#while I feverishly fight off art block

[oorangesoda]

Despite my art block, I’m still pushing to try and create, so while I him and ha about redoing Cals ref —

Some rabbitfolk/lagomore designs I’m working on for a friend! Literally just the concept sketches but it’s all I got rn folks 🫠

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 3

Ow. 

That was the first coherent thought that registered in Peter’s brain. 

Pain. He was in pain. A lot of it.

It started with the sunlight shining directly in his eyes through the ceiling-high windows. Then there was the sharp ache in his left leg. Then a sting in his shoulder. A cramp in his stomach. A throb in his skull.

And then, everywhere.

Peter was hurting all over. And yet, it was dull, distant, hazy hurt, like he was a ghost floating above his body after it had been run over by a dump truck.

Ugh…

His eyes scrunched into angry lines before fluttering open. His vision was fuzzy, unfocused, and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it. His brain felt like it had been replaced by three tons of bricks.

What…where…

He was…inside someplace. It was bright—way too bright. The ceiling overhead was tall and white. He was lying on a couch that felt like it had never been sat on before.

Am I…dead…?

His muscles were stiff as stone. He feared for a moment he was paralyzed, until he felt his fingers twitch, followed by his toes. It hurt—a lot—but hurt was better than numbness.

Okay. Not paralyzed. Hopefully not dead.

“Mmmgh,” he moaned. Slowly, he slid his hands back and pushed off the couch, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh, god…”

His skin was hot and sticky. Every bone, organ, and cell ached. He still felt sick, but now with about seventy extra ailments piled on top of that, which meant he was probably still alive. 

Probably.

But how?

The last he remembered, he was getting his ass handed to him by the Sinister Six. For as long as he’d operated as the masked vigilante Spider-Man, he’d never gotten thrashed that badly. How did he get away? Did someone rescue him? Had the Avengers swooped in and saved his dumb, in-over-his-head ass right after he’d blacked out? But how could they have gotten there in time?

And where the hell was he?

Now that he was no longer lying down, the room had started listing a little. Peter reached up to rub his temple and felt something crinkly stuck to his head. He grabbed hold of it and started peeling it off his skin, wincing from the pain. Once he’d torn it free, Peter held the unknown object in front of his eyes. It was a large, bloody bandage. 

Huh.

Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap. A thin blanket was draped over his body. When he lifted it away, he cringed.

His torso was a gruesome patchwork of Frankenstein-style stitches and bandages. He counted three sets of sutures on his upper body alone, plus four other cuts and scrapes held together with butterfly tape. His entire chest looked like one gigantic bruise. Plus, the burns—some from scraping across coarse concrete, others from actual fire. Every small movement sent waves of pain rippling across his body.

Yeesh, he thought, poking gingerly at the bandages on his shoulder. Well, someone friendly had to patch me up. But who?

Peter let the blanket slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he swung his legs off the couch and carefully placed his feet on the floor. Sweat slipped off his brow and dripped onto his knee.

“Okay,” he breathed. Peter inhaled sharply, then threw his weight forward, standing upright for an instant. Then he collapsed, gasping. Dizzying agony blossomed in his left leg and thumped like a second heartbeat.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. He glanced back and saw his shin had been fashioned with a makeshift splint: two metal rods and ass-load of packing tape.

Right. Broken leg. The sound of the bone cracking in half reignited in his memories, sending a shudder down his spine.

Peter used the sofa to pull himself off the ground. This time, he placed all his weight on his right foot, using his left only for balance. His body ached and trembled with the effort it took to stand, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Ouch. Ugh. Okay. Yeah. That’s a start. The fuzz in his vision was starting to dissipate, but the fog in his brain clung like fungus. It felt like he’d been inhaling a bunch of that laughing gas stuff his dentist had given him back in the 6th grade when he had to get a tooth pulled. His head was heavy and light at the same time.

The room was a lounge area with stiff furniture and minimal decor. A wilted fern sat in the corner alongside a weird, tall block with a piece of metal sticking out of the top that Peter assumed was some form of modern art. The walls were entirely bare except for a small landscape painting that looked like it belonged in a motel bathroom. There were two other chairs across from the couch, a coffee table, a gray rug, and that was basically it. 

Beside the fern, a pair of double doors stood wide and closed. When Peter strained his sensitive ears, muffled voices could be heard conversing in the other room. Curiosity plucked at his chest.

“Um…hello?” he called, voice raspy. He approached the doors, hopping more than walking, gritting his teeth as his injuries burned and throbbed, heat radiating feverishly off his skin. By the time he transversed the room, he was out of breath, lightheaded. He leaned against the wall for a minute and cycled slow gulps of oxygen through his lungs.

Once he’d somewhat recovered, Peter limped in front of the large doors. The voices were louder now, but not loud enough to be recognizable. They sounded mostly male. Peter took a deep breath, reached out his arm, and cracked the door open just a hair to peek inside.

It was a kitchen—that was the first thing he saw. A man stood at the island with his back to the doors. Across from him was a round dining table with a bowl of fruit in the middle.

“How is he?” the man asked, biting into an apple. His voice was definitely familiar.

“Still hasn’t woken up, right?” another responded.

Maybe this is another one of Clint’s safe houses, Peter thought. Or an Avengers’ base I’ve never been to before. Or a secret sitting room in some tragically decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or—

Seconds before Peter opened his mouth to say hello again, the man eating the apple turned around. When Peter saw his face, his heart jumped out of his chest and splattered at his feet.

“I don’t know,” Herman Shultz said over a mouthful of fruit. “Has he?”

The oxygen around Peter vanished in an instant. It’s Shocker! The guy who broke my leg! W-what the hell? What is he doing here?

“Not from what I’ve heard,” the second voice continued. Another man entered his narrow line of vision, this one lit up like a neon sign, and Peter’s throat seized.

“You’re not being very helpful, Maxwell.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m Electro!”

Shocker held up his hands. “Right, right, sorry. Electro, then. You’re not being helpful.”

What the shit, what the shit, what the actual, living shi—

“Don’t ask me about these things. Ask the doc.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Look—here he comes now.”

Clank, clank, clank. Heavy, metallic footsteps rang in Peter’s ears and shook the floor beneath him. Horror and disbelief flooded his veins as the eight-limbed scientist stepped in front of him, hardly three feet away, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Ask me about what?” Doctor Octopus said.

Peter leapt back from the door, clamping both hands over his mouth. 

Oh…my god. It’s them.

“I just wanted to know how he was doing.”

They’re here. They found me. They came to finish the job.

Half of the super villains that had just wrecked his shit were standing in the neighboring room. Hell, maybe all of them were. They’d probably taken whoever had helped him hostage, or perhaps the poor soul was already dead. He wouldn’t stand a chance like this. He didn’t have his suit, his webs, nothing. He’d tried his best to fight them when he was just sick with the stomach bug, and look how well that had turned out for him. If they attacked him now, one solid hit was all it would take to knock him out. Or, if he was being fully honest, kill him.

Peter’s eyes darted frantically around the room. I have to get out of here! He hobbled toward the wall of windows and placed his hands against the glass. It was at least four inches thick; probably bulletproof. But it was his only option. With a shivery grunt, Peter hoisted himself off the floor and crawled toward the ceiling, every step piercing him with flashes of pain.

Okay. Launch off the ceiling, kick through the glass, make a run for it. In his loopy, concussed mind, the plan sounded foolproof. The voices of his enemies were growing louder; Doc Oc’s footsteps were approaching rapidly. It was now or never.

Hanging off the upside-down surface, balancing on his good foot, heart racing, head dizzy and faint, Peter threw himself at the window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk, bouncing off like a bug on a windshield, then crashed on top of the weird modern art piece, shattering the mahogany box into wood chips.

Peter lay sprawled in a heap in the wake of his failure, groaning and dazed. As he forced himself upright, gripping his head in his hand, the doors behind him burst open.

“What the hell?” Doc Oc exclaimed, alarm caked across his expression. When his gaze landed on the young superhero floundering in the splintered remains of his college art project, stunned and disheveled but now awake and wide-eyed, his muscles relaxed slightly. “Spider-Man?”

“Holy shit, he’s awake,” Electro said.

“And he destroyed your favorite sculpture,” Shocker added.

Peter’s eyes dashed between the three men, wild and afraid. He’d been unmasked by his absolute worst enemies—but that seemed the least of his troubles. I’m toast, he thought. Tiny pieces of wood clung to his hair, face, and back. Seeing him conscious for the first time sent a spark of relief through Doc Oc, though he hadn’t expected him to wake up for at least another day; the combination of pain meds he’d given him was pretty strong. When Octavius moved an inch closer to him, Peter scrambled to his feet and backed away, tripping over himself in the process and heavily favoring his right leg.

“Spider-Man—” he began, trying to keep his voice level. Spider-Man picked up a chunk of the destroyed box and chucked it at him.

“S-stay back!” he shouted. His voice was shrill and cracked at the end of the demand. Damn, Otto thought. The evidence of Spider-Man’s youthfulness was clear as day to him now—how had none of them noticed it before? Perhaps they had simply chosen not to notice.

Doc Oc dodged the projectile with ease. “Spider-Man, listen to me—”

Peter made a break for it, gunning for the opposite side of the room. He’d hardly made it two uncoordinated strides before three more figures emerged from a door behind the couch, blocking his escape path: Scorpion, Sandman, and Rhino. He skidded to a stop with a gasp.

“Whoa,” Rhino exclaimed, towering over the half-naked hero. “Would you look at that. Tiny spider is alive.”

Shit! Peter screamed internally. He whipped his gaze in every direction and realized he was surrounded.

“He needs to stop moving,” Otto said, knowing there was no way to accomplish that with words. He raised his tentacles above his head, the pincers snapping hungrily. “Grab him.”

Rhino made the first move, reaching out with his meaty hands to snag the kid by the arm. But Spider-Man ducked and rolled out of the way, moving surprisingly fast despite all of his injuries, though it was obvious the exertion was hurting him. Scorpion and Sandman tried next, lunging for his legs, but Peter hopped right over them and flipped backwards, wincing and staggering once his feet hit the floor and banging into the window.

“You’re going to reopen your wounds,” Octavius warned him. He thrust two tentacles at his torso, but Spider-Man flinched out of their grasp. Otto launched the other two arms at him, and Peter skirted between them, springing on to the wall. The exhaustion and terror in his face were evident. Otto felt bad for scaring him so much, but this was for his own good.

“Spider-Man—please,” he groused. His mechanical arms grabbed and snapped at the air, barely missing the slippery little hero every time. “Just—stay—still!”

Peter wasn’t listening to a word he said. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught. Every inch of him was screaming in agony. When the tentacles pounced on him all at once, Spider-Man shrunk small and dove underneath them, somersaulting past Doc Oc’s legs and popping up behind him. Peter bolted blindly for the double doors, only to ram straight into Rhino’s giant leg and fall flat on his ass. Three metal prongs clamped around his midsection before he could regather himself, pinning him to the floor.

“Agh!” Peter yelped, tugging uselessly at the claw’s strong teeth. “Let me go!”

Otto lifted Spider-Man off the ground. He continued to strain and squirm, kicking his legs and grappling with the mechanical pincers gripping his waist. The rest of the Sinister Six gathered around the frightened hero, forming a circle with him in the middle. He looked so small against the looming backdrop of super villains. His young face beamed with all the emotions his mask typically concealed—most prominently, fear.

“Spider-Man,” Octavius repeated, holding his hands out tentatively. “Calm down.”

“I’ll pass, thanks!” Peter quipped, betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“Okay, it’s definitely him,” Electro groaned amusedly.

“I know you’re scared,” Doc Oc continued. “And you have every right to be. But if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to injure yourself further.”

“And if I don’t keep moving, you’re going to injure me further!” He thrashed and twisted valiantly, but it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His movements were slowing down, his attempts to escape growing more and more pathetic. Otto waited for him to burn himself out, crossing his arms against his chest. It didn’t take long.

“Are you quite done now?”

Peter hung his head, breathless and shivery, gripping the prongs around his torso less to try to escape and more to hold himself upright. Perhaps his impromptu acrobatics display hadn’t been his smartest idea. All that leaping and flipping and bouncing around had sapped the last whispers of energy from his bones.

“Ugh…room’s���s-spinning,” he murmured. Otto took that as a “yes.” He held Spider-Man closer and frowned at a red spot on his ribs. 

“And now look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve torn your stitches. I tried to warn you. Half an hour’s worth of sewing, down the drain because of your recklessness.”

“What are you…what…what’s…?” Spider-Man slurred. He was suddenly seeing double of everything. He dropped his gaze to his midriff and watched two blurry lines of blood slip down his side.

“I sutured you up, and you ruined it,” Octavius explained. Peter slowly lifted his head and wrinkled his brow.

“You…” he said, blinking repeatedly. “What?”

“Told you we gave him brain damage,” Rhino whispered. Peter looked at him over his shoulder, then swept his gaze around the circle, making eye contact with every member of the Sinister Six. They saw him. After all this time, his face was finally exposed to his enemies. No disguise, no secret identity, no mask. He felt so naked without it. Not having a shirt or pants on didn’t help either. Strangely, their expressions lacked their typical thirst for spider blood. It dawned on him that over a minute had passed, and none of them had tried to kill him. And so far, they still weren’t trying.

“I’m…confusion,” he stammered. “What—what’s happening right now?”

It was somewhat amusing to see Spider-Man so delirious and out of his element. Doctor Octopus lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go of his torso. Peter was almost glad he didn’t; he doubted he could stand on his own right now.

“I tended to your wounds while you were unconscious,” Octavius said. “It’s not a perfect patch job, but I did the best I could.”

Peter shook his head slowly, his big, brown Bambi eyes wide and puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I also gave you some pain killers, which might be making your head a bit fuzzy.”

“But…why?” he scoffed. “You did this to me. You’re the ones who…beat me up. You love beating me up. You—you hate me. You want me dead. You’ve tried to make me dead a million times.” Peter jolted suddenly, a cramp shooting through his broken leg. If he was on painkillers, they were doing a pretty piss-poor job. Everything hurt and was too confusing to comprehend. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, moaning. “Oh god…I’ve gotta be trapped in some crazy fever dream right now. Or maybe…I’m dead. Am I dead? None of this makes any sense…”

“You’re not dead, Peter,” Otto said, stifling a chuckle.

A shudder rippled through the teenager. He lowered his hands, revealing the colorless face behind them.

“How…how do you know my…?”

Shit, Doc Oc thought. It was a careless slip of the tongue. He had meant to keep his knowledge of Spider-Man’s alter ego a secret so as to not frighten him further, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag.

Peter’s gaze shifted anxiously between the six super villains again. Fresh fear clouded over his glassy eyes, and he went back to squirming against Octavius’ hold.

“Now what are you trying to do?” Otto asked, exasperated.

“G-get the hell out of here,” Peter answered. He yanked at the claw around his torso, grunting with effort. “I know what this is. This is—one of those—hrgg—P-Princess Bride situations, isn’t it?”

The team of villains exchanged bemused glances with each other. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—mmneh—when the bad guys—c-catch Wesley, then heal him—just so the life-sucky torture machine thing is—m-more torturous? That’s what this is, right?” His face was flushing red, and more of his sutures were starting to leach blood.

Scorpion threw up his hands. “What’s the brat trying to say?”

“I think he’s saying we only doctored his wounds so that when we kill him, it’ll be all the more slow and painful,” Electro clarified with a shrug. “Which honestly sounds pretty in character for most of us.”

“See? This guy gets it.” Peter pushed at the prongs with all his might. Even as a half-dead, half-conscious mess, the kid couldn’t stop himself from being a smartass.

“I’m just impressed he made a reference to a movie that came out before he was a concept,” Rhino said. “You know, instead of, like, Finding Nemo?”

Otto could see the strain Spider-Man was putting himself through in his pitiful attempts to escape, so he decided to see what would happen if he succeeded. When Spider-Man shoved at his metal pincers again, he let them snap open. Surprise flashed across Peter’s face as he dropped to the ground and wobbled on his feet, followed by weary triumph.

“Ha! See? T-told you I would…I could…”

He faltered and swayed, staggering backwards. Sandman enlarged his hand and caught him before he could hit the floor. Peter sat limply in his palm, breathing heavy, frail and febrile and injured and exhausted. He looked down at the sand-hand that had stopped him from falling, then back up at the surrounding circle of villains, fear and confusion stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“W-why aren’t you...trying to kill me?”

The room dipped into nervous silence. Spider-Man’s gaze continued to jump between them, searching for answers.

“Why did you treat the wounds you gave me?” he continued weakly. With every word that passed his lips, the shake in his voice increased. “W-what do you want from me? Are you trying to…turn me to the dark side or something?”

Shocker stroked his chin. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea…”

“No,” Sandman answered pointedly, shooting Shocker a sideways glare.

“Then what?” Peter snapped. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?” Spider-Man dragged himself back to his feet, grimacing harshly. “T-tell me what you’re planning to do with me, or I’ll—I’ll…”

His scowl dropped suddenly, replaced by a look of panic. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched.

“Or you’ll what?” Scorpion asked in a mocking tone.

When Peter didn’t answer him, Octavius took a step closer. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong?”

Gradually, the terror in his face gave way to dread. Peter sucked in a gasp and cupped his hand over his mouth.

 “I think…I’m gonna puke.”

