#yeah she’s dead so it doesn’t matter anymore but still. this could have been prevented

[lucifer-kane]

"The Kratu, as I'm sure you know, have three genders we cycle through; male, female, ora." I didn't know that but tell me more

"My love only wants me when we're both in female form" BREAK UP WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Sorry AIRika... Again. || Arakiel || Post Trial Reaction || RE: Results, AIRika, Ae-ra

Man was this all a lot to consider and take in, people were raising their voice, talking about betting on Just Erika’s death, threatening each other, it was a lot honestly. He rubbed a hand down his face and just kind of tuned it all out for a bit, but even that didn’t work after a while. His irritation was clear, he was still fuming over something that had happened earlier in investigation as well. Man this was all so annoying, he decided to speak up rather bluntly.

“Man you’re fucked in the head.” He was looking directly at AIRika. “What? Just because she’s a killer you get to throw out your fucking humanity? You’re a fucking freak.” He was speaking more pointedly than usual, staring the other down. “I don’t give a fuck if you wan’t them dead, fuck, you can do it yourself for all I care, but you’re seriously disgusting. This isn’t a fucking joke. Making Bets? Seriously? Not only that, but you can keep your snide fucking comments about not feeling bad to yourself you fucking psychopath. Just because you don’t happen to care if somebodies dying, some people here aren’t a fan of fucking capital punishment.” He doesn’t give much room for response as he continues. “If you’re going to fucking act like scum I hope you fucking die like it, I’m not joking, go join Rose for all I care. You’re a fucking lowlife. Seriously worthless.” There was a part of him that also felt somewhat protective of Rose as well, given he felt he could have prevented this if he had tried a little harder back then.

He stares, looking around at the group now. “Need I remind you all, if anybody kills Erika they need to actually confess to it for it to be some noble deed, given that if we don’t identify them during the trial, one of us dies instead. So before we talk about wishing for their early grave, I’d like for you all to consider if anybody here is actually willing to die for that. That means you too Ae-ra, her getting close to you doesn’t warrant self-defense just because you don’t like her or what she’s done, so you better be damn sure she’s about to kill you before you stab somebody.”

A cold stare as he just kind of moves his attention away from the group and focuses on one of the walls. He decided to just move on, he was getting too heated and taking out his anger at Erik Azr on the rest of the group, he should focus it where it matters, but he didn’t actually want to start an argument with Azr right now, he was plotting how he would deal with it in the back of his head for the time being.

He sighs, directing his attention at Just Erika now.

“Listen, I think you’re disgusting, and if you give me any reason to break your legs I’ll take it, but I’m going to give you some fucking advice, weather you take it or not is up to you. Stop trying to fucking rationalize yourself to us. I’m sure in your fucking broken ass smooth brain you think you’re being reasonable or we all want to hear it or something but we don’t. No matter what you say or do none of us will be able to look past what you’ve done. I also realize that none of us are going to make you realize that you’re a monster, so do yourself a favor and save your fucking breath. Nobody wants to keep watch on you and nobody wants your fucking help anymore. You’re nothing, the kindest thing you can do for the group is to lock yourself away so that nobody else dies because of you and none of us have to suffer your presence any further.”

His words were pointed, he was seething with anger, he was just being more constructive about it as far as he was concerned. He really just did not care if people liked what he was saying or not. He was never one to keep his feelings to himself. He finally moved on to Rose.

“For once me and Azrael got something in common, I consider our friendship to have been real, and yeah I fucking hate your guts right now, but it’s more just cause I think you’re fucking pathetic for stooping that low. Why the fuck did you even ask for my help if you weren’t even gonna try to fight back. It’s fucking sad.”

He sighed.

“Whatever, sorry this happened, hopefully it’ll be fast and all that. In the end I don’t think you were a good person, but you certainly don’t deserve this. Life in prison? Maybe. But not this.”

[serumandsteel]

the way we heal | jj maybank

- pairings: jj maybank x reader

- summary: people deal with trauma in different ways but it seems that jj thinks you don't care about the loss of your friends and deep down himself but he just needs to understand that people heal in their own time and through their own meanings, he just needed to be reassured of it. kinda pre season 2 ep 1 give ot take

- warning(s): really motherfucking angsty and swearing. mention of substance abuse

- wc: 2.2k :))))

a/n: all my fics the pogues and reader are the age 17/18 only because that's more comfortable for me to write. its been a long long time since i have wrote something so sorry for and spelling errors

People tend to deal with trauma differently. It could be resulting to crying you eyes out until you can’t breath and you can’t see through your tears clouding your eyes. Drinking until your liver wants to shut down and you whole body is so numb that yourself and everyone around you is so tuned out that you can’t function. Resulting to drugs to either feel something or not to feel anything at all. Or to have something to blame your actions on from yourself acting out simply because you don’t know how to handle the situation of a friend dying.

See you on the other hand dealt with it internally or the whim and feeling of not accepting death. Maybe it was your subconscious talking wanting you not to accept or maybe it was the gut feeling that you always got telling you that they were actually alive and have survived that storm that ‘supposedly’ had swept them away because “no body was found”.

This ‘gut feeling’ had always been right in many life or death situations. Or even just you picking out an outfit that you were unsure of whether it was going to get the boys attention that you had a crush on. It did indeed get his attention that night because that’s how you ended up loosing your virginity that night but that’s besides the point.

The best way you could describe it was like when people would do personality tests and it would ask “are you controlled by your heart or what you feel” probably not those exact words but you get the point. I felt with my feelings if my gut said yes then it was a yes.

Since the night that John B and Sarah had ‘died’ your gut had been telling you the opposite. That they were in fact not dead. As Big John use to say when you were a kid, you can never kill a Routledge. At the time it seemed like bullshit but now it was starting to grow on you.

However now your two friends were presumed dead and not everyone dealt with trauma like you did. Some would even go as far to say that you didn’t actually give a fuck that your friends were dead because you hadn’t cried or you hadn’t drunk yourself into a state of no return or resulted to smoking weed every single day and spray painted ‘murder’ on Ward Cameron’s estate. But at least Kiara wasn’t lying.

But the thing was you hadn’t cried because you couldn’t, you quite literally hated crying because it made you feel weak. Even if you tried and you tried your hardest but nothing came. At this point you could go as far as denial. This gut feeling was like getting hit by a semi truck every time a thought came into your head questioning maybe they were dead. Maybe they did get swept away at sea and never to return.

Your gut feeling was simply not letting you mourn the loss of John B and Sarah and now everyone thought you were an emotionless bitch. I mean they were right to a point but not the whole point.

So that brought you to current day driving around the Cut and night playing fucking real life Where’s Wally but its Where’s JJ Maybank because he’s blacked out drunk somewhere and now you’re on a rescue mission. Not like you had done enough of those in the last few weeks.

About an hour ago your phone rang and it was JJ asking you to come pick him up since somehow he had now idea where he had ended up and was too far gone to put together his surroundings. Well that’s what you had assumed he said since you had to decipher his slurred words.

At this point you had driven around the whole island and gone to every hid out spot that he would go smoke at or to just get away from everyday life. You had gone to all but one place. Where you avoiding that particular house because it held so many memories, plus the fact you hadn’t been near the place since shit hit rock bottom. Yes? But it was the highest chance that JJ was sitting on that dock with his legs swinging over it with a beer in hand.

Well you were right. As you walked down the old dock to where JJ was sitting it was if you could feel all the emotions, thoughts and disbelief crawling their way up your skin from the ground you were walking on. But that gut feeling was like a wave of fire, burning it all the way back to the ground.

“I don’t know why I just didn’t look here first. I should have known aye” you half heartedly said trying to keep the conversation light since you didn’t know what state JJ was going to be in. From the huff you got in response told you he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“How much have you had J?” You asked with concern but still trying to keep you voice light and less reprimanding because you knew he was in a too fragile state for you to be angry.

“Does it even matter how much Iv had. I don’t feel shit anymore” he replied back with his words straight forward and sobered.

“Well have you even given yourself a break for your body to sober up for you to even feel the effects of it? Or have you still been going since yesterday when I saw you? J its not going to do shit if you don’t give it a rest for at least a day or so” you said back trying you best to keep you and your voice as calm as possible. You fucking hated seeing JJ like this, you would never say it to his face but fuck it just reminded you of his dad when he got into states like this. Until the last week you had never seen JJ this bad. But could you blame him.

“You just don’t get it do you” JJ was now facing you and by the tone of his voice you had unintentionally struck a nerve that you were actively avoiding. “Why did you even fucking come if you’re just going to tell me how I should cope. Do you even care that JB has gone? He was our best fucking friend. He was my fucking brother my only family! And he’s fucking gone just like his old man. You haven’t even shed a tear y/n. You’re just acting like nothing had happened. Do you even care!” JJ was now on his feet breathing heavily and his jaw so clenched you’re surprised his teeth haven’t broken

“J, please do not yell at me right now” you asked with your voice shaking trying to hold back something that was bubbling at the surface. Was it anger or was it the water works that desperately needed to be let out.

JJ started to walk back up the dock, showing that he was done with this conversation that he could have avoided if he didn’t ask you in the first place to come pick him up. Deep down he knew that you would be the only one to come and get him, he just wasn’t as good at showing his gratefulness due to the alcohol that was numbing him.

“JJ just wait please, please don’t walk away” You stood back up and starting walking after him quick on the backs of his feet. He halted his tracks and turned around to look at you with a pained look in his face, as you got up close you could see his eyes stained red. Either from crying or the linger of weed still in his system.

“What could you possibly want to say y/n. I really thought you would be the last person not to care about this” JJ was now right up in your face and his voice was holding back trying his best not to yell. But that last sentence had taken you back.

“You think I don’t care JJ!” now you starting yelling “of course I give a shit JJ our friends are gone, they are not fucking here. I know it might not seem that I don’t care. But just because I’m not crying my eyes out every hour or drinking myself into a state where I don’t now where the fuck I am or getting high that I spray paint on any wall I see” your breath was now battling to come to the surface because you were talking so fast.

