as a whole.

(Content warning for discussion of abuse dynamics, and brief mentions of sexual assault.) 

--

It’s natural to start off with Jeanne’s first appearance in the story: alongside Luca, she’s introduced as a new agent of conflict with Noe and Vanitas’s budding alliance. In fact, she is the one who initiates the physical altercation with Noe and Vanitas, while Luca is still trying to talk them into giving him the Book of Vanitas:

Aesthetically and conceptually, she’s introduced as an active element of the story. At this point, the “forced kiss” scene during the initial fight seems more like a fluke, a comment on Vanitas’s personality (and willingness to do despicable things to get what he wants) rather than Jeanne’s.

That brings me to why I found it so jarring when colored art of her that was subsequently revealed: that agency fell away to portray a visually more passive air.

In the existing full-color art we have of Jeanne, she’s more static in her environment, looking towards the viewer but with a face that looks rather blank, even meek. Specifically I want to point out this wallpaper, which I obtained from the official site fairly early on in Vanitas’s serialization (December 2016), in contrast to another piece of official art that was released of Noe and Vanitas with Memoire 11, around the same time:

In both cases, the characters are posed intentionally, rather than actively doing something. And, they’re aware of the viewer’s gaze to some extent. However, Jeanne has her back turned to the viewer, and her expression is more idealized and ambiguous. Meanwhile, Noe and Vanitas are rather assertive: their expressions are more intentionally focused, and they seem to know their situation in the artwork. Jeanne is simply passive, very nearly objectified.

...Yeah, maybe this is just my art background speaking. But I also notice something similar happening in other official colored pieces of Jeanne, such as the cover of volume 4.

By this point in the story, lack of agency has become an even more significant element in Jeanne’s character arc: we learn that she’s been cursed. Not only is she unable to speak of the curse, it’s also in direct opposition to one of her primary character motivations, to protect Luca and those she cares about. Due to her uncontrollable urge to kill and drink blood, Jeanne fears that she’ll unintentionally hurt the very people she’s trying to protect. 

Jeanne’s involvement with Vanitas also unfortunately comes with a sacrifice of her own agency. Seeing that she’s been cursed, Vanitas demands that she drinks blood from no one but him in exchange for keeping her secret. He further establishes her sense of reliance on him by promising that if he ever does see her lose control, he’ll kill her (so that she doesn’t harm Luca). Whether he’s simply a smitten 18-year-old who doesn’t yet know how to conduct healthy relationships, or whether he’s crafty and intentionally drawing Jeanne in further--or even whether it’s a mix of both--this idea of Vanitas’s control over her is reflected in the cover art for volume 4.

At this point, considering the literal events of the story, Jeanne’s passiveness is not only visual, but symbolic. In this illustration, Vanitas’s hand is grabbing Jeanne by her bow, and functionally by her neck: she’s being dragged along against her will, with little means of escape. And she looks at the viewer with a surprisingly similar expression to the previous illustration: one that communicates little say in the situation.

This matches up with their literal relationship in the story itself. Knowing she’s cursed, Vanitas is establishing her exclusive reliance on him, in exchange for keeping important secrets from others with whom she’s close (i.e. threatening to drive a wedge into their relationship). He’s already pushed himself upon her physically with clearly no warning or enjoyment from her. Yes, he’s been kind. And when Dominique trails Vanitas and Jeanne on their date, she notes that Jeanne is “terribly weak against any sort of kindness.” But in spite of some more “cute” and candid moments, the overall dynamic between Jeanne and Vanitas is far from genuine kindness. Returning to how Vanitas garnered an edge over her in their initial fight--with taunting, carefully chosen words--I would phrase it more as that Jeanne, a borreau trained to kill and inexperienced with matters of feelings, is particularly susceptible to emotional manipulation. (There’s more than a little irony in this internal comment from Jeanne, at the beginning of her date with Vanitas:)

Jeanne’s relationship with Vanitas becoming important isn’t, in isolation, inherently an issue. In most cases, it’s fun to see how a character who usually appears unshakeable is rounded out when we see them at their more vulnerable times. What makes me feel squicked out and worried on Jeanne’s behalf is how it’s executed, considering how it works in opposition to how she was introduced as a character, and how Jeanne and Vanitas’s relationship harkens back to known dynamics of abuse. 

In other words, my discomfort is not at Jeanne herself for falling for Vanitas and his tactics. It’s at how she’s introduced with a promise of agency in her own story, and that agency is subsequently taken away in how she’s portrayed in official art, and in plot points as the story progresses. It’s at how their relationship begins to fall into a harmful template perpetuated by rape culture, where a man forces himself upon a woman at first, but she is shown to eventually enjoy those advances even when unwanted. I had high hopes for Jeanne as a character developed with her own agency, motives (and yes, for cool fight scenes that WLW like me can admire), and so far, Vanitas’s effect on her has threatened to overshadow these. This is where I think sections of the fandom throwing accusations back and forth of each other being misogynistic, on the grounds of criticizing Jeanne and her relationship with Vanitas, fail to see the wider issue.

Of course, eliciting this sort of discomfort may even be the whole point. Jun Mochizuki is known for putting her characters through tragic and painful situations, and her previous work Pandora Hearts is rife with unstable, imbalanced, and otherwise less-than-perfect relationships. But even without this background knowledge, a decisive scene that convinces me of the intentionality of this purpose is one I’ve written about before: Jeanne’s internal fantasy as she’s left unattended by Luca and loses herself in a storybook.

Here, Jeanne fantasizes about being the agent in her own story, a position that, the art reminds us, is often occupied by a male character such as a prince. Ultimately, this progression looks innocent and could serve to remind us of Jeanne’s more vulnerable, innocuous side. But including it here in the story could also serve as foreshadowing, a contrast to what Jeanne’s situation is like for her in reality. (If you want to read more on this panel specifically, my analysis is in the source link of this post!)

Essentially, critiquing Jeanne as a character requires more nuance than simply judging her individual characteristics. It’s necessary to also take into account the way that the story treats her and her relationships with others and other forces in the story. Not just is she allowed to be soft and emotional, but what consequences does this have for her, and how do the story elements lead the reader to feel about her being soft?

Personally, I think she’s very likeable as a character--her situation just seems unfair, and I feel like she deserves so much better than Vanitas and his schemes. I mean, she could easily destroy him with her gauntlet, and he knows it! But, then, it’s Jun Mochizuki. We should probably expect to be feeling pain and pity for her characters. Still, the relationship between Jeanne and Vanitas has always kinda rubbed me the wrong way, and I think this pretty much sums up why.

[cassiaa]

Metanoia BTTB2

warnings: asking for sex; mentions of sex; manipulating; slight seducing and mentions of seduction; alcohol;

All of Namjoon's muscles clenched immediately, his body taut as a bowsting.

She didn't elaborate or explain. She stared directly into his eyes with that fire of hers smoldering and waiting for an answer.

Was she really looking for some quick fuck? Was this what had her down that past two hours? Or was this her way of distracting herself from the real problem at hand?

From what Namjoon had dug up, his sweet little jagi was exactly that, sweet and innocent. She didn't party, only drank on special occasions, he could only guess had never done drugs from her perfect school records and she hadn't been allowed to date or go out with strange boys.

Her fathers leash was tight around her neck, it had made his blood boil when he came to that conclusion.

That was another thing he'd be changing soon, he would take the studded choker off her neck and place his own there. His was much softer, much more loose, allowed more freedom and gave her even more luxuries that she already possessed.

Namjoon had no immediate plans of denying her, though he did want to know exactly where this came from, so he could make sure she wouldn't be out propositioning to just any pathetic little boys she could meet. He was more than willing to fuck her to her little hearts desire. Until all she knew was him, until she couldn't form any coherent sentences, let alone remember her own name. His was all she'd be able to say by the time he was done with her. He'd make sure to fuck her so good she would know better than to run to anyone else for something only he could provide her.

With those thoughts that had his mind racing and muscles coiling, ready to pounce, he smoothed his expression into slight confusion, maybe a bit of amusement in there and calmly said, "excuse me?"

"Really?" She nearly rolled her eyes. "You don't seem dense to me. Maybe I was wrong." She huffed, finally breaking eye contact, looking rather annoyed and mostly with herself. He could see the warring behind her eyes.

"Do you often go up to people asking them for sex?" Namjoon asks calmly, one side of his mouth kicking up as he leans back in his chair, exuding power. His movement drew her gaze back to him, and she unconsciously bit her bottom lip and Namjoon felt low growl hum in his throat at that combined with her innocent expression and the way she shifted in her seat. He just knew she was getting turned on already. He'd have to work hard not to break her.

Her eyes widened, no doubt hearing the noise and finally she answers. "No-"

"Then why approach a random man and ask for sex?" As he spoke, he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, his hands clasped in front of his mouth and glasses slipping down his nose just a bit. It didn't help the heated gaze he pinned on her. "This isn't a club," he added when he saw her swallow, it seemed she didn't know what to do with his full attention on her. He'd remedy that quickly, his angel always had his attention, even when it seemed she didn't. "Or a bar. Why here? Why now?.... why me?"

Her eyes dropped to his lips as his voice dipped lower and quieter with every word.

"If you don't want to do it," she paused, trying to regain the control of the situation that she thought she had, taking a breath and steeling herself, eyes losing a bit of that glassy glaze they developed. "Then you don't have to. I'll just go to either of those places and find someone who will. Can't be that hard."

She said it with a bratty attitude that Namjoon instantly found arousing and annoying in the same moment and his mind immediately supplied a dozen ways to make her lose it.

Annoyed, she stood and slid out of the booth, not expecting him to follow. He did, smoothly and with much more elegance. A closed off look on his face as he rebuttoned his suit jacket. He dwarfed her in size, she looked between five three or five four in her flat shoes. In shock, she took in his appearance, seemingly appraising him and liking what she saw as her eyes lit up and she swallowed again.

"Shall we?" He asked stepping close enough to her to invade her personal space, past what social etiquette deemed fit, but not far enough to be overly intrusive and scare her or make a scene. Out of the corner of his eye he had been watching the cook and the waitress, an older couple who seemed protective of his jagi. They had kept an eye on her the entire time, the older woman had held a short conversation with his jagi when she first came in and the woman had even brushed back Ava's hair during the course of her meal. His jagi hadn't shown any signs of being uncomfortable with the motherly gesture so Namjoon had let it be. But the way that they watched him with such distrust, Namjoon was debating on whether or not they'd need to be dealt with or not. If they wouldn't become a problem for him down the road he could maybe even use them.

Ava nods slowly. Almost disbelieving that what she had asked for she was getting. "My place or yours?"

Namjoon was a bit disappointed that she was offering her own bed to a stranger, but perhaps she felt safer there instead of trapping herself in an unknown place. Namjoon couldn't follow the knowledge (or lack there of) that she was using to make the decision.

But he knew she lived alone. No chef, no maid or any help of any kind, no security, other than what her building supplied at the main entrances. It was easy for him to get to her personal space, but that meant it was easy for others too.

Her father was a fool, he had made many enemies in his time in the illegitimate side of his business, and once again Namjoon felt his dislike for the man swelling deeply at his negligence. He broke his thoughts, paying for his drink and tipping generously. He gestured with a hand for them to go and placed a hand to her back that was neither too low or too high. If she was having second thoughts, he didn't want to scare her into running. He'd really have to woo her.

"I'm only in town for the weekend," Namjoon supplied, opening the door for her and stepping close enough for his jacket to brush against her as they exited together. "I'm staying at the Baccarat Hotel in Manhattan-"

"My place then." She interrupted. "I'd rather not be seen going into that hotel with you. It looks... bad." She carried off, fingers playing with the hem of her babydoll dress.

Namjoon nods, humming his approval. His smart girl. She was protecting her image, their were plenty of reporters that hung out near the richer hotels. And Namjoon only stayed at the best. She must've pieced together that he was well enough off by the way he dressed and the hotel he was staying in.

"Lead the way." His grin was perhaps a bit to sharp as she looked up at him with big round eyes.

He had to act as if he had never been near her place of dwelling though, so even as she seemed to take the long way he didn't correct or give any hints that he was on to her as he made polite conversation the whole way. In fact, he was soaking up all he could from this time he had with her, he wanted to build a relationship with her. One that was more than just sex- though that was something he did look forward to. She was quick to offer up her first name. But not her family name. Ava. He acted politely, as if it was brand new information and then he offered his whole name just as readily. She repeated it carefully and Namjoon's body reacted to his name falling from her pretty pink lips, and he didn't stop the sudden urge to press his lips to hers in a heated kiss as they were stopped on a crosswalk at an intersection. He swooped down to her height, the hand on her back crushing her chest tightly to his and his free hand wrapping around the side her slender neck as she gasped and their lips met. Her neck was small enough for his thumb to tilt her jaw up and for his fingers to cup the back of her neck entirely and pull her face even closer as he dominated her mouth swiftly making it a bit more passionate and stealing all her breath away.

He pulled away from the heated kiss first, leaving her clutching his front and gasping for air. Her eyes went down immediately and Namjoon watched with a growing smile as she tried to compose herself.

He dipped close enough for his lips to touch her ear and whispered, "shall we?"

Everywhere his lips or breath touched rippled with goose bumps right away and he admired the skin their, how smooth and creamy it looked. He couldn't wait to mark it up. He placed a sweet kiss to her ear, humming in satisfaction when a shiver went down her body.

It didn't take long before they were in her penthouse. Namjoon had found deep in many, many files that the penthouse was a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday. A bit of freedom for her so long as she obeyed. Namjoon had already had Taehyung and Hoseok sweep the place for any sort of bugs that could've been hidden. Namjoon took in the room with out rudely intruding. He eyed the entrance in distaste. It was a bit of an annoyance and disgust that Americans didn't remove their shoes upon entry into their homes. They walked all over their messy cities and then tracked it through their house. He wondered how he could convince her to abandon that habit.

"Make yourself comfortable I suppose." She said, heading into the kitchen, "feel free to look around." She shrugged, not looking over her shoulder.

Namjoon shook his head, his smart girl could be so naive. She just invites a strange man into her home all alone (for sex no less) and tells him to 'make himself at home'. It was clear she had never brought anyone home with her before. He grinned again, taking in the rooms slowly, even though he truly already knew the place inside and out. He did take more time to look in depth at the pictures on the wall and on each table. His beautiful jagi. He grinned. His innocent virgin baby girl. He had no doubts at this point that she was a virgin. And with the way her body reacted to his touch, he doubted anyone had ever touched her at all.

He found her pouring a glass of dark alcohol that she pulled up to drink quickly. Not seeing or hearing his approach, she was shocked when he pulled the glass from her hand, giving an amused expression and raising a brow in question. Her eyes narrowed in what seemed to be annoyance or perhaps defiance as her eyes flickered to the bottle on the counter. Namjoon once again wanted to rid her of the brattiness. He took off his glasses slowly, folding them closed and setting them beside the drink before caging her against the counter and overwhelming her with just his presence alone. He waited a moment, for her to push him away or tell him no, and when she didn't he leaned down and connected their lips in the softest touch he could manage. He didn't make any move to deepen the kiss, or escalate it in any way. He just moved his lips softly against hers. Coaxing her into the kiss until she was breathless again before he pulled back. He smirked proudly at what he had managed to do to her with just a kiss. Her chest was heaving as she worked on slowing her breathing, and it took her a moment before she opened her eyes, they were clouded and it had Namjoon humming in satisfaction.

"I need you sober, baby." He said softly, voice smooth as velvet as he cupped her jaw gently, he stroked a thumb over her cheek as he spoke. "If you don't want to do this you need to tell me now...." her eyes focused a bit at that, the hand that had tangled in his jacket gripped a little tighter, unconsciously begging for him already. "Once I start I'm not sure I'll be able to stop, beautiful." He added slowly, with a light nip to her ear.

He kissed the skin under it gently at first, a light peck before moving down a bit, kiss by kiss until he found her soft spot and started sucking and biting. He kept it more lips and tongue rather than teeth, knowing she wasn't ready for anything too rough. He was going to take such good care of his jagi. The breathy moan she released accompanied with the death grip she had on his jacket and arm had him grinning in her neck. "Are you ready jagi?"

She was whining low and needy, nodding her head and not letting go of him as he pulled up and stood straight. He unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders and her hands fall away from him. He held her in place with nothing but his gaze alone.

"Always use your words," he instructed, folding the jacket in half and setting it down with care. "When I speak to you, I expect an answer."

His sweetheart nodded at first before stuttering out an 'okay'. He tugged her hand, having her stand and helping her take off her own jacket. "Where's your room jagi?" He asks, hiding his grin until she turned to lead the way. He squeezed her hand a bit. "Words angel."

"My room is up the stairs and down this hall." She supplied quickly, eager to please him, "along with my office, and my closet and bathroom. Down the other hall is two guest rooms, a sitting room and another bathroom."

Namjoon made a noise in the back of his throat, nodding his approval and gripping her hip as they went. Her room only held a bed, a very big bed, a chair in the middle of the room facing the floor to ceiling windows and a bedside table. Though she did have a pair of panties and a night dress thrown against the wall but neither cared as Namjoon spun her around, both hands against her waist and kissing her again. She gripped his arm and neck, excited and wanting more but Namjoon was prepared to take his time. He was going to have her begging for him before all her clothes were even off, and considering she only had on a few items it would be a challenge. But one he was more than willing to take head on. He sucked another mark into her neck, loving the way her head fell back and she moaned. It was going to be a long and beautiful night, he grinned.

[illneverrecover]

call you mine (M) | changkyun

➛pairing: Im Changkyun (I.M.) x reader ➛genre: friends with benefits!AU,  non Idol!AU, angst, smut, fluff. ➛word count: 2,741 ➛rating: M ➛warnings: idk this is truly some sweet soft shit, mentions of alcohol, friends with benefits, standing sex, slight rough sex, biting/marking because clearly I have a kink, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of Mingi!!, lots of kissing, soft clown Chaingang truly.  ➛summary: Changkyun knew he ruined your friends with benefits arrangement when he let his feelings be known, and now you’ve left him on read for weeks. So he does the only thing he can to stay sane - he religiously watches your Instagram stories. ➛notes: Another first for me - my first Monsta X fic! I’ve played around with writing Changkyun for a while now, mostly because I live to torture @taetaesbaebaepsae​ (which she deserves from all the PAINFUL and RUDE Baekhyun shit she’s written for me). However, she decided to actively commission her own demise, because she stays not listening to Namjoon and refuses to love herself. I’m glad I finally got a chance to take a stab at writing her ult, and I hope I did him justice! Enjoy your tomfoolery, Kristin! 💖 ➛song: Call You Mine -  The Chainsmokers & Bebe Rexha | Horizon - I.M. & Elhae

It’s pathetic, he knows.

The way he can’t stop watching, the way he seeks your face out in an app full of millions of others. The way he can’t get you out of his bed, his head, his thoughts.

He fucked up, scared you off, and now he’s left with the aftermath of his own stupidity. Watching you through a screen to fight the withdrawals off, to keep his heart beating.