Otto blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was not the response he was expecting, but it didn’t look like the kid was joking. He lurched forward, stifling a gag, making everyone exclaim and leap back. His pale face hinted a sickly shade of green.

“Oh,” Octavius repeated, animated by a new sense of urgency. He glanced around frantically until he spotted the fern in the corner of the room. He seized it with one of his tentacles, dumped the plant and the soil onto the floor, then slid the empty pot in front of Spider-Man. “Uh, here.”

Peter moaned in defeat before doubling over the pot and retching violently. The Sinister Six turned away in disgust, fighting to keep their own lunches down. There was hardly anything inside him to upchuck in the first place, but his body continued to dry heave for another half-minute. Once the bout passed, Peter was left wheezing and trembling with his head held low. His throat burned and tears were slipping from his eyes faster than he could wipe them away.

“Forgot about the stomach flu,” Electro said, sticking out his tongue. “Blech.”

Peter wanted to ask how the hell they knew he had a stomach bug, among many other things, but he was too fatigued to form words.

Octavius turned back to him squeamishly. The poor kid looked so small, hurt, and sick. It amazed him how quickly his hate for Spider-Man had transformed into a tentative fondness. He felt the need to comfort him somehow, the way adults were supposed to comfort young ones when they weren’t feeling well. But he had no idea how.

Instead, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a cup of water from the kitchen and placed them both by his side. “Here,” he said awkwardly.

Peter eyed the items and whimpered softly. With miserable, lethargic movements, Peter washed out his mouth and wiped his face, every breath aching in his chest. Shame and fever radiated off him in waves. When he was finished, he just sat there, panting and shivery. Too weak to move.

“I think you ought to lay back down, Spidey,” Sandman said, plucking the hero off the floor between two massive fingers. He returned him to the couch with delicate care, guiding his head to the pillow and draping the blanket over his body.

“No…” Peter mumbled languidly, trying to sit up. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t get them to open again. “Just…tell me…why…”

Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, gently pushing him back down. Octavius had grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and soaked it in ice water. The cool touch against his skin was soothing and unexpectedly soporific. Slowly, his muscles went lax. His tumultuous thoughts faded into sleepy nothingness.

“We will,” Otto lied. “But for now, rest.”

It was almost endearing how quickly Spider-Man drifted back to sleep. Octavius left the towel on his forehead and watched as his breathing eased to a steady rhythm.

“Damn,” Shocker sighed. “Poor kid.”

“We really beat him senseless,” Rhino said.

Electro stood over the slumbering hero with his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just me, or is Spider-Man, like…kind of adorable?”

Scorpion snorted. “Adorable?”

“You know! In that, like, puppy-dog, dumb little kid kind of way. I mean, look at him! Does no one else think so?”

Sandman shrugged, fighting back a smile. “I mean, maybe. Sorta.” His expression gradually hardened, and he looked at Doc Oc. “So…is what you said before true? Is he really, like, an orphan?”

Otto lowered his gaze. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was a toddler, and he was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who became like parents to him. But then his uncle was killed last year, so now it’s just him and his aunt. He hasn’t had a particularly easy life.”

“And we certainly haven’t helped on that front,” Rhino added.

“It’s insane to me that at his age, this is what he chose to do with his powers. If I’d gotten his abilities when I was fifteen and gone through all that loss, I’d have been robbing every store on 5th Avenue.”

Shocker smirked. “I hate to say it, but...he’s kind of a good kid. Even if he is an obnoxious little dumbass.”

Amidst the conversation, Octavius’ face remained stoic, unreadable. He waited a while before clearing his throat. “I…wanted to let you all know. I, um, spoke to Tombstone this morning.”

All eyes turned to him, alarmed.

“He saw footage of us capturing Spider-Man on the news,” he explained. “He’s offering us two million each in exchange for the kid.”

Rhino’s jaw dropped. “Two million dollars? For each of us?”

“Holy shit,” Sandman breathed.

“What the hell?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“And he just wants the kid?” Shocker exclaimed. "That’s it?”

Otto nodded slowly. “Alive, but yes. That’s all he wants.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “He’s given us until the end of the week to accept his offer.”

Excitement and dismay swept across everyone’s expressions. Each person waited for someone to speak up, for someone else to say no, we can’t. But it was just too tempting a proposition to dismiss out of hand. They could finally be free to do what they wanted. Free to live as they pleased, villainous or otherwise. Free to punish this city the way it had punished them, if they so choose. Turning over the kid was all it would take. One quick transaction. Hand over their nemesis, their sworn enemy, and it was done. They’d be rich.

“What the hell does he plan to do with him?” Sandman whispered uneasily.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Doc Oc clarified. “I just wanted to make you aware of the opportunity. We can discuss it more later.”

An air of tentative relief settled over the room. Electro puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms against his chest.

“In that case, what are we going to tell him when he wakes up again? That we want to sell him to some psychopath so we can all be millionaires? That we think he’s cute and want to keep him as a pet?”

Doctor Octopus shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He turned back to his team. “I’ll keep monitoring him and re-treat the wounds he opened. I think it’s best we always have a pair of eyes on him to prevent another incident involving the destruction of my art pieces.”

The rest of the Sinister Six agreed, scattering throughout the complex, the proposition weighing heavily on all of their minds. Otto put on some classical music and began mopping the fresh blood off Peter’s torso.

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXreader part 12

In the morning breakfast was prepared. News was read. The city calmed down since the chaos from the night before. There was still a storm stirring in his head, but at least his environment was calm, almost sterile.

“Good morning.” Y/n yawned coming out of the bedroom. “You don’t sleep ever do you?”

“I’m not one for unproductive activities.”

“If you don’t rest your worst fears will happen.” She pretended to get spooky. “You’ll fall asleep in front of potential investors!”

“You think that’s my worst fear?”

“Well you’re Mr. Serious man all the time. I just figured.”

“Come, eat.”

“Can’t believe I haven’t been here yet.” She said. “I was lucky you were at Pops place when I came.”

“Yeah, you scared some of my men.” He told her.

“Oh please they could have killed me ten times over.” She was rather calm about the statement.

“Are you going to work in that?”

“Sorry, but I like to keep my legs a little more private in the cold.” She said standing up doing a quick pose. “Only you get the privilege right now.���

Was she laying down a ground rule? He didn’t plan on flirting with anyone else, was she? There was no way she would. She wouldn’t do that.

“About last night, what is the…” he didn’t really know what to phrase any question he had.

“I told you let’s take things slow. I do promise I won’t be playing the field.”

“What does that mean?” He asked.

“It’s the expression having multiple people at once to see which one fits best.” She told him.

“I didn’t think you were the type to do that.”

“It’s a common practice today that I haven't tried yet.” She explained. “I know this, I love you, you’re worth it, don’t worry. The beginning is supposed to be butterflies and fun.”

“I don’t know how fun I’ll be.”

“Any time spent with you Kai, is a good time already.” Not too many people would ever say that line. “Oh, I wanted to ask you something.” She pulled a bright colored paper out of her purse. It was an ad for a choir concert “I’ll be in it, if you wanna come that'd be cool, if you can’t you can’t.”

“You’re religious?”

“It was just something to do after work. I gotta have hobbies. It’s a good place to meet friends too.” She explained.

“If you’re bored I could find work for you to do.” He told her.

“You can’t be my only friend Kai. Will you come?” She asked.

“I’ll do my best.” He told her.

Singing?

The league of villains were at it again attacking students. There had to be a reason why they would target twerps. It was utterly aggravating to see these directionless villians be the main characters of the bad side while Kai was working feverishly in the shadows. Drugs were the only thing getting them by, and they were doing it behind Pops’ back. His only saving grace was there were no current unresolved charges he had which allowed him to wander in public, yet he still had to be careful. He had more enemies than friends.

The laboratory was filled with scientists doing their best to complete their own niche drugs to sell to the underground market. He needed to sell drugs that didn’t fit in with his goals to financially support the operation. That day he joined in. He didn’t ask for anyone’s help, he just messed with the chemicals to see what they would make. Once they were put into capsules, he sold them, not caring about the consequences. Some people may die, but they’ll further his research. Besides what date are they expecting by buying underground drugs?

“Chrono, come with me.” Kai called. “I’m presenting to pops tonight.” He told him.

After telling him his plan very loosely there was a silence. They have the facility to erase quirks, but not the main ingredient, but they’re close.

“I don’t want you involved in anymore drugs.” Pops told him. “You’re too smart . Just let me handle everything else.”

Kai shut the door behind him. Chrono stood beside him as he inhaled through the mask. He knew he didn’t have enough to make it work, but if Pops saw the results it would have to change his mind. Those heroes are suffocating everyone around. If it was just the police there would be no problem, but those damn heroes…

“Chisaki…” Chrono said.

At the sound of hearing his failure of a name, he punched the wall. Shit. He checked under his glove and saw the hand swelling.

“I’m going to finish this.” Kai told him.

He went back to his office and found the flyer Y/n gave him. The concert was tonight in a church across town. Shit. He was going to be late. It wasn’t important, but he knew he had to make these little things.

“I need a driver.”

Traffic became hell. Villains were fighting in the streets and the police were helpless. Chisaki and the driver were just sitting in a running car unable to go forward. If they just passed the blockade they could maybe only be five minutes late. What was he supposed to do, wait for a hero?

“I’m leaving.”

“Sir-“ the driver called.

“I’m not sitting in traffic.”

He shit the door and saw the police were still blocking the road. He tried taking a detour around the blockade but every street was blocked.

“I have something important to attend to, I need to pass.” He said walking up to a police officer .

Today he wasn’t worried about the law because it was dark out and he doesn’t have any current charges out on him. They’ve been paid or bribed.

“Yeah, no, it’s too dangerous”. The police officer said.

“I’m going to kill you!” One of the villains yelled blasting off a beam.

“Stand back!” The officer said pushing Chisaki.

Debris scattered around distracting the police. Kai jumped the pathetic little fence of a blockade. He ran. It had been awhile since he had to. Immediately he took his jacket off and held on to it. A body was flown at him. It was assumed to be a villain.

“A civilian!” He yelled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Get off of me.” He pushed the man off of him.

“I oughta use you as a shield!” The man took Chisaki off the ground.

Quickly he lifted his glove off his free hand. He slapped the man’s hand for touching him. The arm exploded on impact squirting blood everywhere. He couldn’t kill him here. Not with the police close by. The hives broke out on his arm and face. Chisaki went to an alley to hide from anyone else who could see him. The law and the heros were poorly handling the situation, so it was easier to pass by.

There he found the church between office buildings. It looked crammed where it was. The windows were colored with art from the Bible. Entering the chapel there were many empty pews, marble floor, candle lights, and the sound of singing. At the altar stood a dozen people in white robes singing. The church was dark with a couple spot lights on the choir. Y/n was on the ends, and there he could hear only her voice. The moment seemed to overwhelm and calm him at the same time. He was drawn to take a step closer as he had no control. The front few pews were filled, but 60% of them were empty. He stood in the back, not wanting to be noticed by the other people. He was seen though. The (color) eyes looked at him directly and a smile grew and met with her eyes. It felt like a blessing that was happening.

Y/n was an angle that’s what she was.

Pure, so pure that’s why he didn’t mind her touching him. That’s why he showed her his face. That’s why they kissed. But with his hands, he ended up not taininring her. Was she his and he hers? He dismembered a man’s arm today, and she sang about love. She was his angel and he was her devil. There was no doubt about her now.

It all made sense, she came back to him after so many years, and kept trying to get back into his life, drunk visits, parties, power outages. They were all signs to bring them together. Where does she fit into the plan though? It could be figured out later. Maybe his closest partner?

Next https://tryingfe-imaginesblog.tumblr.com/post/613800412034760704/overhaulxreader-part-13-the-singing-stopped-some

[dragonfics]

Weakness

Summary:  He knows the truth. He knows that I could never hurt him. He knows that he’s my weakness.

In Ebott City, trust is hard to come by. And perhaps even more so, is love. One has to trust to love, because to love is to show weakness. And in Edge's position, there's no room for weakness.

Well, perhaps just one.

Tags: Surface AU, crime AU, crime boss Edge, smut, lemons, oral sex, rough sex, mildly dubious consent, violence, strangling (non-fatal and non-sexual), brief violence within a relationship, hurt/comfort, angst (with a happy ending), implied emotional abuse (not between the Spicyhoney boys), non-permanent break up, semi-bittersweet ending, top + dom Edge, bottom + sub Rus

Ships: Spicyhoney, small hint of unhealthy Fell Muffet/Swap Pap (depending on how you interpret it)

Word count: ~5.7k

Notes: A (late) birthday fic for @paintys-actual-art ! Happy birthday, Painty!!! 😍 I hope you enjoy. Also, if you’re worried about any of the tags, I’d recommend reading the notes on AO3 for more detailed warnings.

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

Listening to Rus moan was a pleasure in itself. Every sound out of his mouth was soft and delicate, much like his bones beneath Edge’s hands, and his cunt beneath Edge’s tongue. It was endlessly satisfying to be able to draw each noise out of him with just a swipe of his tongue and a little concentrated magic in the right areas.

When Rus came, Edge pressed his tongue deep inside him to prolong his orgasm. He shut his eyes and listened to him whine his name. It sounded so foreign on his tongue. He was the only one who called Edge by his name, and only while they were here, in the privacy (safety) of Edge’s bedroom. Outside of here, he was Boss or Sir.

And this was the only time Edge got to enjoy Rus like this. Certainly, he’d steal a few glances at his ilia when he stretched enough for his shirt to ride up; or at his coccyx through his jeans when he walked away. But beyond these walls, they were professional acquaintances only. Rus was only as important to him as the intel he provided, and as far as he was loyal.

He sat up, wiping Rus’s magic from his mouth. Rus’s breathing was still heavy, fingers wrapped around the bedsheets. He opened his eyes and gave Edge a longing look. “kiss me,” he said breathlessly.

Edge didn’t take orders from anyone outside of this room. But here, with Rus asking, he always obliged. He slipped his tongue into Rus’s mouth and kissed him, long and deep, sharing breath and saliva. His slacks were painfully tight, and his crotch was already damp with a patch of precum. He wanted Rus. “Take off my pants,” he ordered. Rus unbuckled his belt with tremulous excitement. After freeing his cock he gave it a long stroke, brushing the head with his thumb. “Let me watch you put it in,” Edge said, his voice gravelly with arousal.

Rus’s eye-lights gleamed. He guided Edge’s cock between his folds, bucking his hips against it and dragging it over his clit. Edge breathed deeply as he watched, magic filling his mouth. “No more teasing.” His voice was a soft growl, dangerous, but gentle. “I want to be inside you.”

He felt the shudder that went through Rus. Lying back, he lifted his legs over Edge’s shoulders and Edge sank into him, all the way in one deep thrust. Rus’s pleasured cry was loud—always so loud. If this room wasn’t specially soundproofed, Edge might have scolded him for it. But on the contrary, he enjoyed it immensely.

Holding Rus’s legs in place, he settled in his position, buried deep. He smiled when Rus squirmed. “edge,” he breathed. “please move.” Edge gave a slow roll of his hips and Rus groaned.

“Oh, love…” He leaned in, hovering a mere centimetre from Rus’s mouth. “Beg me for it.”

“please,” Rus whined.

“You can do better than that.” Edge pressed his face against Rus’s neck. “Beg.”

Rus gasped. “please!”

“Louder,” Edge growled.

“please, edge!” Rus cried. “please fuck me! i need it so badly. please, i need to feel your cock buried inside me, i need—”

Edge silenced him with a kiss and pulled his hips back, then sank all the way back in. “That’s it. Mm…” He kissed Rus deeply as he thrust into him. “I love hearing you beg. Love hearing how much you want me.”

Rus gasped, clinging to Edge’s back. “i want you! i want you so much. ah!” Edge braced himself with a hand on the headboard, and fucked Rus almost feverishly, chasing his climax. Rus shut his eyes and his mouth fell open. He reached between them, rubbing his clit, and Edge felt his walls tightening around his cock. He choked out a groan and came inside him. Rus wailed, and seconds later, his cunt was convulsing around Edge’s cock while his release still filled him.

Edge held himself up, breathing heavily, then rolled off Rus and onto his back. He shut his eyes, catching his breath. Beside him, Rus was gasping softly. The moment was all too brief, and reality quickly struck. Edge got up and dressed, finding a fresh pair of slacks in his dresser. “You’re seeing the chief tonight?” he asked, eyeing Rus over his shoulder. He was still lying back, but sat up when he saw Edge watching him.

“yeah.”

“Then you’ll be back in the usual meeting spot tomorrow to report?” Rus nodded. “Good,” Edge said, buttoning his blouse.

“can i see you again tomorrow?” The question was cautious—Rus knew he wasn’t supposed to ask.

Edge decided to feign misunderstanding. “You know how this works. It’s too dangerous for me to meet you personally. I’ll send an envoy.”

“you know that’s not what i mean.”

Edge studied his reflection in the mirror. There were still traces of gold around his jaw. Residual magic from Rus’s mouth and cunt. “What do you mean, then?”

Rus sighed. “i mean like this. not for business.”

Edge didn’t answer for some time, mulling the question over before deciding that wasn’t a safe train of thought to follow. “I’ll call on you when I desire you,” he said flatly. Rus looked dejected, and Edge’s soul sank with relief… and guilt.

Sighing, Rus stood up. “why do you fuck me, edge?”

“It’s Boss. And get dressed, the cleaner will be in soon.”