“Just because Im not doing any of those things doesn’t mean I don’t care JJ! People deal with this shit differently and you need to understand that” you breathed out trying to grasp for air again “the thing is JJ I have this annoying gut feeling thats telling me that John B and Sarah are not dead, and its literally preventing me to mourn them. I have convinced myself that they are alive and I can’t fucking mourn non dead people J. I don’t know how to fucking explain it”

“Well why didn’t you just tell us that” he replied after bit letting your whole rant sink into his brain, weaving its way through the alcohol that was clouding it.

“Because JJ! Even saying that out loud I sound fucking crazy, like I’m in a deep pit of denial. The thing is I’m far from denial. Yes I know there is a massive fucking fat chance that they are dead and have been food for the sharks” you exclaimed

“Don’t make it worse y/n” JJ shook his head not very happy with your choice of words

“Okay yeah sorry bad wording. Im sorry” you lowered your head in sorrow wanting to slap yourself in the face for trying to make jokes out of trauma.

“So its not that I don’t care J, trust me I do care. But John B and Sarah are not physically here with us and I cant physically care for them right now. But when we see them can do that”

“Y/n -“ JJ tried to get a word in but you hadn’t finished

“Don’t JJ. We will see them again” you put an emphasis on ‘will’ “I trust my gut and even you know that when I get a gut feeling that it’s always been right. Correct?”

“Yes but -“ he tried to get another word in but you needed him to listen.

“JJ I care about you. I care about Kiara and Pope. You guys are physically here for me to care for. The thing is I haven’t spoken to Kie since she’s with Pope half the time and I have spoken to Pope since he’s with Kid half the time and you? I can’t speak to you because your too far gone in beers to for me to even get a coherent conversation in” This was such an over due conversation to be had, you were now on the verge of hyperventilating. You needed JJ to hear this. Fully sober would have been better but half sober is the best you’re gonna get.

“JJ I understand if that’s how you’re going to deal with all of this but you can’t throw yourself completely away. We need you. I need you JJ. I can’t have you going off the deep end and then we loose you too. You need to be here for when we get John B back. He will need you for when he’s back”. The water works that you had been holding back had finally been released and trust it to be in front of JJ. He was your fucking rock, you couldn’t loose him. No way that would be your last day on earth if that were to happen.

“I-. Im sorry. I’m just so fucking lost y/n. I don’t know what the fuck to do. You’re always at work and Kie and Pope are god knows where. I just want this to go away so fucking bad. All this pain, I feel like I have no one” JJ was now crying to and gripping your waist as is you could float away into the air

“I know JJ, but you have us you have always had us. But you have to be so stubborn sometimes that you won’t let us in and help, you won’t let me in a help you” you had JJ’s face in your hands making him look at you so he knew you meant every single word. “I’m so sorry if you didn’t think I cared and I wasn’t there to help you, I just deal with this shit in a different way. Just like every single other person. We all heal differently and that’s okay. It dosent mean we care less. It doesn’t mean I care less”

Now there you and JJ stand on the dock leading off the chateau both in each others embrace purging the pain that’s both been locked up inside you for so long. The past you and JJ had people really didn’t tend to understand but neither did you. But you would always find your way back to each other at the end of the day. Despite the fights you had in the past and the days you would be at each others throats screaming at each other to the days you would be secretly stealing a glance at him because you just couldn’t help yourself.

You would always be there to help him take the pain away and he was always be there to do the same for you.

[dreamywriterinthedark]

Recess sobs and bedtime resolutions

Pairing: fem!Reader x Spencer

Request: Ok so the reader is a psychologist and is married to spencer and they have a 5 year old daughter who gets in trouble for punching a kid because they picked on her because they didn't beleive her dad was in the fbi If that makes sense any who if you don't write this i get it I just want to see speancers reaction

Trigger warnings: bullying, physical violence. (let me know if i forgot something)

Category: fluff, slight angst.

A/N: thank you so much for this request! I hope you like it. The daughter sounds a bit older than 5, in my head she’s in the early stages of elementary school. Let me know what you think about it! I’d be glad to receive some feedback. (Btw I hurt my own feelings writing this, you can’t even imagine...)

You were in your office, a typical Tuesday afternoon until you heard your office phone ring once more. You held up your finger to make your client pause what they were saying, you picked up the phone only to hang up.

“I apologise for the inconvenience. Now where were we ?” you said trying to get your client comfortable again despite the ringing. As she was about to speak up again, your cellphone rang, Spencer’s name lit up your screen and that’s when you were starting to get concerned.

“I’m so sorry I have to get that.” You said exiting the office to take the call. You were happy to hear your significant other’s voice nonetheless you knew he wouldn’t normally call you during working hours.

“Hi darling, is everything okay ?”

“No, not really. The school called, there’s an emergency.” he responded wrapping his scarf around his neck as he was making his way to the elevator.

“What happened ?” you asked getting more and more worried.

“She punched a classmate in the face. Can you believe it ?!” he pressed the button 0 waving goodbye to his coworkers.

“What ? Our daughter? Jane ? Are you sure it’s not her evil twin ?”

“Eviler twin you mean ? No offense, Y/n, but if she had one, I’m pretty sure you would remember…”

“Alright, I’ll tell my secretary to cancel all my appointments for the day. I’ll meet you there.”

“Love you, bye.”

“Love you too.” You answered before hanging up. You made it a little bit of a rule to yourself to never say ‘goodbye’ to him because you thought that if you did it may increase the chances of you never seeing him again. You knew it was a bit silly but with all those times he was close to death, you’d believe in any superstition if that meant he would get home safe.

After taking care of your client and letting your secretary handle the rest, you hurried out of your office to drive to your daughter’s elementary school.

You pushed the interphone button, once you were allowed entrance you walked to the principal’s office. You softly knocked, when the door opened it showed Spencer sitting in a chair right across the desk, next to it was an empty chair meant for you.

“I’m sorry, I came as I soon as I could.” you apologized.

“Well, I assume you’re Jane’s mother. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Principal Walker.” he greeted shaking your hand. As you sat down, Spencer gave you his best polite white smile.

“Do you know what you’re here for ?” he inquired.

“You said our daughter was involved in a conflict with a student...” you answered.

“Your daughter punched a student in the face.” He said bluntly.

“Right…”

“Are you sure it’s Jane ?” Spencer asked still struggling to believe it.

“Wait until you see her knuckles...”

Spencer put his face in his hands in defeat, you rubbed his shoulder to bring him comfort.

“What happened exactly ?” you asked.

“Well, it was during the 10AM break. Jane went out to play with her classmates when a boy started arguing with her. Next thing we hear is a scream, the boy is on the floor crying.”

You and Spencer both looked at each other with an immense look of stupor.

“The boy, did he bully her ?” Spencer asked trying to find some innocence in the sweet child of his.

“Not that we know of.” answered the principal.

“Is he okay though ?” you questioned.

“Yes, just a minor injury. He went back home.”

You nodded, “So what happens next ?”

“We are giving her a warning but the next time something like this happens there will be harsher consequences than a simple punishment. Understood ?”

“Yes. we understand. Thank you for your time, sir.” you said as you rose up from your chair. Spencer and you both exited the room finding your daughter in the waiting lounge looking guilty as ever. You saw Spencer’s face look puzzled and hostile. To torture your daughter with even more guilt you told her to ride back home with her dad which she did not love but couldn’t protest.

Spencer hardly spoke to Jane the entire drive. He was dry, so much it looked like he ignored her. Jane was desperate to get him to talk to her.

“Please, dad. Don’t be mad at me!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.” those words he pronounced cut like a knife. You knew that by seeing her dad’s reaction she would become aware of the gravity of her actions. And he actually wasn’t mad, at least not until he saw her pouting face. He loved her too much to be angry.

“Okay but can you just talk to me!” she whined.

“Oh we will, back home with your mom.”

That car ride lasted longer for Jane than usual. No music, no anecdotes nor laughs, just plain silence and introspection while gazing at the landscape.

Your house was in the suburbs near a forest, Spencer had all sorts of scientific arguments as to why living near nature was beneficial but you just loved the paysage before your eyes when taking your morning coffee. The location was perfect; in nature which means less pollution, noise and lower criminal rates yet a short car ride from the city which was full of cultural spots and with high quality education.

Jane tried to run up the stairs in hope to avoid her parents’ correction but was interrupted by your strict toned voice; “Not so fast, young lady.”

She shut her eyes stopping dead in her tracks, she lifted her stuffed animal and said to it “It was nice knowing you, fluffy.” She then turned around and sat on the couch.

Spencer was pacing around, “Why did you do it ?” He asked his daughter his voice slightly higher than before. She started melting in tears which truly pained him. You walked up to her, as you were sat on the couch next to her you started stroking her arm and drying her tears.

“It’s okay. We’re just trying to understand why you did that. There’s no way you would’ve done it without a reason.” you told her.

“Jeremy kept making fun of me…” she struggled to get out whimpering.

“How long has he been making fun of you ?” Spencer asked.

“Since Valentine’s day when everyone was exchanging cards but my box was empty.” You glanced at Spencer in shock of how long you hadn’t known your daughter was getting bullied, silently suffering.

“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through this.” you reassured her kissing her cheek and running your hands through her hair. “But what happened exactly that made you punch him ?”

“He made fun of dad, he wouldn’t believe he was in the FBI.” She answered tilting her head up. “I asked him to stop but he wouldn’t so I defended myself.” she affirmed seeming not so guilty anymore. You unwrapped your arms from her giving her a frown.

“That’s not how you deal with problems.” Spencer said sitting on the low table across the couch.

“Yeah, you could’ve talked to us first but you didn’t even try. You know you can tell us everything ?” You backed him up.

“I know but I thought I could deal with this problem on my own. You guys always seem so good at it. And I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

You glanced at Spencer both slightly smiling at each other.

“If there’s one thing I learned from my job at the FBI is that violence is never the answer. It’s only justifiable if it’s legitimate defence; when you life is in danger.”

“Dad, do you still love me ?” she asked watching her feet swinging on the edge of the couch.

“Of course, I love you. I always will, no matter what.” he responded taking hold of her hand. “Okay?” She nodded. She didn’t seem to understand that punching someone is wrong. You needed to have a talk with Spencer;

“Now go to your room and do your homework, we’ll talk punishment tomorrow morning.” You said.