Changkyun knows you would laugh at him if you saw what he was doing. 

Watching your Instagram stories is the only reason he’s heard you laugh in over two weeks, the only way he’s been able to see your eyes light up, your lips curve into a salacious grin. Things he fucking missed, thought he would have plenty of time to indulge in - until he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and ruined it.

He had taken you back to his place after a few shots of whisky at the dingy local bar, hands and mouth unable to leave your skin - just like the hundreds of times before. It had been four months since you had started this friends with benefits relationship, and despite having freedom to see whomever he wanted, Changkyun found himself only starving for you. So hungry that he couldn’t stand another moment in that place, watching you share your smile with anyone other than him. So he had tugged you close, nipped at your ear, told you that you were so damn beautiful that he couldn’t stand there another minute without you coming undone around him. 

You had smirked, slid your hand down the front of his pants, grabbing his cock like you owned it, purring out the words “prove it” before following him outside, just like the hundreds of times before.

Pressed up against his wall, his pelvis flush with yours, Changkyun whispered filth in your ears as he ground up against you, swallowing your moans in greedy kisses. Desperate fingers had pulled at your top, freeing your breasts for him to worship as he worked your skirt up around your waist, thrusting his clothed length against your core until you were whining.

Changkyun always promised to take his time with you, to work you over until you were drunk on his touch and pleading for more - but you never let him, always knowing the right thing to say to get his gaze to go dark and lust to turn frantic, to unzip his jeans and press inside your dripping cunt right there in the hallway. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

You had come around him, digging your nails in his back so hard it left marks, made him growl your name against your collarbone as his thrusts picked up speed to fuck you through the high. You urge him on in the way only you can manage, begging for his release, whispering how much you want his come deep in your cunt. Biting down against the skin, he had spilled inside you with a final groan, hips twitching as he pumped you full of him, forehead resting against your shoulder.

Instead of pulling away immediately, Changkyun remained collapsed against you, breathing heavy. You had smacked at his shoulder, but he just chuckled, arms adjusting to continue a firm hold of your legs as he stayed inside of you, trapping you against his body and the wall.

“What are you doing, Kyun?” scoffing, you had grasped his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “I let you fuck me dirty against the wall without even demanding you buy me food after. Least you can do is let me get cleaned up.”

He had gazed up at you then, eyes piercing as they looked through you, and your heart clenched tightly in your chest. 

He knew he shouldn’t say it. Knew it would scare you off. And yet….

“I would, you know.” Swallowing thickly, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Take you to go get food. If you - I mean, if you wanted. If you’d let me.” 

It was like he could see the carefully crafted defenses go up, the pain etching your brow and making your eyes go cold. Anxiety flooded his veins as you wiggled out of his grasp, sliding your clothes back into place as you moved towards his bathroom.

“You don’t mean that,” you murmured, faking a smile. “You know what this is, Kyun.”

“I do mean that!” He knew he sounded too eager, too pitiful, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I’d take you out to dinner. Or,” following you, he paused in the doorway, watching you appraise yourself in the mirror. “We could just get take-out and go somewhere private, drive to a park, bring a blanket and some booze, eat somewhere no one would know or bother us.” 

Your answering laugh had sounded wrong, like it had cost you something - like it was the last thing you had wanted to do. 

“Like a picnic? Changkyun, you’re saying you want to take me on a picnic? Like a proper date?”

Stuttering, he tried to explain himself, but you had cut him off with a single wave. 

“Listen, we both know I’m not that kind of girl, and you don’t want me to be.” Leaning forward, you had pressed a kiss against his mouth, your eyes somber when you had pulled away, moved towards the door. 

“What if I do?” His voice broke, wanting to reach out but his arms remaining stiff at his sides. “What if I want you to be that kind of girl, with me?”

Tears stung your eyes, your stomach sinking like you had been punched. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t handle the inevitable disappointment that would come when you got your hopes up.

“I’ll see you around,” you threw over your shoulder before shutting the door, and shutting him out. 

Just like the hundreds of times before.

It had been two weeks now since he last saw you in person. It wasn’t for lack of trying; texting you at all hours had proven fruitless, even when he tried to send the usual ‘you up’ message like he didn’t just lay his heart out on the line. You responded airily, non committal, and he knew what you were doing. 

You were trying to let him down easy.

So here he was, phone glued to his hand as he scrolled through to find your picture, clicking on it to see if there was any update. You didn’t post a bunch in your feed, but you had a tendency to update your stories often - filling them with silly memes and cute selfies, little videos of you going about your day. Cuddling with your cat, attempting to cook something for lunch. His favorite was when you would do tarot readings for your followers; the way your face would turn serious as you read the cards, passionate fire in your eyes as you helped deliver the message to its owner. 

Seeing you that excited and genuine did something to him, made his chest feel like it was going to explode.

He knows you can tell that he’s watching, can see the icon of his profile showing up at the bottom of the video under “seen by.” He can only imagine what you’re thinking when you see it - that he’s a loser, this friend with benefits who turned lovesick puppy, but he can’t make himself care. It’s the only way he feels close, can pretend you’re still in his life.

He never thought that he would need you, now all he wants is to see you - for you to answer him, to come back to him. 

Changkyun still sends texts, unable to stop his fingers from reaching out, despite knowing you’ll shut him down. He calls sometimes too, late at night when his blood is more whisky than plasma, though you never answer those. Instead he listens to your voicemail, eyes closed to stop the world from spinning, letting your voice lull him to sleep. 

He convinces himself he’s fine with this arrangement, that things would be alright. He can just miss you from afar, observe you live your life through the pixels of a screen. That watching your stories is enough for him, will keep him afloat.

Until he sees you with someone else.

It was another Friday night he was spending alone, half drunk and on his phone, looking for your picture. Taking a deep breath, he had felt his heart stop when he saw the rainbow ring adorning your profile photo, meaning you had updated your story. Sighing, he tapped it, hoping that it would be a few videos so he could pretend for just a moment that he was beside you instead of wasting space on his bed.

The first clip was a selfie, your heavily lidded eyes staring seductively at the camera through your lashes, making his pulse jump and pants tighten. The caption “gonna get drunk tonight!” scrolled across the image, right below the pout of your lips. The next was a small video of you making a drink, giggling about the mixture of tequila and soju you were tossing in your cup, whispering to the camera how it was going to get you ‘all the way fucked up’. But it was the third clip that had his chest heaving, his lungs forgetting how to work.

You were walking out your door, a few people cluttering your front porch as you asked if anyone had a light. Some tall red headed kid - Changkyun refused to acknowledge him as anything more than that - had shouted out, and you squealed as you ran up to him, sliding directly onto his knee before switching the camera into selfie mode to capture the two of you. The next clip was you in his lap, one of your delicate hands sliding through his hair as he gave you a big dopey grin, a cigarette perched on your lips as you cooed at him and told him just how cute he was.

Fuck. He knew that look of yours, knew those moves. Knew exactly what you were doing, what you were hoping to do with that fucking Mingi kid, and he couldn’t stand it, not anymore.

Taking a few deep pulls directly from the liquor bottle, his fingers flew over the keys of his phone, sending you text after text -  all of which were ignored. He knew calling would be pointless, that you would rather light yourself on fire than answer your phone - especially at a party - and he felt desperation creep up his throat, choking him.

Changkyun couldn’t let this happen. Couldn’t let you just forget about him.

Clicking back onto Instagram, he started sending you responses to the story video as he got dressed, throwing on the nearest pair of jeans and sliding on his boots.

<What are you doing? Why won’t you answer my texts? I fucking miss you.>

<And not just fucking you. I miss you. I miss us. If you want me to stay for the rest of my life, I will. You already got me.>

<Answer me, Y/N. Or I’m going to come over, see if you can ignore me to my face>

<Baby?>

<I’m on my way. Don’t take that kid to your bed.>

It took painfully long for the Lyft to show up, and he gritted his teeth the whole route there, knee bouncing to stop himself from demanding the driver to go faster, to just hurry the fuck up and get to you. 

When the car had pulled into your neighborhood, he tried to send another message, instead clicking a video. Too frustrated to change it back, he lets it record, his voice low and pained. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.” 

You were alone on the deck when your phone started vibrating, the ding of an Instagram direct message making you click the app, eyes widening in surprise when you saw the number of notifications. 

Changkyun, all from him.

Awestruck, you scrolled through every line, your heart throbbing with each word he had written. 

You didn’t think he cared, not like that. Sure, he missed the sex, but that’s what you expected. That’s what all of them wanted when they sent you late night texts, when they called your phone at three in the morning. Empty promises and broken vows were what kept you company in the dark, when they’d predictably leave you alone with an ache between your legs and in your chest.  None of them really wanted you, cared about you. After a few weeks of ghosting, they’d all disappear into thin air like expected, and your heart would harden just a bit more.

But now…

Another chime pulls you from your thoughts, eyes flicking back to the light of your phone. Instead of another direct message, it’s a notification that Changkyun had updated his story for the first time in months. 

Shaking fingers slide against the screen, your vision blurring as you take in the shadowed back seat of another person’s car, the only light  neon pink from the sign of the Lyft drivers decal. For a moment, all you can hear is the quiet chattering of a distant radio, of someone breathing heavily. 

And then his voice croaking over the speaker, raspy with need. 

“I’m on my way, please let me in.”

The video fades just as a car pulls up to your curb, a flurry of movement as Changkyun climbs out, stumbles towards you. He all but collapses into your arms, his breath dripping with liquor, eyes reddened but burning fiercely.  

“Y/N,” he mumbles, hands coming to cup your face, thumb dragging against the smooth skin of your cheek. “I want to take you on a picnic.” 

You laugh, though it comes out more like a sob. “What? What are you talking about? Did you call a Lyft and come all the way across town to tell me that, you clown?”

His finger taps against your lips once, twice. “Shh. Just let me-” he sighs, stomping a foot. “Let me talk.” 

He waits until you nod before continuing, words surging from his mouth as if he couldn’t hold back a second longer. 

“I came all the way here because I want to take you on a picnic. I want to buy you food and take you on cute little dates and do cheesy things that make you smile at me like you are right now,” he grins, pulling you until your chest rests against his own. “I’m here because I couldn’t stand you ignoring me anymore. I meant everything I said - that I miss you, that I want to be with you, if you’ll give me the chance. I want to call you mine.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes fall shut, his voice fervent and barely more than a whisper. 

“I love you, Y/N.”

Tears brim your eyes, and you fight every old wound that tells you to shove him away, to call him a liar. Instead you allow yourself to follow your gut, your heart for what feels like the first time, leaning back to give him a watery smile in return. 

“I love you too, Changkyun.” 

His mouth immediately lands on yours, tongue eagerly tracing the seam of your lips until it’s slipping inside, tasting every inch of you, ravenous and unsatisfied until your knees are shaking. He’s walking you backwards towards the door, tugging at your clothes, and you giggle at his impatience.

Pulling away, you gasp for air, palm pressing against his shoulder to hold him back for a moment. “But listen, if I give you a chance, that means you have to stop stalking my Instagram, you creep. And don’t try to deny it, I see you all over my stories, lurking around.” 

He chuckles then, nipping at your bottom lip as his eyes darken. “Please, don’t act like you don’t love the attention,” 

Pushing the door open, he guides you inside, mouth working over your neck, arms wrapped around your waist until your back is flattened against the wall. 

“Plus, there’s no need, now that I got you,” he confesses, his nose swiping against yours gently before he captures your lips between his own, hitching your legs to drape around his waist as he grinds against you, humming words of praise.

Just like the hundreds of times before, but now as his.

[insert-current-obsession-here]

The Benevolent Possession  of Waverly Earp - pt1

After two whole years of sharing her body with a fallen Angel, Waverly likes to tell herself that she is used to it. 

Having someone else in her head, hearing every thought and knowing every desire (who often encourages the darker ones) can be overwhelming at times. 

Waverly likes to tell herself that she’s used to it but there are days where she does not feel particularly strong and the lack of privacy, the shared autonomy, the temporary loss of control, the unimaginable sensation of loneliness, can break her down and crumple her up until she is unrecognizable. 

On those days, few and far between now, she will clutch at her temples and scream at the sky and the Angel will scream too, always louder than her, and it helps, knowing that her struggles are shared, that the burden does not rest squarely upon her own two shoulders (even if it literally does). 

In that regard, it is not all so bad. 

It helps that the Angel gives in unexpected ways. Waverly learns early on that she has an eidetic memory and an affinity for remembering the phone numbers of fast food restaurants. She often loans a bit of her inhuman strength to help Waverly open the lid of a stubborn jar, or to hit just a bit harder when training with Wynonna. If Waverly needs advice, the Angel is always happy to provide her calculated opinion. If Waverly stumbles, the Angel will catch her.

And, of course, the power. An electric buzz just beneath her skin, itchy and always, always present. The Angel can handle it with deadly precision and she tries to explain to Waverly that she does not need to be afraid of it - afraid of what they can do - and that she could learn to use it, the Angel could teach her, if she wanted. But Waverly can already see the way everyone looks at her when the Angel is in control and so she tucks it away, in the back of her mind, and promises the Angel that she’ll get back to it eventually. 

Though they never do and the Angel does not bring it up again, a small mercy for which Waverly is grateful. 

Besides, there are more important things to worry about.

It takes them a long, long time to decide on a proper name for the Angel. But when they finally do it feels like Waverly is less hollow, like she’s not simply listening to the ethereal voice of her own darkness anymore. Adrian sounds pretty and divine and fitting for the Being that she has grown to know over the last two years. When they try it out for the first time it settles like it belongs on their tongue, and Waverly feels something that was stolen from her chest slide back into place. 

And of course, Waverly gives, too. 

Sometimes, while tossing and turning above the sheets, flashes of a frozen horizon and a stone throne chasing away sleep, Adrian will quietly ask if they can go flying. 

Waverly’s shoulders tingle, the wings that she cannot see but knows are there itching for freedom, and she rolls her eyes at Adrian’s obnoxious attempt to convince her because they both know that she always says yes. 

She rolls out of bed and pulls on the first thing that she can find in the dark and with one last, longing glance over her shoulder at her sleeping wife, she slips silently from the bedroom. In the hallway, Adrian reminds her to skip the missing step - the fifth one up from the bottom - and Waverly white knuckles the banister as she steps successfully across it only to gracelessly stumble over one of Rachel’s overturned sneakers laying forgotten at the base of the stairs.  

Waverly strings together a line of mismatched curses as she hustles the rest of the way outside, to the porch. Adrian’s laugh is too loud to belong in the still quiet of the night and despite her anger at Wynonna for putting a fire axe through the stairs and her annoyance at Rachel for ignoring her request to keep her shoes by the front door, Waverly laughs too. 

She peels away from the homestead, a steady hand pressing firmly against the stitch in her side, and listens to Adrian discuss ways to punish Wynonna for her drunken escapades. 

Under the light of the stars, Waverly stands on her tiptoes to find the half-full pack of Marlboro’s and the lighter she’d stored on top of the shed out behind the barn. “You know we can fly, right?” Waverly ignores them and continues to feel around until her fingers hit the corner of the carton and it falls deftly into her awaiting palm. “Stubborn.” Adrian says, her tone teasing, Waverly only grins. 

Vice in hand, they wander away from the homestead, bare feet moving easily across familiar land. They don’t stop until the Earp arch is a fuzzy blur in the distance. “You need glasses,” Adrian comments, and in the empty space just to the left of her humor, Waverly can feel her itching to switch places. Adrian’s low voice is barely audible over the hum of anticipation in their veins, “Humans and their proclivity to deteriorate.”

Standing alone (but not really alone) in a wide open field, her toes anchored into the cold Earth, Waverly relaxes her body, closes her eyes, and let’s Adrian take over. 

The transition is seamless to the point where Waverly doesn’t even realize that it has happened until they’re among the clouds. Waverly’s mind wanders while they fly, her thoughts trailing miles beneath them, and if Adrian cares about her detachment she does not mention it. Eventually, they slow to a stop, the large grey wings flapping furiously to keep them in the air, and Adrian takes a moment to light a cigarette. She places it evenly between her lips and breathes in and out four times before asking, “Would you like to watch the sun rise?”

Waverly doesn’t say anything, Adrian knows her answer. 

They turn around and Adrian flies them home, back into the ghost river triangle, angling towards Purgatory. They pass over Shorty’s and the police precinct and are halfway down the gravel road that leads to the Earp land when Adrian asks if Waverly is unhappy. 

“I’m not, not happy,” Waverly says quickly, watching as the edge of the lake behind her home races into view, “I just sometimes feel like I’m letting everyone down and I don’t know how to change that.”

They land behind the barn and Adrian takes her time crushing the end of her cigarette against the wooden siding with her thumb before she responds, “Is this about Wynonna? Her killing?” 

Waverly flinches away from the reminder and Adrian makes no move to comfort her. Her response is blunt and honest in all of the ways that Waverly is not ready to hear, “You cannot blame yourself for the actions of your sister.”

“But I do,” Waverly admits, the truth staining the cold air bright red, “I do blame myself. I… we could have helped her. What was I so afraid of? All I’ve ever wanted was to be the chosen one, to be special. And to learn that I’ve always had the power to help but have been too… weak to use it? How can I not blame myself for that.” Waverly can barely catch her breath, she can feel herself spiraling down, down, down…

Adrian presses their palm to the center of her chest and pushes hard enough to pull Waverly back, to anchor her to the spot they share, and she breathes for them.

Adrian flexes her wings, let’s the rising sun dry away any moisture that they’d collected while up in the clouds, and shrugs, “We can go whenever you desire, the Garden will always be there to let us in.“ She relaxes, closes her eyes, and Waverly shifts forward to take control. 

Blinking her eyes open Waverly shakes out the tension in her fingers and watches Adrian’s suggestion float through their mind; peace, Heaven, paradise, waiting for them - “No, no,” Waverly is firm, certain, and if she childishly stomps her foot just a bit for emphasis no one but herself and an Angel are there to see it, “I don’t want to leave my family...” She sighs, heavy and tired and full of so much guilt that her lungs ache with the force of it, “This is my home. It’s where I belong.”

Adrian lets it go, releases the idea back out into the cold world and let’s it and all of its promises leave as simply as it had come, “Then this is where we shall stay.”

Waverly pulls the sleeves of the flannel tight around her arms, inhales a mouthful of vanilla lingering around the collar, and shivers as she begins the long walk back to the homestead.

“You cannot avoid watching the sun rise forever,” Adrian says, carefully, after Waverly has stored the pack of cigarettes on top of the shed and they’re standing on the back porch, hand wrapped loosely around the brass handle, waiting for the urge to go inside. 

Waverly pushes forward, all motion and chaos, and steps across the threshold into the only home that she’s ever known, “I’m not avoiding it and you know that…” She sighs, frustrated, and she wishes that she never would have gotten her hair cut short so that she could have something to pull on when the words won’t come out like she needs them to, “I think it’s just that I don’t feel like I deserve it — yet.”

Adrian stays silent and Waverly feels more alone than she ever has before. 