Rus didn’t move. “you didn’t answer my question.”

Edge exhaled sharply. “I fuck you because I enjoy fucking you.”

“why do you enjoy it?”

Turning to look Rus in the eye, he said, “Because you have a nice cunt and you’re good with your mouth.” He waited to see the hurt in Rus’s expression before he looked away, satisfied his words had had the intended effect. “I gave you a direct order. Get dressed and go.” Rus stared at him hard, before picking his clothes up off the floor and storming out of the room, completely naked. Edge sighed heavily, but didn’t follow him. Trust him to pick the brattiest of his informants to fuck.

****

Rus was valuable, but Edge only trusted him as far as he could control him. And he couldn’t control him. Most of those who served him weren’t loyal as much as they were afraid. That was just fine. Fear was a powerful tool, and Edge utilised it well.

But Rus wasn’t afraid of him. Threatening him earned laughter and cheek, and there was no attempting to intimidate him. So no, Edge didn’t trust him. He knew how to keep him on the hook—his position meant he could afford to pay him better than most other crime families in the city, certainly more than the police could. And… sex. Though in truth, it was as much a hook for him as it was for Rus. He usually didn’t get involved intimately with the people in his network, especially not those as fickle as informants. But being with Rus sexually was just…

If felt like he was living someone else’s life. He stopped being one of Ebott’s most wanted and became someone’s lover. Someone gentle and caring. Someone compassionate. It was… unnerving, in a way, like he’d been stripped of his armour and left bare and vulnerable to attack. But in the same way, he needed it. He needed to take off his armour sometimes, and let himself breathe.

He stole moments with Rus. Usually in the weeks when the world had been crueller than normal. He’d let himself linger in the afterglow of their lovemaking, let Rus touch him, hold him, kiss him—to no effect other than his own selfish need to feel wanted. Wanted for more than just his influence or his power or his wealth.

Rus ran his fingers down Edge’s chest, the gentle touch a reflection of everything else about him. “you have a lot of scars,” he said, almost as if mesmerised by them.

Edge was of a mind to push his hand away, but he let it stay. For the same selfish reasons he kept Rus close to him in the first place. “You’re observant,” he replied sarcastically.

Rus tilted his head. “you always hide them. why?” Edge didn’t know how to answer that. Scars were a mark of strength. The remaining memories of fights won. Of power exerted over lesser monsters. Of LOVE…

And perhaps that was just why. Scars had their value, but in truth, they were as much shame as they were strength.

Edge closed his hand around Rus’s and moved it, looking at him steadily. “I want you on your knees.” Rus held his eye for a lingering second, as if he might push his line of questioning. But he smiled and slipped off the bed.

There was nothing quite like watching Rus suck him off. The care he took in his work… well, arousing only just began to cover it. Edge loved the way he shut his eyes, as if blocking out the rest of the world so he could lavish Edge in every ounce of his attention. The warm slide of his tongue over the head of Edge’s cock, so talented and precise, made him shudder.

He smoothed his palm over the back of Rus’s skull, guiding the gentle bobbing of his head. He never came up for air. Once he got started, it was like he couldn’t stop until Edge had filled his mouth with his release. He could feel Rus’s soft breaths against his pelvis and the gentle vibrations of his quiet moans.

Sometimes he’d pleasure himself with his fingers while he sucked Edge. Edge liked to watch, though it usually led to a rather premature orgasm on his part. When he got close, Rus always seemed to know. With a playful glint in his eyes, he would swallow Edge all the way and just… hold him there, in the tight warmth of his throat, until he came in hot bursts. He always swallowed. Sometimes it would dribble down his chin, and Edge would wonder if it was deliberate.

It had always struck Edge as ironic that the best way to distract himself from Rus was by having sex with Rus. It was a self-destructive cycle that he couldn’t get himself out of.

Once he had filled Rus’s mouth with his seed, Rus rested his head in his lap, closing his eyes. And against his better judgement, Edge let him stay there.

****

Even in his deepest fits of LV-induced rage, Edge knew he could never really hurt Rus. Though that didn’t stop him from trying. He squeezed Rus’s neck, pressing him into the bed, and let his anger flare like an inferno. “You gave us bad intel,” he growled while Rus choked. “I lost thirty monsters last night. Good monsters. They’re all dead or going to prison. Because of your information.”

Rus clawed at his hand, gasping. “i—wo—uldn’t—“

“Are you working for the police?” Edge snapped, throttling him. “Did you know that information was bad?”

Rus squirmed and kicked, shaking his head. “n—o,” he rasped out, his voice weaker than a breath of air. Edge wanted to be angry. He wanted to hate Rus. To be able to hurt him. But—

He released him with a frustrated growl and buried his face in his hands. Rus rolled over, gasping and coughing, holding onto his throat. Edge watched him, and hated that all he wanted to do was comfort him. “Your information cost us,” he said quietly.

“i didn’t know it was bad, edge, i swear.” His voice was weak, and rough like sandpaper. “i would never betray you, edge. never. i—“

“How do I know you’re not lying to me? How do I know you haven’t been lying to me this entire time?” Edge ground his teeth together, his fists shaking at his sides. “You’ve served my enemies in the past. Grillby. Undyne. You’re fickle.”

Rus sobbed. “no! no, i’m loyal. to you, only you. edge, please—“

“Don’t call me that!” Edge snarled, grabbing Rus by the shoulders and pinning him to the bed. Rus stared up at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t get to call me that. Ever. It’s Boss.”

Rus swallowed. “i’m loyal. i always have been…”

“No one is loyal,” Edge spat. “There’s no loyalty. Only fear.” He looked Rus in the eye. “And you’re not afraid.” Because he knows, Edge thought. He knows the truth. He knows that I could never hurt him. He knows that he’s my weakness.

And there was nothing Edge could do. He couldn’t even give his lost allies the ounce of retribution that would come from the suffering of the person responsible for theirs. He could give it to them, he thought, looking at Rus. He stepped closer, forcing Rus back onto the bed, then wrapped both hands around Rus’s throat, rubbing his thumbs over his vertebrae. It would be so easy. Just a squeeze and he could sever the delicate cord of magic holding Rus’s head to his body. Rus’s HP was so pitiful, and Edge’s LV gave him a hundred times the strength he’d need to turn Rus to dust. It wouldn’t even take an ounce of effort.

Rus stared up at him, and still, there was no fear in his eyes. But there was something else. There was hurt, dejection, pain. Edge let go and shut his eyes. He knew what he had to do, and the weight of the decision was like a stone sinking in his soul. He allowed himself just a moment…

Rus trembled beneath his hands. Edge bowed his head and pressed a light kiss to the crown of his skull before turning away. “You no longer work for me,” he said quietly. He couldn’t look at Rus’s face. “We can no longer see each other.”

A soft breath left Rus. “what.”

“Leave. Now.”

“over one piece of bad intel? are you fucking kidding me, edge?” He sounded angry, and that was better than hurt. Edge could deal with anger.

“Don’t call me that,” he said calmly.

Rus stood up. “i’ll call you whatever i fucking like!” He grasped Edge’s shoulder and turned him around. “look me in the eye before you just—toss me away like trash! you—you asshole!”

Edge couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t look at him. He lowered his eyes, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

“look at me!” Rus cried, slamming his hands against Edge’s chest. The blow was weak, barely enough to move him, but it made him look up. Rus’s sockets were brimming with tears. “don’t do this to me,” he sobbed. “i love y—“

“Don’t,” Edge growled, gripping his wrists and pushing him back onto the bed. It knocked the breath out of Rus but he didn’t fight or move. Edge stood between his legs. He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop…

He yanked Rus’s jeans down. “Your cunt,” he ordered, then unzipped his slacks and pulled out his cock, stroking himself to hardness.

He pushed into Rus without preparation and Rus screamed, clinging to his back. Edge pounded into him, unleashing his anguish, his hatred, his betrayal. Rus didn’t let go, holding to him until Edge growled and spilled his seed into him. He stayed inside Rus as he went soft and rubbed his clit, pulling his orgasm out of him. Rus’s body jerked with discomfort and overstimulation. He clawed at Edge’s back, trying to hold onto him, but Edge pulled away, zipping himself back up.

“You know your way out,” he said monotonously. “I don’t want to see you here again.” He didn’t wait to hear Rus’s response, didn’t look back to see his face, because if he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave.

****

Months passed and Edge didn’t see Rus. He certainly thought about him enough. He recovered from the loss of his allies, and retaliated against the family responsible. Grillby himself may not have been formidable, but money spoke louder than actions in many cases, and his supporters outnumbered Edge’s three to one.

For the moment.

Numbers didn’t make him stronger. Still, strong enough to present a threat that needed dealing with. Edge worked to dismantle his network, starting with his lowest ranked supporters. They built the bulk of his numbers. Rumours of mistreatment and underpayments travelled quickly, and soon, Grillby’s foot soldiers were flocking to Edge. He welcomed them with open arms and promises of pay—and protection. Those who harmed even the lowliest of his supporters were dealt with swiftly and brutally. Perhaps more brutally than necessary but Edge thought little of it. Not anymore.

Once he’d dwindled Grillby’s numbers, he focused on stifling his income. He had the means to sabotage his trade routes and deliveries. The rewards of such sabotages were to be distributed among Edge’s own supporters.

Grillby retaliated, of course, but Edge’s mind was keener for battle, and he remained a step ahead. With Grillby’s supporters losing faith in him, Edge had little difficulty placing spies within his network. Slowly, he was able to pick apart his outer circles, until he was left with few he could trust. He was still a threat, and Edge knew it was best to remain wary. But for now, he had won. Won what? A crumbling, heartless empire?

It was undeniable he’d been thriving since getting rid of Rus. His job, his operations, his network of loyalists. He was dominating the city’s underbelly, and gaining himself more support than he’d had in years. He was the city’s most powerful monster. Then why did he feel so empty?

But more power meant more enemies, and there was a new player in the field. Muffet was clever. Cleverer than Grillby, at any rate. She played her cards well, and for a time, Edge wasn’t certain whether to treat her as friend or foe. She would be a powerful ally to have, but he knew it was too early to trust her.

One afternoon, he received an invitation. For tea. It was at her own home, according to the note, which was situated just outside the city. He considered bringing security, but decided against it. It was unlikely she intended to harm him. She was smart, and the bait would be too obvious. Bringing security would only show her he was afraid.

Nonetheless, he took precautions, alerting all his seconds and thirds where he would be going, and what to do had he not returned within a reasonable timeframe. Once all the arrangements had been made, he climbed into his car and drove.

It was strange leaving the city. Once you reached the outskirts, it was all cliffs and rolling hills and moss and sea. Muffet’s home was isolated; a cottage on the bluffs that overlooked the sea. Edge parked in the driveway and climbed out. At once, he was greeted by the bracing smell of the ocean, the air crisp and fresh. Flowers grew beneath the windowsills of the cottage, pruned and cared for, and vines crept up the walls. Edge had to wonder how Muffet managed operations within the city when she was situated so far without.

He found the door open and walked inside. It was warm and lived-in, and everything was covered in lace or silk. As he walked deeper into the house, the smell of sweets and cakes drifted through the passage, and he inhaled instinctively, before reminding himself to keep his guard up.

“We’re in the kitchen, dearie!” trilled a voice from down the hall. Edge narrowed his sockets, but kept walking. We? The whistling of a teapot grew louder as he walked, as did the sound of soft voices. The first was Muffet’s, he was certain. Unsettling in its sweetness, yet exactly what he’d pictured. The second was softer, and… too familiar. The moment he set foot in the kitchen, his soul turned to ice.

Rus was sitting at the table with Muffet. He looked up when Edge entered, and a wave of emotion passed across his face for just a glimmer of a second, before he smiled. “hello, edge.”

A million possibilities sprang to mind all at once. Each more awful than the last. Rus was working for Muffet. Rus was feeding Muffet information about him. Rus was sleeping with Muffet. Rus was sleeping with Muffet to get revenge. Rus was sleeping with Muffet because he’d moved on.

Edge tore his gaze away from Rus and looked at Muffet. She was watching him—too observantly. She was trying to gauge his reaction to Rus, Edge realised. He immediately let his features relax. He’d need to play this carefully. If he overreacted, she’d know. But if he played it too casual, she’d realise he was hiding something. He lifted a brow, glancing between the two of them. “You two know each other?” he asked indifferently.

Muffet studied him, then smiled. “Yes. We’ve grown very close of late.” She reached across the table and squeezed Rus’s hand. His smile hardly faltered, but he squirmed in his seat. Edge knew Rus’s smile. Soft and easy, with a hint of smugness—he knew it well enough to be able to tell when he was faking it. And he was. Something was off.

Taking a seat, he folded his hands on the table. “I assume you called me here for a purpose.”

Muffet waved her free hand (Edge wasn’t going to look at the one around Rus’s, he wasn’t). “Oh, we’ve been dancing around each other for so long, I figured it was time we finally met. And what an honour it is.”

“Please. The honour is all mine.” Edge’s flat tone made Muffet’s saccharine smile falter, but she quickly rearranged it.

Pushing a plate of sweet buns towards him, she said, “Help yourself, dearie.”

“I already ate. Thank you.” Edge allowed himself a brief glance at Rus. His cheekbones were hollower, and he had dark circles under his sockets, and a colourless complexion. As if he’d faded during their time apart. And, long as it had been, Edge knew his feelings hadn’t diminished, not even a little. His first instinct upon seeing Rus worn down like this was guilt—while he’d been prospering, Rus had been withering. “What manner of business do you wish to discuss?” he asked, turning back to Muffet.

Her hand was still on Rus’s, stroking gently. Edge wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t. His mana burned. “Well, I suppose there’s no point tap dancing around each other like a couple of politicians—you and I have great potential as allies.”

“Allies? Against whom? Grillby? I had little difficulty dealing with him on my own.”

“Oh, dearie.” Muffet’s laughter was light and sweet. “An impressive feat, were Grillby not a complete imbecile. Though, I congratulate you on your victory.” She lifted her teacup, smiling over the rim. “But we needn’t worry about him. His strength was in money, and without it, he lacks the wit to rebuild himself.” She sipped her tea slowly, squeezing Rus’s fingers. She wanted Edge to notice. He couldn’t give her that. “But when one empire falls, another one rises in its place. There are always new threats presenting themselves in Ebott.”

Edge nodded grimly. “Indeed. Though, this is the first time I’ve been invited to tea by one of them.”

Muffet laughed softly. “I don’t have to be your enemy. Nor you mine. Working together, you and I could dominate the city.”

“What makes you so certain of that?”

“We both know how to take what we want.” He had to be imagining it, but he was sure she squeezed Rus’s hand just a little tighter when she spoke. “We’re both smart. A lot smarter than most of those would-be emperors running around the city. And we have the respect of our people.”

Edge snorted and she narrowed her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said. “But our people scarcely know you. You’re still a mere princess, playing at queen in her garden of dolls.” She studied him carefully, but betrayed no emotion. “Yes, you may have the potential for power. But as it stands, you need me more than I need you. A lot more. And frankly, I don’t think I have a lot of reason to trust you. What’s to stop you from supplanting me once you have what you want?”

She regarded him coolly, taking a measured sip of her tea. “Mutually assured destruction. You go down, I go down with you. I go down, your life turns to misery.” Her eyes didn’t flicker to Rus. They DIDN’T.

“A fragile foundation of trust,” Edge said calmly.

“It will hold. As long as neither of us does anything reckless.” She sighed, placing her empty cup on the table. “You still hold influence over the monster community. They don’t know me, and they won’t trust me until they see that you do. Until I’ve proven myself.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“You’ll need my help if you want to rule this city. You can’t do it alone.”

Edge shrugged bemusedly. “I’ve managed so far.”

Muffet shook her head. “Things are changing—the players are changing. The humans—the police—they’re increasing their patrols, the lengths they’re willing to go to. They don’t want to civilise us, they want to eradicate us. I’ve worked with them. I know their strengths, the way they think. You need someone like me.”

Her words may have inspired confidence in Edge, were he not so distracted by her hands. They… wandered. Over Rus’s fingers, up his arm, onto his knee. She was toying with Edge. He knew she was. His main goal had to be not to give her a reaction. She wanted him to crack. He observed her calmly, standing up. “Perhaps, one day, I will regret turning you down. But today, I’ll go home with a clear mind and conscience.” He started walking towards the door.

“How can your conscience truly be clear, when you walk away knowingly forsaking your lover?”

Edge stopped, shutting his eyes. It was a bold move. She’d revealed all her cards now, and was calling his bluff. He turned slowly. He just. Needed to remain collected. “Past lover,” he corrected blandly, giving Rus little more than a cursory glance. “I find it rather amusing, and a little pathetic, that this is the ace up your sleeve. A past fling? Someone I bedded months ago and forgot about?” He kept his features carefully trained, deliberately avoiding Rus’s eye when he spoke.

Muffet’s lips curled. “Oh, but I beg to differ. He’s more than a mere fling, isn’t he?” She leaned close to Rus, stroking his face and wiping away a tear with her fingertip. “Isn’t that right, dearie? You’re not so easily forgotten. Well.” She looked at Edge, smiling. “He hasn’t forgotten you. As I told you, he and I have been taking the time to get to know each other. And my my, did he have a lot to say about you.”