“But-“ she protested.

“No buts, go to your room.” You ordered.

You joined Spencer on the couch, he looked completely defeated. “Hey, are you alright ?” You asked him while taking a seat next to him. “Yes.” He answered a bit too quickly. “I mean…No…Not really.” You knew exactly why he was feeling like this. “It’s not your fault, Spence.” you reassured him playing with his hair.

“This whole time…And I didn’t know she was struggling. What kind of father am I ?”

“I come home every night and I didn’t know about this. It’s not because of your job, it’s not because of us. I’m blaming the school, here. They’re the ones who are supposed to prevent bullying from happening.”

He rummaged his hair with his hands whilst his elbows rested on his knees.

“Plus it’s a good sign, she doesn’t get along with kids her age…” you said slightly smirking.

“How?!” Spencer asks slightly irritated due to his public middle school flashbacks.

“It’s a sign of high intellectual potential. Her emotional age is too advanced for kids her age to understand, they tend to be too insensitive for her. She believes animals and inanimate objects have emotions and that they are intelligent. She talks to her stuffed animal like it’s a pet. She took the pepperonis out of her pizza! Also she has an enormous amount of creativity and she’s highly sensitive to her surroundings. Have you seen how she profiled your every move and suddenly her emotions followed ? Just like you she’s protective of the ones she loves. She only punched that kid because he wasn’t exactly talking highly of you…”

“So you’re saying…”

“Our daughter could be a genius.”

“As mother as daughter.” he complimented with a smirk.

“Oh come on we know who’s the genius here!” you said slapping his shoulder playfully.

You both chuckled. You kept talking for at least half an hour to come up with a plan you both agreed to. It’s not good for a child to watch their parents disagree.

~slight time lapse~

An hour after dinner, you went up to your daughter’s bedroom as it was her bedtime. You leaned on the door frame admiring Spencer, sat next to Jane on her bed, reading a story to her about conflict to teach her what to do in the type of situations she got in. He learned that from you since you were a psychologist. He admired how resourceful and clever you were. He couldn’t be more proud to have you as his significant other and the mother of his child. Your foot made a cracking noise on the hard wood floor which caught Jane attention.

“Mommy! Come!” she exclaimed shaking her little hands.

“What’s up?” you ask sitting next to the bed.

“Me and dad were reading this book you got me and now i understand. I’m sorry for not coming to you first. I just didn’t like what they said about dad.”

“Honey, it doesn’t matter what people think of you. Seeking validation from people can be so unhealthy. If you keep bottling up your emotions you’re going to explode like a bomb and that’s no good.”

“Can you forgive me, mommy ?”

“Of course. You’re still growing, as long as you learn from your mistakes I’m confident you’re going to be alright.” You answered squeezing her hand. Spencer watched in awe, it reminded him how in love with you he is.

“Yes, please don’t ever do that again!” he said a bit too quickly with a high pitched voice that made you all burst in laughter.

“Alright, you should get some sleep.” you told her giving her a kiss on the cheek and tucking her in; “Good night, my love.”

Spencer kissed her temple and set aside the little book he was reading to her wishing her good night as well. You walked out switching the lights off. As you walked down the stairs you asked Spencer to stop in his tracks pointing your finger up; Jane was talking to her stuffed animal. You both had to muffle your laughs. The future looked bright.

[xbunnybunz]

Jealousy [Lelouch x Reader]

Summary: You love Zero, Lelouch loves you. Lelouch is Zero, and you are none the wiser.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Date: August 10, 2014

----- 

“S-sir?

A meek voice echoed through the storage room, seeking the leader of the black knights.

Lelouch blinked from behind his mask and looked away from some paperwork, wondering who had confronted him. Could it possibly be...? Yes. Of course it was.

There you stood, fiddling with your hair and cheeks tinged pink, avoiding eye contact with your leader. Yes, as much as Lelouch had tried to convince you otherwise,  you had become a member of the Black Knights. ‘The problem is that Lelouch had tried to tell her, and not “Zero”’ Lelouch thought, aggravated. Lelouch recalled a particularly bad day in school; his identity was almost revealed by a mere cat, and after he had expended his energy into chasing the rotten animal, he nearly fell off of the school roof. So when you told him about your intention to join the Black Knights, he was anything but happy. Perhaps he had taken it a tad too far, because he could still remember how bitterly you had reacted after he told you to “get a hold of yourself;” that “a dangerous job like being a Black Knight was not meant for delusional fangirls like yourself.” Looking back now, he wished he had just taken his anger elsewhere. “What do you know about me,  Lelouch?” You snarled, stepping away from him. “Just because you knew me since childhood doesn't mean that you can judge my feelings toward Zero! You have no right to call me delusional-” “-Yes I do!” Lelouch narrowed his violet eyes, glaring a hole into your skull, “How can you say you love him if you've never even met him before? You’re risking your life for someone who will reject your feelings!” He watched as you froze and cast your eyes downward, red flooded your cheeks. “Yeah, Lelouch, is that what you think? That he's going to reject my feelings?” You ask, looking up at him, eyes shining with sorrow. “Well, that’s alright. He wouldn’t be the first time I was rejected, right?” Lelouch’s eyes widened slightly in disbelief; were you still hung up about that? "I'll be going now." You say, turning away from him. He wanted to reach out and stop you, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could lead an army and take down several nightmares with a single command, but he didn’t have the fortitude to stop a girl from leaving a room. Pathetic. Footsteps. Door. "Click." Then silence. Lelouch heaved a small sigh behind his mask and turned his body to face you. "What is it, soldier?" You winced at his words and shifted uncomfortably, pink turning to red on your cheeks "W-well, sir, I've been wondering about something..." Lelouch's purple eyes watched your face turn varying shades of red, scowling. Why didn't you act this way around him at school? Why did you blush and fidget in front of him now, when he was under a different name and a different life? Was the normal Lelouch missing something?! No… You had done this, but not anymore. Lelouch was touched. You had fallen for him twice, if that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what was. Regrettably, he couldn’t accept your feelings, especially not here- not with this side of him. "Uhm..." You diverted your gaze from him, instead deciding to stare at an empty crate. "I've been wondering why you call me 'soldier' all the time, sir." Lelouch raised an eyebrow, which you couldn't see, of course. "Are implying that you not one of my loyal soldiers?" You quickly scrambled to defend yourself, "N-no sir! It's just that... That you call the other Black Knights by their real names, and- and-" You bit your lip and looked down at your shoes, feeling quite stupid for bringing up such a mundane question. "I'm sorry, sir. Never mind." Your cheeks were lit aflame. You were talking to Zero one-on-one at last, but you had only made a fool of yourself. Why would he call you soldier? Because you were a soldier, of course! Such idiotic questions... What kind of answer were you anticipating? "And you?" You blinked stupidly, taken by surprise. "Huh? Me?" Zero continued, standing up and leaning against a large crate next to him.  "Why do you call me 'sir,' and not Zero?" He recalled how you said Zero's name in his presence at school. You spoke it with awe, respect, and sometimes, to his chagrin: love. The name "Zero" never failed to pull compliments and praises from your lips- and although Lelouch should have been feeling pretty darn good about that- dammit all! That was not how it was supposed to be! You were supposed to love him, Lelouch! Not his alter-ego! He watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, tempting him to claim those lips as his. How long has he been waiting for a kiss from you? A week? A month? A year? Goodness, who knew? He lost count a long time ago. Ever since he had declinced your romantic advancements in school, he found himself getting interested in you as well- a bit more than he was comfortable with. However, as anyone who was rejected would do, you were slowly getting over Lelouch. Unfortunately for the boy, your confesion had only ignited his interest in you- and it was swallowing him whole. What had caused your fondness of him? Why would you approach him about such a trivial topic? You couldn’t have found out about his true identity, right? At first, it was just these factual questions; nothing that would harm anyone. But in due time, he began wondering how you would react in certain situations. What would she do if I told her that I liked her as well? How would she react if I hugged her? Held her hand? Kissed her? Soon, he found himself thinking of you whenever he was able to; whether it be in class, while doing his homework, or during Student Council meetings. His curiosity had developed into a near obsession- or dare he say, an attraction. Lelouch had managed to suppress thoughts of you while he was with the Black Knights, and thank goodness for that. He couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue if you managed to worm your way into his mind, then. But now… There you stood, twiddling your fingers and chewing your goddamn lip in front of him. Lelouch couldn’t deny it. He wanted you, and he always got what he wanted… Just not like this. He didn’t want it like this. He couldn’t have you interferring with his plans to destroy Britannia, and he definitely didn’t want you to love Zero. In order to prevent any kind of intimacy between you and his alter-ego, he began referring to you as “soldier” instead of by your name. But damn it all to hell if it worked, because it didn’t. Each time he called you “soldier”and you called him “sir,” the tension between you two would double, and triple, and exponentially rise, driving him to the brink of absolute madness. You distanced yourself from Lelouch at school, and he knew that you were trying your best not to make things awkward between the two of you- he knew that you were trying to move on, but the more you pulled away from him, the less he wanted to let go. What was there to move on from, if he loved you back? Before he had a chance to recalculate his relationship with you, you had managed to slip out of his grasp… And right back in. Unbeknownst to you, you had fallen head-over heels for the same person twice. But this time, oh, this time, it was so much stronger. Your feelings of love, admiration and respect had mixed into one unidentifiable goop of emotion that was directed toward the leader of the Black Knights. And as if the world wasn't enough of a paradox, Lelouch found himself jealous of�� Himself. His geass couldn’t help him here. He had sat down one day, completely weighed down by your flurry of emotions as well as his own. He was desperate for the tensions between you two to stop, and although he was ashamed of it now, he had written out a list of commands he could use to make you love him, and not Zero. Of course, it was in vain. He was Zero, and Zero was him. They were one and the same person, no matter how much Lelouch wished it wasn’t true. A single command would either make you hate Lelouch and Zero, or worse- love both at the same time. In the past month, Lelouch’s jumbled thoughts brewed faster and faster inside of his mind, whipping up into a horrible storm, and he had no one else to blame but you. What in the hell had you done to him? “That-” You say, yanking him out of his exasperating thoughts, “That would be inappropriate.” Lelouch took a moment to recollect his thoughts. Oh, right. He had asked you a question. “Tell me,” He said, his voice coming out raspily from behind his mask, “What makes you think that calling me ‘Zero’ would be inappropriate?” “W-well,” You stuttered, “I’ve only known you for a year, sir.” “A lot of things aren’t necessarily appropriate, are they?” Lelouch asked, ignoring your answer, “Because of their morals, humans cage themselves into a dead end. Wouldn't it be easier to forget them all and break free?” Break free… “I guess so…” You mumble, looking at your shoes modestly. “_______,” Lelouch tasted your name on his tongue, enjoying the sweet, yet acerbic taste it left in his mouth, “You say you’ve known me, Zero, for a year, correct?” You answered, surprised that he even knew your name. “Yes, sir- Erm, Zero…” You blushed upon saying the name, much to Lelouch’s distaste. He ignored it. That’s all that he could do, for now. Suddenly, you heard a loud “BAM!” The sound was harsh, and it grated upon your ears, echoing within the closed space that both Zero and you had occupied. You flinched and closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. When nothing came, you pried your eyes open, stunned to see one of Zero’s arms against the wall next to you, caging your body with his. With his other hand, he calmly pressed a button on the side of his mask. You stood, bewildered and astonished as you heard the whirring of gears, signalling the retraction of the back of his mask. “Z-Zero- what are you-!” “Humor me, _______.” He cut you off,  “Is one year enough time to fall in love?” Because I've known you my whole life... “O-one year… One year can do a lot…” You gulped, watching as Zero adjusted his mask to show his mouth. “Then, hell.” He whispered, leaning into your lips, “I must be completely infatuated.”