She starts the first pot of coffee and brushes her teeth three times at the kitchen sink before Nicole comes trotting down the stairs. She can hear her wife catch her foot in the hole and stumble over it but when she turns the corner into the living room she is smiling brightly like it had never even happened, like nothing has changed. “Hey Wave,” She says, leaning across the table to press a kiss to the side of her head, “How long have you been up?”

Waverly shrugs and scratches at a spot near her left shoulder blade, “Not very long.”

Nicole nods and reaches up to pull three mugs down from the middle cabinet. When Waverly turns to look up at her, the weight of the world sitting at the tip of her tongue, Nicole is already moving away towards the fridge, “I was thinking pancakes for breakfast.”

The sun is up, the kitchen is warm, and Nicole is smiling at her.

Adrian is quiet. 

Waverly licks her lips and tastes smoke. 

[halothenthehorns]

THE RIDDLE HOUSE

Harry and Lily were the only ones to wake at the normal time the next morning. In fact they were the only ones awake all day. Both stayed quiet and in the kitchen, chatting about everything and nothing. Harry was particularly interested in asking his mother about the cases she'd had at work, trying to avoid as much talk of school as possible. Though he longed for as much detail of their time at Hogwarts, he now realized he may have gotten all the information he was going to get for a time as memories of that place would be particularly painful for everyone now.

Harry still couldn't help but edge in at one point, "so, what did they do about days like this back in school?"

Lily kept her eyes focused on her infant, trying to ignore the frown line this brought up but she knew she was the best person to answer, as none of the boys could have gotten this out properly. "Remus normally slept through the day hidden in the hospital wing, the other three often went around making jokes that he was just skiving class. They put some numbing charms and the like to hide the worst of their injuries."

Harry was frowning in thoughtful concern, trying to picture what he'd seen of them last night actually pushing through a whole day of classes, and his respect for them grew tenfold. Thankfully it wasn't a problem today.

He couldn't help the next question that burst out, "but you said he's never come back looking so bad, why couldn't they have just gone outside, why stay in that tiny little room?" He'd spent some time outside that morning looking around what could have possibly been his childhood home, and while he could see something that might have been a town off in the distance, he couldn't help thinking of some way that could have gone better for the lot of them.

Lily had honestly asked James the same the other night, unwillingly admitting she hadn't wanted this in the house if it could be avoided, but James had admitted same as she told Harry, "they didn't feel it was safe enough. They were wandering Hogwarts and Hogsmeade for years before they even made Animagus, they knew the area and felt safe running around with, well, Moony as they refer to Remus when he's like that. We've only lived here about a year though, and almost all of that time has been out of the house for one reason or another due to the Order and the like. Normally they go out to some unpopulated forest near Remus's parent's old place, and they didn't have the heart to test anything new last night." Considering they weren't even sure if Moony would be able to leave the boundary of the property unattended by the two animagus' and do unspeakable damage, it hadn't even been worth the risk really.

Harry could tell how much it was bothering his mum to talk about. He put it all down to moments when he was sure she was remembering the rat making a crack or two that she'd just brushed off at the time, to her old friend Severus trying to make something more of it and her ignoring that too, and how now she was the one making defenses for him while she'd rather never see those two again.

Then there were other things, a topic that couldn't be avoided but they both knew would be brought up, at least by Sirius, so Harry voiced the concern now, "are you guys going to try and convince him to come back over again?" He knew for a fact he did not want that confrontation to happen, let alone somehow be a part of it when he knew he would somehow step in and protect someone, though he had no ideas of who anymore. Would he still try and protect Pettigrew? He doubted this, as he no longer held the key to Sirius' freedom in this timeline. Would he still be okay with watching his dad and Uncles become murders though? That he had no answer to.

Lily saved him by saying, "no," with absolute force, clearly leaving no room for discussion even as she explained, "it's too dangerous. Clearly we can't leave here for a reason, at least until these books are done. If nothing's changed and we still can't leave after that, then we'll concern ourselves with it, but for now I'll not risk it again. Merlin knows what could have happened if we had convinced, that rat, to stay and read with us, something might have gone very wrong adding someone into the group when clearly there's something going on around us. I'll tell Sirius and anyone else it is not worth the danger." Then she finished in much softer tones, "besides, he's hardly come around so much lately, it would probably take Merlin himself to get him to come back over."

Over a dozen times Lily had to squash down the urge to go and wake her boys, to at least get some food in them while they slept, but instead she only occasionally peeked in on each of them, repeated a few of the healing charms she knew and left them to sleep the day away.

The first thing James found the next morning was Sirius and Harry sitting on the couch, laughing about something. Pressing down on the vile green urge that was trying to come back up, he made to go back up the stairs and pretend like he hadn't noticed, trying to give them some space and bonding time he knew Harry would want now, but Harry caught sight of him and said, "Hey Dad, come here and look at this."

Forcing a smile onto his face, he came over and ignored the fact that Sirius was giving him an odd look to glance over and see what Harry was looking at, and burst into real laughter at finding them holding a photo album he and Lily had been making recently.

"What are you doing with this?" He snickered, lunging over the sofa and landing with a whump on Harry's other side, offering his hand out for it.

"I wanted to show it to him," Sirius said like that was obvious, now smiling lightly as well when he realized whatever had been bothering James had clearly passed for now. "Thought it would be worth a laugh for him."

James began flicking back through the pages they'd already passed stopping at a few and laughing in remembrance of when they'd been taken. There was the one of the first night Harry had been brought home, Lily being so exhausted in the photo she was constantly yawning, but the glowing smile so bright it dimmed the rest of the background. There was the day James brought Hickory home as an anniversary gift for Lily, and the very first thing the cat did was walk up to two week old Harry and curl around him to fall asleep.

Harry recognized quite a few from his own Hagrid had gifted him, and couldn't help but wonder if they were in fact the exact same photos. Could this have possibly survived whatever had happened to his parents on that Halloween, had Remus somehow fallen into possession of this and he'd been the one to send some of these pictures to Harry? Hagrid had mentioned some of his parent's old school friends had supplied the photos, it made sense at least. He found even more photos from his parent's wedding than the one from his, plus a few others of what were probably his parents first, like them standing in the empty living room when they'd first gotten this house.

There were some that were even older, scattered around before Harry was born of James, Sirius, and Remus all doing random things such as Sirius' last birthday, and the cake that had exploded onto the ceiling, leaving all of them with icing in their hair. Remus, with a hairbrush where his nose should have been, done in retaliation by Sirius for who knew what at the time. James a week before his wedding acting like a loon and bouncing around every inch of the frame, his constant worries about everything that was going to go wrong long since forgotten. The rat was conspicuously lacking, and there were some empty spots where a few pictures had clearly been removed, and James couldn't help but wonder if Lily had spent the day they'd all been resting to pull them out. He supposed that's how Harry and Sirius had come across it.

They spent the rest of the morning going over every picture, Harry still able to come up with endless questions for the both of them about every second the pictures were reenacting, until finally Remus and Lily arrived as well. Sadly they ran out of pictures about that same time. Remus had the baby playing happily in his arms and curled up into the recliner with him, leaving Lily to lounge out on the other sofa by herself for now. All three of the boys still looked terrible, James still had a vivid black eye and kept wincing whenever he shifted around too much and Sirius wasn't twitching as much as he normally did, leaning a little more heavily than was usual into the couch to keep himself upright. Remus still somehow looked the worst, an unnatural white with vivid dark circles under his eyes and he was moving the least of all, though that's probably why he wanted the baby, to help him remain as still as possible.

Silence rung in the room, Harry got the feeling they were trying to avoid talking about something and he had a very good idea of what. They decided they'd waited long enough anyways, and Lily went to fetch the largest book of the stack that was a vibrant blue stamped with a dark navy blue 4, a worry line already creasing into her as she asked, "Merlin Harry, what happened this year, it's thick as a tomb."

Harry just gave her an exasperated look, she knew he wouldn't be able to answer. At any rate she wasn't even that worried, maybe this year would finally be filled with happy and memorable times, with actually more than one chapter in a row where she didn't get sick from stress. As she rummaged for the first page, she at least comforted herself nothing could be as bad as last year.

Narrative starts by speaking of the villagers in Little Hangleton, who all refer to it as 'the Riddle House,'

"Riddle?" Sirius frowned, what an odd way to start. "Wasn't that Voldemort's real last name?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," James grumbled, he wasn't likely to forget that Chamber any time soon.

Lily was already getting a tingling feeling up her spine, asking, "okay, but so what? Where's Little Hangleton, and what's this have to do with Harry?"

"Maybe it's like those odd moments in the first book," Remus offered, "and this book's going to show us some things that aren't from Harry's point of view." After all, Harry wasn't likely on vacation anywhere, nor did he see a place like Private Drives occupants being referred to as villagers.

"Does it have to start with information about Voldemort though?" Harry sighed with distaste, completely with his mother on this one in hoping this wouldn't amount to anything, and already getting an insistent feeling trying to tell him otherwise.

even though the Riddles hadn't occupied the house for many years. It sat on a hill above the local village, dilapidated and forgotten.

"So one of those places where you wonder why it hasn't just been torn down at some point," Sirius muttered with disinterest. He wanted to hear about Harry, not Voldemort's childhood home or some nonsense. He really didn't like this was how Harry's next year was getting started.

It had taken a hard fall from grace with its years of emptiness,

"Great, so no more of his bloodline is hanging around, good to know," Remus huffed.

leading most of the locals to refer to the place as haunted. This came about because of what happened fifty years ago, something the villagers still enjoyed discussing when there was nothing else to do.

Lily still couldn't get rid of this nasty little feeling, like she really didn't want to know about what these people gossiped around in relation to anything to do with Voldemort's namesake, but she'd never gotten a say with these books before of what she was reading.

Like most stories it had been exaggerated and skewed over time,

"Sounds about right of any tale," James agreed, his own time at Hogwarts giving him plenty of experience with how wild a tale could spin, though it also caused a more terrible wince in his memory then any physical injury could do to him at one person who was entangled in every single one of those moments.

though everyone agreed on the beginning. On the day the Riddle House ended, it all started with the maid of the house running into the local pub to announce the family dead.

"Huh," they all muttered, finally feeling a small spike of curiosity. Sure they didn't really want to know anything about Voldemort except possibly where his self-destruct button was, but they also couldn't help the vaguest of interests starting up at what could have possibly caused this nut job to turn into the way he was.

Screaming about how they'd all been found with their eyes wide open and still dressed for dinner, but each without a pulse.

"Wow," Sirius couldn't help the curiosity in his voice now. "Wonder what did them in?"

Lily felt he was actually showing too much interest now, it was still gross, but didn't rebuke him either, she couldn't deny her own shared feeling.

The authorities arrived, and while the bodies were taken away no one bothered with sorrows, as the Riddles weren't well liked.

"Why am I not surprised?" Remus scoffed, "apparently the whole line was rubbish?"

Lily still couldn't help but think that was kind of sad, not one person mourned the passing of an entire family? But they were possibly the parents or in some way connected to Voldemort, so she couldn't muster up much herself either.

The narrative going on to say how unlikable the two parents were, and their boy Tom being worse.

"Oh, wait," James said, ruffling up his brow as he struggled to remember details back from that chamber. "Is this Voldemort's Dad and grandparents? He did say he was named after his father, unless you just said Voldemort was dead, in which chase I am okay with this."

"I doubt we're that lucky," Sirius sighed dramatically, "and it's likely the first." He knew James had been kidding anyways, the timelines didn't match up for this to be the description of the death of the Dark Lord, but it was still nice to think about.

"But this could be what started Voldemort on being, well Voldemort." Lily was frowning as she thought this over, "Over half a century ago, that's before Voldemort took over. Maybe the death of his family caused him to be the way he is."

"The way he went on about his own dad being a muggle?" Remus reminded, "Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if he did this himself."

Harry only got the briefest flash of something, like he wanted to agree with Remus, before Sirius laughed it off.

"Gee thanks Moony." Sirius shuddered, "I really wanted to think about Voldemort doing his own parents in, though," he added on curiously, "guess I can't say I haven't envisioned doing it myself." There was no real enthusiasm to his joke, after the last book, even knowing he hadn't committed all those murders, he just couldn't find the same sense of humor about killing anyone else. He still did it out of obligation, he'd never missed a chance to ridicule and show off how much he hated his namesakes, it was just a shock to the others to hear such a different tone while speaking of it.

What the villagers couldn't stop talking about was who had committed the murder, for obviously all three wouldn't have died like that otherwise.

"Though it most likely does seem magical at this point," Lily muttered to herself, as she quite agreed, it would be odd for this to be explained otherwise.

Names were tossed around until one woman entered with a real answer, the family cook, who had been down at the police station and came back to announce the arrest of Frank Bryce.

Harry felt something twitch inside of him at this name being mentioned, though he had no real connection to it. If it wasn't someone he should care about, then why did he feel sorry for him? Why would he feel anything for a name he was positive he probably had never even met?

He was the Riddle's gardener, a war veteran who lived on the property and was well known for not liking to be around others.

"And that just automatically makes you a murderer now does it?" Remus grumbled, he didn't particularly like going over to stranger's houses either.

One nameless woman tried to defend the old man, saying he just wanted his privacy, but then the cook pointed out how everyone knew he kept a key to the main house in his own home.

"How would she know that?" James demanded. "If she's never been over like it's implied, how would anyone but the Riddle's know that?"

"It was said he was arrested," Sirius shrugged, "maybe this cook overheard the police saying that while it was happening."

The police had told how the house was not broken into, it would have been easy for Frank to have done this.

"Does he have a motive?" Lily frowned. "Sounds to me like he just wants to be left alone, I can't see why he would go doing this, as I highly doubt this wealthy family would even leave anything to their gardener, plus he'd also be out of a job."

"Well let's see if the police scrounge up something," Remus offered.

This seemed to turn the mood of most other people, as many agreed that war had turned him funny.

"War turns a lot of people funny," James muttered bitterly, thinking that no one should have a right to judge those who hadn't actually been in one. He'd seen what war had done to one of his best friends, changed him into a radically different person, and he didn't appreciate any little reminder.

They continued exchanging stories about Frank, and by morning there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind the police had got their man.

They all sighed heavily, already having lived through one book of a wrongly convicted person. They didn't even know this man, but it wasn't any friendlier of a reminder that it could be happening all over again to some random stranger.

But over in the neighboring town of Great Hangleton,

"Original," Sirius snorted.

the police were having trouble coming to the same conclusion. Frank was denying any such claim, saying the only person he'd seen around the house that night was some dark haired boy, who nobody else had caught sight of, leading the cops to think he was just making that up.

"Maybe not," James muttered, thinking back to Voldemort's more human description, and that wasn't a bad likeness.

Before a conviction could be had though, the medical reports came in, and not a thing could be found wrong with the bodies. They hadn't been strangled, poisoned, suffocated, or by any means hurt, except for the fact that they were dead.

"Oh yes, just that tiny little detail," Remus rolled his eyes, not really able to find it as funny as he once might have.

There was a note at the bottom, the only thing to explain away these deaths, they'd all been found with looks of fear on their faces. That wasn't the answer anyone wanted though, because who'd ever actually died of fright?

"I'm sure if they took a look at Voldemort's face they would have," Harry sighed, wondering why he'd said that at all. Had Voldemort been the person to kill his own family? He only got a sharp poke from his memories for trying to remember.

Without proof, Frank was released, and he returned to his simple life and continued his tending of the manner gardens, to no one's pleasure. All of the villagers were in agreement he should leave town, since everyone knew he was the man who'd done it.

They all had a bite of distaste in their mouth, beyond displeased at this continued topic, perhaps taking it to personally due to what they'd recently learned would happen to Sirius, but not finding it any less foul happening to someone else.

Frank did not move away though, and instead continued his job even as the house changed ownership. The new occupant did not move in, but the man who'd purchased it had claimed tax reasons, though no one was clear what that meant.

Lily actually looked like she was going to interrupt herself and explain, but James cut her off, "let it go Lily, they're not here to explain it to, and not even I wanted to ask."

The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening however.

"Well that's, nice," Remus said, unable to help breaking off at the end uncertainly. He still had no idea what any of this had to do with Harry, what was the point of this book showing all of this, and not even through Harry's point of view?

Frank was about to hit his seventy-seventh birthday by this point, his damaged leg paining him more than ever in his old age, though this never stopped him from tending to his beloved plants.

Lily couldn't suppress a happy smile though. She dearly wanted a garden, and she suddenly found herself very fond of Frank for even in his old age sticking to something that he clearly loved.

Weeds weren't his biggest problem though, but the children of the locals. The boys were well known for chucking rocks and further breaking apart windows,

James made a little scoff. He had no problems with giving cranky elders some fun in their life, but vandalizing was never one thing he did intentionally.

on their bikes as they tore through the grassy lawn.

Making Lily give a heated scowl of outrage, finding these some pretty despicable kids for tormenting this old man's hard work.

A few times they would even break into the house on a dare, finding great amusement when they saw the elder man come hobbling towards them, screaming with his cane about how they were wrecking the property.

Sirius, couldn't say anything. He could make no claims whatsoever that he wouldn't be right along with those kids, this town sounded boring to him and seeing how far they could push this guy sounded like the only source of amusement some rowdy boys could get up to. So long as they didn't do anything too crazy like actually burn the place down.

Frank knew why they did it, because the parents had told these boys of how Frank was the supposed murderer.

"I'm pretty sure they'd be at it no matter what their parents or anyone said," Remus said with an eye roll, most boys in the age he was thinking wouldn't listen to Merlin himself if he told them to stop.

So when Frank awoke one night in August and saw a small flickering fire in one of the windows, he first assumed it was those kids again.

Harry was getting a very hair raising feeling, instincts going haywire as he wanted to blurt out a warning to this old man, that he was way off the mark on that one and he should just go back up to bed. The problem, he knew, was that if he even started to try he'd receive a very sharp pain for his troubles, and considering how much his family freaked out whenever that happened he couldn't bring himself to dig into the feeling despite how much he felt he should.

Frank did not own a phone, and he wouldn't have called the police if he did, having a deep mistrust for the police since they'd arrested him.

"Can't honestly blame him," Lily sighed with a deep shake of her head, wanting to give those kids a good telling off for this. Not that she'd admit she probably would have been one of the first to go in that place on a dare.

Frank began shuffling around his house, getting dressed to head up there, and taking his key as he left. He circled the place first, but found the front door nor any of the windows showed sign of forced entry.

That wasn't so odd though, even the two purebloods knew how to jimmy a lock so that it didn't look forced the Muggle way, or possibly the kids had gone in through one of the broken windows previously mentioned. This all seemed perfectly harmless and meaningless to Harry, that's what all four of them kept telling themselves, and yet they were starting to get a prickling feeling. One glance at Harry and they could see he was struggling, his face clearly showing that he was trying his hardest to repress a memory, and if his rubbing at his temple was any indication by now, they knew it was going to be a bad one.