It all clicked in Edge’s head at once. Muffet had had him from the start. She knew. She knew about Rus, and it all made sense now. The gaunt look about him—she’d had her claws in him longer than Edge had thought. She’d been chipping away at him, learning all about Edge. She’d found his weak spot before he’d even had the chance to learn her strengths.

And he couldn’t hide it now. The horror. The fear. It was written across his face. He looked at Rus now—truly looked at him—and saw the fragile shell of the monster he knew and loved all those months ago. And it broke him.

“Oh…” Muffet covered her mouth, tittering. “How sweet. Fear looks good on you, dearie. I could get used to it.” Her smile was so complacent, so smug, Edge wanted to throttle her. She was so impressed with herself. So pleased she’d found the crack in his armour. Edge looked at Rus. At his tear-streaked face, at his fragile bones, the tremble in his hands, and all at once, he stopped caring.

“You can have whatever you want,” he said robotically. “The city. Your empire. Take it. I don’t care.” Rus’s chest heaved with a stifled sob, but Edge didn’t look at him. His gaze was trained on Muffet, who was giving him a calculating stare. Clearly, she’d been expecting more of a fight. “Give me Rus,” Edge said, “and you can have anything. You can have your empire. You can sit on your throne and rule over a city of dust. I don’t want any part of it.”

“You’d give up everything…” she said slowly. “Your whole life—everything you’ve worked so hard for. And—and for what? A back-alley Tale-verse slut with a pretty face?” She sounded almost offended at the prospect. “You’re not fooling me.”

“I pity you,” Edge said, looking at her impassively. “Almost as much as I pity myself. It’s taken me months to realise how empty this life is. How hopeless. Our kind are dying, and we can’t stop it. Those that are left of us are the powerful. The cruel. The lost. I have all the riches I could want. All the influence. The power. I sit on a throne of dead—dead monsters—whose deaths I ordered as if it were nothing. As if I’ve earned my place as their leader. As if it makes me happy.” He looked at Rus and took a deep breath. “But in all those months, my soul hasn’t shone brighter than when I walked into this kitchen ten minutes ago and… and saw his face again.” Tears prickled at his sockets and he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

He looked at Muffet, turning cold. “You’ve hurt him. I should end your life for that…” For the first time, she looked fearful. As well as she controlled it, Edge could see through her mask. “In exchange for your promise to leave us be, I will let you live. If you allow me to leave with Rus—if you let us go and forget about us—you can have your life. Take the empire too if you wish, though I imagine that part will be difficult.”

“And what of the city?” The sweet touch had left Muffet’s voice. Now, she sounded angry. “What of our people—your people? You’d abandon them so freely. For—for him?”

“I would,” Edge said without hesitation. “And I trust I’m leaving them in capable hands. But you’ll have to earn their trust yourself. And for their sake, I almost hope you fail. You may be the answer to our war against humans, but having seen today what’s inside your soul, you are not the solution to this violence and hatred. Your soul is cold.” He laughed emptily. “But I don’t think you will be unsuccessful. The people love a tyrant. I would know. Perhaps you can give them more than I have.”

He approached the table and touched Rus’s arm. Rus flinched, and Edge crouched, offering him his arms. Rus glanced at Muffet, eyes wide. But she was frozen, still contemplating Edge’s words. Edge lifted Rus into his arms and Rus clung on, wrapping his arms around his neck. Muffet watched with uncertainty as Edge left, as if trying to decide whether she ought to stop them. “Tell me,” she said when they reached the door. “How is it, that someone so weak came to rule such a formidable city?” Edge turned, looking at her without answering. She sneered. “You’re a coward. You could have anything you want. Anything in the world, and you choose a broken toy.”

Edge smiled vaguely. “Love isn’t a weakness, Muffet. Enjoy your throne.”

He put Rus in the backseat of his car so he could lie down, then drove in the opposite direction of the city. He’d turn back eventually. He knew he would. He knew he’d never truly be able to abandon his people. Even when hope was scarce. But… for now. He glanced at the backseat in his rear-view mirror, where Rus was curled in on himself. He met Edge’s gaze, and briefly his eye-lights softened. Just briefly.

The sun was golden above the sea, and Edge wound down his window to feel the spray on his face. They stopped a few miles down the road and climbed out. Rus leaned on Edge as he walked them to the precipice. They sat down, and Edge corralled Rus against him.

The wind rustled in the grass and birds called from over the water. “i’m not worth it,” Rus whispered against Edge’s shoulder. “i’m not worth everything. everything you had—everything you still have. i’m just… a weakness. i’m a burden. n-nothing to you…”

Edge hushed him, blinking back tears. They were Muffet’s words, not Rus’s. He knew that, and he almost reconsidered turning around and breaking his promise to her. Instead, he held Rus. “You’re worth more,” he said gently. “So much more than a crumbling city. You’re worth the world.” He crushed Rus against his chest, inhaling him. “I should never have asked you to leave. Life without you was… empty. I became… I became the cruel iron fist I vowed to protect monsterkind from. But you… you made me good. Vulnerable. Kind. I thought those were traits of the weak, but I was wrong.”

Rus let out a long, shaking breath and wrapped his arms around Edge, burying himself against him. Edge kissed the crown of his skull. “I’m not letting go of you again, okay? I promise.”

Rus clung to him, his tears making Edge’s shirt damp. “do you love me?” he asked in a small voice.

Edge almost wanted to laugh. “Do you still not believe it?”

“please.” Rus’s voice was a fragile whimper. “please. i need to hear you say it.”

Edge lifted Rus’s face and kissed him deeply, tasting the salt of his tears and the soft, sweet magic he’d missed so much. “I love you, Rus. I always have.”

[wykart]

Fix Her

Chapter 5 of a fic about Five and Vanya and all the tragedy surrounding them (chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

Chapter Summary: Five has just started working for the commission and decides to pay a visit to the city where he grew up. He comes across a familiar face. 

read here on ao3 or continue chapter 5 under the cut

14965 days after

It was his fourth job. Belgium. Three days. A simple locate and destroy. It was early days for him in the commission – very early. So early, that they were yet to understand what he was capable of, and tended to underestimate his abilities. Hence, he had been allocated three days for a job that took him under two hours by a miraculous partnership of happenstance and skill. And so, he had three days. Three days to walk unabided in a world that was still breathing. There was only one place that beckoned – the one place that he’d spent all his childhood dreaming of escaping. It occurred to him that he could walk right through the front doors of the academy, now or three years earlier, at the very moment he disappeared. Even if such an action wouldn’t send the commission into a murderous frenzy, pinning all their best agents on his tail, he still wouldn’t do it. The thought of Vanya searching his old face for traces of the friend she’d lost was unbearable. Most of all, he couldn’t face his father. He couldn’t face being treated like some disobedient child that had finally, finally learnt his lesson. There was no life for him back at the academy. The only thing that worried him now was preventing the apocalypse, timeline be damned. He didn’t much care for the world that would live on afterwards – it wasn’t a place meant for him. His place was the ruins, the fire and the blizzard before the trees that grew over the rusted ruins of mankind. That was where he belonged, no matter how hard he had tried to escape it. He missed Delores. He missed solitude and hopelessness and the freedom that was complete existential damnation. So he went to Griddy’s, as he used to, when the world seemed too much.

…

1095 days after

Three years. There was finality in a milestone like that. Three years, and she wasn’t a kid anymore. Three years, and it was becoming difficult to hang onto false hope. The other’s had all accepted it far sooner. Five had been too self-righteous, too self-absorbed. He’d been disobedient, and his power had consumed him, one way or the other. Her siblings threw around other ideas; that Five was living it up somewhere far away, that he’d finally gotten tired of the old man’s bullshit and left. As selfish as it was, Vanya found the latter a much heavier burden to bear. The Hargreeves children were sixteen now, and no longer children, at least by their own standards. Luther was loyal and insufferable as ever, Diego as bitter and impulsive, Allison was a teenage sweetheart and grade-A bitch, and Klaus was losing himself to a wide range of drugs and narcotics, despite Ben’s best attempts to stop him. Ben was perhaps the most restless of all, how many bodies had he racked up over the years? Certainly far more than the rest of them combined, and it haunted him. Those things he harboured were eating him up from the inside, and he seemed more distant and melancholic than he’d been even as that quiet, bookish kid. Though their father urged them onwards, the team was already showing signs of falling apart. Allison was often away in bigger, more glamorous cities, Klaus was essentially powerless, and even Diego had stopped pining over his place as number one and had instead started getting into the odd scrap on the streets and staying out far too late. Reginald only grew bitter as the rest of them fell apart, and Vanya couldn’t help but smile along as their great and powerful fantasy crumbled to the ground.

She’d managed to master the art of sneaking out over the past few years, and now she was so quick, so quiet, that Five might as well have been there, teleporting the two of them directly outside the window. Security was also far more lax nowadays, as Reginald spent most of his time pent up in his office and leaving them to their own devices, having accepted their noncompliance. He’d even stopped using the security cameras. It had taken her a while to muster the courage to sneak out on her own after Five disappeared. She got the money from Klaus, who always had some hiding somewhere that he’d stolen off dad or one of the others. He’d been too high to notice her taking it. She didn’t go as often as she and Five used to, it just wasn’t as fun, wandering the streets by yourself and living inside your own head. Tonight, her head was a particularly insufferable place to be – it was ablaze with a single, excruciating fact. He’s never coming back. So she went to Griddy’s, as she did, when the world seemed too much.

…

He looked up from his notes when the door opened, the shrill chime indicating a new customer. He went on writing feverishly, he was so close to a breakthrough.

“Hey there, kid,” the waitress called – the same waitress, he realised, though she seemed a lot friendlier now. “the usual?”

“No thanks.” And of course she picked tonight to sneak away from the academy. It had been so much easier to ignore when he’d just been passing through, so much easier to forget what it had been like to live as a person among others, among friends. Vanya Hargreeves sat herself down a few stools away, dark fringe a little longer, and swept to the side. Her voice was a little deeper, and she seemed to have hit that stage of puberty where her limbs were too long for the rest of her, and her elbows stuck out at odd angles as they rested on the counter. Sixteen. It had only been three years for her, and yet she had changed so much. “I don’t know whether I could do a jelly-donut tonight, I’ll just take a coffee.”

“Coffee?” the waitress repeated, disapproving, “isn’t it a bit late for that.”

Vanya chuckled to herself, and he couldn’t stop staring. “It’s okay, I’m not exactly planning on sleeping tonight.”

“Well,” the waitress indicated towards Five, sitting at the far end of the bar, “it seems that’s a trend tonight.” She grinned and turned to busy herself with the machine. Vanya’s eyes only flicked to him briefly as the waitress mentioned him, but there was no recognition, why would there be? He was just some sad old man alone in the city. Vanya wrung her hands and laced her fingers absent-mindedly – he didn’t remember her being so restless.

The waitress set a steaming mug of coffee down in front of her. “So, what’s the occasion? I don���t see you in here much anymore.” Vanya clasped her hands around the mug and bent her face towards the steam emanating from the top, warming herself.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “I guess I was just feeling a little nostalgic.” Five barley managed to suppress a snort. She sounded almost as old as him. She sat in silence for a moment, sipping tentatively at her drink, until suddenly, it all must have been too much to bear alone. “Do you remember that boy, the one I used to come here with years ago?”

The waitress chuckled. “Of course I remember, the two of you here in here almost every week, laughing and having a right old time – it made things interesting for me on this lousy shift.”

Vanya smiled sadly, “yeah,” she muttered. “Well it’s been three years now, since he disappeared. I don’t think he’s ever coming back.” Her words stung, and he wished he could tell her that he was here, that he’d tried to come back, had never for a second in forty years stopped trying.

The waitress didn’t seem to know what to say. “I’m sorry, kid. I almost forgot, you’re in that umbrella club, right? They tried to keep it all hush-hush when one of the boys stopped showing up on the TV.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in on the whole club thing, but he was. He hated it.” She took another sip of coffee. Her hands were starting to shake. “You know," she sighed, unsure of whether or not to continue, “I think he ran away and left me.” The waitress drew her lips into a hard line, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I’m sorry for bringing that up,” Vanya said, hastily, “I just, I can’t be alone in that house, not tonight. I just needed to tell someone who wouldn’t say I was stupid for still caring.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said, “you come by whenever you need to.”

Vanya pressed her lips together in a hardened attempt to smile. “Thanks.” She was trembling, and not just from the coffee. He watched her reach a quivering hand into her pocket – a black overcoat instead of the old blazers they used to wear – and retrieved a zip-lock bag full of those orange and white capsules she’d taken for as long as Five could remember. She gulped one down with a sip of coffee and seemed to calm down almost immediately. She sighed, shaking out the last of those anxious jitters.

The next few minutes were some of the most tense and difficult of his life. There was an overwhelming urge to say something, to reveal himself, but he knew that doing so would only make things worse. Not only would commission lackeys be sent after him to covertly snuff him out once he was out of the way – but it would make things so much worse for Vanya. She’d be happy and heartbroken all at the same time – they’d been meant to grow up together. She’d want him to stay, but he couldn’t – and not just because of the commission – because of the others, because of his father. He couldn’t help but feel like every passing second was time wasted, the person he’d been fighting to get back to all this time was as unreachable as ever, and it broke him.

After a while, he couldn’t stand to be there any longer, and he couldn’t concentrate on his equations with all the tumultuous thoughts racing through his mind. All those years spent alone, he thought it had numbed him, made him better, stronger, emotionless. Turns out, he’d only learned to block it out, he’d only pushed all of those feelings away under his purpose of preventing the apocalypse. Now, all of those feelings that had been stewing away inside for decades finally bubbled to the surface, all the things that he’d hidden away because they’d been too painful to consider.

He stowed away his notebook – he’d plastered paper over the original cover, considering that Vanya hadn’t yet written the autobiography that he was holding – and picked up his briefcase. He gave the waitress a curt nod as he left the shop, and the shrill chiming of the door as he opened it caused Vanya to look up from her coffee. They met eyes for a moment – an awkward encounter with a total stranger, and the painful reunion of two friends, all at once. He straightened his suit jacket and stepped off into the night, trying not to think abut all the hours he spent racing along here as a child, showing off. He thought that coming back to his home city might bring him some comfort, reaffirm his goal to save his family – but all it did was remind him just how much he’d changed, just how much the world he had known didn’t recognise what he’d become. All it did was remind him that he didn’t belong anywhere but amongst the ashes he’d spent his life trying to escape.

[illuminating-dragons]

Kin (11/72): Taking Care

James Potter was an only child with ghosts for siblings. His mother and father told him from a very young age that he had half-a-dozen brothers and sisters, they just hadn’t lived very long.

“The longest any of them lived was four days,” his mother told him once. “On your fifth day we threw a party.”

James was six that day.

So James grew up knowing that he was the youngest of many, and that somehow he’d managed to live longer than any of them. And he saw his mother’s grief, the way she murmured names sometimes late at night. He saw his father’s pain, when he gave James the cloak.

“It’s for you, son,” he said.

Except it wasn’t, really, because it should have been for Timothy. Or Helena, or Judith, or Ian, or Claire, or Christopher. James should have been the one clamoring for a turn with it, not using it as his own.

But most of the time, James had a fantastically happy childhood. His parents put their grief aside more often than not, and they spoiled him just a touch with gifts and privileges. Never with attention or love, though. You can’t spoil a child with those things.

Still, James wanted siblings. He knew his parents couldn’t give him any, so he went and found some himself, Remus and Sirius and Peter. He found out that being a brother meant fights and annoyance, and it meant sacrifice and support. It meant working feverishly to learn to change his body, it meant giving Sirius sanctuary and not going to fight his family, because it would only make things worse. And it meant feeling a little annoyed by Peter and how strange he seemed sometimes, but it didn’t matter. Brothers were brothers.

The war came for James in a surprising way. His parents were never “proud” of being Pureblood, but James knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he did have privilege because of that. He was never harassed by anyone, never wondered about his future, never worried about money. Still, he was willing to believe that the so-called ‘Death Eaters’ could never gain any traction. Surely people weren’t that stupid.

But then he heard Severus Snape call Lily Evans a Mudblood, and James knew war was coming. It sounded overly dramatic in his own head, but he knew that Snape was in love with Lily. But he’d still thrown that slur, still called her out in front of a huge crowd.

It was a wake-up call for James, watching those last couple weeks of term when Lily shrank into herself, when she was walking alone, when she ate without speaking. In James’ eyes, Lily had always been popular, but something must have changed. While he’d been watching her, loving her, other people must have begun to pull away. Whether it was because of Snape or her blood status, James had no idea. It was probably a mixture of both, because Gryffindor girls didn’t speak to her and the Slytherins started to harass her.

When sixth year began, James had two goals. He was going to throw himself into the resistance effort at school, because it was getting stupid. And he was going to make sure that Lily Evans was as happy as possible. There was a happy place in the middle of those goals, because Lily should never have to feel lesser because of her blood, and neither should anyone else.

Suggesting that Lily join the Charms club was the beginning, and encouraging Remus to study with her was another part. James also backed off from her, not asking her out once the entire year. He kept up with small gifts (sent by his second owl), and he never really stopped loving her. But he had to put her first, and she didn’t want him. He could live with that, as long as she was smiling and safe.

The resistance was actually more difficult. Discovering the rotten underbelly of the student body, all the secret hatred, all the anonymous acts of anger, wasn’t that hard. James couldn’t understand how he’d never seen it before, but of course he hadn’t. No one saw any need to harass James Potter, after all. Sirius had always had to deal with the ‘blood traitor’ thing, but James knew that his friend’s role came more because of his family’s cruelty than their beliefs, though they were closely tied.