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

This story takes place during the summer of 1987. It’s the time of the Cold War, and heavy metal, and Just Say No.

Ten chapters, each with a specific song as its soundtrack.

I’m so excited to finally share it with you.

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Also posted at AO3

—-

Chapter 3: Dancing On Glass

I've been through hell // And I'm never goin' back // To dancing on glass // Going way too fast...

Need one more rush // Then I know, I know I'll stop // One extra push // Last trip to the top...

Soundtrack: “Dancing On Glass,” Mötley Crüe, 1987 [click here to listen]

Three P.M.

Group.

Claire’s hands wrapped around the hard sides of the plastic chair, holding herself upright, watching about two dozen fellow patients? inmates? addicts? shuffle into the room.

Two people stood at the door – greeting others as they entered, handing out small packets of tissues and bottles of Coke.

Today’s facilitator – a middle-aged, bearded man – stood to one side, chatting with a few people.

“Hey!”

Claire startled – and turned to her right to see Jamie slide into the chair beside her.

“How’s it going today? Day two, right?”

She nodded. “Met with my therapist this morning.”

“That’s great! Who’ve you got?”

“Gillian.”

Jamie cracked open a bottle. “Oh, she’s great. Been here a long time. She’s married to the director – did you know that?”

Claire’s eyebrows raised. “No, but that’s really interesting.”

Jamie gulped about half the bottle in one shot. “Yeah. We owe everything to them.”

“Yeah, well. I got assigned to dinner set-up duty.”

He beamed. “Great! I’ve been on that rotation for the last few weeks. I’ll show you all the ropes.”

“Few weeks? How long have you been here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He set down his Coke. “I don’t. And I’ve been here eight weeks. The best eight weeks of my fucked-up life.”

“Don’t say that,” she chided. “Surely everything can’t be so terrible.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“It can be, if you were the reason why a sold-out European tour couldn’t happen, and it cost your backers and buddies tens of millions of dollars, and it pissed off countless thousands of fans.”

Now the greeters took their seats within the circle.

“Couldn’t, or didn’t?” Claire hoped her words were gentle, but when her head split with pain like this she could never tell. “And what do you mean by ‘tour’?”

His eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t. My manager said I’d come back from Europe in a body bag. He’s a bloodsucker but he had enough sense to not kill the golden goose.” He finished his Coke in one long gulp – flexing the tattoos swirling on his forearm and elbow. “And I’m a professional musician – in case you couldn’t guess from the way I look.”

“I see.”

He grinned. “How about that – someone who doesn’t recognize me.”

She folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes against the pain, so desperately wanting to disappear. “I guess between medical school, and being a surgeon, and my ex-husband…and the pills…there are a lot of things I haven’t paid attention to.”

“Hey.” Softly he reached out to touch her knee – and she looked up at him.

“I’m not making fun of you, Claire. It’s just…I don’t know. Refreshing.”

She smiled tightly.

The facilitator clapped his hands. “Everyone – are we ready?”

People around the circle nodded, and the man sat down in the last empty chair.

“Great. Well, hi everyone. For those of you who don’t know me – I’m Murtagh. Been clean for just about eleven years now. Before that I spent a small fortune that I didn’t have – ”

“ – on enough blow to kill an elephant,” Jamie and several others chorused.

Murtagh smiled. “Wiseasses. Now – today’s topic is: clarity.”

“Can you be more specific?” A heavyset, bearded man across the circle piped up.

“You mean – provide more clarity?” Geneva snickered from somewhere near Jamie.

“Easy,” Murtagh interjected. “And yes, Rupert, of course. What I mean is: something I hear a lot from people here is that being away from substances gives them clarity for the first time in years. Clarity of thoughts – meaning, you’re logical and rational. Clarity of judgment – meaning, you feel like you are empowered to make good decisions. And overall, clarity to step away from all the bullshit that the substances made you do, or made it easier for you to do, and say – damn, what the hell was I doing?”

Across the circle, Rupert nodded. “OK. Oh – hi everyone, I’m Rupert, and I’m an alcoholic. Yeah – I can definitely relate. I wanted to not have clarity, so that I didn’t have to think about how much I was screwing up my job, and my marriage.”

“Good,” Murtagh praised. “And now that you can’t avoid it – how do you feel?”

Rupert stroked his thick beard. “Like shit. I love Scarlet so much, and I fucked it all up. I understand that now.”

“I feel the same way,” Jamie added. “Hi, I'm Jamie, and I'm an alcoholic, too. I drank because I’ve always felt so responsible for everything going on in my band – because I’m the guy that brought us together, and I’m the guy who writes the songs, and I’m the guy who’s across the table from the record company executives, advocating on our behalf.” He bounced a long, thin, jean-clad leg rapidly up and down. “I felt like I was being used, and that I was the only one who cared. I felt that really clearly. So I drank to…to avoid that clarity.”

Claire carefully watched the others around the circle. What Jamie was sharing could make any one of them a quick buck – all it would take was one phone call to a tabloid. But everyone was listening raptly – clearly thinking about parallels in their own lives – and it began to dawn on her that Jamie had one thing she didn’t have much of for herself: respect.

“And then when I drank, I’d just get really mean,” he continued. “I’d say things to rile up my drummer. I had a fling with my manager’s girlfriend, just to fuck with him. And yeah, I’d destroy hotel rooms.”

“Your reaction was to want to hurt people,” Murtagh said gently. “You had had clarity – clarity that you were shouldering too much, for too many people – and you reacted by wanting to push them away.”

“Yeah.” Claire spoke without thinking. “Um – hi everyone, I’m Claire, and I’m addicted to pills. Halcions, mostly.”

“Oh, those are the best,” a woman to Claire’s left remarked.

“Hey – no positive talk,” Murtagh interjected. “You know better than that, Letitia.”

Letitia huffed.

Murtagh turned back to face Claire. “Tell us more, Claire, if you’re comfortable?”

Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “I was – am – a trauma surgeon for an emergency room. I love it – I love the adrenaline of it, and of course being able to help people on the worst day of their lives. I love being able to heal people. But…but it’s pretty heavy stuff. People die, no matter how hard you try to save them. People wake up and they’re not happy that they don’t have a leg anymore – and I say, would you rather be dead?”

“And you wanted to get away from that?” Jamie asked gently.

She closed her eyes. “I had to have clarity to do my job properly – it’s hard to describe, but it’s like having a laser focus on what’s in front of you. Getting in the zone. Shutting out everything else. And then when it’s all done – I would crash. The whole world would come rushing back, and I’d be covered in someone else’s blood and barely able to sit down before I had to work on the next person. That was so, so hard to deal with.”

“I understand.” Claire opened her eyes – it was an older man speaking right next to Jamie. “Hi everyone – I’m Ned, I’m a lawyer and crack addict, and there are a lot of jokes I’m sure you could make based on that.”

Claire managed a small smile.

“I’m a defense attorney – I’m that guy you see on TV arguing in a courtroom and presenting to a jury. I totally get what Claire said, because I needed to have that kind of really focused clarity, too. It was kind of like acting – I had to remember my argument, and I had to present it to the jury, and I had to pick up on cues from them to see how well I was doing. And then afterward I’d just crash. But I still had to have energy to prep for the next day, and that’s where Miss Crack came in.”

“So what I’m hearing is that clarity is something you already had – and then you turn to substances to get away from it.” Murtagh folded his arms. “Because it’s hard to flip that ‘off’ switch. And then eventually, the substances change from being something to take a vacation from that clarity, to completely blocking out that clarity altogether.”

“Exactly.” It was easier for Claire to focus on Murtagh than the sea of faces surrounding her. “And it’s a deliberate choice. I’m sure, Ned and Rupert and Jamie, that you deliberately sought out something to prevent that clarity. I know I did – I wrote the prescriptions for the pills that I consumed.”

Rupert nodded. “The bottle didn’t pick itself up and pour the liquor down my throat. And you’re right, Claire – at first, at least, it was a conscious decision. Until it became something I had to depend on.”

“I think that there are ways for this to happen more positively.” A woman seated beside Rupert quietly spoke. “Oh – hi, everyone, I’m Marsali, and I’m an alcoholic. What I mean is, there are ways to flip that ‘off’ switch that aren’t so…destructive. You can go for a run. Listen to music. Cook a meal. Watch a movie. Make love to your significant other.”

Murtagh nodded. “Marsali brings up a good point here. I’ll repeat something that I’ve already told many of you before, because it bears repeating. Substance addiction is addiction, first and foremost. All of us are here because our brains are hard-wired for addiction. We can’t change that. But we can change what it is that we’re addicted to.”