Frank went around back instead and let himself in. Though it had been many years since he'd come in here, he still had no problems from memory navigating his way to the stairs, thankful for the thick layer of dust everywhere as it muffled his feet and cane.

"I can see the fun of trying to sneak up on them," Sirius nodded, trying to put some mischief into his voice, trying to force the lighthearted tone he so craved from just one stinking chapter, but it sounded false even to his ears.

Once on the top floor, it was easy to spot the occupied room, there was only one door cracked open with the lights flickering out.

Remus couldn't help but picture this place like the Shrieking Shack, and the comparison wasn't making him feel any better considering the last time any mention of Harry had been in there, and now he was having to fight back a combination of vile and hatred all over again and it was in no way reassuring to what was going on now.

Frank made his way to the door in time to hear a man's voice, low and scared whisper that there was still some drink left in the bottle for his Lord.

Lily couldn't help finishing that with a little rasping noise, like she wanted to scream and gasp all at the same time but the two strangled themselves off because this just couldn't be happening! Not to her son, not again! There was only one person who could be referred to as My Lord, and despite how much she so desperately wanted it to not be true she couldn't come up with any other alternatives. She'd had a bad feeling since the first line of the book with Voldemort's namesake, now here he was in the house! Where was Harry? That one question just kept flitting across her mind now with more force than ever before, because she really wanted to hear that this was taking place on a different continent then near her son.

She came back to herself to find James with his arm wrapped tight around her, he'd clearly hopped seats and was now muttering reassurances in her ear that at least this was like that beginning of the first book, Harry really wasn't there now around that monster.

The shock still hadn't completely worn off when Remus blurted out, "who's talking to him? Is it like another Quirrell thing, because otherwise I really don't see how an answers coming."

"You just have this magical ability to ask exactly the wrong questions", Sirius scowled at him, he didn't want to be thinking of things like that. He wanted to hear the possibilities of who else it could be! He'd only gotten one year of reprieve of fearing a Voldemort come back so far and that had been the worst one of all for him!

Remus didn't look very repentant, his mind was scattering in too many different directions at once trying to understand this. At least he wasn't asking anymore what this had to do with Harry, he had a very nasty feeling why they were learning this in comparison with his cub's life now.

No one answered him though, because no one had any answers. They had no idea how Voldemort even still existed! They weren't even sure why he'd disappeared the night James and Lily had died, what could have happened to turn him into the vapor like creature that had been able to share a body with Quirrell. Voldemort no longer resembled anything they could wrap their mind around, so any questions regarding him couldn't even be speculated he dwelled so far outside the realm of their knowledge.

Lily did not look happy about it, but when the silence continued to drag on she realized she was expected to keep going no matter how much she'd rather do anything else. At least now she had her husband at her hip for some reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The voice that responded was like pure ice, declaring he would finish it later, and even as he spoke it made the hairs on Frank stand on end.

Sirius couldn't help a shudder of disgust, recognizing this was most likely what Voldemort's voice sounded like now, and getting a creeping chill up his spine at the thought.

Then that same voice requested he be moved closer to the fire, referring to the first man as Wormtail.

The old nickname of one of the people she would have claimed as a dear friend up until a few days ago slipped out of her mouth almost without realizing what she'd said. Once she did register that the rest of the boys in the room had tensed up and she recognized why, she couldn't decide what surprised her more; that he'd really gone back to Voldemort, or that he was even still alive and had escaped the combined might of Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. Really though, it shouldn't have come out as such a surprise, she really should have realized it would lead to this.

That rat really didn't have anywhere else to go back but to Voldemort's side, but she hadn't expected it to come up so soon. What she did happen to linger on in confusion is why Voldemort would use that childhood nickname? Clearly the rat had told Voldemort everything, but why would Voldemort call him that? Had the rat even requested it? It was such an odd detail she almost didn't take notice of what the others were doing.

What Sirius proceeded to call him would have made anyone with the foulest of mouths do a double take, not that anyone in this room could blame him. His rage and anger at being denied his revenge on that treasonous worst excuse for an Order Member he'd ever met left him a broiling mess at even the slightest hint of his being mentioned. Now Lily had just said that he was the one catering to Voldemort himself! That putrid little rat was actually helping him, being his right hand and, and he couldn't even think straight he was cursing so much in his mind as well!

James had no qualms about agreeing with every word, but it didn't change what he was really feeling, which was hurt. Why couldn't he be hearing about Sirius and Remus hunting this soulless critter down? Why couldn't he go on hearing about Harry having a good time with his friends over the summer? Why was it at every turn of the page he felt something else being ripped from him and it just kept leaving him emptier the longer this dragged on?

Remus still couldn't help but wince in shame at the mere mention of that name. Yes his family had convinced him that it wasn't entirely his fault, that the little backstabber's actions belonged only to him, but Remus still replayed those nights' events over and over and he still wanted to strangle the life out of himself for being a hand in his escape. He should have been paying for his crimes in Azkaban by now, for what he'd done to Sirius, James, Harry, and Lily and most likely Remus himself if given the barest of a chance.

Harry recognized hearing this name would still be a terrible blow to everyone in here, it really didn't make him feel much better at the resurfacing reminder that this name was the reason he was interacting with his parents for the first time. This wasn't going to go away though, not for some time, his gut was confident of that. So though he'd rather not, he managed to catch his mom's eye and silently asked her to keep going, knowing this wasn't something to get better with time so hoping moving past it for now would still be a better option.

There was the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, and once that had stopped Frank could hear that icy voice speak up again asking where Nagini was.

Sirius couldn't help it, he heard an unfamiliar female name and he automatically wanted to make a crack about someone getting a new girlfriend, but he restrained himself by only adding in a few more phrases of malcontent.

Wormtail responded by saying she'd gone to explore the house, and the second voice instructed when she returned she was to be milked again.

Milk her? Well this clearly wasn't a person then. Were these two really dragging a cow around with them in this old abandoned house? As unlikely as that seemed, this one random mental image finally gave the lot of them something funny to focus on, even if it was for the shortest amount of time.

Going on to say how he would need the feeding again, the journey to this place had worn him.

"Wish it had just killed you," Sirius muttered, still intermittent with words he never would have dreamed of using if the baby could understand what he was saying.

Frank continued listening all the harder as Wormtail asked how long they would be at this place, and he was answered with at least until the Quidditch World Cup was over.

James couldn't help but frown, feeling fidgety all over again as his favorite sport was mentioned during such a trying time and he wanted to feel happy just at the mention of it but also still wanted to curse something into smithereens the longer this conversation dragged on.

Frank began trying to clean out his ear in confusion, as he was sure he'd just heard the word Quidditch, which wasn't actually a word at all.

"Ah the innocent," Remus forced an amused look he didn't really feel.

Wormtail began asking about this, saying he didn't understand,

"Of that we can agree on, as I doubt you understand anything," Lily snarled under her breath.

why they had to wait. The cold voice returned that it was to unsafe to continue moving around, the Ministry of Magic was on high alert and he didn't want to catch the attention of the Muggles either.

"I don't want to know, I do not want to know," Lily moaned, glaring down at the print and unbelievably wanting this book to be over already even though she'd just started. It was just so tiring between hearing about Voldemort and the rat, now working together, plotting anything!

Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear.

"I keep forgetting the Muggles hearing this," Sirius frowned, for the first time his attention drawn elsewhere besides the two speakers and realizing how bad this could get fast. That old man had better stop picking his ear alright and get out of there as fast as his bum leg would allow, or they were going to be hearing about something far worse.

He had plainly heard the words Ministry of Magic, and Muggles. As those weren't actual words, they were clearly a code for something, and only two types of people used codes, criminals and spies.

"Well he's not wrong," Remus sighed, rubbing furiously at his temple to stave away an already growing headache.

Still he did not move as Wormtail spoke up about how his Lordship was still determined to go through with his plan? When the cold voice responded of course he was, there was a slight pause before the first man spoke up again, exclaiming how this could all be done without Harry Potter.

That part, actually wasn't surprising. They were all well aware that of course Voldemort would seek the boy who had been his downfall, it was why they were all so tensed and stressed at the mere mention of Voldemort's name. Of course that didn't make them hate it any less, it just wasn't a shock. What did get to them, was that Wormtail had suggested otherwise. Even Sirius, who had every intention of trying to lop off his head with a duller axe then what had been used on Nearly Headless Nick, registered that this little vermin had actually made an attempt at trying to protect Harry. This in no way excused what he'd done to them by any means, but it was the first glimpse for the first time that maybe their old friend was still somewhere buried in there. Too little too late.

A surprised pause where the second considered the option, and Wormtail quickly added on he had no care for the actual boy,

Sirius made a guttural noise, his brief flare drowned at once as he began picturing all over again every torture he'd ever heard of and making up a few on the spot.

James on the other hand flinched like Lily had just cracked him over the head with this book, which would probably give him head trauma, but even that would be easier to deal with then what he was feeling now. He kept flashing back and forth between anger and betrayal like a coin toss, never sure which one he was going to get next but still feeling as raw as the first time. This time it was betrayal, and he wanted that denial back all over again before he'd admit one of his friends had just said that about his baby.

no consideration for him at all!

Lily was planning on pulling out her own tongue if she really had to say that again, still on the more murderous side like everyone else at this sniveling coward covering his tail, probably just trying to make his job easier or some nonsense considering how well protected her son was, but it didn't make the words any easier to say.

He had only suggested this because any witch or wizard could be used for the thing.

'The thing?' James quickly latched onto that, unbelievably finding that whatever Voldemort was up to was actually easier to hear then his friend tossing his son's life away like that.

If he could just be given permission to step out for some time, he could be back with another person in no time.

Remus was grinding his teeth together so hard his jaw was starting to ache, the only reason he wasn't being as vocal as Sirius was because of the baby in his arms and he didn't want to start yelling with him so close. His restraints were starting to wane out though, as he realized that whatever that rat was suggesting wouldn't be any more beneficial to this random person then to Harry, which was most likely murder or something worse. He still could hardly picture it, that same person who'd been to this house less than a week ago casually speaking to the Dark Lord about these matters!

The cold voice agreed it could be done, and Wormtail sounded adamant now that trying to get at Harry Potter would just be so hard, he was the most well protected.

Harry couldn't help but frown in agitation at that, wondering what protections those were, and wondering all the more why he'd never been informed of these. Shouldn't he know if say his house was being watched, or some other monitoring was taking place that stopped any old Death Eater like Malfoy from showing up at his door and killing him? He was having a mental argument with himself whether to bring these things up, see if his family could know anything about them, or if he would sound petty griping about being protected from people he knew he did need shielding from. Judging by the slight confusion on the rest of them, Harry decided he'd have to let it go for now.

The icy voice shot back though that this could just be a double cross on Wormtail's part, a plan for him to be running again?

"I still can't imagine what made him go get him in the first place," Lily grumbled. Sure the rat was outed now, nowhere was safe for him so long as Sirius' name was still criminal number one, but to Voldemort? He could have just lived out the rest of his life as a rat in shame, he could have moved to another country and started a new life, why was this still his decision? His reasons, or lack thereof in this case, were more than baffling, and not something she wanted to linger on.

He tried to protest, but the other voice snapped back that he could tell he was being lied to. How Wormtail had been regretting coming to his aid since the beginning.

James looked like he was trying to release all of the air from his body at once he sighed so loudly, because the reason he wanted to hear for this to be true never would be, and it still wouldn't make up for what he did.

The iced voice declared that he revolted his servant.

Sirius never in his life would have thought he'd have something to agree with Voldemort on...but he still thought that was too mild so he didn't think it really counted either.

He could see the flinch every time he came near him, the disgust as he was being watched over. Wormtail tried to protest, but his Lord cut him off by stating calmly that his service was only being carried out of fear, because he had nowhere else to run.

Lily couldn't help but reflect back on what she'd been thinking, how the rat had other continents to get to if he really wanted to. He must have some other reason for being there, but she had not an inkling of what, so she still couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Then the iced voice reflected that he still took it, because he couldn't survive otherwise.

"I still want to know what the bloody hell he even is," Remus grumbled, thinking that if they could just find this weak little thing that was being described now they could be done with all of their problems. Then he had to correct himself, that this hadn't happened yet, thankfully, but they were still dealing with an all-powerful Voldemort so they'd have to find another weakness of his.

Wormtail tried to console his master already looked so much stronger, but again he was cut off and being told that was a lie, then he silenced him. Whatever protests the servant had been trying to make died off.

"Least someone shut him up," Sirius huffed, thinking he'd die happy if he never had to think about that sniveling voice again.

The unnamed voice got back on track, saying he had his reasons for using Harry Potter and they would be carried out. His plan would work, all he needed was some courage from Wormtail.

Remus scathed under his breath, thinking that was the last trait in the world that rat could claim, ashamed he'd wound up in Gryffindor all those years ago with the rest of them and caused the rest of them so much.

Which he would do, unless he wanted to feel the wrath of Voldemort again.

James leg gave a spastic twitch, an old feeling wanting to rear up when he realized that Peter was being tortured, but that was easily smothered by a terrible glee that he deserved every last second of it and more.

Wormtail still tried, saying how he'd been going over the plan as well, how the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins would be noticed soon,

Lily gave a little ooh under her breath. It may not have been a name she was familiar with, but that didn't make the legitimate claim that the rat really had already gone out and killed even more no less painful. She was still having problems coming to terms with the fact that he'd killed twelve people and seemed to feel nothing for it.

Remus' face went even more sour though, as he snapped, "she didn't deserve that."

"You know her?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Not well," James shrugged, "she was a few years above us, but a horrid little snitch. She made up stories all the time to get people she didn't like in trouble, all talk but no brains whatsoever. We once paid her off to tell Dumbledore someone else had hexed her and she completely fell for it."

"I'm just trying to figure out how she got involved in this," Sirius frowned, "how did she even run across this?"

Harry felt a little stirring, the normal place where he should have felt a memory but of course there was still nothing. Still it was at least a little comforting he would get an answer for this, but for now none of them had the faintest idea.

that if he murdered more- but he was cut off by the self-declared Voldemort that there would be no if. Wormtail would follow through on the plan, and the Ministry would be none the wiser, though he did wish he could do this himself.

"Poor thing, I'll make sure to leave the next murder for you," Sirius snarled.

Sadly he was incapable in his current state.

Remus couldn't help but frown, still torn between curiosity and disgust at what he was hearing. This thing, this form of Voldemort, was clearly more substantial then what they'd last seen in Quirrell. He must have some kind of body now if he needed feeding as he said, but it sounded useless, like an infant to die if not tended to. That still didn't explain what he even was. Had he somehow taken over the body of an actual baby? Why not, if he could have just taken another body, even take the rats. On top of all these questions was the assured desire he did not want the answers, he'd much rather hear about whatever this thing was dying and the rat betraying him and leaving him behind like he had to them and no Voldemort would ever be a problem again.

Then he told Wormtail that all they needed was one more death and Harry Potter would be theirs. Besides, it wouldn't be long before he had a real faithful servant at his side.

"Oh?" Lily couldn't help but frown. At least two names coming to mind of who this could refer to, Snape and Malfoy. Both were known Death Eaters, even that executioner that had been supposed to kill Buckbeak, Macnair, could be a candidate, and Merlin knew how many others there still were out there. Now that Voldemort had any follower he was already back in business of killings and disappearances, with an incompetent fool at his side. She didn't want to think what he could do with even more followers, which he would probably get with the rat quietly spreading the word around the Dark Lord was back.

Wormtail respond with some sulk to his voice that he was faithful.

James couldn't help but press the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw bright spots, nearly knocking his glasses off, just trying to give himself something else to concentrate on, but even that didn't help the cruel noise he made upon hearing that. It just wasn't getting any easier to hear these kinds of things over and over again.

The icy voice shot back that he needed someone with brains and competence, both of which he lacked.

Sirius couldn't stop a strangled like noise, like he wanted to give a harsh laugh at how much he agreed with that statement, but it would once again be agreeing with anything Voldemort ever said or did.

Wormtail argued back that he'd been the one to find him, a definite pout to his voice now.

Remus could vividly hear that voice in his head, because it was the same one he always used whenever he had to tell the others he couldn't come over for the summer because of his mother.

For the first time he remembered that she'd supposedly been given an Order of Merlin because of what everyone thought Peter had done, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was even still alive. Most likely not, or he'd like to think he would have gone groveling back to her even before Voldemort, then again that was most likely a place where he would be looked for so maybe not.

Either way it didn't make him feel one tiny bit better that he could perfectly hear the tone and picture the face of someone who was once a brother now acting like this around Voldemort.

He'd brought Bertha Jorkins in the first place. The second voice agreed this was true, though that was still more a blunder as he'd had no idea how useful she could be. Wormtail tried to protest, but again he was cut off and told he was lying. That same blistering tone saying how he was still grateful for the ineptitude, her information had concocted his plan, and Wormtail would be rewarded for this. It would be an honor, as any of his servants would give up their right hand for this.

Harry couldn't help but blink, hard, wondering what on earth that could mean. Why did he get yet another feeling that this was something important he should remember? It involved Pettigrew though, so he really didn't want to know.

Wormtail went back to sounding terrified as he asked what that could be.

"Not terrified enough," Sirius grumbled.

The other gave an amused laugh back, saying he didn't want to spoil the surprise, but it would be as good as what Bertha had given to him.

James couldn't help but frown as he realized, selfishly, he would almost feel a sense of relief if he found out Voldemort killed the rat. It would make matters more complicated for Sirius, he'd still much rather find out the rat was dragged forward and his real brothers name was cleared, but some tiny little part of him couldn't help but want that the very being the rat had thrown his life away for had also been his undoing.

Wormtail sounded close to panicking as he asked if he was going to be killed?! The second voice was surprised, saying it wasn't like that. Bertha had to be killed, she was no longer of any use after his questioning.

Lily got a terrible taste in her mouth, not even wanting to consider what kind of questioning had been going on to make that girl seemingly useless.

Besides that, she could hardly have been let to leave when she'd discovered Wormtail.

"Oh but it would have made our life so much better," Remus growled.

After all, Ministry employees couldn't be wandering into supposedly dead men now could they.

Sirius grumbled something inarticulate about how this would be the least of that rats problems when he was done with him.

Wormtail still said he'd have rather just changed her memory, but the ice like voice said back that he had just proven Memory Charms could be broken.

"She had a memory charm placed on her?" Lily muttered, finding this more and more confusing as time wore on. Who had that rat run across that was so important it had seemed to help Voldemort in every way possible?

"That can't be good," Harry agreed while the boys remained in stony faced silence, and both Harry and Lily knew they weren't going to be managing much else until this conversation ended.

Frank had been listening to all of this, and he hadn't realized his hand was shaking until now. He'd just heard both of these voices speaking of murder, with amusement. These two were clearly mad men.

"You know it's true when even a Muggle who hasn't understood a portion of this conversation realizes that," Sirius agreed grimly.

And he was planning more death, this Harry Potter boy, whoever he was -

Harry really couldn't help the smallest of smiles, he always appreciated when his name was a question rather than the celebrity.

was in danger. Frank knew what he must do. He would go to the police at once.