No, the difficult thing was figuring out what to do about it. The Marauders could play pranks and have duels in the halls with the worst of the ‘Death Eaters’, and take those detentions with pride. They’d been doing that for years though, and James wanted a better solution. He and his brothers wanted to make sure that the movement could be crushed before it got beyond words and cruel tricks.

But their last visit to Hogsmeade that year proved it was already too late.

Black robed figures strode down the street, some clearly students but others were grownups, and they tore into people. They must have had some kind of list, because James saw them step by people who were pureblood, and instead try to trample the Muggleborns. Curses were flying everywhere, and James watched in horror as people stood in the street and just…watched. They didn’t stop anything, they didn’t raise a protest. All they did was watch.

   James leapt into the fray, dragging a couple of second years—second years, they were only twelve years old—away from a leering Death Eater. Sirius and Remus were helping too, Sirius mixing curses and expletives at the same time, and Remus created a shield and urged kids and adults alike over. Peter ran up the street. “I’m going for the Professors!” he shouted over his shoulder.

People were starting to come together, and the Death Eaters were getting pushed back. James was still looking for Lily in the crowd, and his heart stopped when he saw her facing off against not one, but three Death Eaters. Her back was to Zonko’s wall, and her face was pale as she threw curses.

One thing went through James’ head—Lily’s not very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wasn’t even in the NEWT class.

   He reached into his bag before he thought about it, and threw a Dungbomb. Out of habit, he threw it just to Lily’s right, so that she wouldn’t get the full blast.

   The Dungbomb worked to perfection, and it bought James enough time to get over to Lily’s side. The Death Eaters reeled back, coughing hard. Their hoods slipped, and James’ heart stopped. One of them was Lucius Malfoy, who was married to one of Sirius’ cousins. One of them was Bellatrix Lestrange, who was Sirius’ cousin.      

The third was Severus Snape.

Lily screamed out a curse James had never heard before, and Snape went flying backwards. James shook himself out of his shock, and he fired Stunning spells at Malfoy and Lestrange. The two dropped, and James reached for Lily. They had to go, had to get out of there…

Suddenly the air was filled with screams of fear, and James turned.

A man with deathly white skin and no nose stood in the square, red eyes glinting.

Voldemort was there. He raised his wand and pointed it at one of the houses, and the building caught fire. The crowd erupted into chaos, with people running and trying to hide. The Death Eaters seemed to gather courage from their leader, and they redoubled their efforts.

James looked at Lily. “Run. Get to the Shrieking Shack.” This was beyond curses, beyond words. Voldemort only came when people died. It was not going to be Lily.

Lily shook her head. She pointed her wand at the house Voldemort had set alight, and called, “Aguamenti!”

A small river seemed to pour from Lily’s wand, dousing the flames and—to James’ horror and amusement—Voldemort himself. He was dripping wet as he turned to face them, and his lips curled in a furious snarl.

James put himself in front of Lily, but before Voldemort could say more than “Avada”, Lily grabbed James’ hand, and yanked him into nothingness.

They reappeared a moment later, a few blocks away.

“What did you do?”

“I’m a witch!” Lily snapped. “I Apparated. Come on!”

They both dashed back into battle, James fighting every urge to tell Lily to stay out of it. She might be a target now, but he could just make himself a bigger one, and they might both make it out alive.

It turned out that they didn’t need to that day. A bird’s cry drew James’ attention towards the sky, and he saw Fawkes. A moment later, an eerie silence fell over the square. When he and Lily dashed in, Voldemort and most of the Death Eaters were gone. Dumbledore stood there looking furious, with McGonagall and Slughorn already starting to repair the damages.

To James’ relief, Sirius and Remus were okay, and Peter puffed up a moment later; he’d found the teachers already on the way to Hogsmeade. Lily went over to Snape, who was struggling against an oversized robe. She pointed her wand into his face. “You goddamn—”

“Lily? What’s…what’s happening?”

                James looked around. The few Death Eaters remaining were pulling off their hoods, revealing themselves to be students. One of them was Marlene MacKinnon, for fuck’s sake. What had happened?

                James did eventually hear the story—apparently the Death Eaters ambushed some of the students outside Madam Puttifoots, and Imperiused them into participating. None of them could remember a thing, and James believed them. But only because Snape tried to hurt Lily. He would never have done that, not really.

                He and the others were carted off to the Hospital Wing despite furious protests. Sirius’ leg was cut, sure, and Remus had been hit with some horrible purple fire, but James was fine, completely fine, and he didn’t need to go to the Hospital Wing—

                That was the last thing he remembered before he collapsed into Lily’s arms. Adrenaline had kept him from feeling the burns on his arms and legs, sustained when he was dragging people out of the way.

                James woke up in the Hospital Wing to sunset light streaming into the room, lighting up Lily’s face as she sat beside his bed. It was a long-cherished dream of his, so of course James spoiled it by saying only, “you soaked Lord Voldemort.”

                Well, he thought he’d spoiled it. But when Lily giggled, and that turned into a laugh—he hadn’t heard her laugh out loud in so long—well, perhaps he hadn’t.

                Exams were an utter joke that year, because so many parents had yanked their children out of school within two days of the attack. James had to argue with his parents to let him stay. “My family is here!” he snapped. “And I’m not afraid of them.”

                But he was afraid of the way some students thought it was a complete joke, or that it wasn’t that bad because no one died. They quoted articles from the Daily Prophet that called it a prank; they quoted their parents who thought it was somewhat justified. “They shouldn’t have gone after the kids, but the others—I heard one of the shop owners brings their Muggle sister to visit! What if she talked? That can’t be allowed, can it?”

                Even some of the teachers were giving the attacks a positive spin. Professor Shilling actually gave James detention after a bitter class dispute. “The Death Eaters might have strong tactics, but they are trying to protect wizard kind!” she snarled.

                “They were going to kill Lily Evans!” James shouted back. “They almost killed a dozen more people. Fucking Voldemort set a house on fire with people inside!”

                It was the best detention he’d ever served, especially since part way through McGonagall came in, her nostrils flared in fury, and dragged James out. She gave him ginger biscuits, told him that Shilling was being sacked, and that he wasn’t to give up.

                “I didn’t know it was this bad,” James said hopelessly, munching on a cookie. “How are people listening to them? I thought it was just words, but it’s gotten so much worse.”

                “It’s been words for longer than you might think,” McGonagall said gently. “Voldemort has been around for over a decade, and the first children who heard it are becoming adults. And there are people who remember Grindelwald, and the arguments sound right.”

                “He isn’t going to win, is he Professor?” James asked. It was a childish question, but he didn’t know what else to say.

                Professor McGonagall shocked him by pulling him into a hug. “I don’t know, Potter,” she answered. “I think there are better people in power than him, and I think there’s still goodness in wizards. But we have to keep up the fight.”

                “I’m going to,” James determined. “I don’t want to be a Healer anymore, Professor. I want to be an Auror.”

                Professor McGonagall released him. “I would advise against that, Potter.”

                “I can learn to fight better—”

                “Of course. I don’t doubt your potential, James. But it might be wiser to…to stay away from government-organized fighting, if you want to make a difference.”

                “Why?”

                “Because they will be Voldemort’s first targets,” Professor McGonagall said quietly. “And I would be surprised, honestly, if there hasn’t been action there already.”

                “Then what do I do?!”

                “Finish your exams,” McGonagall answered. “Keep up with your friends, and hold them close. Don’t let ignorance and hatred go unchallenged this summer, whatever you can do. As for next year…I’d like you to consider becoming Head Boy.”

                “Me?” James asked, stunned. “But I’ve never been a prefect.”

                “That’s merely tradition, Potter. Mr. Lupin has expressed a wish not to be Head Boy, and he recommended you as a candidate.”

                That sounded a lot like Remus. “But I don’t know how to do that. And I won’t—I’m still going to be me.”

                “You’re going to be a leader,” McGonagall said firmly. “And you can do that better than the prefects. They’re good at playing their roles—they’re strong pillars. But they need someone to help them. Someone who sustained major burns saving total strangers, for example.”

                “Do you want me to do this, Professor?”

                “I do. But I’m not the only one. Mr. Lupin recommended you, but so did the future Head Girl.”

                James was puzzled.

                “Miss Evans was informed last night, and Professor Dumbledore and I asked her if she had a preference for her partner. She told me in no uncertain terms—” a flicker of a smile flew across McGonagall’s face—“that she didn’t want to serve with anyone but you.”

                Lily Evans had chosen him. James swallowed hard. Now it wasn’t just his favourite teacher, but the girl he still loved, as many times as he told himself to stop. He had to do this right.

                “I’ll do my best, Professor,” he promised sincerely.

                He wandered the corridors for nearly an hour, safe under his Cloak, trying to understand, trying to make a plan for the following year.

                When he got back to the Common Room at last, it was empty except for Lily, who was sitting in one of the big chairs near the fire. She was staring into the flames. James wanted to leave her in peace, but he tripped over a forgotten bag and fell, tangled in the Cloak.

                Lily sprang up. “James? Is that you?”

                She had never called him James.

                “Yeah, it’s me.” James willed his blush away as he disentangled himself from the Cloak.

                “Is that your Invisibility Cloak?” Lily asked, kneeling beside him.

                James thought about bluffing. But then he realized what she’d said.

                “Hold on, did you know?”

                “There’s no way you could have gotten around all of the Prefect’s traps,” Lily pointed out. “You had to be using something. A Cloak seemed the most obvious.”

                “Aren’t you clever, Evans?”

                “Could I see it?”

                James shook out the Cloak and handed it to her without a thought. He’d never shown the cloak to anyone except his brothers; it was a family heirloom. But Lily could see it. That was fine.

                Lily ran her fingers over it. “This is beautiful. How old is it?”

                “Not sure. My dad said it’s been in our family for generations, but even he’s not sure exactly.”

                “That’s really unusual, you know. Most of them lose their potency after a few years. Invisibility Charms aren’t very strong.” Lily kept playing with the folds.

                James gently—he didn’t want to scare her—took the cloak from her, and draped it around her shoulders. The edges of her long hair were invisible now, and so were her hands and shoulders. Lily looked down at herself in wonder.

                “I wish I had one of these,” she whispered.

                James bit his lip, wishing that he could give it to her. But there was no way she’d accept it. “Is it that horrible?”

                “Ever since Hogsmeade, it’s gotten worse. It’s like people aren’t afraid to say things anymore. They don’t feel like they are in the wrong.”

                “They are wrong,” James said firmly. “And they’re going to lose. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that.”

                Lily smiled. “That’s why I picked you for Head Boy. I know things are going to be harder next year, and you take care of people really well.”

                “I want to look out for my family,” James answered. “And I want to make sure that everyone is safe. This school is for learning, not for hatred.”

                “I hope it stays that way,” was all Lily said in return. She passed him the Invisibility Cloak, and then went upstairs.

                Three days later summer holidays started. James and Sirius went home together, and his parents welcomed them back.

                “Are you boys getting involved in this?” James’ mother asked, showing a Daily Prophet article with pictures of them both in Hogsmeade.

                “Yes,” James said, unsurprised when his brother echoed it. “However we can.”

                That’s when James found out that his parents were involved in a quiet resistance too. They’d seen the tide turning long before that year, and they worked with other people to defend Muggleborns at work, at home, and to help with Muggle-Wizard relations.

                Sirius went right to work helping with that. James helped too, but something was nagging at him. Sure, they could all sit in a room and talk about strategy, and putting up defensive spells and alarms was a great idea. He met Arthur Weasley, a Junior Minister in the Muggle Relations department, and they spent two weeks working on procedures to detect the misuse of Muggle artifacts. But James couldn’t help remembering the battle in Hogsmeade, and how fighting like that had felt completely right.

                But with no real direction, James spent the summer helping his parents and writing to his other brothers. The Marauders all came to stay the last two weeks, right when they were starting to hear about people disappearing. Two Muggleborns, Hyacinth Rettle and Trudy Dench, went missing within days of each other. Rettle was one of Arthur Weasley’s bosses, and Dench was a comedian who’d made several jokes about how stupid the Death Eaters were, and how cowardly. “At least your noseless boss shows his face!” James’ parents and a few others started looking for evidence, for bodies, anything to show that there’d been a crime, but by the time September first came around, there were no signs of anyone. The Daily Prophet on September 1st actually said that both women were simply on sabbatical.

                “So they’ve gotten to the Prophet”, James’ father sighed. “I suppose we can try the Quibbler.”

                Going back to Hogwarts felt like a horrible dream. There were fewer students than James had ever seen; the train was less than a quarter full. Everyone was tense, and parents were saying far more emotional goodbyes.

                The worst part, though, had to be the parents who dropped their children off with no fear. Why should they be afraid for their children? They were dressed in full Death Eater garb.

                Dumbledore gave his usual speech at dinner that night to a near-silent Hall. When he finished, no one moved, not even as food appeared in front of them all.

                “I want to reiterate something,” Dumbledore said at last. “So long as I am Headmaster in this school, there will be no capitulating to Voldemort.”

                Several people flinched at the name.

                “This school will remain safe for everyone.” The Headmaster’s brilliant blue gaze swept over them all. “We have amplified our security, and there will be Aurors at the gates to do spot-checks. Anyone who disagrees with this position should be prepared for the consequences—immediate expulsion. We are all here because we have magic in us, and we want to cultivate that magic. This has nothing to do with blood, and everything to do with our gifts. That is all I can say, because there is no simpler way to say it. Now, try and eat your dinners. You’ve had a long train ride.”

                The room broke out into chatter, albeit subdued, and people started to eat. James found it hard to swallow the shepherd’s pie, and Remus had his head bowed. Lily still wasn’t eating properly, and James pushed the apples her way—they were her favourite.

                When the last of the plates were clear, Dumbledore stood up again. “I would like to announce the Head Boy and Head Girl this year. They will be James Potter, and Lily Evans, both of Gryffindor House. Stand up, please.”

                James got to his feet, and Lily got up too, though much more slowly. There was some clapping, but most people were silent.

                One person started snarling. “I’m not getting bossed around by a fucking Mudblood!” It was Trevor Smith, an idiotic sixth year Hufflepuff. James pulled out his wand, but Professor Sprout interrupted him.

                “Get out, Trevor. Go and get your things, and you’ll be on the train home. I will write to your parents so they know you’re coming.”

                “Better than being in this dump!” Smith shouted over his shoulder as he strode away. “Fucking Mudbloods and blood traitors, the lot of you are going to ruin wizardkind.”

                “If I ruin people like you, Smith, I’m very happy about that,” Lily called after him.

                That got a few laughs. James squeezed Lily’s hand. “Well done you,” he whispered.

                That was the last real night that they could be happy. The last time they could believe that the war might end with talking, and that stronger wills would prevail.

                The castle itself was never attacked, but Hogsmeade was attacked twice. The second one was just before the regular Christmas holiday weekend, and there were four deaths. This cancelled all the trips, which meant everyone had to stay in the castle and have no time at all to relax, to pretend the war wouldn’t affect them.

                That day Lily found James crying. He was just sitting on his broom, not really flying, just hovering a couple of feet off the ground. She didn’t say a word, she just hopped up (she could always jump so high) and sat next to him on the broom.

                “I hate this,” James whispered at last. “I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want to find out about all of this. But I have to, because if I don’t things might get worse.”

                “That’s not up to you, you know.” Lily leaned her head on his shoulder. “I hate it too, and I don’t understand what’s so terrible about me.” She started to shake, and James saw that she was crying. “I’m a freak to my sister, and a Mudblood to these wizards. I’m never the right person.”

                “You’re the perfect Head Girl,” James answered. “You’re doing brilliantly with all of these people, even the ones who are cruel. You’re always so brave.” He swallowed hard. “I wish you didn’t have to be.”

                Lily didn’t say anything for a minute. “I’ve never been on a broom properly.”

                That made James smile. “Right, you’re scared of them.” Their first year flying class had been one of the most wonderful moments of his life, for Sirius’ idiotic hovering upside down, to Remus shooting straight up into the air, to Lily running screaming from a broom that was trying to attack her.

                “Do you know who did that?” Lily asked.

                “I asked Madam Hooch about it last year,” James answered. “She said it was just a rogue broom—sometimes their Flight Charms go a bit mental.”

                Lily actually laughed. “Well, yours is nice.”

                “Do you want to come flying?” James asked. “I promise, I’ll go slow, and nothing bad will happen.”

                Lily hesitated, but she nodded. James turned on the broom so he was facing the front, and he felt Lily wrap her arms around him. She was clinging to him tightly, and they weren’t in the air yet.

                “Don’t worry, Lily. Everything’s going to be fine.”

                James flew them around the grounds in slow loops, never going too high. It was peaceful to fly outside of Quidditch, just enjoying the view of Hogwarts. It made the problems feel a little bit farther away.

                As they were flying over Hagrid’s hut, Lily actually let go of James with one hand to wave down. James waved too, and Hagrid made a thumbs-up sign. James flushed. He’d complained to Hagrid more than once about how Lily would never notice him, but he’d stopped that a year ago. Did Hagrid still think he was…in love with Lily?

                Maybe he was. But he knew better now. It wasn’t going to happen, so he was going to keep his mouth shut and keep this girl happy.

                “James, can we go faster?”