“Like what?” Letitia had calmed down a bit, but clearly she was skeptical.

“Whatever works for you,” Murtagh shrugged. “Jiu Jitsu. Flower Arranging. Reading. Playing the drums. Writing. Riding motorcycles. Not all addictions are bad – we just need to find the addictions that help us, and don’t hurt us or the people around us.”

Everyone’s heads nodded in agreement, quietly reflecting.

“So – that’s my homework assignment for all of you.” Murtagh pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page, and began scribbling in it. “To think about the thing that you can become positively addicted to. Something you already enjoy, or something you’ve never done before. But I hope that even just thinking about it will give you focus. Improve your clarity.”

“Got it,” Ned said quietly.

Murtagh flipped back to an earlier page in his notebook. “Now – I have here my notes from the last time I facilitated Group. OK if I start going around and asking people for follow-up thoughts to those? Rupert?”

Rupert nodded, and began to speak.

“Facilitators take turns hosting Group every fourth day.” Claire started a bit, but held steady as Jamie leaned in close, spoke quietly into her ear. “We talk about things, and we’re assigned homework, and then the next time the facilitator is back we talk about it.”

“Thanks,” Claire murmured.

Jamie didn’t pull away. “If you ever just want to talk…”

She swallowed. “Thanks. I do. I just – it’s a lot to process.”

“It is. But you’ll get there. Talk more at our dinner prep.”

With that he pulled back, and a low buzz settled somewhere between Claire’s ears as the people around her chimed in to the conversation.

[headinthestaticsky]

Sanctuary with the Enthralling Moon: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, FINAL CHAPTER

All of the characters in Twilight DO NOT belong to me. All rights to go Stephenie Meyer.

Authors note:Sorry it took me so long to post a chapter today, I’ve been busy.

“When I think of you  I remember springtime That was when we fell in love Just me and you.”

Just Me and You, by The Dreamliners

“What? What is the Volturi?”

“It’s our version of a government love, they make sure we still concealed to the humans.” Jasper explained

“Where is it at?”

“Italy.”

“I need to go... Alice, take me there now!”

“Bella wait! Fleur what won’t you stop her?” Jacob pleaded.

“I’m sorry Jacob but, not matter how much I hate Edward’s guts right now...He can’t kill himself over guilt... especially since she isn’t even dead.”

“You’re completely useless.” He snarled at me.

“Hey if you didn’t answer the fucking phone we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“How you know it was me?”

“I heard Bella screaming her head off all the way upstairs...”why didn’t you let me speak to him.” Is what she said if I remember that correctly.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Bella. She was aggressive packing a bag and filling through a drawer. She pulled out a passport, she pushed past me and ran outside. We all followed her and Alice zoomed to the car starting it immediately.

“Bella he left you, he didn’t want you.”

“Yeah well, I’m not going to let him kill himself out of guilt.” Bella swung the bag in the back seat and then got in the car.

“Bella, please...stay here for Charlie, for me.” Jacob pleaded.

I couldn’t make out what she had said to him next, but whatever it was... it didn’t seem good. Jacob turned away from the car, he looked livid. Carlisle’s car revved out of the driveway, dust from the dirt was the only thing left behind. Jacob glared at me and Jasper before taking off to the woods, morphing into a wolf.

“Jazz...what in the hell am I going to say to dad?”

“You can say she found out where Edward was... and Alice offered to take her to the airport since she had come by for a visit.”

“Yeah... that works.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket, jump scaring me.

“Hello?”

“Fleur... it’s me, Rosalie.”

“Rose... hey, it’s been a while.”

“Do you know where Edward went... I told him what happened with Bella.”

“Rose... he’s going to the Volturi to kill himself... He thinks Bella’s dead.”

“Oh god...” Her voice sounded like she was in shock.

“Why did you say something to him?”

“I don’t know...honestly I don’t...”

“Bella and Alice went to Italy to try and stop him.”

“I hope they get to him...”

“I do too.”

I saw my dad pull up in the driveway, I could see confusion and heartbreak on his face.

“Listen Rose, I gotta go. Dad just got here.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later Fleur.”

“See you, bye.”

“Jasper? What’re you doing back here?”

“My family and I are moving back in a few days, but I couldn’t help but want to see Fleur again so I came back a bit earlier than everyone else.”

“Oh, that’s good to here. Does Bella know you guys came back?”

“Dad... you should come inside, we have to tell you something.”

“Oh no... what did she do now?”

“Come on dad.”

He had a reluctant look on his face when we went inside.

“So? What’s going on.”

“Alice and Jasper had come by, they told Bella and I that the rest of the family was moving back. Carlisle’s job ended up not working out so they decided to move back here. Alice had told Bella where Edward was and Alice offered to take Bella to him.”

“Where is she?”

“She wouldn’t tell... she doesn’t trust me very much still. She had a passport with her so I can only assume she went out of the country.”

“When she gets home... that boy is banned from this house. He’s put us through Hell for months!”

“I’m really sorry for my brothers actions, Chief Swan.” Jasper said his smooth voice rung through the quiet house.

“It ain’t your fault...there is only so much you can do.... god, I lose one of my closest friend and then my daughter runs off on me again.” Dad said he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“I’m really sorry dad.” I pulled him in for a hug. I had walked away to get my dad something to eat and a bottle of water. I could hear Jasper talking to my dad but, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

The rest of the night was quite tense. Dad was pacing around the living room for the entire night. He was waiting for a call from Bella, wanting to hear her confirm that she is safe and sound. But, it never happened. Jasper had left saying he needed to check into a hotel for the night. But in actuality he spent the night in my room.

“Jazz...you said this Volturi was like your government...what if they make Bella change? What if they find out about me? I’m not ready to change Jasper...I can’t leave dad all alone.”

“We will find a way to prevent you from changing as long as possible darlin. Besides, Bella is the only one there, she shouldn’t have to mention you.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her Jazz...she’s, changed in a way she seems self absorbed at this point. I remember when James was chasing us, she seemed to relish in all of the attention it got her.”

“I thought a felt bits of that in her emotions, yours over powered her though.”

I sighed

“Gosh, I need to talk about something else... I feel so nervous I think I might get sick.” I burrowed my face in Jasper neck in hopes to calm my nerves.

“Okay...marry me.” He said, his voice was calmer than I had ever heard it before. I on the other hand, was in shock. My eyes had shot wide open and I lifted my head up from his neck.

“Are you serious?” I asked, my voice was a pitch higher than normal.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” He said, humor was laced in his voice.

“So that’s what you were talking to dad about in the living room.”

“Yeah, that was it...so...” He got up from my bed and knelt down in front of me on one knee. 

“Will you marry me?” he pulled the velvet box he in his pocket open.

“Yes... I will.” I huge smiled made it’s way onto my face. Jasper pulled me into his arms and hugged me. My feet made it’s way off the floor for a few seconds, but I was then set back down. I looked down at the ring, it fit me pretty well.

“Is that Sapphires?” I asked.

“Yeah they are... thought they would be nice, since that is your birthstone.”

“It’s yours too you know... I remember your birthday... it’s September 14th.

Timeskip: 2 days later.

When Bella had finally gotten home from finding Edward, dad let her have it. He stuck to his guns at first, saying that Edward was banned from the house and that she was not allowed to see him. But, Bella being Bella threatened moving away. Dad faltered in his threat and said that Edward could come over but, dad would have to be there and he could only stay til 9:30. Bella also couldn’t leave the house without dad being there either. And even when she was going to leave with him there, she would have to tell him and call him every hour. She even had a curfew she had to uphold to, which was at 9:30 pm as well.

I was with the Cullens this evening, Rosalie, Emse, and Alice’s eye lit up in excitement when they saw my ring. Emmett had bear hugged me when he saw me again and Dean was finally able to hug me too, without wanting to kill me. Alice was just talking to me about floral arrangements when Edward and Bella walked into the room.

“Look... you all know what I want. I think it would only be fair... if you all vote.” Bella said. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Edward snided.

“Shut...up.” Bella replied

“What’s the rush Bella?” I asked she of course, ignored me.

“Alice?” 

“Yes of course, I already consider you apart of my family.”

“I vote yes, it would be nice to not want to kill you all the time.” Dean said.

“Jasper?”

“Sure...I really don’t want to get separated from Fleur again because Edward can’t get over his hero complex.” Jasper snapped, he tensed in his place.

“Look... I’m really sorry to both of you for how i’ve acted but... this isn’t a life I would’ve chosen for myself. So I vote no.” Rosalie stated

“I say hell yeah! We can pick a fight with the Volturi some other way.” Emmett stated.

“Yes Bella, You’re already a member of this family.” Esme said

“Carlisle?”

“Why are you all doing this to me?” Edward questioned.

“You’ve chosen to live without her...I won’t live without my son.”

Bella smirked, but then I noticed she got nervous.

“I have something else to tell you.”

“What?” I asked.

“You see... when we wend to the Volturi I may have...”

“Don’t even finish that sentence...you didn’t Bella, you fucking told them about me didn’t you!?”

“Doesn’t feel so good having someone else make decisions for you does it?”

“You are more delusional than I thought!”

“Wait a second, you put her at risk too Bella?” Rosalie said... anger was rising in her voice.

“How long do you two have?” Jasper asked... he too was getting more angry.

“Til my graduation.”

“I can’t even look at you anymore Bella... you make me sick.” I snapped, I made my way outside and slammed the glass door. Jasper and Rosalie ran outside to join me.

“What am I going to do?” I said, my eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll figure something out Fleur.” Jasper said, pulling my into his arms.

“I won’t let her take that choice away from you.” Rosalie added.

I looked up at the sky, the stars and moon were out tonight.

“I’m so sorry love.” Jasper said.

END OF BOOK 2

[fallen-gravity]

Intellectual Adequacy

Stan hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but he knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

~~

Notes: In which one little plot bunny that was preventing me from getting any work done becomes its own rabbit hole.

I genuinely cannot believe that in the six-seven years I've been in this fandom, I've never tried my hand at the fix-it-fic where Stan and Ford just talk it out as teenagers, just like they should've in canon. I've seen a lot of different approaches, but I feel like I've yet to see one that tackles it from the perspective of Stan's own battle with his self-worth, rather than the actions he or Ford have already taken.