"Oh please do hurry," Lily couldn't help but agree. She knew those Muggle cops wouldn't have a clue as to what Frank would be telling them, but she also knew the Ministry kept an ear in almost all branches of the Muggle world to help stray away any magical problems, surely something like this would crop up on their radar and something would be done about this long before it reached the level of hurting her son.

He shouldn't have a problem getting back to the local telephone box back in town.

"Wish he'd get on with it," James muttered, his leg beginning to bounce around in unease, this man was in mortal danger and he needed to get out of that house now!

But then he heard the cold voice start speaking again, and Frank was frozen in his spot as he heard that they just needed one more murder to be done, and then his faithful servant at Hogwarts.

Lily couldn't help a little keening noise, at Hogwarts! This could not be good, because one name clearly came to mind of who that could be referring to! She hoped desperately she was wrong, even if she hated Severus more now than ever after the way he'd treated Remus last year she still liked to think he wouldn't go so far as to help Voldemort murder Harry! She held no confidence in the idea though, and she knew without a doubt the boys wouldn't even give him this benefit of the doubt. She held to her promise she'd made James give though, twisting away at herself that it wouldn't come to the worst.

He then declared he would not hear any more arguments to the matter, and then silenced Wormtail again anyways as he heard Nagini approaching. Then the ice clipped tones changed, not into words, but hissing noises.

"Hissing?" Remus mumbled.

"Isn't that what parseltongue sounds like to other people?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Yep," Sirius muttered, feeling a cold chill run up his spine as he thought he now understood who Nagini might be.

Frank wondered if a seizure was taking place in that room,

"I wish," James huffed.

but then he sensed something from behind and turned only to find himself frozen with shock.

'Oh this can't be good' Remus realized before he reminded himself it was already at that level.

There was a snake slithering right towards him, a twelve foot long beast with a diamond pattern.

Lily let out a breathy whistle, then frowned with puzzled confusion. She realized this was clearly Nagini, but how could you milk a snake? The only thing that could be referring to was the venom, but snake's that big didn't produce venom. They were either strangling size or poisonous, she'd never heard of one that could do both. What else could they have meant earlier though? Even if this was some hybrid creation she'd never heard of, why would Voldemort be drinking snake venom to make himself better? What the bloody hell was he that this would do any good?

Frank couldn't even twitch as he watched the reptile come closer, its thick body cutting through a dusty trail.

"Why did it have to be a snake?" James groaned, he'd had more than enough terror from those beasts from the basilisk!

"What kind of snake is that?" Lily asked Remus, hoping he'd have a better idea then her.

He just shrugged though, admitting the same thing she had, venomous snakes that big didn't exist. Unless it was some rare or undiscovered species, he had no clue, which agitated him to no end.

Frank had no chance, either he stay where he was and be killed by this serpent, or go into the room where the two murderers were.

"Never mind, I'll take the snake," James winced, now wishing he could lend this poor man Gryffindor's sword or pretty much anything to get him out of this mess, which he was quickly coming to realize wasn't possible.

He lost his moment and it was upon him, but then to his astounded life the snake kept going past him, right into the room. Before he could finish blinking the tip of the tail vanished and was instead curling around the chair where the hissing was still taking place by the man, and a ludicrous idea cropped up in Frank's mind, this man could talk to snakes.

"That's not so insane," Sirius sighed, "muggles have people who claim to talk to animals all the time."

"Was that really relevant right now?" Remus demanded.

"Why does it have to be relevant?" Sirius demanded right back, a smile finally showing again at any loose and friendly conversation again.

"Why would you say it if it wasn't?" James happily jumped in.

"For the hell of it," Sirius smirked with a shrug, and looked likely to even carry on except Lily cut him off to keep going. She fully recognized what her boys were trying to do, delay the inevitable at this point because they were all well aware that this poor man was not going to get out of that house, plus they would find any reason to smile again after the already horrid morning they had been having, but she didn't think pushing it off would make it any better to hear.

There was no time for his mind to settle before the Lord's voice spoke in a human tongue again, and to Frank's horror he spoke to Wormtail, telling him that Nagini had just said there was a Muggle in the hallway, listening in on them.

Lily couldn't help a tiny little whimper. She didn't even know this man, she hadn't known Bertha either, but the fact that this book was starting off with yet more murders and all of these unspeakable things happening just felt so sad and foreboding. It was the worst kind of omen for when they finally did get back to what she wanted to hear, Harry.

Frank had not a second to consider anything as the door was flung open, and Frank was looking upon a squat man with a bald patch not quite taking away all of his gray hair, and a thin unhealthy face.

James was actually quite happy he couldn't really picture that. His physical description wasn't nearly so radically changed like Sirius, nor had he reached the level of unhealthy Remus often did, but this was still different enough to what he'd seen days ago that it was no more pleasant a reminder.

When the two just stood there, the cold voice spoke up from the chair, demanding to know where Wormtail's manners were? He was to be invited inside. Wormtail shuffled out of the way and Frank could see the full view of the chair of the speaker, but still not the man himself, meaning he must be incredibly short.

All five of them couldn't help but frown at that. Only Lily and James had ever seen Voldemort at his full power, and they could attest that he was by no means short. It only reinforced all the more that whatever he was now, it wasn't human.

He began addressing him, confirming that he'd heard everything, as well as calling him a Muggle. Frank bolstered himself, demanding to know what that word meant. Now that he was in the room his hand was no longer shaking, in fact he felt quite brave.

'Can we replace that little rat with him?' Sirius couldn't help but think, liking this man more and more as time went on and feeling all the more terrible he was fixing to hear his end come too soon.

Now that the time for action had come, he felt much more assured, it had always been so in the war. The voice explained that he had called him a Muggle, which was someone who was not a wizard. Frank bristled, saying he didn't know what that had to do with anything, but what he did know was that he'd heard more than enough to get the police's attention.

"Why would you say that?" Lily couldn't help but moan. "He should have played dumb, said he hadn't understood a word! I still wouldn't put it past Voldemort to have him killed, but throwing that in their face was a terrible idea!"

"Like he said though," James offered with a sad smile, "bravery took hold of him. I think he knew quite well what was fixing to happen to him, so he set his backbone and wasn't going to back down."

Lily sighed, but acquitted it was the same thing she might have done in that circumstance.

Stating that he knew these men had committed murders and were planning more, than adding on that his wife knew he was here so if he didn't come back-

"Credit to him, that was a truly inspirational on the spot, but honestly he'd probably just go murder that wife so it's just as well," Remus huffed with pity.

but was cut off by the cold voice saying that Frank was lying, he always knew when people were lying. Frank had no wife, no one could lie to Lord Voldemort.

"Stupid, f'ing, legilimency," Sirius kept saying under his breath, thinking that was one of the worst and most violating things any wizard had ever created.

Frank growled back he didn't think much of the title, and told him if he was a real man he'd turn and face him.

Truly it was sad what they all knew without a doubt what was fixing to happen to this man, and yet they still couldn't help but smile when they saw how he was acting. He had some spunk and iron to him, something all of them knew well.

Voldemort responded he was no man,

"I'll give you that one," Sirius nodded, "you are far less than that."

James couldn't help a muffled snort, just picturing Sirius saying that to his flattened face and what kind of reaction he'd receive.

but agreed this would be done, then instructed Wormtail to turn his chair around. His servant gave a whimper of protest

Lily couldn't bring herself to sound very upset at those lines, thinking that little rat deserved any displeasure he was feeling, this was his rotten choice and she'd happily find him regretting it to his soon dying breath.

but did as told as he came forward and began moving the chair around, almost hitting the snake in the process causing the beast to hiss in protest.

"He'll wish that was the worst thing he has to deal with," Remus snapped.

Then the chair was facing Frank, and he had no time to scream, no time to realize what was being shouted at him as a flash of green light overtook the room, and Frank Bryce was dead before his body hit the floor.

Lily couldn't help but pause. Even if she never met this man and wouldn't have known any better about this before reading that, she still felt a moment of silence was called for. None of the boys said anything either, there was a pitying frown on every face for this having happened, or was going to happen, which ever.

Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start.

"WHAT!?"

None of them could help it, they were far past the point of writing off anything as a coincidence, and the fact that Harry had awoken at that exact moment was truly mind blowing and terrifying. After all, they never had found out why Harry's scar had been hurting him in his first year, but they had realized it had something to do with Voldemort. Now here Harry was, reacting to something else Voldemort had just done!

They didn't actually think it was possible, but that had been the worst way this chapter could have ended! They'd long since realized that Harry's scar had been paining him through the whole of his first year because Voldemort had been around Harry, though not truly there because of his shared body with Quirrell which is why it hadn't been a literal constant pain unless he was practically right on top of Harry. Of course none of them even knew why that happened, but for the book to be saying something like that gave all of them chills they did not want at the implications this meant that Voldemort was near Harry again! Of course it had also just said this happened many miles away, so since that clearly wasn't the case, what the bloody hell was going on now? Why would Harry's scar be hurting, because Voldemort had used that spell? Why though, none of this was adding up.

"Lily keep going," James demanded, trying to peek down at the pages when she kept throwing worried looks at her son.

"That was the end of the chapter," Lily sighed, passing the book to James for his turn.

[lilacyams]

Force of Nature

Wayhaven Week 2020, Day 4 - Tranquil / Thrill 

@otomefandomevents

Pairings: F!Detective/Ava Du Mortain;  F!Detective/Nat Sewell; F!Detective/Morgan; F!Detective/Farah Hauville.

Summary: Lovemaking is an art, and everyone does it their own way. // Featuring Unit Bravo.

Word count: 4,484 / 4 chapters

Rating: M (adult content, sexual themes)

AO3 link: click here

The Mountain

With Ava it’s unforgettable, it overcomes rationality.

 The two of you knock over and break almost everything on your way to the bed; neither could give a damn about it. Nothing is real, outside of your bubble. All that isn’t her, your brain can’t register. It’s as if you’re blind and deaf, and the heat of her mouth working against yours is all your overwhelmed senses can pick up.

It’s hot and moist, firm and demanding, full of hunger and unspoken words.

Her arms envelop you in their warm safety; her tongue pushes against yours with urge. She’s desperate for your touch just as you are for hers, palms running over every inch of skin to cup, grab, feel.

The struggle to your bedroom eventually comes to an end when you reach the destination and fall backwards, landing on the mattress with her body on top of yours. Ava balances herself on both arms, hands planted on each side of your head.

She says nothing, just stops and stares down at you, and her clear eyes are like mirrors. You can see your own reflection through the ink of her widened pupils, burning with lust and longing. You’ve waited for it, yearned for it so much it hurts. And now you belong to each other.

Once she dips in for another kiss, your mind short-circuits. Whilst the intensity of your kisses threatens to melt down the room and swallow you whole, your eyes go half lidded every time you come back for air, as if to check whether this moment could be nothing more than a product of your imagination.

The intimate tangle of arms and legs breaks off, but not for long: you strip each other bare, tugging and pulling hastily until you get rid of any garment, and return to the awaited ministrations.

Then it all gets faster.

Ava straddles your hips, pinning you down. She teases you with a stern look, while her fingers work with the hair tie trapping her golden locks into the usual knot; her glacial stare is rather convincing – not to mention arousing – but the vampire can’t hide the raw emotion oozing from the way her fingers shake helplessly, as though it’s her first time.

At last she gives up and opts to rip the hair tie off instead. Luscious waves pour onto her shoulders, snapping your attention away from her piercing eyes to bask in the view of her bare figure. It’s truly a breathtaking picture. Her body is perfectly sculpted with lean muscles, solid and tight with the exception of the tender swell of breasts that you eagerly cup with your hands.

When she finally bends down, you can feel some of her blonde strands tickling your skin, as well as her warm breath washing over your face. Her lips make contact with the sensitive area behind your ear, sending a rush of blood through your head. A familiar, liquid sensation pools in your womb as she slowly makes her way down, surveying every inch of you with lips and tongue until she comes to a stop in front of her goal. And just like the soldier she is, once she locks the target, she attacks.

She’s almost clumsy at first, due to the prolonged lack of practice, but she picks up her technique surprisingly fast. And once she does, you could swear you’d never known sex until that very moment.

The room spins around you at the way she laps and sucks and rubs, unrelentingly eager to please as if she waited her entire life for this moment, as if there’s something she’s making up for. Perhaps it could be the sin of the lost time, the lonely time, the time spent without you. Yet, as you arch into the pillows and vocalize your enjoyment with full lung power, there’s only one thing you know for certain: her atonement feels heavenly.

Ava’s grip on you is immovable, as though she’s afraid you’ll disappear into thin air if she ever lets go; and the feeling is mutual, though your touch is more tender. Your hands run through the softness of her hair over and over, caressing her, brushing the locks away from her face, guiding her to the perfect rhythm to make you lose your mind until you’re close to that ecstasy.

But you want to go to that place together, and the desire to touch her more intimately is burning you alive. After all, you’ve been wondering for long about how her beautiful face would look like, when lost in pleasure; and you won’t let her go until you’ll see it enough to have it imprinted in your memory.

“Kiss me.”

She doesn’t let you repeat it twice and crawls back up to meet your eye – and your mouth.

Once again, it’s all a tangle of limbs, tongues, souls.

You slide a hand down between her legs, and she breaks the kiss with a gasp. Her eyes look down at you half-lidded as you move your fingers in practiced motions. Her parted lips are as scarlet and plump as yours, and the soft moans that come out are one of the sweetest sounds your ears have ever caught.

You lean in to place a kiss on a bright red cheek, and the contact makes her snap into action.

Pale fingers trace an invisible line running down from your stomach, searching until they find your warmth just like you found hers, and quickly adjust to the same rhythm.

And this is how you get to know one another like you haven’t done before. As you feel each other’s skin, explore each other’s bodies, you slowly become one.

Ava cocks her head to one side and savors your skin once again, pressing her lips in a trail from your jaw to your ear, then slowly down your neck. Every fiery kiss lingers, its steam growing beneath like roots that lengthen and reach out to your core.

Her hand speeds up and you quicken your own pace to match hers, shortness of breath marking the near-end of this round. It becomes a challenge: which one can bring the other to climax first?

Competitive as you both are, you work hard to outdo one another – but to no avail.

In the end, you’re just as victorious as Ava.

She grips you hard, riding her peak at the same time as you approach your own.

“You’re mine,” she growls.

She’s extremely alluring in this disheveled state, you think. Blonde strands stick to her face, neck and shoulders; her skin shimmers as a faint beacon of light flickers over the beads of sweat.

Jolts of electricity blind your sight, and you cling on her for dear life as you come undone, your final wail buried into her shoulder.

“And I’m yours.”

She’s your rock, she’s your mountain.

The Forest

With Nat it’s passionate, slow. It gives you everything and does so gently. 

You walk back to her room after an afternoon spent doing research together, and you just know it’s going to happen. The air surrounding the two of you is charged with something different, something liquid and intoxicating; you can’t quite explain it, but it’s there, hanging between your bodies like an invisible thread.

Such realization fully kicks in the moment the door shuts behind you, when Nat doesn’t budge from her spot in the doorway and the sudden proximity makes your head spin. You glance up and see it in the tension burning in her eyes. It’s already begun.

She cups your cheek in a hand as the other moves up to lean against the wall behind you, leaving you deliciously trapped. Her eyes crinkle when she offers you a smile, regarding you like you’re the most precious thing in her world.

Because you are.

When she finally bends down, leaning in to fill the gap, you stand on your tiptoes to meet her halfway.

It's automatic, spontaneous, yet so perfect it feels like part of a design - who knows, perhaps it was really planned.

At first it's mild, almost chaste; your lips press together with nothing but tenderness inspiring the contact. Your fingers reach out for her cropped hair, sinking in its wavy texture. The scent of her shampoo overruns your senses with a familiar comfort; it smells like jasmine and pine trees and brings your mind back to simpler days, when you could spend the entire afternoon searching for pinecones in the woods.

Nat pulls back for a moment and her eyes scan your features in inspection, a sudden worry creasing her forehead.

"Is this all right with you?" She asks, voice hitching with concern.

A genuine smile lights up your face: that's what you love the most about her. She's a gentle soul, through and through.

It’s up to you to take the initiative this time, and your body moves on its own. One teasing fingertip traces over the tip of her nose, down to the defined Cupid’s bow of her lips, a touch as light as feathers. Nat smiles, content with just letting you explore her in freedom.

Then you grab her chin and pull her back in.

Your foreheads press together as you kiss, and you're not sure whether the pulse hammering against your chest belongs to you or her; it does not matter.

Driven by a new confidence, she wraps her arms around your thighs and picks you up, enveloping you in the safest place you know of as she carries you. The journey is brief and leads to the large bed in the middle of the room, soft with an array of fluffy pillows and duvets on it; yet, the moment she places you down on your back, she does so with the amount of care one would reserve to a delicate, expensive porcelain doll.

There’s no mistake in the way she regards you beneath thick lashes, eyes flashing with the simplest, most complicated feeling in existence.

“You are everything I’ve always wanted,” she murmurs, finally removing her jacket and bending a knee over the mattress. You balance yourself on your upper arms and stare at her with affection as she inches closer and holds your face once more, stroking your cheek with a thumb, “And much more.”

Your lips meet again, this time joyfully, fervently, as you tilt your head to deepen the contact. Your hands roam over her shoulders, tugging at the layers of clothing concealing her body from your eager gaze. But the vampire has other plans for this part. 

Nat insists on undressing you first, stopping after removing each garment to stare in awe at the newly exposed skin. Sitting under her quiet scrutiny, you feel a flush creeping across your cheeks.

“You are wonderful,” she whispers in marvel, and you flush all the way up to your ears. You’ve never had someone looking at you the way she does, and the intensity of her gaze is crushing you.

Once it’s your turn, desire has long consumed any ounce of patience you were reserving for this moment, and you peel off her clothes with haste. Nat helps you out, and you suspect she’s just as willing to speed up this part as you are.

Your eyes trail over her bare form, admiring each curve of her lean, yet athletic build. The last flashes of sunlight filter through the lightweight fabric of the curtains, dancing across her tawny skin in tantalizing motions.

Warm hands grab your shoulders gently, driving your attention away from your astonished inspection; and with a firm push, they make you fall back onto the bed.

Her body easily covers yours in its entirety, but it doesn’t feel threatening in the slightest. As you wrap your legs around her hips and your arms around her back, heat engulfs you whole. 

As you could easily predict, Nat is far from being inexperienced. You can tell by the way her dexterous hands seems to know all the right spots, long fingers making your toes curl in ecstasy. Or by the way her mouth works on you, pouring fuel on your fire instead of smothering it.

She goes on and on, without taking a break, until you’re left panting, utterly spent.  

Or at least this is what you make her think, before rolling her over and straddling her hips. Now it’s your turn to give back exactly all the pleasure you’ve been so kindly gifted.

Nat falls asleep with her head resting on your chest, her long legs intertwined with yours. You’ve never seen her sleep before. She looks so vulnerable right now, and the sight tugs at your feelings. Still basking in the afterglow, you take in every subtle detail of her sleeping face – from the slight flutter of her long lashes, down to the way her cheek presses onto your bosom.