                “Really, Lils? Can you handle that?” James looked over his shoulder, and saw Lily’s green eyes shining brighter than they had in months.

                “Yes, come on!”

                Grinning, James sped up; still not too fast, but faster now, and they started going higher.

                “Faster!” Lily called.

                James had an idea. “Let me know if we start going too fast, alright?”

                Lily squeezed him around the waist, and James sped up.

                Soon they were flying as fast as he would in a game of Quidditch, maybe even faster. The wind was completely messing up his hair, and his eyes were starting to water behind his glasses, but he didn’t stop. It was as fast as he could fly safely.

                He turned his head as they flew over the lake, and saw Lily Evans looking absolutely delighted. Her braids had come undone and her hair flew in the wind, and her eyes were wide open. When she saw him looking, she laughed. “Jay, it’s wonderful!”

                James laughed too, and they did several loops around the lake, swerving sharply to make Lily shriek and climbing high and falling because it was so much fun. Finally, James started to slow down.

                “Is there something wrong, James?” Lily asked.

                “No, it’s just…thank you for cheering me up.” James took a deep breath. “And I wanted to make sure you knew that I’m not trying to come on to you, I just want you to be happy because you’re amazing and you deserve to be happy always—”

                Lily slid away from him. For a wild minute, James thought she was going to jump into the almost-frozen over lake. But she was just turning, sitting sideways on the broom. Puzzled, James copied her.

                “Look down there,” Lily said, pointing.

                James looked down and huffed out a laugh. The Giant Squid was at the surface, its tentacles poking through holes in the ice.

                “I told you once that I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the Giant Squid, remember?”

                Yes, James remembered that day.

                “But that was before…well, everything. You changed, James. Or maybe you just stopped being a prat, and you were always like this. I don’t really know, it sounds like that from what Remus tells me.”

                “You were right,” James said, not sure where this was going. “I was awful. I had to stop.”

                “Did…” Lily trailed off. “Did your feelings for me change too, then?”

                James’ throat went dry. “Lily—”

                “Because,” Lily said hurriedly, “it seems like you’re treating me like a good friend, which is lovely, but knowing you better…it’s like I saw you for the first time, really saw you. And I…I do want to go out with you. It’s okay if you don’t want to, if things have changed, but I wanted you to know that.”

                James swallowed hard. “Lily, can I kiss you?”

                “Only if I get to kiss you first,” Lily said, and she kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair. James held her waist with one hand, keeping her steady, and put the other on her back, wanting to pull her closer, to feel her fully, because he could hardly believe this was real. Was he dreaming?

                When Lily pulled away, her eyes were shiny. “Sorry, Squid!” she shouted. “I know you and I might have had something special, but I think I’m keeping Jay!”

                James’ laughter rang out across the lake, and he sped the broom to the shore, leaping off and pulling Lily into his arms for a proper kiss. Lily kissed back with such enthusiasm James lost his balance, and they both toppled into the snow.

                “YESSSSSS!”

                James craned his head back and groaned. “Oh, no.”

                Sirius, Remus and Peter were there, Sirius literally jumping up and down. “Fucking finally!”

                “How the hell did you three find out?”

                “Well you two were flying around the castle, and we saw you.” Remus explained. “So we started watching.”

                “You two will be a great couple,” Peter said fondly.

                Lily buried her face in James’ chest, and James laughed, playing with her hair. “You know what the gossip is like at Hogwarts, Lils. I’m glad it was them first.”

                “If I wasn’t the first to know I would have murdered you both,” Sirius said calmly. “Now come inside before you catch your deaths. You can’t snog in the Hospital Wing!”

                Quick as a flash Lily sat up, a snowball in her hand, and she threw it directly at Sirius. It caught him square in the mouth, and he stumbled back, sputtering.

                Lily jumped to her feet. “Come on, Jay!” she shouted. “We can take them.”

                They would argue about who won that snowball fight for years, but James never really cared. He’d won something amazing that day; the love of the girl he loved. Not that she was a prize, but for the first time James felt like he’d actually succeeded in changing himself.

                 Loving Lily, and her loving him, made the next few months more bearable. It got worse outside the castle walls, and more and more students were being pulled out, some because their families were going abroad, and others because their kids were of age, and there were other things for them to do. James watched in consternation as Severus Snape followed McNair and Goyle out. Everyone knew where they were going. Lily was quiet that day, and stayed cuddled in his arms as long as she could, even in class. None of the teachers said a word.

                But the war was really coming now, and the Ministry was starting to release Blood Purity rules—just to keep wizard kind safe, they said. Lily finally cried when she saw a Daily Prophet article announcing that Muggleborns would have to pass a special series of exams, beyond NEWTs, in order to be hired, just to make sure that they were truly loyal.

                “I can’t take those tests, James,” Lily sobbed. “I can’t…it’s not fair…I won’t do it.”

                Professor McGonagall pulled them both out of their first class and brought them up to see Dumbledore. Sirius, Remus, and Peter joined them at the gryphon, and James swallowed hard. What was happening? Were they about to be advised to leave Lily alone?

                I won’t do it.

                But it wasn’t only Dumbledore in there. There was a whole crowd of people of different ages. Some James had never seen before, but he recognized Alastor Moody, and he’d played Quidditch with Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Fabian waved to him, and James nodded back.

                “What’s going on?”

                Dumbledore’s normally cheerful expression was very grave indeed. “The five of you already know what’s been happening lately. Voldemort is gathering more followers every day, and the Ministry is beginning to listen. You’ve seen the new laws.”

                “Load of absolute filth,” Moody snarled. His eyes darted all over the room, like he was checking for Death Eaters.

                “All five of you have shown great initiative in working against Voldemort and his ilk. I am gathering a group of people who are ready to fight by all means necessary to protect wizard kind from Voldemort.”

                “I’m in,” Lily said immediately.

                “Miss Evans, you do need to think about it—”

                “I’ve been thinking about it for months, Professor. There’s nothing for me after school because my parents aren’t magic. And I don’t want to just go back to the Muggle world. I have the right to be here. I’m willing to fight for it. I know I’m not grand at duelling—”

                “Weren’t you the girl that dumped water on Voldemort?” Moody interrupted her.

                “That was sort of an accident,” Lily admitted. “I never thought it would land on him. But I’d happily do it on purpose. And I know lots of charms and potions, I could help that way.”

                “We’re going to need potions,” Gideon said. “We have families to protect, and Polyjuice might make things less risky.”

                “We’re in as well,” James said. He didn’t need to look at his brothers; he knew that he spoke for all of them. “We want this git pulled down.”

                Dumbledore smiled, but it was weary. “Do think about it, though. You are all very young, and this will be dangerous.”

                “It’s dangerous to do nothing, too,” James said. “That’s why we’re in this mess; too many people did nothing.”

                “Good lad.” That was a man James had never seen before. He stretched out a dark hand. “I’m Kingsley Shacklebolt, I work with Alastor in the Auror department.”

                “James Potter. Pleasure. So…what do we do now?”

                “Are there any other students in your year that you think would be good for this type of effort?”

                James thought about it. “Frank Longbottom’s a good bloke, and he’s been very loud about how much he hates Voldemort. He’s going to be an Auror.”

                “So’s Alice,” Lily said. “And Marlene MacKinnon’s cousin went missing last week. She’s ready to burn the world down if it means she gets revenge.”

                “Meet with them, then,” Dumbledore instructed them. “See what they can do.”

                By the time NEWTs were over, the Order was finalized. Lily took a job at the Apothecary, and James started doing some charity work, investing money into different projects. It had to be obvious that they were doing something with their time. Lily moved in with the Marauders, the Prewett twins built a meeting place, and Alice and Frank got married.

                That made James think about rings, but he and Lily had only been going out for six months, that wasn’t near enough time to propose marriage. He was happy to have her in his bed, at his side when they fought together, flying at night. The only time they didn’t spend together were full moons, because Lily wasn’t an Animagus yet. “I’ll learn it,” she promised.

                The words in the paper grew uglier, and now people weren’t just going missing, they were being arrested for crimes against the wizarding society. The lucky ones ended up in Azkaban. The names of the unlucky ones were added to a growing list, because they deserved to be honoured by the Order.

                But then something happened that shook James to his core, that shook his family to the core.

                His parents fell ill.

                It was the Cough, and they were both older, and they were inseparable, so they got it together. James and Sirius took turns sitting in St. Mungo’s between missions, and Lily came with him one time. That was the night that one of the Healers told James that his parents weren’t going to get better, and that it would be kinder to let them live out their days at home.

                That night Lily had a long conversation with his parents, which James missed because he was called out to a fight in the lobby. It turned out to be nothing, and when he got back Lily took his hands. And then she knelt.

                “James Potter, we’ve got no idea whether we’re going to live or die, but I know I want to spend every single day with you until then. And your mum and dad…they have a deadline. Will you marry me?”

                The proposal made James cry, partly with joy and partly with pain.

                They had to throw a wedding together in less than a week, but Alice lent Lily her dress and Sirius organized a riotous stag party (which, yes, did end with him in stag form—it was a brilliant choice because stags couldn’t get hangovers). Lily’s parents drove up to London, and James let Lily cry into his shoulder because Petunia and her ridiculous husband weren’t with them.

                And that day, when James walked down with his frail parents, and Lily followed with hers, and Sirius managed not to lose the simple golden bands studded with emeralds, and Lily was so beautiful in her white dress and they smiled in their pictures because something as simple as a wedding could still happen.

                They did go away to the tropics for a few days, just long enough for James to get a stupidly dark tan and Lily to get terrifically sunburnt. It was relaxing to not have to carry their wands, and swim and have sex when they wanted and cuddle when they wanted.

                When they got back, they stayed with James’ parents, along with the Marauders. James and Lily were still on ‘honeymoon’ leave, but Remus and Peter quietly covered Sirius’ shifts. The three were all there together when James’ parents died.

                Now James was an eighteen year old orphan with a wife in the middle of a war. It hurt, of course it did. But the war did distract him from his heartache, and Lily was wonderful.

                The next year things just kept getting worse. It was obvious that Voldemort was gaining power more quickly than the Order gained supporters. There were too many of them in government, too many of them who were influencers, too many with power. Fighting the Death Eaters in their stupid cloaks and hats was easy, but when the fight ended and both sides retreated, the Death Eaters could take them off and go back to their jobs. If anyone was the wiser, they were too scared to say anything.

                It was easy to be discouraged, easy to sit and grieve the loss of normalcy. And when Order members began to die—when the fight moved beyond curses to Unforgiveables—James wondered very briefly if there was any point to trying. No matter what they did, they kept losing. Why not just give up?

                He never voiced that worry, because the day he was going to bring it up, Lily ran into their room and burst into tears.

                “I’m pregnant.”

                At first James thought she was joking. She had to be; they so rarely made love anymore it was easy to be careful. For Merlin’s sake, they used protection every single time. Every time.

                But Lily was indeed pregnant; Madam Pomfrey confirmed it. Lily curled trembling in James’ arms, her stomach still flat that chilly November day. Madam Pomfrey looked between them, and gently offered another option.

                “You could end this pregnancy, Lily. If you don’t want a child. I know that you’re involved in the war. You can think about it.”

                They stayed up all night talking, and in the morning they went to an Order meeting. Lily announced her pregnancy, and Alice burst into tears and announced hers. James and Frank shared a look of genuine understanding.

                Lily and Alice didn’t go out to fight anymore, but they were always at Headquarters, so they were still involved. James kept fighting, realizing that he had a little life to fight for now, one that would be helpless. That fight took him away from Lily far too often, and he nearly missed his child’s birth because of it. But when little Harry James lay in his arms, James knew it was worth it. He would do anything for his son.

                They had one beautiful, quiet month. He and Lily went away with Frank and Alice and little Neville, and they didn’t sleep much and spent a lot of time walking the floors at night and watched the little boys slowly learn the world. The Marauders came to stay for the last week, and Sirius cooed over both of them and Remus helped take care of Lily and Alice and Peter quietly ran errands.

                They were all there the day Dumbledore showed up, his face grave and sad, and told them about the prophecy.

                James would have screamed, but he knew he would wake the boys. It’s not fair, he wanted to shout. It’s not fucking fair that us fighting is going to put our sons in danger.

                Hearing that Neville was safe was a relief as much as hearing that Harry was chosen by Voldemort hurt. Alice sobbed, but Lily just stayed quiet. The only thing she asked Dumbledore was whether they could be spared from the fight.

                It wasn’t the best timing, because Fabian and Gideon had just died, and Voldemort’s attacks had increased, but Dumbledore nodded.

                Lily didn’t speak again the rest of the day. She took care of Harry, and held him close to her the entire time, but she didn’t say a word.

                James knew her well enough by now to make the others leave her be, and to bring her to bed when it got dark, with Sirius and Remus promising to look after Harry that night. He laid her down on the bed, and he laid down next to her and waited.

                It didn’t take long for the sobbing screams to break from her, for Lily to writhe desperately and call out desperate prayers. James couldn’t hold her when she got like this, she always felt so guilty when she hurt him. All he could do was hold her hand, ignore the crunch of bones, and wait.

                Eventually Lily exhausted herself and curled into him, and they talked. Going into hiding abroad was an option, but it would be so dangerous. Their evacuation procedures were risky as it was, and if Voldemort got even a hint that Harry was with them…especially now that he thought Harry would be the end of him…no loyalty could ever be enough.

                Except family. So the next morning James and Lily went downstairs and they asked Sirius to be their Secret Keeper. It was a very different conversation from when they asked him to be godfather, because Sirius didn’t cry then. Now Sirius wept and held Harry tightly, and promised.

                So they went into hiding in Godric’s Hollow. Lily struck up quiet friendships with Muggles in the town, reasoning (fairly) that Voldemort would never think to ask them. But James just…couldn’t. Lily could give a false name and coo over other babies, but James was James. He was fine being with Lily and Harry, and being ‘Barney Evans’ wasn’t his cup of tea. He spent more time with Bathilda Bagshot or in the house, dealing with Order business from afar. It was driving him mad, reading reports of fights instead of being in them, but one look at his tiny son reminded him why. And he still had his Invisibility Cloak, so he could still go and visit his brothers. He never missed a full moon. Lily went on trips too, and James spent that time with Harry on the floor, watching his son play and turning into a stag to make Harry laugh, doing his best to make sure Harry didn’t feel any of the fear, any of the pain in the house. Sometimes he dreamed of the end of the war, when they could give Harry brothers and sisters. It was too dangerous now, but James was willing to have as many children as Lily wanted. He’d even started to look into taking a potion that would allow him to bear children. But that would have to wait for Voldemort to be gone. For now, it was bearable.

                That was until Dumbledore asked to borrow the Cloak. It was a wrench to give it up, because at the same time it became too dangerous to even go outside. ‘Amy Evans’ moved away, and Lily returned to the cottage for good. Their only contact with the outside world was with Bathilda Bagshot (who hated Voldemort with an incredible passion) or when their brothers visited or sent letters, each one more depressing than the last.

                Then one day Sirius showed up with his arms covered in bandages, Peter by his side.

                “I can’t be your Secret Keeper anymore,” Sirius said hoarsely.

                Apparently Voldemort himself had mounted an attack on their new headquarters (Marlene MacKinnon’s old house, empty after her murder). He’d cornered Sirius, demanding to know where James and Lily were. Only Peter’s quick actions had saved him from being killed.

                “He knows how close we are, James,” Sirius said. His face twisted with grief. “Regulus must have told him before—before he was killed. And he knows how hard I’d fight for all three of you. But Peter hasn’t been fighting much lately, and he can go and hide with his Mum.”

                James looked between his friends helplessly. Lily had Harry in her arms, her hair falling around the baby like a curtain.

                “Peter, are you sure? This will put you in a lot of danger.”

                Peter just nodded. “You’re my family. I’ll protect you.”

                So the switch was done, and it was late October now, and they decorated for Halloween inside the house. Harry could stand on his own now and walk a little bit, and Voldemort had suddenly gone quiet. Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay for a little while.

                And then Halloween night when it was Lily’s turn to put Harry to bed, James stopped making coloured smoke appear and laid down on the couch, putting his wand down.

                When the door burst open a second later, James didn’t even grab his wand. It took a few seconds to understand what it meant—that Peter had betrayed them, because he was in hiding and couldn’t have been found, Dumbledore had promised.

                And James was responsible.

                Screaming for Lily to run, he dashed into the hall. He could slow Voldemort down if he transformed; a surprise stag appearance was bound to buy her a few seconds.

                But James, who’d learnt the form for his family, who’d fought all this time for his family, couldn’t transform quickly enough. Emotions could tether you to your human form, and the grief of the betrayal froze him.

                In the two seconds before he died, James understood that. And he understood that there wasn’t time to grab his wand. All he could do was buy his wife and son a few seconds.

                He stood firm, facing a laughing Voldemort…

                And then there was a green flash, and he was gone.

[avi-stella]

Not Again | Inigo/Azur x Reader

RATING: Teen | GENRE: Angst | 1,768 words SUMMARY: You go back to the future to save Inigo. The Inigo of that time is surprised to see you, and for good reason. NOTE: Takes place in Xenologue: The Future Past 2; slightly canon-divergent.

It was a split second decision that Inigo made when he cut off the ropes for the bridge, his allies having moved on ahead of him. The young man was reluctant to do so, wanting to be able to fight alongside his friends much longer and see the dawn of a peaceful world, but he couldn't be selfish now. It was either him or all of them against the horde of Risen hot on their tracks, and he knew that time was of the essence.