AO3

Stan hates the principal’s office more than anywhere else in the world.

He swears, he’s called down every other week for something that’s not even his fault. He punched Crampelter in the nose for harassing some poor freshman? Principal’s office. He talks back to a teacher calling his classmate stupid for forgetting an “obvious” geometry equation? Principal’s office. He accidentally drops his pencil during an exam and bends over to pick it up? He must be cheating. Principal’s office.

If you asked him, the whole idea of sending kids to the principal’s office is pointless to begin with. Oh, you did something bad, and now we’re gonna make the big man in charge tell your mommy and daddy? How old do these people think they are?

Stan wishes he could say that this time is okay because they’re not even talking to him. They’re talking up a storm to Ford in there about another college scholarship and all the reasons why he and he alone would be the perfect candidate for some random school all the way out in California

But it’s not okay, because the longer Stan sits in the dumb waiting room the more he’s starting to feel like chopped liver. They’ve been in there for at least five minutes with no sign of stopping anytime soon, but every time Stan asks the secretary if he can just go back to class already she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and it’ll be your turn soon, sit back down.

He’s thinking of just sneaking out the next time the secretary buries her nose back into her magazine. It’s simple: just wait for her to pull it out from her desk, sneak by as quick as he can, and slip out the door and back to class before she can even notice he’s gone.

He stands from his chair, pretending to stretch and preparing to execute, but freezes solid when he hears his name being spoken from within the principal’s office.

“…What about our little free spirit Stanley?”

It’s Ma, and whatever it is they’re talking about in there, she isn’t happy about it. Frowning, Stan glances over at the secretary to make sure that she isn’t staring at him, and presses his ear to the office door to listen to their conversation more carefully.

The principal laughs in response. “That clown? At this rate he’ll be lucky if he graduates high school”

Stan’s taken aback by the harsh choice of words, but if he knows Ford, then he won’t just sit there and let the principal talk about him like that. He presses his ear further into the door, waiting for Ford to interrupt the principal’s rambling about how he’s never going to amount to anything with you just don’t know him like I do, or something along those lines, but it never comes.

Not a single interjection that…anything he’s saying is wrong. Not from Pa, not from Ford….and not even from Ma.

They don’t…all really believe that, right?

There has to be something else he’s missing. He bets they’re defending his honor right now, and the reason they’re not making a big scene about it is because they’re in public.

Yeah.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

He peeks into the window, expecting to see Ma glaring daggers into the principal, or Ford silently cursing him out behind his back, but what he’s met with is so much worse. Ma and Pa are exchanging warm smiles, and Ford is frantically shaking hands with the principal, beaming brighter than Stan’s ever seen in his entire life.

Matter of fact, Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen any of them look so happy in his entire life.

He’s worthless, he’ll never go anywhere, and they’re all smiling about it.

Stan’s heart drops to his stomach, and he slides to the floor to join it.

Is this some kind of cruel joke? Were they expecting him to listen in on their conversation? Is this their cruel workaround of telling him he’ll never amount to shit?

He sighs.

He stays there on the cold tiled floor for what feels like hours, contemplating all the times he’s been called dumb, or stupid, or a terrible influence on his brother. All of those times when he could brush it off just because it was coming from someone he didn’t care about.

But worthless?

Behind his back, spoken directly to people he loves, and they won’t even bother to defend him?

That one’s new, and if Stan is going to be completely honest with himself, it’s much harder to brush off his shoulders than all those other times.

Stan doesn’t even notice the office door opening until it nearly smacks him in the back of his head. He quickly jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, pretending the best that he can that he wasn’t just eavesdropping on them for the past ten minutes.

“Stanley!” Ford comes bursting out of the room, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I just received the most incredible news! The admissions team at West Coast Tech heard about my science fair project, and-”

The beam suddenly slips from his face, replaced with some sort of mix of confusion and concern. “Is...Something wrong?”

Stan rubs at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t started tearing up without realizing it, but no, his eyes are bone dry.

Curse Ford’s stupid ability to read his mind.

Stan covers up the gesture of rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, and stretches his arms in the air. “Nothing except you taking forever in there” he flashes a fake smile easily. “Talk about a blabbermouth, am I right?” Stan gestures towards the principal with his thumb.

Ford laughs, and returns his gaze to the pamphlet in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think he’s so bad”

Stan opens his mouth to quip back, but Ford doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He’s just staring at that dumb pamphlet, his grin slowly but surely returning to his face again.