You can’t help but smile and run a hand through her wavy strands, drawing in a breath. The scent of forest surrounds you once more, and you don’t mind getting used to it.

As your eyes trail over the room, they spot a familiar form you didn’t have the chance to notice earlier. It’s the stuffed rabbit you won at the carnival, peering at you from its cozy spot on a shelf.

A soft chuckle escapes you, and you stifle it before it can wake Nat up.

Happiness bubbles up within your whole being and you close your eyes, ready to follow your girlfriend in a blissful slumber.

The Storm

With Morgan it’s reckless, demanding. It drains your entire being and fills it with electricity.

You’re driving back to the warehouse on a cold Friday evening; the vampire sinking into the passenger seat next to you is busy fidgeting with her lighter. It’s a quiet journey, with only the car radio filling the silence as you navigate the road by the lakeside. The wind blows through the trees outside, and the graying sky announces an impending stormy night.

“Stop this tin can,” she says flatly, out of a sudden. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

From her tone it’s impossible to predict what is afflicting her to the point of wishing to talk, but you do as she says and pull up to an empty, sheltered spot by the lake. The moment you turn to face her, you quickly realize her intentions as a long, playful smile tugs at her lips.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, choosing to play along as you move to turn the radio off.

Morgan cocks her head to one side and a shorter, dark strand falls onto her cheek as she studies your expression. “We haven’t gotten around to trying those back seats yet, have we?”

You bite your lip. There she goes, initiating foreplay with a simple sentence. “Not yet, no.”

“How about now?”

You look up at her darkened eyes and that’s all it takes, desire igniting within you at the sight. “Yes,” you agree in a single breath. A promise is a promise, right?

Then, just as a gust of wind puffs against the flank of your car, a sudden thought snaps your attention away from her stormy gaze, reminding you of the potentially compromising situation you’re facing. Even though you chose a concealed spot to park and there doesn’t seem to be another soul around, you’re still in a public area. Are you just going to do it there, in the back of your car?

You meet her eye again, and any hesitation dissolves into thin air. A wicked grin presses onto your face: that’s what she does to you. She makes you reckless.

There’s no need to talk any more.

As soon as the both of you are settled onto the backseats, Morgan grasps at your shirt and yanks you forward in a passionate kiss; you shut your eyes and lose yourself in the moment. She catches you by surprise with her abruptness, but you like it.

Because that’s what she is.

She’s a force of nature, unstoppable like a tidal wave. You can’t stop her, and you don’t wish to.

Her mouth keeps yours trapped until you part to gasp for air. Her hands wander over your body, exposing your skin and making you shiver at the contact; it’s a cold autumn day, after all.

But her fingertips spark with heat as they slide under your shirt and rub up and down, starting from your navel, up to the lines of your abs until they settle on your chest. She traces over the underwire of your bra in agonizingly slow motions, and her teeth tug at your lower lip before diving in for a steamy, open-mouthed kiss that makes you quiver with want.

Deprived of the sight, you blindly grope your way until you find her sides. Your fingers trail over her ribs down to her hips, gliding over the lace edge of her underwear which peeks out the top of her jeans.

Morgan breaks off the kiss and lets out a sharp hiss in response, pure animalistic desire painted across her striking features. Strong hands push you back onto the seat with surprising ease, as if you weigh nothing, and work on the buttons of your pants. Then she tugs at the waistband and pulls down with haste, the sheer force of her action dragging your body along with it.

Once you’re free of the restrictive garment, she grabs your hips and pulls you onto her lap, with your back against her chest and your legs laying over hers. Her lower lip drags leisurely across the side of your neck, up to the sensitive area behind your ear; as she does so, her warm breath prickles your skin and sends a flurry of shivers coursing through you, as sharp as knives yet a thousand times sweeter. Her hands grope your breasts from behind, eliciting louder and louder sounds from you.

It’s a chill day; but inside of that car, with your body pressed against hers, you can no longer feel the cold.

Morgan is feral, a hungry beast ready to devour you whole. And you just love to press her buttons.

You grind your hips down against hers, and her reaction is immediate. She grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, forcing you to expose the tender skin of your neck to her frenzied mixture of kisses and bites. Sharp teeth graze the surface of your skin, the dangerous sensation drawing a whimper from your lips.

Then she replaces her mouth with a hand, which creeps around your throat just as her lips glide up to hover over your ear.

She whispers in it after nibbling on your earlobe, the contact sending goosebumps all over your skin. “Would you like this?” The pressure around your neck tightens, and you bite back a moan. That’s enough of an answer for her. “Of course you would.”

Morgan parts her legs, and yours along with them; then a hand slides in-between, shifting away the fabric of your underwear to reach your warmest spot.

Your head lolls back over her shoulder and a long, relieved exhale escapes your parted lips. Finally.

She wastes no more time and picks up the pace, eager to please you and hear just about every sound she can draw from your ecstatic self. Tension builds up quickly inside of you, and in-between a whimper and a pant, you mumble words of praise, encouragement, guidance, until her ego is absolutely sated.

Two fingers of her free hand slide into your mouth, and you promptly suck on them. This brings her such gratification that she rewards you with an even faster, incessant rhythm, and you know you won’t last long.

You gasp and claw at the seat beneath Morgan, legs shaking and back arching at the pleasure building up in your core, until your body can no longer contain it. That’s when her skilled touch makes you crumble, and you call out her name one last time.

Some minutes later, your eyes flutter open at the rumble of a distant thunder.

Condensation sticks to the windows, making it impossible to tell the weather conditions outside.

Looking around, you find Morgan sitting next to you. She placed you down more comfortably onto the seat during your afterglow; and now she’s inspecting your face with a satisfied smile, content with the mess she’s made of you.

Underneath the intense grey of her irises you can see a storm, perilous and uncontrollable. It swallows you into the depths of its might, and you do nothing to fight it.  

That’s what she is, just like a storm.

The Sun

With Farah it’s playful and sweet, it makes you truly feel alive.

 It all starts with a game.

It’s a scorching hot summer morning, and you’re taking a break from your combat training. It doesn’t take long before you end up engaging in yet another physical activity, as soon as the right vampire shows up.

Farah chases you down through the hallways of the warehouse, much to Ava’s chagrin. Though you’re certain she’s holding back her true speed for the game’s sake, you don’t hesitate to mock her inability to catch up.

“Stop running!” Her loud voice echoes through an empty corridor. “Just let me love you!” The vampire keeps up the melodramatic act rather convincingly, making you chuckle.

You turn around for the briefest moment and stick your tongue out at her.  “You’ll have to catch me first!”

“Is that so? Alright then, I’ll do my damn best!” The light tap of her footsteps quickens its pace and she gains momentum, sprinting towards you.  

You let out a squeal and run faster, darting past another corridor and turning to your right. You spot a door and push it open, too engrossed in the chase to even take notice of your surroundings.

As you look around the room you just inadvertently trapped yourself into, you quickly realize it’s your own bedroom.

But you have little time to mull over your impending defeat: Farah is fast, and she catches up to you within a split second.

“Ooooooh, so you brought me here? Was this your plan all along? So bold. I like it,” she calls out from the doorway behind you, and you turn to face her.

White rays shine through the window and spill onto the well-lit bedroom; every surface gleams under their touch.

Farah grins widely and takes a step forward; then another one, and another. Her deep amber eyes twinkle with amusement, resembling the ones of a lioness toying with her prey before diving in for the first bite. You make no attempt to move or retreat, utterly enraptured by the vision.

At last she pounces, tackling you to the ground. Her arms are secured around you to make sure the fall doesn’t hurt, and the both of you tumble down in a peal of giggles.

“That was too easy,” she says with a proud smile.

You roll your eyes, panting. “Supernatural advantage. You cheated.”

She grabs your face with a hand and squeezes your cheeks. “Aww, you’re so cute when you’re a sore loser,” she coos pursing her lips. “You’re so cute…”

Her words trail off, and a sudden seriousness spreads onto her features.

You look at each other in silence, now fully aware of the proximity.

Then she leans in.

At first it’s nothing more than a peck, as light as a flutter of wings, perhaps a way to test the waters. You can see the look in her eyes as she parts, badly concealed worry peering through as she studies your reaction.  

You beam and reach out to her, taking her face in your hands with a great deal of care. Her mood is instantly lifted as you kiss; and it gets less and less innocent as you go.

It’s just like a game.

Grabbing her shirt, you lift your head and place a kiss on her neck. Farah snorts a stifled chuckle but keeps you in place, clearly enjoying the contact.

Mischief flickers in your eyes as you part your lips and run your tongue briskly across the skin of her throat, drawing a gasp from the vampire on top of you.

“Eww, you licked me!” she complains, though the big smile on her face clarifies that she’s merely jesting.

Then she furrows her brow and glances down at you, and as she does, you can easily picture a light bulb going off in her head.

“You know what? I want revenge. Payback,” she declares, nodding to herself. From the devilish grin on her face, you have no doubt she’s up to something; and she’s quick to show you exactly what it is.

Farah crawls down your body until her face levels with your navel. Her fingers pinch the waistband of your light cotton shorts, and she stops.

Amber eyes pierce through you with a sudden solemnity as she looks up, asking a silent question, one that you decipher without any effort: shall we go on?

You nod with a smile; and as you do, playfulness colors her features again, as bright as the sunrays casting their glow onto your entangled bodies.

 “It tickles!” you squeal, reaching out to shove her face away – with no actual intent of doing so.

“Sorry about that, Detective,” she giggles in reply. “I’ll be more careful, promise.” Then she leaves another feathery kiss on your inner thigh, tickling you deliberately.

You squirm and laugh, unable to push her away. “You’ll pay for this-AH!”

Farah is no longer speaking. With a firm grip around your thighs, she’s finally having her revenge.

Your moans fill the room as you grind your hips against her. She sweeps her tongue slowly, as though savoring a spoonful of ice cream, building up a pace that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

Tension wells up in your chest, your face, your limbs, stretching out to where her mouth is working. As a familiar tingling sensation builds up within your core, making your toes curl, her grip on you gets firmer, and the rhythm of her tongue quicker, until you can no longer contain the heat.

Your entire body shakes with a final, deafening moan as you reach your climax. Squeezing your eyes shut, you clasp at the hem of your tank top until your racing heart steadies itself.

You pant and open your eyes. Farah is smirking at you, quite satisfied with her prowess.

“Do I win this round?” she asks, wiping a forearm across her mouth.

You quirk an eyebrow, about to form a reply; but a sudden thump of footsteps approaching from a distance interrupts your little game.

Farah presses her index finger against her lips, gesturing you to keep quiet.

The both of you scramble to your feet, snickering. You take her hand and guide her to the bathroom, where a shower will pose the perfect occasion for your own payback.

[mhdiaries]

Gloom and Bloom Amanita Nightshade Diary

Freedom to Bloom

Amanita climbed from the dusty old tomb into the fresh air and sunlight. She had been underground for so long that she had forgotten how good the warmth felt on her face and hair. Amanita’s hair was her best feature, or so she had been told - on more than a hundred occasions - and she knew it must be glowing radiantly in the sun. She stretched and held both arms out from her sides until she had soaked in enough energy to make the walk toward the caravan, which she could see in the distance. Glancing down at her pet maggot who was clinging to her sleeve, Amanita was momentarily self-conscious about the clothes she was wearing; for while they had certainly been in style - or rather was the style - when she first put them on, fashions do tend to change over the course of 1,300 years. Of course she would still be beautiful regardless, and that thought warmed her even more than the sun. The caravan seemed to be slowing, as if they were looking for a place to camp for the night. Amanita thought briefly about waving and shouting but that seemed so undignified - especially for someone of her status - so she decided it would be best to keep walking until she reached the camp, and that way she could maintain her carefully cultivated dignity. She also wasn’t sure if this was a caravan of normies or monsters so she intended to approach with caution. As luck would have it, this was a caravan of monsters, and she was so relieved at her good fortune that she didn’t want to ruin the occasion by stirring up a rescue party. There would be plenty of time for that, and, since the de Niles weren’t going anywhere, it could all wait until tomorrow or perhaps the next day.

Transplanted

Amanita moved on with the caravan because they offered to take her to a large city on the coast, and since she could think of no reason for her not to leave right away, she went with them. Of course, the monsters in the caravan were immediately entranced by Amanita, as if they couldn’t resist such perfection. They even believed her to be some kind of lost princess. How they got that idea she hadn’t a clue, but Amanita didn’t want to quarrel over a minor technicality. Amanita did, however, become offended after certain uncivilized members of the caravan subjected her to many questions regarding how she walked out of the desert by herself, without supplies or water, and where her other traveling companions might be. Amanita wasn’t about to be treated like she was on trial, and it was becoming apparent to her that manners had deteriorated greatly in the past 1,300 years, especially when it came to commoners questioning royalty. Eventually, the questioning drew a crowd demanding answers and Amanita felt the urge to flee back into the desert. That is when a ghoul’s voice spoke up from behind her: “You cannot uncover a secret by shouting any more so than raising your voice can cause a planted seed to sprout. Leave her be. We all have our buried secrets that will come to fright in their own place and time.” The monsters surrounding Amanita stopped asking questions, politely bowed, and quickly walked away. Amanita turned to thank the ghoul, but, after seeing who it was, almost ran to join the questioning crowd herself. The ghoul was tall and strong with a dancer’s grace and an air or command. She wore a hooded cloak of emerald green over her traveling clothes, and though the hood was deep enough to hide her eyes, it was not deep enough to keep her serpentine locks from occasionally darting out. Amanita, whose knowledge of all things was celebrated throughout the monster world, knew that this must be Medusa, of the legendary Gorgons. While Amanita could not see Medusa’s eyes - which was a good thing - she felt there was a connection between them, and Amanita knew it wouldn’t be long before Meduse developed a case of hero worship toward her. The way Medusa kept staring at her and not speaking made Amanita realize it had already happened. In fact, it had become rather uncomfortable for Amanita who, even though she was used to being gazed at adoringly, was not sure she liked the way Medusa’s snakes kept hissing at her. Obviously they were jealous. Finally Medusa said, “It does make one wonder though... it does make one wonder.” Medusa said nothing else and, pulling her hood down tighter on her head, walked back into the camp. It was plain to see that she was star struck. Amanita went back to her tent as well, but the bed was lumpier than she was accustomed to and it gave her frightmares all night.

Amongst the Weeds

When Amanita found out from on of the camel handlers that she would be walking alongside the camels rather than riding on one, she insisted on speaking to the caravan master. Amanita was led to the caravan master, who turned out to be a caravan mistress, who turned out to be Medusa. She was moving back and forth amidst the controlled chaos of the packing, issuing orders and keeping everything moving. Medusa’s hood was drawn back and she was wearing a fierce mask with reflective spider-eye sapphires set in the mask’s eyeholes; one could not see in, but it was obvious Medusa could see out. Amanita had to wait, quite patiently and humbly of course, until Medusa could spare a moment, but her patience was not rewarded in the way she expected. “The camels are for transporting goods; they do not need the extra weight of a ghoul who is perfectly capable of walking herself.” Then, to add injury to insult, Medusa considered the matter closed and purposely ignored Amanita as if her concerns were no longer valid. Amanita had a good mind to sit right down and not move until her needs were met, but the camels had already started to move and no monster seemed to care about her feelings at all. In fact, a dull-witted Minotaur even tried to make a joke at her expense by saying is she really wanted to ride, Amanita could probably convince Medusa to turn her into a statue, and then she could be strapped on top of the other baggage. Amanita would have cried, but did not want to lose any moisture on account of these rude and uncaring creatures.

Harshly Pruned

The camp was in an uproar of activity earlier than usual, which was very early indeed, and Amanita was in no mood to be gracious about the disturbance. Lack of sleep led to leaf wilt, root tangle and stunted growth, none of which looked good on Amanita. No one would tell her what was happening, so she decided to go back to bed until the sun had climbed to a reasonable place in the sky. Just as Amanita had gotten comfortable and almost asleep again, there came a nettlesome scratching at the door of her tent, followed by a familiar voice calling her name. “Amanita, come out her now!” Amanita refused to set precedent by replying to such a rudely toned request, so she simply ignored it. That’s when the flap to her tent was thrown open and Medusa stepped inside. A green glow filled her hood and Amanita could see that Medusa’s jaw was tightly clenched.  Amanita never clenched her jaw like that because it caused headaches and pollen clumping. “Did you go into the supply tent and drink two barrels of shivering spring water?” Amanita was confused by the question and why Medusa was angry. Of course she drank the spring water. What was her alternative, the common well water the rest of the caravan had to share? No, no, no, that would never do. Medusa’s hands grasped the sides of her hood and for a moment, Amanita could not tell if she was going to pull it back or push it forward. “That water was to be sold in the city. It was not meant for you.” Amanita was indignant and said that she could not be blamed if the barrels were not clearly marked. She could not tell if the hissing that she heard next was from Medusa’s snakes or Medusa herself. “We will discuss how you plan on paying for that water when we reach our destination,” said Medusa, who spun on her heel and left the tent. Amanita was wondering now if it wouldn’t have been better for her to have stayed in the tomb with the de Niles.

A Better Garden Awaits

Amanita was happy to see the lights of the city come into view and smell the scent of the ocean. It meant that she would no longer be stuck with this caravan of monsters who were unable and unwilling to treat her in a manner worthy of her obvious beauty and charm. Medusa had not brought up the issue of the water again, so Amanita felt sure Medusa had forgotten, or perhaps realized how selfish she was being toward Amanita. Neither turned out to be the case as Medusa found Amanita and gave her a full bill for the water. Amanita told Medusa the amount was ridiculous, and that she couldn’t possibly afford to pay, so Medusa told her that she could work off the debt by watering and cleaning up after the camels for a month. This time, after Medusa left, Amanita really did cry; but she’d be a stinkweed before she stooped to watering and cleaning up after a bunch of smelly animals. Her reputation, not to mention her nails, would never live through it. Amanita thought that perhaps it was time for another long, long nap, and maybe this time when she woke up it would be in a place where her beauty would be celebrated and appreciated for what it was: without equal.  

[singofsolace]

Here Zelda goes again breaking my heart! She has no self preservation left in her. Zero! The fact that the only part that she warns Mary will weigh on her conscience is the trauma she will be inflicting on two young ‘innocents’ implying that she herself is not innocent just killed me. It’s suits her character and that scene too well. I always thought she seemed resigned to die and you did such a better job with the scene, providing an actual explanation for her lack of defence. When she

(Continued) guides the gun to her chest and instructs Mary on how to kill her quickly right after having thought that being shot was an impersonal and inhumane way to die ugggghhhhh 💔😭 She’s so blasé about nearly being murdered with no chance at resurrection. Someone hug this woman!!!!

I’m so happy you think I did a good job with in cold blood! That scene at the door has always bothered me, and the only way I could justify Zelda not doing anything to save herself when she had ample time to do so was if I explored the fact that she seems to have a kind of death wish---a self-sacrificing urge to lay her body and life down for her family.