Swallowing hard, Inigo tightened the grip on the hilt of his sword and smiled despite the situation and his own doubts. He had to be strong. Everyone was counting on him. He was...prepared. The Risen should be here soon enough, and this may very well be his last stand. There was barely anything left in this world for him to live for in any case, his mind wandering back to that fateful day when he lost you. It was the only time he shed his tears for others to see.

"Inigo!"

The aspiring dancer snaps out of his thoughts and perks up at the familiar voice calling his name, frantically looking around for the source. His eyes then land upon your approaching figure amidst this storm, and his breath hitches in his throat. There's no way he can mistake your face for anyone else, but even so...

"It... It can't be," Inigo breathes out, the words coming out painfully tight from his chest when you stop just in front of him.

His sword clatters to the dirt as he lets go of his weapon without a second thought, both of his arms shaking and eyes wide with disbelief as he reaches out to touch you. You stand perfectly still, a sad and almost pitying expression on your features, understanding full well that your appearance here might have been quite a shock to him.

You knew straight away when the Inigo of this future cut the bridge that this timeline was different from yours. After all, you remember this valley from before you and the others travelled back to the past to stop Grima. At that time, there was no need for such a drastic and desperate decision on his part because there were no Risen following you then. When you saw the other group go on ahead, you didn't see your face amongst them, meaning the you of this timeline must have died earlier at some point. Inigo's reaction when he saw you pretty much confirmed your suspicion.

"You're... You're alive," the young man manages to choke out, his fingertips hesitating. It's all too good to be true, and he's afraid that this might be a delusion that his turmoiled heart conjured up that will slip away the moment he touches you.

Slowly, you lift up your hands and place them atop his, pressing them down so that his palms can finally make contact with your cheeks to show him that you're real. Inigo takes a sharp inhale of breath, his hands trembling against your face. His vision starts to blur, and he can't tell if it's because of the relentless rain that continues to pound on both of your figures or something else.

Gods, he can still remember it. The last time he was able to cup your cheeks like this was when he had no choice but to leave your corpse behind, shouting and crying to the heavens while forcefully pulled away by his friends. At that time, your face was caked with dirt and blood, both fresh and old. He remembers how pale you looked, your lifeless eyes then closed forever, but now...

"Inigo..." you softly call out his name, hoping to bring him away from his painful memories and back to the present where it matters.

Unable to help himself, Inigo pulls your face forward and crashes his lips against yours with intense force that makes you stumble for a second. The sudden action draws a muffled gasp from you as Inigo feverishly moves his mouth against yours, harsh and desperate. There isn't a single hint of his usual shyness that you were used to, all of his longing and emotions laid bare as he pries your lips apart with his tongue, slipping the wet muscle inside unreservedly.

Inigo tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, moaning against you when his tongue hungrily explores the inside of your mouth, your taste exactly as how he imagined it from all those times before. The raw passion he emits makes you weak in the knees, and you clutch onto the back of his shirt. Inigo wraps one arm around your waist for support, pulling your body flush against his while his other hand cards through your hair, an action that always helped calm him down.

Eventually, the aspiring dancer pulls away with much reluctance, the both of you completely out of breath and panting for air. He stares at you with lidded eyes, and he looks relieved. That expression sends a guilty pang to your heart, and you shamefully bow your head before muttering, "I'm sorry..."

Inigo cups your chin between his fingers and tilts your head back up to look at him. He leans forward and closes the gap between you two once more, except this time, it's much more soft and gentle, and you can feel the slightest hint of trembles from his lips. "What are you apologizing for, my love?" His question comes out quiet, barely audible amongst the pouring rain around you.

"I'm not them," you explain, getting straight to the point and not bothering to waste time. The mercenary's eyes widen, confused, but at the same time, deep in his heart he understands. Keeping your voice firm and even, you continue, "I come from another alternate time to save you. The person that you love isn't me..."

"That may be true, but even so..." Inigo responds, tenderly stroking your cheek and tracing the shape of your jaw, "I'm glad to have been able to see you again, alive and well."

A heavy silence then looms over, and the young man's gaze drops to the ground. He sees his fallen sword, a reminder of his situation, and a part of him breaks. "Gods, I—" he starts but ends up choking on a guttural sob. Despite the warmth he can feel from you, Inigo's body shakes. "I missed you so much. I wanted to see you again and hold you again... That's why... Please, leave..."

"No," you reply without missing a beat, your voice strong and firm.

The mercenary presses his lips together in a tight line, his eyes closing shut in defeat as though he expected that kind of reaction. "I will not—can not bear—to watch you die in front of my eyes a second time. Please, don't make me experience that again... Never again..."

Your heart clenches at his open vulnerability, and as much as you wish to respect Inigo's wish, you can't. You, along with the rest of the Shepherds, came here for a purpose, and you refuse to leave until you saw it through. Shaking your head, you take a step closer to the young man and hold him in your arms. "I won't. I won't die, Inigo, so please... Let me fight alongside you once more."

There's no time to lose. The Risen are almost here to block of all exits. When that happens, Inigo concludes that the only safe place for you is at his side, as it always has been. Slowly, the mercenary bends down to pick up his weapon once more, feeling oddly calm. "Alright..." he concedes. "As long as you promise not to die, then we'll dance."

You breathe out a sigh of relief and nod your head. "It would be an honour to dance with you once again."

With a heaving chest, you prop your weapon up on the ground to support yourself and regain your energy. Your figure is decorated with blood, both belonging to you and your vanquished enemies, but you'll live through your injuries. Surely whatever destiny was set in stone had changed with just this.

You hear Inigo call your name, rushing towards you after having finished the last of the horde of monsters. He looks just as bad as you if not more so, but there's a large grin on his face as he sweeps you up in his arms and twirls you around. "We did it," he says before capturing your lips for another searing kiss.

"Yes... I'm so glad..." you exhale with fatigue, resting your head atop the young man's shoulder as he soothingly rubs your back.

The previous tension in the air has dissipated, and the rain is slowly starting to clear up. All that's left to do is meet up with the others and deliver the Gemstones, hoping the others were just as successful with their mission. Pulling away from you, Inigo suggests, "Stay with me."

"What...?"

"Stay with me," he repeats, his expression turning hopeful with a hint of melancholy as he stares into your eyes. "We'll fight Grima together, and then, once we finally bring peace to this world, we'll get married and raise a family like promised."

The mercenary's words are like a knife twisting into your heart, and your expression falls. "Oh Inigo..." you sigh apologetically. "I-I can't. I have to go back to my own world. I'm so sorry."

"I see..." Inigo's arms fall and hang loosely by his sides. He fumbles backwards a few steps, an obviously forced smile on his lips as he accepts, "Yeah, I figured that's how it's supposed to be..." The aspiring dancer can't take it. It feels like his chest is being clawed at, and tears streak his face as he hiccups. "Can I... ask you one question?"

It's the least you can do for him, so you nod your head, your throat having clamped up. Furiously wiping at his eyes with his sleeves, Inigo brings himself to look at you with the brightest features he can muster at the time and asks, "Am I... Is the Inigo of your time still alive and with you?"

"Yes."

Inigo's shoulders relax, relieved, as he says, "That's good. That's... good. ...Promise me that the two of you will live happily together."

"Of course, I promise. But in turn, promise me that you'll live a happy life as well," you answer, and the young man shakes his head with a wry smile.

"I can't. I can't promise you that if you aren't by my side."

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[jenroses]

Organization?

This is for @thehausghosts and @ishxallxgood I guess, lol.

First of all, most of the things I write start out as one idea, and usually something that comes out in under 5k. Plot bunnies happen, and that’s where it’s really easy to wander off into distraction land, and honestly? I don’t fight it all that much.

Google docs and Chrome make it pretty easy to keep things from getting lost. 

I wish I could give a steady answer for “I outline things and then I write the first part, the second part, etc.” but that is simply not how my brain works or how I work best.

The muse is fickle, but is most responsive to consistent attention.

So what I’m describing below is not “the” method, but “some methods” that have worked for a couple of different pieces.

For me writing comes first and foremost from ideas. In Check Please, the idea that sparked the Rules series was simply this idea that Bitty told the Internet his parents didn’t know they’d met his boyfriend, and I’ve had a little experience on both sides of the coming out thing, and so I let my inner Mama Bittle flow. That’s the short thing. Someone said they wanted to see Coach’s response. That provoked a longer story. I’d hinted at something in both stories that readers wanted to see, that got the next part. None of this required much planning. 

Then Rule Number Two’s plot bunny hit, and hit hard. I wrote it quickly. Like, I think it was a couple of days? The idea was cohesive--someone figures out what’s going on between Jack and Bitty and they decide to come out. Everything around that just followed logically. Organizing it was simply a matter of breaking things at “breathing points”. Breathing points are the places in the narrative where either everyone’s gone to sleep or there’s so much drama that the reader needs a moment to deal. (or a week, in serial television.) 

I don’t do chapter breaks “because I’ve hit my writing goal” or “because I’m tired of it and want it posted.”

I have a lot of little scene breaks throughout any piece longer than 5k, usually, and while I might choose to turn one of those into a chapter break for length, I want my chapter breaks to make sense.

Some stories get chapter breaks by the day, or by the week. Some get them by the emotional milestone. 

I think it’s kind of like a sculptor, staring at a block of marble and chipping things away to find the art that is already there. As writers, we are presented with an idea, that is this formless block of thought, and we have to shape it and push it and paint it with words until the idea is realized in a form that the reader can resonate with. Chapter breaks and chapter lengths are a byproduct of the story being told. So in my YOI fic, some of the stories are about a single night, or a single week. Some cover a longer span. Two of the earlier stories are almost exactly the same length and one of them has 7 chapters and the other has none, only scene breaks, because that’s how the story went. 

And that brings in the series. Here are my long things: Facing Janus (X-files), 250k, 3 “acts”, 30 chapters (including the prologue). It is not a series. The action covers a month or so, IIRC, but is one story from start to finish. It took me 10 years to write (but the first 6 chapters took a few months and the last 200,000 words took 6 weeks). I knew when I started what the gist was, and it changed dramatically once I picked it back up again, but I had in my head several of the scenes SO clearly and was mostly writing my way from one to the next so that they would hang together. (Scully walking over the border and how she did it was HUGE in my mind through the whole thing. I legit thought that would be the end of it.) (finished 2008)

Symbolon. Doctor who. So the two little stories up front were written pretty much last. Symbolon was the beginning for me, and the bookends for the series were “Even RTD says there’s no way Rose would have stayed with the clone” and “The Eye of Harmony must be restored”. And I knew there were a lot of upsetting canon things that would change if Rose stayed, so I explored that, and Jack’s arc had pissed me the fuck off so I wanted to write some resolution to his pain and grief, and and and and next thing I knew I’d written 250k in about 10 weeks. The main thing that kept me going was that I did NOT allow myself to publish before it was done, and I really wanted to share it. Chapter breaks happened when they happened. The story breaks were obvious within what I knew was going to happen. I spent a lot of time during those months curled up under a shower in the bathtub with my mind on another planet and I’m not even kidding, it was the single most immersive experience I’d ever had as a writer. IIRC I wrote it almost entirely in Open Office, which was great because I could turn on the UK dictionary and not look incompetent for the most part, but HORRIBLE for proofreading. Dear god. It got proofed in email. 2010 seems a long time ago right now. But it was the happy ending for the tenth doctor that would NEVER happen on air. 

I published Therapy (90k, perpetual WIP but not a terrible ending point) in the Castle fandom during the summer of 2011, while pregnant, as a throwaway “I’m writing this between now and the season premiere” and I had a lot of ideas but didn’t track them well, the thing was a disorganized mess and I swore off publishing WIPs for a long time.

Somewhere in there I rewatched JAG, wrote 90k, abandoned it, never published it anywhere because there was no one interested in JAG fanfic and I couldn’t bring myself to finish.  I also wrote a few one-offs for Stargate, IDK when, that might have ended up being a huge thing but then I decided I hated my OC a lot and that it was not really all that interesting once I’d taken care of the annoying plot holes the series had left around Moebius and Egypt... Those I posted and got practically no feedback and so didn’t really continue. 

So then I got bit by a bug and was really pondering this original concept and just let it percolate for a few years. I wasn’t going to write fanfic. I wasn’t. I had this idea. But I was also very busy and knew my kid would start kindergarten in 2017, and so I wasn’t going to write fiction until then. (yes, you can start laughing at me now.)

Fastforward to early 2016. Here’s me, struggling with depression and undiagnosed and diagnosed health issues, and I was looking for something to watch on Netflix, and there was Merlin, and the ratings were good. 

And I watched. And I watched. And I got angrier and angrier. I nearly turned it off. I kept going because, and this was literally my mantra, “The fanfic is going to be amazing.” And it was. And I read... god, so much fanfic in the Merlin fandom. It’s a pretty large fandom, with a lot of fics, and I sorted by kudos and read and read and read until the quality dropped. 

And I got involved in the fandom and there was a rewatch and after seeing the whole series and getting mad at it, I reluctantly started it again, got to episode 8, and went, “Well, if Merlin could go back in time, THIS is where he’d go back to to fix everything.”

THAT, folks, is how Plot Vorpal Bunnies are born. I started writing, and wrote feverishly, and signed up for a Big Bang, and was like 50k into this thing....

When someone (*cough* @ayantiel *cough*) in the Merlin Chat said, “I love that my fandom can generate a fic called, “Exeunt, Pursued by Heteronormativity”. 

There was a record screech in there as I scrambled to go find Check Please and that fanfic, and then I was lost in Check Please for a while. I wasn’t going to do a big fic. I WASN’T. I did a few little throw-away one offs. And then Mama Bittle happened, and next thing I knew I’d written something like 70k for the fandom, and I was seriously in danger of not getting my big bang thing finished for Merlin, so I dragged myself back to that, got an artist, got inspired, finished that, and then came back to Check Please to work on Healing Rules (which is still not finished but because Google Docs never forgets, I actually have worked on it.) Right around then I hit my late-year lag and my no-fucking-way-am-I-writing-NaNoWriMo stubborn streak, and fandom started talking YOI, and we know how that went.

THIS IS ALL incredibly long and roundabout and I’m going to post it under a cut and then reply to my own thing to talk about the organizational systems I have now, because I actually do, and they help.

[wbwest]

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West Week Ever: Pop Culture In Review - 7/28/17

One of the best discoveries I’ve made has been the digital subchannel Heroes & Icons. If you’re a cord cutter, then get yourself an antenna and check this thing out. My favorite aspect of it, however, is the fact that it runs a 5-hour Star Trek block six nights a week. Star Trek at 8, Star Trek: The Next Generation at 9, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine at 10, Star Trek: Voyager at 11, and Enterprise at 12. Sunday through Friday. And on Sundays they actually kick things off with Star Trek: The Animated Series at 7. I’ve pretty much watched nothing but Star Trek for the past 2 weeks. I’ve been reacquainted with favorite episodes, like TNG‘s “Chain of Command” and DS9‘s “Far Beyond the Stars”. I’ve discovered some hidden gems, like TOS‘s ” The Cloud Minders”. I’ve even discovered that I don’t hate Voyager or Enterprise as much as I thought I did.

I don’t talk about this too much, but the first 12 years or so of my life were comprised of pretty much NOTHING but Star Trek. From 1987-94, my favorite show on television was The Next Generation. When DS9 debuted, I expected it to continue my love affair, but it felt too preachy with its Space Holocaust allegory. It was in the later seasons, once the Dominion War began, that it actually ensconced itself as my favorite iteration of the franchise. By the time Voyager debuted, I had discovered comics, and they became my new mistress. While I watched about 4 hours of TNG a day in high school (Channel 20 REALLY loved playing TNG), my heart didn’t have room in it for a new Trek, so I “No time for love, Dr. Jones”‘ed Captain Janeway and her crew. Enterprise debuted when I was in college, and  I was simply too busy worried about other shit to watch Captain Quantum Leap and his crew. Plus, due to some kind of contractual fallout, Ithaca didn’t get UPN. So, since the finale of DS9, my Trekkerdom lay dormant.

But when I say “I’ve forgotten more than you’ll ever know”, that’s primarily about Star Trek. I had several editions of the Star Trek Encyclopedia, I had the Technical Manual, the Technical Journal, the Star Trek Chronology. All of it. I’ve got the figures, and the role play toys. I even created my own uniform for Halloween back in the 90s. I was all Trek, 24/7, and you couldn’t tell me shit. Over time, though, that trivia got overwritten by X-Men 1st appearance notations and the names of TNBC actresses. What I’m saying, though, is that Heroes & Icons brought it all rushing back. It’s like I’m 15 again, blowing the evening watching Star Trek episodes I’ve already seen hundreds of times already. It’s also given me new perspectives on things that completely went over my head when I was younger. For example, Sisko is the Bajorans’ Space Jesus, and that’s pretty heavy. Even he doesn’t believe it, but in the end, yup it turns out he’s Space Jesus. I’ve also got thoughts on the current state of the franchise, too.

At SDCC, we got the above trailer for Star Trek: Discovery, which will air in North America on CBS All Access (yes, Dean, I know you’ll say All Anal Access because it sucks that we have to subscribe to another service just to watch this thing). I had no interest in this show because everything I heard about it didn’t sound like Star Trek. Now, though, the more they try to sell it as a bunch of new ideas, the more it just sounds like DS9. It’s gonna be Trek with interpersonal conflict. Great. I can get down with that. Its aesthetic seems more like late-era Stargate than Trek, though – especially those Klingon designs. There are certain things, though, that still feel like they miss the mark.