Instead, Stan shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

~~~

Stan feels like he’s in a haze for the rest of the day. Even when he tries to focus on class to take his mind off of things and redirect it on anything else, he can’t get his mind to stick.  Not even final period gym class can save him, which is really saying something, because the gymnasium is usually the one place where he thrives.

Worthless.

The word won’t stop bouncing around in his skull, hitting him where he’s most sensitive.

It doesn’t help a thing that Ford is dead silent on their walk home from school. He’s usually chatting up a storm to Stan about stuff he doesn’t really understand, and under normal circumstances Stan can’t wait to get home so he can bury his head in his pillow and drown out the sound of Ford’s babbling.

But today he’s not even looking in Stan’s direction, just burying his nose in the West Coast Tech brochure with stars in his eyes, and now Stan wants nothing more than to hear Ford babbling on about his advanced physics classes.

It’s almost insulting.

Stan sighs, and lightly taps on Ford’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinks, like he needs a few moments to readjust to reality. “Oh! Of course. I was actually planning on asking you the same thing” he places the brochure in his pocket. “Same place as always?”

Stan nods. “Same place as always”.

It’s a quick change of direction and a shortcut to the beach before they find themselves on their old swing set. By now they’re both too heavy to use it properly without a risk of snapping it, but they still find it’s a good place to go when they just need to get away and talk.

“You’re not really thinking of going to that stuffy old school, are you?” Stan asks as soon as Ford sits on the swing beside him. “They’ve gotta be crazy if they think four more years of essays and exams are better lookin’ than tanned babes and gold chains. We’re so close to finishing up the Stan-O-War. Soon as graduation rolls around we’re outta here, just like we always promised”.

Ford chuckles. “That is a nice thought, but…” he pulls the brochure out of his pocket again, and unfolds it for Stan to see. “You have to understand that I can’t just pass up an opportunity like this. Maybe I don’t need a degree from any old state school, but this is West Coast Tech we’re talking about!” he beams, the stars returning to his eyes. “They’ve got cutting edge technology and multidimensional paradigm theory”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but admit to himself it’s nice to have his brother back again after an entire day of radio silence.

“Beep boop, giant nerd robot oncoming” Stan punches Ford in the arm.

Ford’s grin only widens. “I figured you’d say that, but it’s too late to change my mind. The head of admissions already flew in this morning, and with my go-ahead they’re going to check out my science fair project later tonight and let me know then and there if they want me at their school”

“Well that seems kind of harsh” Stan quips. “What if they say no?”

Ford shrugs. “Well, then it’s like you said. If they don’t want me, you and I sail off on the Stan-O War and never look back”.

Stan frowns at the strong emphasis on if. He really thinks he’s going to get this, doesn’t he? Stan can’t exactly blame him when he’s been the reigning valedictorian of their class every year since they were kids.

“And if they say yes?”

Ford grins. “Well, then you better visit me on the other side of the country” he punches Stan in the shoulder, and stands to his feet without saying another word.

Stan can’t bring himself to join him. He knows that Ford didn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t help feel wounded by his brother’s implication that while he’s off in California having the time of his life, Stan’s still gonna be stuck living with their parents in New Jersey.

It’s just like their principal said. He’ll never amount to anything anyway, so why wouldn’t he stay in New Jersey? Where else would a worthless piece of shit like him end up?

Stan shifts on his swing and watches as Ford walks away, and he can’t help but wonder just how much of the principal’s tangent that Ford believed.

All of it?

Some of it?

Had Ford even been listening to what he said at all?

As he continues to watch his brother walk away, he can’t help the feeling in his gut that he has to know. He hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but Stan knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Ford says, turning around to face him. Stan suddenly finds himself very aware of his heart loudly pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to squash that down. He’s never felt shy or anxious about asking his brother anything, and he sure as hell isn’t letting that start now.

“You don’t…uh,” he swallows. “You don’t think I’m…worthless, do you?”

Ford looks appalled. He neatly folds the brochure back into his pocket and starts walking- no, jogging, almost sprinting back to the swing set. He pauses in front of the empty swing beside Stan for a moment, like he’s debating whether he should sit down or not, but eventually he shakes his head and sits down anyway.

“What on earth makes you say that?”  There’s a hint of anger to his tone, but Stan’s not entirely convinced it’s directed at him. “Why would I think you’re worthless? You’re my twin brother! What could’ve possibly put the idea in your head that I thought that?”

There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to back out, brush it off with a joke and have this conversation later, but there’s an even louder voice shouting at him that it needs to be had now.

Stan sighs. “I…overheard everything in the principal’s office today”

Ford blinks, like he doesn’t understand a word that Stan just said. “About…West Coast Tech? Is this because you’re afraid that I’ll get in, but you know you won’t because you’re not even interested in applying anyway, but you know you’re going to miss me, and you’re not sure if you can handle-”

“About me, Sixer!” Stan shouts, and tries his damn hardest to ignore the waver in his voice. “He practically called me a useless piece of shit directly to Ma and Pa and neither of them said a word about it!” He scrubs his hands down his face because he’s not choking up, not over something so pointless and stupid. “You’re going to travel the world and become the smartest person the scientific community has ever seen, or whatever, but me? Apparently I’ll always be stuck here in New Jersey to pick up after everyone else’s messes, because that’s all I’m ever good for”

Stan buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to blow up, and he certainly hadn’t meant to direct his anger at Ford, but he just feels so hopeless, and he’s the only one around who’s willing to listen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ford returned with anger of his own, or told him off for being selfish, or even if he just decided to stand up and walk away from him for being such an embarrassment.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy. Stan is so convinced that he must’ve driven Ford away that when he feels a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumps a mile out of his skin. When he finally pulls his hands out of his face to meet Ford’s eyes, his face is flushed pink and he looks…embarrassed.

“Stan, I had no idea, I…” he awkwardly pulls his hand away and grips tightly to the chain of his swing. Stan can see Ford’s face shifting through about a dozen different emotions at once. “I…must’ve been too focused on everything else to realize he was saying those things about you.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs. “I’m sorry”

There’s another bout of silence between them. Stan’s half-expecting that to be the end of it, and for Ford to walk away without another word.  

But Ford breaks the silence with a sigh, and when Stan glances over at him he’s staring down at the ground.

“If it’s any consolation...you’re much smarter than me in a lot more places than you realize”

Okay, now Stan has to laugh. “Okay, now you’re being too nice to me. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better”

“I’m serious!” Ford’s cheeks flush pink again, and he adjusts his glasses before returning his gaze towards Stan. “There’s actually been a fascinating number of studies about intelligence lately, and, well…” Ford’s face is turning redder by the minute, Stan swears. “It turns out that…there’s more than one type”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing me here, Sixer”

“Well, you see, I thrive in academic intelligence. Math, science, history, you know, school stuff. That’s the most commonly known type of intelligence because a lot of our formative years are based on it”

Stan doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow even further.

“But,” Ford continues quickly, “They’ve also made discoveries about the existence of social intelligence”

“Social?” Stan blinks, suddenly finding himself significantly more interested. “You mean like talking to people and stuff?”

Ford nods. “Precisely. They say people with high social intelligence are much better at picking up on social cues, and can make friends with others much easier than those with lower social intelligence.” Ford kicks at the sand. “The reason social intelligence hasn’t been recognized is because it’s often mistaken for having a friendly personality”.  His face flushes pink again, like he’s afraid he said the wrong thing. “Not that a person can’t have both, but…”

Stan smirks, nudging at Ford with his elbow. “Stanford Pines, are you calling your good-for-nothing brother intelligent?” He teases, but can’t help the genuine smile creeping to his face.

“Think about it!” Ford throws an arm into the air, the other one tightly gripped on the swing to prevent himself from falling off. “Every time Ma and Pa leave us in charge of the shop so they can go to Atlantic City for the weekend, who’s the one bringing in all the customers? Who’s the one selling out our daily stock less than two hours after we’re open? You are, Stan, just by being yourself. You know how to persuade people into buying our stock at ten times the listed price.”

“You can’t learn that from twelve years of public school. They can try to teach you, but at the end of the day it’s all about your ability to connect with people” Ford rubs at his arm. “I’ve tried teaching myself those kinds of tricks for years, but at the end of the day…” he shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to catch up.” He smiles. “I raise my white flag to you, Stan. You’ve outsmarted the smartest brother in the world”

Stan chuckles. “Try telling that to Principal Comb-over. He hears you saying the so-called dumbest clown in the entire school system is smarter than you and he’s going to cart you away to the loony bin”

Ford laughs. “You know, now that I think about it, there may actually be a way to tell him off for what he said about you and get away with it scott-free”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

Ford smirks. “I think you should try to graduate out of spite”

Stan’s not sure he follows. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, think about it” Ford stands from his swing and begins to pace back and forth. “The principal called both of us down even though he only wanted to speak to me, and then he talked shit about you even though he knew you were sitting right outside his door?” he pauses in his pacing. “Stan, he knew that you could hear him. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to listen in when he was talking to Ma and Pa about my scholarship opportunity, but he knew you’d be listening the moment you were brought up in the conversation”

That’s…true. Stan was just about to sneak out before he heard them say his name.

“He’s expecting you to fail, and he wants to put it in everyone else’s head too. He thinks it’s the easy way out, because if you choose to fail out on your own than he doesn’t have to take responsibility for being such a shitty educator. It gives him the chance to say look how he didn’t even try instead of look at how we failed him.”

“But if you proved him wrong? Imagine the look on his face when he has to be the one to place that diploma in your hand. Imagine him having to look you dead in the eyes and tell you he’s proud of you. You’ll know he’s speaking bullshit, but he knows he can’t talk shit about you anymore without making himself look bad.” Ford smirks. “Matter of fact, imagine the looks on the faces of everyone who’s ever doubted you walking across that stage. Pa alone is gonna have a heart attack”

Ford’s smile softens. “I already know that you’re much smarter than you’re given credit for, and I think it’s about time that everyone else recognizes that too”.

Stan’s cheeks burn red, and he shyly kicks at the sand. “Heh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He says. “But even if I did manage to graduate, what am I supposed to do with a high school diploma? Every job application I’ve been skinning through recently says college, college, college”

“Well…” Ford taps at his chin. “Then why not go out for college?”

Okay, now he’s taking things too far.

“Pardon?” Stan mocks, because if Ford thinks that Stan’s going to willingly take four more years of classes than maybe he should be carted away to a loony bin.

“I’m serious!” Ford blushes. “Maybe not a high intensity school like West Coast Tech, but college is so much more freeing than high school, Stanley. It’s not class after class on subjects that other people tell you to take. It’s personalized. If you hate science class so much, you never have to take another science class again”

Ford’s blush darkens. “I know that school is a big drag and all, but if you asked me?” he averts his gaze. “I think you’d really benefit from business school. Charisma and social intelligence is the number one thing that big name businesses are looking for, and I know you’re filled to the brim with both. Ultimately it is your decision, but…” Ford fiddles with his thumbs. “Just…just consider it, okay?”

For a brief moment, Stan just wants to burst out into hysterical laughter. Ford’s been offered the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best schools in the country, and he’s still taking the time to help out his good-for-nothing brother who’s been cheating off of his exams for the past ten years.

Instead he settles for a roll of his eyes. “Alright, Professor Poindexter, I’ll consider it”

Ford giggles at that, and for a few moments neither of them says anything, watching the waves gently lapping on the beach in the short distance. It’s a comfortable silence, a reassuring sort of feeling that Stan hasn’t felt in a long time.

The frantic beeping of Pa’s wristwatch interrupts them, and both boys flinch at the sound in unison. For a moment Stan is worried that Pa’s standing behind them having heard every word, but when he glances over at Ford, he sees him rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal that he’s the one wearing the watch, and clicks the alarm off.

“Pa made me borrow it so I wouldn’t be late for the presentation with the school board” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I’ll probably give it back as soon as I get home tonight”

Stan smirks. “You still hate the sound of that thing too, huh?”

“I can still hear it in my nightmares,” Ford exaggerates, his eyes going wide, and the twins burst into laughter as they both stand from the swings and stretch their arms and legs to wake them up from sitting for so long.

Ford wipes at his eye as he fidgets with the wristwatch. “So…do you think you’re going to be okay?”

That in itself is a pretty loaded question that could take him all night to answer, but all things considering…

“Yeah,” Stan smiles. “I think I’ll be okay”

Ford smiles back, and gestures with his thumb towards the direction of the pawn shop. “Then I’m going to head home and get ready for my presentation. You coming?”

Stan shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay out here and just…watch the ocean for a little while longer”

Ford’s smile softens, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns heel and walks back towards the house, and it feels as though a giant weight has just been lifted off of Stan’s chest. He glances back to watch Ford go, but finds comfort in the feeling that he feels nothing at all.

~~~

Nearly five hours later, Stan sits at home, watching television on the couch to pass the time. Just out of the corner of his eye he sees Ford slip into the kitchen and gently click the door closed. Stan shuts the TV off, and spins around on the couch to face his brother.

“Well?” Stan asks, though he knows he doesn’t even need to bother asking, given that Ford looks like he’s about to burst. With a shaking hand, Ford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glinting white envelope.

If he’s trying to keep an air of mystery about it, he’s doing a really bad job, because all at once his composure breaks and the smile that spreads across his face looks as though it could burn out the sun.

“They loved me!” He shouts, excitedly pacing the floor. “They told me they’ve never seen anyone else like me!”

His smile is so contagious that it hurts.

Perhaps another day, in another timeline, Stan would take offense to Ford’s excitement to bounce off to the other end of the country without him. Perhaps he’d even lash out, or do something he would’ve immediately regretted.

But here and now, Stan couldn’t be happier for his brother if he tried.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Memories, Pt. III

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks, torture

Word Count: 1968

a/n: Part 3!! Honestly, I feel like this series could've been a one shot, but I wasn't feeling inspired to write the whole thing at once and I knew I would finish it if I posted part of it because I would stress about people wanting the next part 🙃

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

3 Years Ago

Bucky could only be described as a ball of nerves when you walked into the room. It felt like his brain shut off.

He had spent the last thirty minutes practicing what he was going to say to you when you arrived for your weekly movie night. Basically, it boiled down to six simple words: I'm falling in love with you.

Despite Steve, and a slightly out of character Sam, ensuring him that you felt the same, he was still skeptical. Why would you choose him when you could get any guy, or girl for that matter?

As he nervously stared at you, he could see your lips moving, but no sound could be registered above his own internal panic.

He didn't fully comprehend you had even said anything until he registered the panic on your face. Suddenly, his own thoughts disappeared.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I'm so sorry. You obviously don't feel the same. I'm just gonna go! I'll, uh, I'll see you later." You tried running out of the room, but Bucky was too quick.

"Huh? I don't feel what?" He was completely stunned that he had gotten so worked up in his own nerves that he missed what you said. He was supposed to be trained in observing people. He should be able to multitask, especially when one task is completely within his own mind.

"Bucky, really it's okay. I'll be fine. We'll be fine! I just, I need a minute... or a few to-"

"Y/N, doll, I'm so sorry." He sputtered as tears pooled in your eyes. What the hell did he miss? "I didn't hear a word you said."

"You... what? Why not?" The tears continued to pool as you did your best to hold them back for when you were alone in your room.

Bucky took a deep breath before he began talking faster than you'd ever heard him speak before.

"I'm falling in love with you." You honestly stopped breathing for a minute. "I was trying to think of how to tell you. That's why I didn't hear you. Steve convinced me that I should tell you. Sam a little bit too honestly. They kept saying it wasn't healthy to keep it all bottled up. And, I mean, I just-"

You cut him off, pressing your lips to his eagerly. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, soft smiles growing into wholeheartedly happy grins.