We see how resigned she is in Feast of Feasts, and then again when the Dark Lord is holding both her and Hilda and knife point, she has very little concern about herself; she’d rather Sabrina let her be killed than blow the horn and become Lucifer’s “child bride.” She even bargains with her body in Episode Three, wanting to exchange sex for Sabrina’s court case to be thrown out.

That being said, I debated going into the psychological ramifications of the Caligari spell in order to explain why Zelda seems so prepared to die, but ultimately, that got a bit too dark in my brain. The truth is, I imagine Zelda has been abused all her life, based on the way she instinctively flinches upon that initial touch of Blackwood in Episode 3 (despite the whole point of her visit to be to convince him to have sex with her in exchange for Sabrina’s freedom!), and the fact that Methuselah, Enoch, and that other Council guy who grabs her wrist when she hands him the cake all seem to be sexual predators who’ve ascended to such high positions in the Church, makes it clear that sexual abuse is rampant in the Church of Night. 

What I’m trying to say it, while the Caligari Spell might’ve been the straw that broke Zelda’s proverbial back, I didn’t really want to get into the idea of her not caring if she lived or died because Faustus took away her will to live. That’s too real, but also I don’t think it’s true to her character, if only because the writers aren’t interested in exploring her trauma, and she seems to “bounce back” extremely quickly after her ordeal.

Anyway, I tried to show the resignation in a way that felt genuine without going too deeply into why she’s so ready to die, and I’m so glad you noticed that the frame of the scene is Zelda thinking about killing Hilda with a shotgun, and how much that shook her, because she’s never shot her sister before. I wanted the parallel to be clear, but you never know if these things will be lost in the shuffle. I’m glad to know it wasn’t!

I’ve also had this strong image in my head for about two weeks of Zelda moving towards the gun, not just standing still. I think I might’ve been influenced by that scene in Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, when Rene Dubois moves into Phryne’s gun, taunting her, saying that she wouldn’t shoot him. I know it’s not a direct parallel, but in my head, Zelda was doing the opposite of him, trying to appeal to Mary’s humanity, so it wasn’t just a death wish that was motivating her. She counted on Mary seeing her so ready to die--even going so far as to help her hold the gun!--and it taking the wind out of her sails. If nothing else, Zelda knows how to gamble, and this time, it worked out for her.

Sorry for talking so much! I just really wanted to talk about my process for this fic, I guess, and your comment got the wheels turning. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! I always wait with baited breath to hear what you think.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hello, it is me again, the girl that can not figure out if she is an ESTJ, INFP, ENFP or ISTJ. Yes, coming to think of it, it was probably lazy of me to just say “Hey, here are these characters you have previously typed that behave and think just like me, so what is my type?” instead of actually explaining why do I identify with these functions. But I have to say you really made a point by referring to the lack of substantial, concrete information given to you by me and my habit of identifying with a lot of these characters as Fi traits, which is something I had not noticed before. Anyway, here it goes:

Si/Ne: I have always had a very unhealthy obsession with my past. I still have lots of things and toys from my childhood and, like what you pointed when you typed Blair, I am always watching the same movies that bring me a sense of comfort whenever I feel out of place. It is something paradoxal, but, even though sometimes I feel like longing for a big change in my life, I always feel very distressed when out of my routine. Whenever I am about to do something I have been wanting to do for a long time, like starting college and moving somewhere I have always dreamed of living, I get very anxious and hesitant for a moment, feeling a sudden urge to give up on everything and just stay where I feel comfortable, if the change is for good (usually, it is) and something, ironically, I have been vocal about wanting to do for a very, very long time. To illustrate it better, it reminds me of Rapunzel getting out of her tower: something she had spent her whole life desperately wanting to do, but she is suddenly afraid when the time comes for her to actually do it. About Ne, well, I consider myself a very excitable person with a lot of ideas all of the time. My best friend said days ago that my habit of easily taking life-changing decisions in a matter of seconds concerns her a lot. I have, from month to month, random, very specific obsessions, and I can get very passionate about the subject, but it just ends abruptly when, one day, I wake up no more interested in that and then, there I am, starting a new fascination.

Fi/Te: Like I said, even though the other two functions are great aspects of my personality, these ones are the most recognizable in my behavior. Bossing people around, not even thinking about harsh things I may be about to say, demanding from the others all the time and being, overall, very direct about what I want are things that come naturally to me. I am extremely pracical in my work and have clashed with other people because of this very method of just doing it instead of learning, learning, practising and pracitising before actually trying. Speaking of learning, I hate to do it in a subjective way when it comes to my work field. However, I am also extremely sentimental, to the point of not knowing if it is a sign of low or unhealthy Fi in action. I said I identify with Hermione Granger, for example, because outright insulting people and proceeding to go cry in the bathroom after hearing they say they don’t like me is totally something I can see myself doing. Nevertheless, ever since I was a child I have been living in my own world. I have my own pre-set expectations towards life that, according to some (well, actually, all the people I know) are ridiculously high and, for me, it is all a matter of all or nothing. Another personality trait, which I attribute to Fi, is being able to always have a clear, objective opinion over anything and anyone. I always know what I want and what I don’t want, what I like and what I don’t like, who I think is worth my time and who is not, and people are always commenting on that, because it can make me sound very blunt most of the time. Marianne Dashwood reminds me a lot of myself in that aspect (and so does your amazing typing of her), as much as Sarah from Labyrinth does. Mary Lennox would be more like the type of Fi-dom that comes across as very Te-ish, another reason for my identification with her.

Regarding my enneagram, yes, that is me, you got it totally right in your description of the 468 type, which makes me think even more that, contrary to what I used to think, I am actually a 4w3 and not a 3w4, even though the 3 wing is strong in me, making my behaviour seem very 3-ish (which, according to Beatrice Chestnut, is also due to the Sexual Four subtype), as “faking being more of a hard-ass than she is” basically describes my behavior. All of that makes me wonder: is it possible for someone to switch enneagram type and wing over the time? I could swear I am a 4w3 right now, in this very moment, and have been prior in my life, but I can also swear I used to be a 3w4 from high school until a year ago. It feels like I have neglected the 4 aspect of my personality for a long time, instead putting all of my effort into my social persona during high school and, in college, my schoolwork and internship. I wanted to have this “mean girl” image in high school, so I just did. It felt boring when it felt I had made it, so, when I went to college, I wanted to be the best academic and most ambitious professional in my work field. I came to the point of considering myself a workaholic and have had a very unhealthy mindset during all of that time, but since last year, I just said a big “fuck it” and started to develop my 4 side, to the point of coming go believe I had been much more of a 4 all along, desperately trying to sustain an image that, once I managed to finally feel I had, did not satisfy me at all. Could it be, instead, my 3 disintegrating into 9?

Thanks for everything.

Generally when someone has a large push-pull / over-reliance and confidence in two functions working well together, it’s in the middle of their stack. What you describe sounds like inferior Si – you have reduced Si down to “sentiment,” which is more an NP thing than an SJ thing. With an SJ, Si is what they live every day and breathe: the factual details of the outer world, being present and active in it, learning and growing at a steady rate as they absorb and file away new information, often becoming experts in a chosen field of personal interest. Not wanting to let go of childhood, clinging to the past, dreaming and then becoming anxious about abandoning “what you know” as soon as it’s about to become REAL is far more Ne/Si than Si/Ne. NPs tend to live in fantasies, chase after dreams, and then freak out sometimes when they realize it means… abandoning every single familiar, sensory thing they have ever known or experienced. They throw themselves, either mentally or physically, headlong into things only to realize they bit off more than they can chew and retreat, abandon the project, or chase after something new and exciting.

Your “just do it, let’s not learn it or practice it” it is a very NP way of doing – just throw yourself into it and figure it out as you go (Ne/Te). SJs are more practical, detailed, and hands on in the learning process, and usually want a clear agenda before they start important things.

Enneagram wise… I don’t know. Nothing you said about 4 shows me that you understand on a deep “UGH… why am I like this???” dumpster fire of being a 4. If you tried on identities in high school only to discard them, and focused on high levels of achievement instead of allowing crippling self-doubt, having to wait to be “in the right mood” to finish things, overreacting to perceived slights, and adopting an anti-society stance of “NOTHING IS ME IN THIS ROOM” etc., that’s malleable behaviors – so 3, 6, or 9. Over-working and then relaxing as you get older could be 6′s line to 3 and to 9 respectively. (Why are you not a counter-phobic core 6? Faking being a bad-ass is pure 6. 4s don’t fake anything except their entire identity, in the form of militant constant “That’s not me” adherence. They are pathologically afraid that they might be normal, ergo their problems are solvable and therefore their ego fears of separation are... fake. And you don’t have to convince me – you have to face yourself.)

You seem more focused on the sx4 description than on Nanjarano’s entire description in which he bluntly and brutally lays out the self-destructive nature of the 4 and outlines all their problems in-depth. Read it again. If it’s “not you” it won’t feel torturous. If it is you, you just might burst into tears, or get furious, because of how true it is. (One 468 I know who read his 4 said she wanted to punch him in the %$^# face – a total overreaction… just like a 468 would have to having to confront all the crap they do, but don’t want to admit to doing.)

Enneagram isn’t there to make us feel good about ourselves. It’s there to show us the box we climb into and lock ourselves into it by closing the lid. It’s there to show us our brand of dumpster fire and give us the keys to freedom by forcing us to look the hideous truth of ourselves in the face and then choose not to fall into auto-pilot. Until you feel like you’ve been punched in the face repeatedly by an Enneagram description, you either are in denial about your type (as one of the more positive types who “whitewashes over all the bad stuff about me” like 9, 7, or 3) or you’re focusing on the wrong one subconsciously to avoid the EWW NO OH MY GOD WHY of the real one.

One 9w8 I know said she loathes the 9 descriptions because of what “doormats they make 9s out to be.” She refused to consider herself a 9 for several weeks until she caught herself merging with other people – and then she felt a wash of disgust and shame at having found her true type. She has told me a few times that her 8 wing despises her 9 core. It’s true we often prefer to focus on and think about our wing than our core, because the wing is far less painful. It’s like squinting at your reflection instead of having your eyeballs bleed. ;)

- ENFP Mod

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Supercorp Anastasia AU #1

I have more than one Anastasia supercorp AU, of varying levels of historical accuracy, but this one is mirrored against the Broadway musical, and casts Kara as the youngest and much celebrated daughter of the ruling family, though her much younger cousin Kal is the heir.

Lena is the bastard daughter of a disgraced count, who died shortly after her birth, leaving behind a disgraced wife and son who soon spearheads the communist movement. Though the family’s disgrace was a reasonable response to the unethical and horrific experiments Lionel conducted, his heir Lex holds a grudge against the royal family for his sudden change in circumstances. He calls for their removal, with violence if necessary, and is brilliant and charismatic enough to soon rise through the ranks until he is the head and face of the revolution.

After her mother dies in Lena’s early childhood, Lena grows up on the streets, hungry but smart and resourceful, causing no harm but taking no shit. She doesn’t know her half-brother, but Lex recognizes her easily– she is the spitting image of the family’s former chambermaid, and what parts of Lena are not her mother are all Lionel.

But Lex keeps the knowledge to himself, and remains a mysterious and ominous figure in Lena’s life, the majority of which sees the societal and cultural upheaval following the abdication and eventual execution of the royal family, which plays out much like the Romanoff’s. It’s presumed that most of the family perished, save for the Grand Duchess Astra and her husband Non, who were abroad at the time of the coup, and now remain in exile.

But one child survived– Kara.

With no memory and no clue to her past save for a pendant around her neck and the jagged scars left by the bullets that nearly killed her, Kara works relentlessly to survive a treacherous regime until she can cross a border– any border– and find a new life elsewhere.

In her journey she meets Lena, now a woman endeavoring to escape Russia for Paris, where she and her best friend Jack Spheer hope to attend a prestigious university and study science. They earn money by facilitating forged papers and visas, constantly vigilant of the Red Army and the threat of being outed by neighbors just as desperate to survive.

Kara goes to them in the hopes of finally escaping the country, only to learn that the army has recently updated their visas to be counterfeit-proof– Jack and Lena no longer have the means or technology to manufacture fakes. The only way to get visas now would be to bribe an official into giving them blank ones, which Lena and Jack aren’t averse to, but would leave them too destitute to enroll in university once they reached Paris.

But Lena and Jack are both giant softies, and when Kara tells them her tale, they search for a way to help. Then Jack gets an idea: the Grand Duchess Astra has long offered a reward for the return of her niece. If they can pass Kara off as the lost princess, the reward would more than make up for the cost of the visas, and would get them all out of the country.

Lena is hesitant at first– it’s too risky, and–

“There’s no proof that she isn’t! Look at her! She is the spitting image!”

There’s no denying that. Lena often finds herself staring at their new friend, as though she’d somehow recognize her if she gives just one more look.

“And you know everything there is to know about court life,” Jack continues, sensing Lena’s imminent relent. “And honestly-- even if we don’t have the money to go to university, at least we’ll be out of here.”

Ultimately, Lena agrees to the plan, out of desperation more than anything else. So does Kara. The next year passes in a blur of working/stealing for enough money to cover the extra visa fee, and an endless stream of memorization of names, faces, and etiquettes.

Somewhere in the mix, Lex gets wind that Lena is in the final push to leave– he starts to take an interest, and offers her a job. Lena resists at first, but accepts when Lex’s offer turns dangerous and the money he offers is enough to get them out in half the time. Lex doesn’t know about Kara or their ultimate plan to abscond with her, and believes that he has Lena under control.

It’s not until Lena fails to show up to work one day that Lex learns the truth about everything– that Lena had been using him as deftly as he’d believed he used her, that she’d found a claimant to the throne, and that she intended to return her to her rightful place. He goes after them himself, enraged by Lena’s gall and the risk Kara poses to his position and that of his regime. He strikes out with the intention of bringing Lena home-- and to kill the imposter who would be princess.

Meanwhile, as the trio travels out of Russia towards France, Jack starts to suspect two things: that Kara is more than she seems, and that Lena is entirely taken with her. Kara remembers things– not true memories, but she draws on information she shouldn’t know. Names and details that no one has told her.

By the time they reach Paris, it’s easy to convince Astra’s lady-in-waiting Cat Grant of their suspected truth.

“Not just because of your uncanny resemblance and exhaustive knowledge, which we all know can be fabricated,” the sharp woman delivers, eyeing Kara with a cool gaze before turning her gaze on Lena. “But because of you.”

Lena stiffens abruptly. “W-what do you mean?”

Cat lifts an arch brow, but ultimately obfuscates. “That’s a conversation for another time,” she says. “Astra no longer receives prospective claimants, but should a cultured party such as yourselves wishes to meet her, she will be found at the ballet in two nights’ time. Should you also find yourselves there, I can arrange an introduction.”

That night, Kara suffers a violent nightmare, one wakes her abruptly and sends her sobbing into Lena’s arms, who comes to check on her. It takes several long minutes for her anguish to pass, but when she calms, Kara diverts attention from her tears by asking if Lena ever met the princess.

“No,” Lena says softly. “Not exactly. But I did see her, once.”

When Kara prods, desperate for a distraction, Lena explains how once, when she was nine, there had been a grand parade to celebrate the Tsar’s birthday. The entire royal family had ridden by in a motorcade, and Lena had taken one glimpse at the youngest princess before darting forward with a nicked flower in her hand. She’d dodged between guards and called out the princess’ name, and when their eyes met, the princess gave her the most radiant smile Lena had ever seen before or since.

She confesses, then, that some nights she still dreams of that day, and the smile she received.

Kara swears Lena tells her story so well she can almost feel herself there too. When Lena urges her to lean into it, to add the memory to her own story, Kara begins to tell it again, from her own perspective.

How it had been too hot, and her dress collar too tight. It made her itch, but she’d only waved to the crowds as expected. She talks of catching sight of a ragged girl almost her age– how even dirty and threadbare, she’d envied freedom of the girl’s trousers.

How to her surprise the girl had darted forward, a flower in her hand appearing from nowhere, and dodged between vigilant guards nearly unseen, until she’d gotten almost close enough to catch up with the car. But instead of reaching out to climb aboard, as Kara assumed she might, the girl had stopped short, and bent into a deep bow, presenting Kara with a plain but perfect daisy.

Kara had smiled, and pulled an equally dazzling grin to the lips of the urchin girl. The car had pulled away to be swallowed by the crowds further ahead, but she had kept her eyes on that girl until she was out of sight, and had hoped against hope that they would one day meet again.

When she finishes, Lena is stunned and silent. Under the shocked stare, Kara realizes the details she’d echoed that Lena hadn’t shared– the trousers, the bow, the flowers… the lingering gaze that had filled Lena’s belly with butterflies.

Certainty hits them both at the same time. Kara can barely breathe under the weight of it, and almost bursts into tears when Lena shoots to her feet.

“Lena, wait! I swear I–”

But Lena doesn’t leave. She steps in front of Kara, staring with wide eyes before lowering onto one knee, head bowed and hand clasped against her heart.

“Your Majesty.”

—-

The next morning, Cat Grant visits them for tea. As they sit, Kara learns what happened after the parade traveled on that day. How Kara’s mother, Alura, had seen the exchange between the two girls, and how wide her daughter’s smile had been. How Alura had asked her lady-in-waiting, Cat, to locate the girl, and bring her to the palace to be Kara’s handmaiden and playmate.

Of course Lena would need training and lessons before she could be presented, so she had lived some time with tutors at the Grant Manor, meeting Cat only rarely, accounting for Lena’s lack of recollection (she remembers her tutors, but not Cat Grant). But the coup and the family’s execution had ended those prospects for Lena before they could begin. Lena had returned to the streets, head full of new knowledge and personal experience that the ruling class weren’t all heartless monsters.

“It seems you two found your way back together after all,” Cat remarks with a final sip of her tea. “If you should still desire to study, Lena, I will sponsor your tuition to any university you desire.”

For now, Cat simply takes them shopping. She sets Jack up with suits and a tuxedo for the ballet. Kara accepts any dress that Cat thrusts at her, but Lena seems out of her element. It’s too opulent, too rich, and the dresses are so light against her skin she feels naked.

In the end, she too walks out with trousers and blouses, which Jack teases her about mercilessly. She earns stares on the street, but Kara doesn’t know if it’s because the sight of a woman in trousers is so uncommon, or because Lena is simply breathtaking.

When it comes time for the ballet, Kara expects to find Lena waiting in a tuxedo as sharp as Jack’s, but Kara finds herself the first of them to be ready. Jack joins her minutes later, and they watch in simultaneous stunned silence as Lena descends the stairs in a beautiful gown, a rich green velvet that makes her look regal and imposing. But her features are uncertain until she catches Kara’s eye, and finds a dazzled smile staring up at her, at which point her chest and neck blooms in a crimson blush.

They spend the ballet sitting too close together, hands clasped tightly together as they sit in Cat’s box and stare at the Grand Duchess Astra. Neither of them are aware of the dark glower of a familiar face staring up from the orchestra below.