Take for example the fact that the show will feature the first same-sex couple on a Star Trek series, played by Rent‘s Anthony Rapp and My So Called Life‘s Wilson Cruz. Yeah, I get that representation is important, but it bothers me that this is being done in a prequel series, set before the events of the original Star Trek. With the exception of Enterprise, this is the series that takes place the closest to our timeline, so it’s really not much of a leap to think that same-sex couples exist. Ya know what would’ve meant more to me (as a straight, cis male who really doesn’t have a dog in the race but is still opinionated)? If the show had actually been a post-Dominion War, sequel series to TNG/DS9/Voyager, and it featured a same-sex couple. Science fiction tends to go 2 ways: it’s either dystopian or it’s about HOPE. As it stands, from what we’ve seen, same-sex couples are pretty much nonexistent in the 24th century. Yeah, I’m sure they exist, but we never saw them. It seems like it would be a testament to how enduring they are to see them that far in the future as opposed to just a couple of hundred years from now, when Discovery is set.

I could also be politicizing this for my own agenda, as I really want to know what happened after the war ended. Sure, there are books and stuff, but those things aren’t canon. I feel there are so many stories to tell from that era, and I’d love to see the franchise move forward instead of dance between the raindrops of continuity in the past. It feels like they’re stalling, which is how it felt with Enterprise and even the Kelvin movies. Someone, somewhere out there has got to have a great idea as to how to move the franchise forward and I hope CBS/Paramount finds them sooner rather than later.

SDCC Bullet Points

The bulk of San Diego Comic Con took place over the weekend, and here’s some stuff that debuted:

Michelle Pfeiffer is Hank Pym’s lost wife, Janet Van Dyne, in Ant-Man and The Wasp

The Captain Marvel film will be set in the 90s, and introduce the Skrulls to the MCU. Oh, and Nick Fury will have 2 eyes

We got this trailer for Ready Player One, which was hella polarizing. It seems a lot of folks hated the book on which it’s based. If you ask me, it just looks like a cinematic version of this commercial:

Comic creator Frank Miller, of 300 and Sin City fame, is writing a Superman: Year One story with art from John Romita Jr. Nothing about that sentence makes me want to open my wallet.

We got a new trailer for X-Men spinoff, The Gifted. I’m actually surprised they used established mutants like Polaris and Thunderbird. And is that actually Fenris?! I want to like this, but it just looks so…Fox.

We got a new trailer for The Defenders on Netflix. I get that this is the culmination of all the Marvel Netflix shows, but it didn’t do much for me since I’ve only seen 2 out of 5 seasons so far. There’s no way I’ll get caught up by this premiere date, but I’m sure it’ll mean more to me once I’m up to date. Kinda tired of the hallway fight trope, though.

Legends of Tomorrow is such a fun show. It started kinda dry, but got so much better last year. It reminds me of a syndicated Saturday afternoon show, but in a good way.

This Justice League trailer did very little for me. It’s like, sure, Wonder Woman’s cool, but we JUST saw her. Aquaman seems cool, but he’s not really “Aquaman”. I’ll see it, but I ain’t looking forward to it. No, for me, November belongs to:

Things You Might Have Missed This Week

We’ll have to wait a bit longer for our annual dose of Abbi and Ilana, as Comedy Central has moved the Broad City season 4 premiere from August 23rd to September 13th

A few months ago, it was reported that Amy Schumer would be starring in a Barbie movie. Well, I made fun of that, she blocked me on Twitter, and then eventually dropped out of the role. Now they’re reporting that Anne Hathaway is up for the role, which is somehow more bewildering than the Schumer choice…

Justin Bieber cancelled the rest of his Purpose world tour because he was “committing his life to Christ”. This pissed off his crew, as they were left without jobs. He, then, proceeded to run over a paparazzo with his truck while leaving church. I swear, you can’t make this shit up!

Amazon’s Jeff Bezos has replaced Bill Gates as the richest man in the world.

Beginning September 29th, Hulu will begin streaming the Warner Bros shows that comprised ABC’s TGIF lineup, including Perfect Strangers, Family Matters, Full House, Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper, and Step By Step. Meanwhile, Netflix is feverishly developing Perfecter Strangers, Family Still Matters, Chillin’ With Mr. Cooper, and Step By Step By Step.

I haven’t seen a non-country music video in years, but apparently they still make them, as Katy Perry will host the 2017 MTV Video Music Awards

Speaking of the VMAs, following the lead of the MTV Movie Awards, they’re doing away with the gendered categories Best Male/Best Female Artist, to be replaced by Artist of the Year. Also, in a bit of pandering,  they’ve created the Best Fight Against the System, for those artists who have called for folks to #RESIST and all that.

Though I felt its farcical nature wore a bit thin during its first season, TBS’s Angie Tribeca has been renewed for season 4.

Smallville‘s Tom Welling is joining Fox’s Lucifer and *yawn* that’s really all there is to say about that.

Netflix has ordered 20 episodes of the animated series Disenchantment from The Simpsons creator Matt Groening. It will features the voices of Nat Faxon, Eric Andre, and Abbi Jacobson. Apparently it’s about elves and trolls and shit. Not really my bag, baby.

Person of Interest‘s Michael Emerson has been cast in a mysterious role for Arrow‘s 6th season. So, he’s probably Deathstroke’s accountant or something.

Because SyFy just doesn’t care anymore, and because they need something to air between Sharknados, Wynonna Earp has been renewed for a 3rd season.

The Wonder Woman sequel has a release date of December 13th, 2019

Apple discontinued the iPod Nano and Shuffle models, as they are the last remaining models that cannot run iOS apps.

Current Superman Henry Cavill grew a mustache for his role in Mission Impossible 37: Mission Harder, which will have to be digitally removed for Justice League reshoots. Ya know, the movie where he’s supposed to be dead, but is actually the worst kept secret in Hollywood.

Lionel Richie and Charlie Puth are in talks to join ABC’s American Idol reboot as judges. Yeah, that’s funny. Unless they’re coaching the contestants on how to get caught cheating while dancing on the ceiling, I’m not sure what Richie’s old ass brings to the table. And Puth is simply too new to be judging anybody.

New James Bond film in 2019. Nobody knows who’s playing him or directing the thing, but it’s coming. Yesiree, Bob!

Since they’re handing out cinematic universes like chicken samples at a food court, the John Wick universe will be expanded by the female-focused film, Ballerina.

Michael Phelps raced a CGI shark and people felt betrayed. He’s the friggin’ son of Poseidon! He can’t race ACTUAL sharks! There would be civil unrest beneath the surface!

With DC being the political capital of the country, it’s hard for a news person to stand out because the place is crawling with them. That wasn’t true, however, for Jim Vance. Everyone knew him and the man was an institution. Coming to NBC4 in 1969, he was one of the first Black anchors in a major news market. He anchored for over 4 decades, ingraining himself into the families of those who watched him.

When I was a toddler, I was really into the local news (I’ve always said I’m regressing as I get older), and I could name every anchor on every local newscast. And this was a golden age of DC news. You had the great Glenn Brenner, you had Maury Povich before he became a talk show host, and you had Vance. There was something about him that made him seem like your aunt’s cool boyfriend. He was an old man with a hoop earring. We used to laugh about it, but secretly I was hating because I knew I’d never be able to pull that off at his age. He rode motorcycles and laughed inappropriately at news stories he found funny. He was a guy who made you glad to watch the news, especially as the cries of Fake News! grew louder.

Back in May, Vance announced that he had been diagnosed with cancer, and it advanced rather quickly. He passed away last Saturday morning, and the announcement touched all corners of the DC area (no, I’m not calling it the DMV!). It was touching to see all of the tributes to him on the local stations, from those who were colleagues and competitors. Last Saturday night, News4 spent the entire 11 PM news talking about Vance and what he meant to DC. This might sound crazy, but it was so refreshing to watch the news without a single drop of actual news being reported. No Trump b.s., no local murders, not even a weather report. Just 30 minutes about a man who we basically grew up with in our homes. I always kinda took him for granted because you just expected he would be there every evening, but I’ve certainly missed him since he’s gone. I know he won’t mean much to those of you outside the DC viewing area, but believe me when I say that everybody here knew who Jim Vance was, and we’re all going to miss him in one way or another. For that reason, Jim Vance had the West Life Ever.

[glowingstill]

5 Intimate Tips for Vacationing as a Couple with Kids

There is a flurry of excitement in our home. Vacation is just a few weeks away. 23 days to be exact-according to the daily countdown that is called out. We are going to the Caribbean on vacation, and taking the kids with us. It is a mix of fall break and the long spring vacation that we did not take (and we’ve decided that we are never going to skip that spring break again. We have got to get away!!)

We love to cruise, and will be spending a week visiting the islands of Jamaica, Grand Cayman, and Cozumel while cruising with Carnival Cruise Lines. This is our 8th cruise with them, and we really like the affordability and the family fun atmosphere (no, this isn’t a paid advertisement, this is our well-earned opinion)

Vacationing with kids is almost a conundrum.  First of all, you want to vacate – i.e., to leave what you are used to, and enjoy a new environment. Secondly, you want to enjoy New foods. Activities, read a book that doesn’t have pictures on every.single.page. and maybe relax.  BUT when you add kids to the mix, vacationing can turn into a virtual romantic nightmare. And it can seem that intimate times together are “off the calendar”.

If you’re not careful, a vacation can be all about the children and not about each other.

This thought should be carefully considered, if you’re not careful, a vacation can be all about the children and not about each other. Spending time with your family is important, but so is your spouse. Your spouse is the one who you said, “I do” to, and the one who worked hard to make this happen, and the one who so desperately needs attention too. As you vacation, Don’t ignore the most important people while on vacation. So here are 5 tips that Stephen and I have found for increasing intimacy while vacationing.

One: Plan to Be Intimate

With a chuckle, I remember the early vacations that we have taken. I am a planner by nature. Sometimes an impulsive planner, but a planner none-the-less.  Vacation planning is one of my favorite things to do. I’ll scope out vacation spots, hotels, activities, transportation routes, food options, and anything else I can think of.  But one vacation, I thought I had planned everything, but I hadn’t planned on paying for parking in Charleston, SC. And there was NOWHERE to park! We drove around forever trying to find the perfect spot, but it was a busy weekend and all the locations were taken.  We were about to miss our trip to Fort Sumpter island, to see where the Civil War began, so we just pulled into a parking garage and decided we’d figure it out afterward.

Well, we had a great time visiting the island. The boat ride back and forth was fun and relaxing. Cool breezes and wind in my hair type of day (they’re my favorite).  AND…then we got back to the parking garage only to discover they ONLY took cash. 

#fail

We had to walk several blocks to use the ATM to pull out cash, which included the fee for using that ATM, to pay for parking. And we promised ourselves that never again would we NOT have cash secretly hidden away in the van to pay for parking. 

It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

I love this quote by Tolkien; it states the obvious and the reminder that dragons are out there and are ready to eat you. Sometimes dragons in our marriage are closer than we think, and without planning accordingly, those dragons eat away at our marriage.

Read also: Fighting Fair in a Marriage? Is it even possible?

When you take time to be intimate with your spouse on vacation, you are showing them that you love them AND they have priority to be “on the list”. Yeah, that list. The one that you have labored feverishly trying to plan the perfect vacation. So I encourage you, for the next vacation schedule a time that you and your spouse can spend time alone together. If all you get is twenty minutes while a child is napping or 30 minutes while the others are doing a craft project in the craft area, then spend it together. This is not the time to run away and peruse facebook, it is YOUR time to spend together.

Two: Bring Lingerie

I know, believe me, I know how much STUFF has to be packed for vacation. And it seems the tinier the kids are the MORE stuff has to be taken. I mean seriously, there is no such thing as packing too many diapers and wipes. 10 pairs of underwear for a 4 day trip is completely understandable. And shoes…must not forget the shoes. Even if its just short vacation trip, 5 pairs of shoes will hopefully be enough – nope, pack the extra comfy shoes just in case.

In a small corner of your suitcase, slip in something special. Lacey, smooth, satiny, and risqué. Yes, it needs to fit at least 3 of those criteria. Notice I didn’t say, cottony, comfortable, or stained with spit-up from the nursing baby. 

Wearing lingerie is important for both the husband AND the wife. For the wife, it is important to feel pretty. Sexy. Desirable. Adored. Admired. 

I know how hard this is. After all the pregnancies, C-section scar, stretch marks – it feels that I will never be pretty and sexy again. But that is a lie. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The more I have learned to accept where I am right now (instead of hoping, wishing, and dieting for a body that will probably never happen), the happier I am wearing pretty lingerie.  I’m (slowly) learning and practicing to find pieces that I feel ok in and make me feel like the beautiful person my husband tells me that I am.

For the husband, lingerie wearing is a personal preference. Some men like silk boxers others prefer to be naked. You know your husband better than anyone else, so if you decide to pack him something this is up to you.  But, as most everyone knows, a husband LIKES TO SEE his wife in lingerie.  And this is a good thing!

It is good for a husband to see his wife in lingerie! This is good. This is holy. This is RIGHT #lifecoach #marriage #intimacy #sex #lingerie Click To Tweet

For your Christian husband, avoiding porn and scantily clad women is something he has to do ALL the time.  Let his eyes have a break for once.  Let him “SEE” you,  and enjoy the feast for his eyes. Song of Solomon 4:7 sums it perfectly when it says, “You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.”  Have you heard about eye candy?  It’s NOT a sin when done correctly!!!!  Let him have moments of eye candy with you.   Not only will he enjoy this feast for his eyes, it will increase his love for you.  Remember men are visually stimulated.  As a wife, I want my husband to want to look at me and enjoy what he sees.

THREE: Utilize the Kids’ Programs

Please, please, please do it! If I could reach out to parents, and look them in the eye, hold their hand, and plead with them to learn this one very important lesson I hope they could understand it would be this.  Learn to let go of your children now. Begin by cutting the tiniest apron strings, and let them do things without you.

I know I rarely talk about parenting on this blog, as it is more focused on marriage instead of parenting, but sometimes marriage and parenting do overlap. And this is one of those overlapping times.

Note: Please know, I realize some children are not able to be away from their parents. Reasons may include nursing babies, developmental issues, safety concerns etc. I am not referring to these situations.

As a mother of 4 children, I have struggled through times of crying, clingy children who were scared of new environments. Who didn’t want to go to classes or art projects without me.  But I too have been the momma, who went in there for a few moments and got them settled down…and quietly left. My children are taught from an early age that Momma loves them, but Momma needs time to be alone as well.  

Obviously, if this is never taught before vacation, it probably won’t go well on vacation.  As you can, practice now to teach your children to be in safe places without you. Some ideas can be Library Story Hour, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, Mom’s Night Out, Craft-times. 

Four: Practice in Advance

It was a freezing cold January. Bitterly cold. 5 degrees was the outside temperature that we were greeted with. Snow was piled up, and while the roads were clear, the walkways were icy and treacherous.  

In the hotel room that we were at, it was not cold. In fact, it was rather hot. Yep. really hot! 

As a family with children, it means that when we travel on vacation our kids stay in the hotel room with us.  Sometimes we’re able to get a suite with a separate sleeping area, and other times we just pile them around the room and utilize the pull-out couch. 

So back to the dark room. It was about 7 am, I was slowly waking up. The kids were already VERY awake, and were watching TV and playing on their devices. And suddenly, I felt my husband close to me under the covers. Yes, he was VERY, VERY close.

To be able to pull off intimacy in crowded locations, without letting your children know what is going on, requires a lot of practice in advance. Oh sure, the Kama Sutra has countless positions for sex, but let’s be realistic. 95% of those are virtually impossible unless you practice them.

You have to practice sexual positions to be able to successfully use them in different situations. #intimacy #sex #practice #lifecoaching #marriage Click To Tweet

So if you have to practice sexual positions, that means you actually need to be intimate with your spouse before vacation arrives, so you can enjoy it on vacation.

Five: Darkness (and other locations) are Your Friend

This 5th point is not a play on the scripture verse of ‘men love darkness rather than light’, it is simply a very notable point. A husband and a wife can be intimate in the dark on vacation. *Hint* That means the children can’t see what is going on. 

Obviously, you have to careful here. Intimacy in the dark can be difficult, and it also requires you to be quiet. But, as they say, necessity is the mother of invention! It’s kind of humorous to consider, that for hundreds of generations, couples have been intimate in the dark. If you were to search for living conditions throughout the centuries, only the wealthy people had separate rooms. Often times, whole families would share a room together to save on building costs and increase security. 

Other fun locations are the back of your minivan (of course, once all the luggage has been dragged in), the shower, the toilet – with the lid down,  a hot-tub, or a soft quilt under the stars.  Yep. They are ALL excellent ideas and so much fun to explore together which ones that you like best on vacation.

Read also: Intimate Cord of Love to Bind Your Marriage Together

Good things sometimes happen without planning, but GREAT vacations require advance planning – that includes intimacy and sex while on vacation.

Share with me in the comments some tips and tricks you have found that have worked while vacationing with children. You never know, you just might share something that makes fireworks happen for someone else!

The post 5 Intimate Tips for Vacationing as a Couple with Kids appeared first on Glowing Still Johanna Galyen.

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