Astra recognizes Kara immediately the moment Cat announces her, confirmed by the necklace Astra had once given her twin sister, now hanging around Kara’s neck. They both fall together in a cloud of tears and embraces. Lena and Cat slip away to grant them privacy, and Cat watches as Lena’s features slowly fall.

“She’s gone,” Lena remarks softly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Cat chides. “She’s just on the other side of the curtain.”

“She’s a princess. And I– I’m just…” Lena’s mind fills with the curses and shouts that had dogged her entire life. Trash. Gutter rat. Thief. Bastard. Whorespawn.

Cat regards her carefully, and then slips Lena an old creased letter from her purse. “It took me some time to track this down. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I visited Astra when I did, before the coup.”

“What is it?” Lena asks.

Cat scoffs. “I’m certain the tutors I hired informed me you’d learned to read in three languages before you disappeared into the wind. Why don’t you take a stab at that.”

Lena unfolds it, and begins to read the contents of the letter. It’s a mix of situational reports, mindless gossip, and speculation, but the final paragraph catches Lena’s eye.

In her final letter to me, Elizabeta has written that she has delivered of me a daughter. I am told the girl has dark hair and green eyes, and has a smile like the sun. In the year since, I have received no further word, and I fear the worst. I have dispatched men to search for them both, but to no avail. How could there be, when we have no details to search with but her name:

Lena.

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“This letter was written by Count Lionel, to a cohort in the imperial army. It, and the birth records I tracked down before the fall, confirms that you are the daughter of Count Lionel Luthor. The search he details here constitutes his claim on you.”

Lena blinks as the paper starts to tremble in her shaking fingers. “What does this mean?”

“It means you are of noble blood,” Cat tells her plainly, “and that while a commoner may no longer associate with the princess… You can.”

—-

Cat’s prediction holds true: Lena and Kara barely spend a moment out of each other’s sight. Astra is more than agreeable to formalizing Lena’s position and her inheritance of Lionel’s rights and titles, and Kara insists that Lena be presented to the world alongside her.

A press conference is arranged in short order, and during the chaos on the day of, Lex finds his opening. He slips into the decadent townhome, blending easily with the mix of staff and reporters and security. He finds Lena and Kara sharing a quiet moment together in the solarium, calming each other’s nerves before they face the press.

Lena bolts to her feet in recognition and fear, planting herself between him and Kara, who rises more slowly with confusion in her features. Her hand touches softly against the small of Lena’s back; Lena’s arm extends to one side, corralling Kara to stay behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Lena demands.

“I’ve come to bring you home, comrade,” Lex returns smoothly. “You have been sorely missed in the motherland.”

Lena shakes her head. “I am home.”

She doesn’t mean the opulent house around them, or even Paris– wherever Kara is, Lena is home.

Lex doesn’t intend to give her a choice. He grabs her by the arm and pulls her to him. Lena knows how to take care of herself, but the skirts make it hard for her to move, and when a gun cocks in Lex’s hand, Lena freezes.

He aims directly at Kara’s head where she’s frozen mid-stride in an effort to help Lena. Her eyes go wide and glassy at the dark barrel bearing down on her. Her breath comes quicker and quicker, shortening with every inhale.

On the other side of the trigger, Lex smirks at her. “The false princess… Although, I admit you do resemble her.”

“Stop!” Lena cries. “Don’t hurt her please. I’ll go with you, just let her go, she won’t stop you.”

“Lena--” Kara gasps. “No!”

“I have no interest in bargains,” Lex says. “I cannot suffer the princess to live.”

Lena shakes her head. “Why? She hasn’t done anything!”

“Not yet. Nor did she or her family do anything to help our people while we starved and died in the streets!”

Lena scowls. “Yeah? And what’s changed there?” She wrenches herself free, almost. Lex manages to keep hold of her wrist, but Lena glares at him without fear. “My belly didn’t fill when the Tsars were murdered. I was just as cold as I was the night before and the night after.”

“You know nothing--”

“Face it, Lex! Russia is no better than it was. She traded one autocracy for another-- the only thing that’s changed is that now YOU’RE in power. That’s all you ever cared about.”

Lex’s grip turns bruising, causing Lena to gasp in pain. “I see you learned much from those pretentious scholars.”

Lena blinks. “How do you know about that.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t keep track of my bastard baby sister?” Lex pulls Lena closer. “Did you think I would stand by and watch as she was welcomed to the court that cast my family to the streets?”

“You’re…?”

“Yes,” Lex hisses. “Our father died in disgrace, and yet they would take you, a bastard from the gutter into their arms. It was unconscionable. That was when I knew it was time to strike.”

Fighting tears, Lena renews her struggle. “You murdered an entire family-- started a war-- because you were jealous?”

“They believed themselves gods!” Lex shouts. “They would have seen Russia wither to nothing if it meant keeping their grip on our throats! I have liberated us!”

“You’re insane-- augh!” Lena’s growl stops with a sharp cry, as Lex whips the butt of his pistol against her skull. The cry snaps Kara out of her fear, and the world refocuses around her. She sees Lena sag, staggering when Lex tugs her into his chest and traps her there with an arm of steel tight around her shoulders.

Kara takes a step forward, but pulls back when the gun returns to aim directly at her forehead. Heart pounding, she forces herself to look away from the barrel, instead locking her gaze on Lena, still struggling to regain her senses.

She swallows thickly.

“I know my family made mistakes,” Kara pleads, lifting her hands placatingly. “I don’t intend on repeating them. I am no threat to you or to Russia, and Lena certainly isn’t. Please-- you don’t have to do this.”

Lex pauses, his frame relaxing slightly. “I don’t have to do this,” he echoes. “Funny.”

His finger settles on the trigger.

“That’s what you said the first time I killed you.”

Lena launches herself at the gun before he can fire, sending his shot wide. Kara’s entire body flinches from the flash of combustion, the zing of the bullet that sinks into a wooden beam off to her right. But Lena folds hers around the gun itself, controlling its line of fire as she struggles to take possession of it.

The struggle ceases entirely when a second gunshot cracks through the solarium.

Kara screams.

Lena staggers.

“No!” Lex cries. Drawn by the first gunshot, guards finally spill into the solarium, wresting Lex away from Lena. The gun clatters to the ground at Lena's feet, its muzzle glistening with blood.

Lena collapses, and Kara drops to her knees beside her, giving no thought to their finery even as blood pools beneath them both.

Kara can barely breathe through the flashbacks pressing against her eyelids: suddenly Lena has joined her in Yekaterinburg, and Kara watches as her lifeblood joins that of Kal, her mother, her father… even her dog, Krypto.

But when Lena lifts a trembling hand to Kara’s cheek, the warm gloss of blood grounding her in the present.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Lena coughs. “Kara–”

“Save your breath, Lena, please. There are doctors, they can help you…”

Lena smiles with paling lips. “You’ve become a part of my story. I– I’m so glad it ended this way.”

Kara tightens her grip sharply, scoldingly. “It’s not over. Not by a long shot. We still have happily ever after.”

“I– found you. Think– that qualifies.”

“Lena–”

“Kara!” Astra rushes into the room, entourage in tow.

Kara looks up with streaming eyes, hand clamped tight around Lena's slackening fingers.

“Please, Aunt Astra. We have to help her, there must be something--” Her voice cracks, and a sob heaves from her chest. “I can’t lose her too!”

—

Hope doesn't return for days. Lena lingers on the brink of life, stubborn even at death’s door. Doctors attend to her day and night, and Kara doesn't leave her side but for the time it takes to refresh herself. But then, finally, the doctors give their final prognosis: Lena will survive.

The damage is great, but Lena is stronger, and motivated--Kara suspects-- by spite and sheer cussedness. After all, if the streets of St. Petersburg weren't enough to kill her, a lousy bullet sure isn't.

It's several days more before Lena opens her eyes, but when she finally does, green eyes blink blearily at Kara as she leans forward intently. She gathers Lena's cool hand in both of her own.

“You’re going to be okay,” Kara promises.

Lena’s brow crinkles with muddled confusion.

“Who…. are you?”

The breath freezes in Kara’s chest as the world slows around her. No… no, no, no not this. Anything but this!

Lena’s features crease into an exhausted smile.

“Too soon?”

Kara chokes on her relief, and punches Lena’s arm indignantly. “Don’t you ever do that to me again! You sick, perverted–!”

“Marry me.”

Kara blinks. “What?”

“Marry me,” Lena rasps again. “Please. I had a whole plan to ask, after the press conference, but I don’t want to risk being interrupted again. Kara Zor-el, Grand Duchess of Russia and queen of my heart– will you marry me?”

Tears burning in her eyes, Kara nods. “Yes, you big dummy. You didn’t think you’d get rid of me so easily did you?”

Lena laughs, then winces in pain. Kara kisses away her grimace, and in a matter of moments they’re both a mess of tears and laughter.

Their happily ever afters surpass that of any fairytale to come before.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 22/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

"What does that give us?" Leia asked, looking over Rose's shoulder as she typed.

They were working in what could only be called a basement. Daylight crept through a dusty air vent, struggling to illuminate the room. Inside sat several tables, all of which were covered with some combination of food containers, dossiers, loose leaf papers and computer equipment.

A third member, a thirty-something blonde woman named Kaydel Connix, was perched on the used antique sofa on the opposite side of the room. Every now and then she took a sip from a can of Dr. Pepper.

“Not bad,” Rose replied. “Our videos generated some buzz online but the articles weren’t too widely shared. Ecology did a blog post on the First Order’s building projects which was picked up by WWF and Greenpeace. It was shared on Twitter a couple thousand times including by a few celebrities. But that’s not enough. The donation petition circling among university faculty will only give us ten or twenty thousand dollars at most. It’ll barely be enough to cover litigation costs if the plan falls through.”

“We will win,” Leia assured her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “And when we do, the damages that FORCE will be responsible for will easily cost millions, believe me.”

Rose turned to face her aging mentor. “Leia, what if we don’t make it this time?”

Leia resisted the urge to answer indirectly, preferably with a metaphor. She could tell that Rose needed something more, a moment of honesty from the heart. She closed her eyes briefly, centering herself.

“Then we start over, we seek allies elsewhere. We are the spark of hope, that will light the fire, that will burn the First Order down.”

Rose nodded, pursing her lips. The stakes were high. All their forces had been on the ground for months, setting the stage for the ultimate blow that would take this multinational corporation down. They were everywhere: reaching out to PR personnel, leading demonstrations in the streets, blasting their message on social media, speaking to local officials, and even doing international relations. Their entire strategy rested on the element of surprise and the high volume of media attention that the results of the trial would achieve. If the chain of events faltered even slightly, FORCE would have an unequivocal victory.

But as the big day approached, their little band of rebels looked ever weaker.

Their secret informant and metaphorical  coal mine canary, Galen Erso, risked his livelihood every day. His true identity was only known by the Skywalkers and their lawyer, Amilyn. He was at the mercy of Hux and Phasma. They ran a tight ship; Lord knew what means they had to control every aspect of operations within the First Order. They could have already decided to monitor his every move for suspicious activity.

The Earth Soldiers legal team, led by Amilyn, also consisted of Larma D’Acy and Gial Ackbar, who along with their assistants and paralegals formed a team of twenty four. In addition, a small army of volunteers around the United States formed the basis of their campaign. It was absolutely imperative that all eyes were on the California Supreme Court in San Francisco as the verdict came out. Leia and Rose were the primary mouthpieces in the media, appearing publicly to attract large crowds.

The final piece of their plan relied on the incriminating contents of a micro-SD chip that would once and for all obliterate the credibility of the First Order. It was currently in the hands of an English tourist, who had just finished taking a proper bath and playing fetch with a small orange dog.

“What about the documents?” Rose sighed in frustration. “Are you sure this girl is going to deliver them in one piece, on time? What if she misplaces them or something?”

“We’re definitely taking a risk here. But she doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives. All she wants to do is to get from point A to point B. The rest is up to her, and honestly her lack of itinerary is perfect for avoiding traps.”

“But..what if Kylo and his cult are on to her? That haven’t returned to the headquarters in a while, have they?”

“They’re always on the field, just out of sight. They can interrogate her all they want, it’s perfectly safe. She knows absolutely nothing.”

“Safe, even for her?”

Leia’s face fell for a moment. She had picked this girl out herself. A troubled young woman who had trusted her easily, who had jumped so readily at the task. But she had been surrounded by Kylo’s team for days now, which was worrisome indeed.

Kylo had a reputation for being cold and shrewd—he could very well decide to end this little game of hide-and-seek by robbing the girl blind and leaving her on the side of the highway—or worse yet, in a ditch. Even if he didn’t realize  what she happened to be carrying, he could easily ensure that none of it arrived in one piece.  

Rose (ever the realist) wondered why he hadn’t done so already.

Deep inside, Leia felt a gnawing pant of guilt: she had thrown this innocent girl to the wolves. Whatever happened, it was her responsibility now. But whether out of naïveté or foolhardiness, she chose to ignore the direst possibilities.

She carried on as though both the girl and the micro-SD were going to arrive unscathed—she had no room for error.

Rose held no such convictions, and it occurred to the young woman that Leia, mother of the infamous Kylo Ren, could never truly imagine the horrors that her own son was capable of. Did she still think of him as the awkward child that she often sang to sleep? How long could she keep living in denial? Kylo worked for FORCE, for Snoke and Hux. He had chosen his side. He had turned his back on the shining enterprise built by his ancestors in favor of fame and fortune, accusing his mother of being a miserly harpie.

Ironically, Rose was sure that Armitage Hux or Syed Ren would agree with her assessment: the compassion, nay, the complacency, Kylo had shown when it came to Rey was beyond comprehension.

Did they suspect she was an Earth Soldiers operative? It would be easy enough to get her alone and talking. Perhaps they would even resort to more aggressive tactics if necessary.

What if they saw her as no more than a diversion? They could make sure she had a healthy fear of their field agents, catch-and-release style.

If the evidence was anything to go by, Rose suspected that the great Kylo Ren was in love. And he was capable of anything.

Hux remained silent as Syed went over the details of her proposal over the phone. He certainly had a card to play now—but which one?

He had known Ben Solo since university, almost back before he rejected his name in favor of Kylo Ren. But their relationship had always been volatile.

Armitage, despite being the son of a reputable military officer, had been forced to juggle multiple jobs to pay for a potion of his studies. It was humiliating, but his father was convinced that it was necessary to “build character”. His assigned roommate was a large, melancholic oaf, the preppy sort with a family inheritance and whatnot. An inheritance which was promptly spent by the boy’s parents on charity and frivolous ideas of changing the world.

Kylo lost his father—a subject he rarely discussed—and was raised in part by his uncle as well as his own mother, who served in the military. An outsider for the most part, he got in to Harvard thanks to the goodwill (or rather the strong will) of the new head of the Skywalker family enterprise. His mother’s last name, synonymous with his grandfather’s legacy, opened many doors for him.

Personally, Armitage had always wondered what debt Snoke was keen on repaying the Skywalker family by graciously taking their problem child under his wing.

The difference between the two classmates was clear from the start. Ben Solo hated his family’s lack of interest in his life, all while still profiting off of the success of the glorious Skywalker enterprise to pay for his studies. Meanwhile, Hux worked in various service jobs, cleaning floors, stocking shelves, and working behind restaurant counters to pay for food, rent, and various educational expenses.

They walked the line between friendship and enmity. Some days they were drinking buddies, other times they competed for the attention of girls, or for academic recognition among their peers and professors. No doubt they compared test scores.

Harvard diploma in hand, Hux was ecstatic to start working as a financial manager for the First Order. Snoke, at the very least, recognized his competence and his intrinsic value. But Ben Solo—now insisting on the title Kylo Ren like the capricious bastard he was—was almost immediately promoted to Director of Operations. A highly prestigious post that not only put him outside of Hux’s chain of command, and gave him nearly absolute freedom on the field.

Once more, Kylo Ren’s accursed heritage guaranteed him a better place, one that Hux deserved but could never hope to achieve despite his hard work.

Presently, FORCE hoped to generate massive revenue from a mine in the northern regions of Hoopa Valley. On paper, they would be mining for iron ore buried deep underground while producing thousands of jobs in the region. Behind the scenes it was all Hux’s team: they kept the corruption under wraps, signed deals with local providers, and privately represented FORCE in every dealing. But of course it was always Kylo Fucking Ren who appeared publicly before the cameras, with his wind-swept hair and cool-guy demeanor.  

Once again, it was Hux who had to face criticism and take the insurmountable legal risks when the matter was dragged into court, all while Ren continued to receive honors and congratulations.

But Snoke wouldn’t remain president forever. He was old and ailing, his liver jaundiced and his lungs weak from pulmonary disease. Following his termination, and the success of this mine, Hux’s achievements would eclipse the old brute, not to mention that of the prodigal son, Ben Solo-Skywalker, whose heritage would be annihilated.

Ben was a go-getter, as passionate as he was brutal. He detested strategy and calculation, preferring to jump directly  into the fray. It would be easy to clip his wings when Hux assumed total control.

In fact, Hux now had the perfect justification. Kylo had committed a grave error in his most recent bout of passion: he was enamored with this nomadic girl, and according to  Syed Ren, he would do anything for her.

He would lose everything.

“Syed, are you still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for the intel. The photos were a particularly nice touch. I never doubted your loyalty, or your competence.”

Syed waited silently for Hux to gather his thoughts.

“Kylo Ren’s mission,” he continued, “is to determine Rey Jakku’s relationship with Earth Soldiers, and take action accordingly. Are you certain, after a mere seventy-two hours, that there is no connection?”

“Absolutely, sir. The girl is a diversion, driving the Millenium Falcon around to attract our attention while Skywalker’s team is plotting. We’re wasting time.”

“And did you inform Kylo Ren of your findings?”

“Yes. He chose not to take my advice.”

Hux closed his eyes, pausing. It was time to risk it all. While the loyalty of the Knights of Ren had proven unquestionable in the past, Syed Ren seemed to have a very exploitable weakness in the form of hate and jealousy.

“Who do you work for, Syed Ren?”

She hesitated, looking for a trap in his words. The answer seemed obvious but she struggled with it. “For Kylo Ren, sir.”

“Really, are you on his payroll, then?”

“Yeah...well—no! No, I work for FORCE. I work for you, sir.”

“Very well. Now I propose a new mission, one which will determine the very future of FORCE.”

“I don’t know if...”

“You don’t have to decide now. Just hear me out, and do what you like.”

“Okay. I’m...I’m listening.”

A few minutes later, Hux hung up. He ran a hand through his hair, his tell-tale sign of nervousness. If everything went to plan, if Syed Ren was as bitter and blinded by rage as he hoped, perhaps she would finally turn on her master and her precious acolyte friends. She would work for him—he had promised her money, a veritable fortune, but most of all, a chance to exact her revenge upon Kylo Ren. She would be able to smite him for rejecting her and turning her into an unwilling babysitter.

Her wrath would be glorious.