"You're an idiot." You chuckled, pressing your forehead to his. "That's what I said when you so graciously ignored me."

"I- You what?" Bucky's jaw dropped.

"I'm falling in love with you too."

-

Present

Waking up in Bucky's arms felt right. There was no other way to put it. His presence had a soothing effect unparalleled by anything you had ever felt before.

His face was relaxed, a slight smile pulling on his lips. You brushed his hair out of his face, slowly rubbing your thumb along his cheek and down his jaw.

A familiar ball of guilt grew in your stomach as you cuddled closer to his body. It may have only been two days since you woke up, but this group of heroes quickly found a place in your heart, almost like they'd been there all along. Lying to them about your past was gnawing on your heart, slowly breaking down your resolve.

You carefully removed yourself from his embrace, softly closing the door to your bedroom as you left. You knew he would want to talk about last night, and you just weren't ready for that. Not yet.

You wandered the halls until, three dead ends later, you eventually made it to the kitchen. Much to your relief, the common area was empty. You had just enough time to calm your internal panic about what food you could eat when Natasha walked in.

"I'm about to make a smoothie, want one?" She offered, much to your delight.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thank you." The level of sincerity of your words caught her mildly off guard, not that you or anyone would have been able to tell.

"So, how are you feeling?" She questioned lightly, hiding her skepticism at your odd behavior. Call her a pessimist, but 3 months with Hydra and you're relatively fine? It doesn't quite add up.

"Oh, um, okay I guess. I feel like my brain is all jumbled." You settled for half truths again, knowing she would easily spot a total lie.

"Right, well that's to be expected after a few months with Hydra. You said they kept you in that room the whole time?" She kept her tone light, trying to empathize with everything you went through.

"Um, yeah... I-" You grabbed your head as memories flashed through your mind. You were in a room, it looked like a lab but it was dark and grimy. People surrounded you, but you couldn't understand what they were saying.

They poked and prodded at you, forcing you to lay down as they strapped you into a metal chair.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" She rushed to you, smoothie forgotten in the blender as you screamed, remembering the pain you felt in that chair. You didn't even realize you were muttering under your breath.

Her voice drew you back to the present. You abruptly stood up, backing into a corner as you glanced around the room.

Slowly, the past two days came back to you. Flashes of memories, old and new mixed together in your head, all out of order.

You were in the Avengers compound.

Your were buried in rubble, people screaming and crying surrounded you.

They thought you were one of them.

You were being arrested, locked in the room where Bucky found you.

They didn't know the truth.

"Y/N?" Nat questioned again, slowly moving toward you.

"I'm fine. I, uh, I'm okay." You took deep breaths, slowly calming all your nerves.

"What happened?" She pulled you out of the corner, leading you back to the island for your smoothie.

"I, um, I was back there." You stuttered, trying to make sense of the image. "But, it was different. A different room." You were too shaken to think about what could happen from sharing this new development.

"A different room? What did it look like?" Nat was eager to hear more. If you didn't remember everything from your three months there, maybe they did something to you, and that's why you've been acting weird.

"It looked, it looked like a basement. It was dark and grimy." You left out the part about the lab equipment. "I, um, I think I'm gonna go on a walk. Just to clear my head a little bit."

You left before she could respond, smoothie untouched on the counter.

-

When you returned from the walk, you could hear Nat talking to Steve and Wanda in the kitchen.

"I'm telling you, they must have done something to her. She's not acting right." Nat was firm, steadfast in her belief that Hydra wouldn't have kept you there without trying something.

You're heart rate spiked at her words, nervousness overcoming your body. They were going to figure it out.

"Nat, she just came back from three months of torture. Of course she's gonna act a bit different. She needs time to adjust back to her regular life." Wanda replied, figuring Nat was just a little too paranoid.

"You didn't see her in the kitchen! Wan, she freaked out. She looked terrified. She was muttering something about experiments. What if they messed with her head?" Nat rebuked, still trying to convince them.

"I mean, I guess it's possible?" Steve stated, clearly unconvinced but open to the idea. "She hasn't been acting that off though, not when you take into account what Wanda said."

"Steve, she hasn't told Bucky she loves him. That would've been the first thing out of her mouth if she was herself." Nat settled him with a glare, knowing her point was made.

You panicked. If they figured out you weren't who they thought you were, what would they do to you? Before you registered your own movements, you were running.

You made a break for the elevator, twisting and turning through the halls in what you hoped was the right direction.

Just as you turned the last corner, you ran right into something- no someone.

"Where's the fi-" Tony started to joke, but after taking in your expression stopped mid-sentence. "Whoa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You replied far too quickly, trying to squeeze past him.

"Y/N, wait." He grabbed your arm, preventing you from getting away. "Talk to me, kid. What's going on up there?" He gestured to your head.

"Really, it's nothing." You wiped a tear from your face, knowing it wasn't helping your case. "I have to go."

"Nope. I'm not gonna let you bottle this all up. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong. Come on." He pulled you into the elevator, leading you to the lab.

Once he had you sat on the window seat in the back, he asked again. "Tell me what's got you this upset. You know we're all here for you, right?"

You couldn't take it anymore. They were all being so nice, and you were lying right to their faces.

"I'm not who you think I am." You barely whispered the words, overcome with a mixture of guilt and self pity. "I don't belong here." You refused to make eye contact until Tony lifted your head to meet his eye.

"Y/N, you probably belong here more than anyone else, except maybe Steve, but he doesn't count." He tried to lighten the mood, earning an attempt at a small smile from you.

"I really don't. I'm not a hero. I'm a murderer." You cried as you finally admitted the truth. The relief you felt was instantly weighed down by fear at what would happen next.

"What are you talking about?" Tony was clearly confused by your admission. "Y/N, your not a murderer."

"I'm not an Avenger." You moved your hands to cover your face, knowing you weren't strong enough to admit this to his face. "I wasn't in that room for three months, it was three years!" You missed the way his brow furrowed deeper in confusion as you continued to rant. "i don't know why you all think I'm some hero. Nobody was supposed to rescue me. I was in prison. I'm a killer."

You took a shaky breath, as you kept going. "I was in that room because I made a bomb that killed 38 people. I- It was accident, I swear! I didn't mean to hurt anyone... I- I think?" You started questioning yourself as memories flickered through your head.

"It's all fuzzy." You desperately shook your head, trying to make everything clear.

"It wasn't supposed to blow up! It was supposed to absorb energy and convert it into power, but it didn't work." You were nearly sobbing, picturing the people you injured and killed. "It exploded and people died! It was all my fault."

Your breathing quickened again, anxiety at admitting what you had done mixed with the guilt of lying to the only people who have ever shown you kindness causing the panic to set in again.

"Hey, hey! Look at me. You're okay. We're gonna fix this. You're not a killer, Y/N." Tony held your face in his hands, speaking firmly but not without compassion.

"Yes, I am!" You shouted at him, causing him to stumble backwards. "I don't know why you all think I'm someone I'm not, but it's true. I don't-" Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to get the words out.

You managed a mumbled, "I don't belong here." Before you passed out.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

Memories tagist:

@otherglowcloud @dontxfearxthereaper

[captaincravatthecapricious]

If That’s What it is

A difficult reunion.  cw for strained friendships.

Tim doesn’t remember how to be friends.  

The was never the one…  He could fake it… once.  Or maybe he really was like that.  Was he ever as friendly as people seemed to think?  Was he just filling a roll?  Covering for his hurt?  Where does the facade end?

It doesn’t help matters that this is Jon.  Jon.  How can he rebuild bridges long set on fire then torn down then had both sides bricked over and a cemetery developed between the halves.  

Sat on opposite ends of the couch in the quiet of a London flat.  

The distance of a few handspans may as well be a journey of a thousand steps.  

It may as well be made of pages of misdeeds, or the longest novels written stacked end to end and must be read to cross.  

Why is he even here?  

It was fine when he… what did he even think?  

That Jon had gone full monster?  That he intentionally ended the world?  That he died trying to prevent whatever the fuck that was?  That he simply died years before, maybe when Tim supposedly had.  He doesn’t know what he thought but he had deniability, for whatever that was worth.  

Jon keeps opening his mouth, as if to speak, but shuts it tightly every time.  

This isn’t the first attempt.  Nor is it the second.  

Just… the most awkward, as hard as it was to beat the previous encounters.  

Encounter one:

Scene: the grocery store.  

Enter Tim, minding his own damn business with his headphones in.  Loud enough that he can actually hear it, even if it means just about everyone else in the store can hear it too.  Probably should be paying more attention to his surroundings as he runs into someone when he’s trying to buy peanut butter.  The someone probably says ‘oof,’ but Tim can’t hear it.  

“Sorry, mate.”  He offers a bit of an apologetic smile.  (Smiling has gotten easier, but… But not as easy as it was.)

He doesn’t plan to meet the eyes of whoever he ran into, but even he can hear the squeak when the someone, Martin, catches sight of him properly.  

“TIM?”  

Oh shit.  It’s Martin.  Martin Blackwood.  Martin K. Blackwood.  Archival assistant.  (Does he count as a one night stand if the “one night” was over two weeks on in the nightmarish magical mystery ride of the Distortion’s hallways?)  Friend?  Abomination apologist.  Friend.  …Yes, a friend who thinks Tim is very very dead.  

Martin’s shopping is on the ground, and without thinking, Tim has helped Martin to the ground and is pushing his head between his knees to stave off what is shaping up to be a panic attack.  

Tim hasn’t even paused his music.  

It’s still blaring something irritatingly of the wrong mood into his ears.  

Once Martin has his breath back, he starts signing furiously.  

And Tim has to stand back stunned at the barrage affection and anger and resentment and relief, and off balance that Martin still remembers the sign he learned for Tim. 

He leaves without his peanut butter, and with a coil of guilt deep in his gut, with nothing to curb the ringing in his ears because he can’t tolerate music right now, and an address and a number ‘only if he is ready to step on his anger and listen to Jon, for once.’  He hadn’t even gotten a word in.  He hadn’t even told him that Sasha was alive.  

Just been yelled at in a grocery store.  

Encounter two:

Scene: A Living Room, night.  

“Jon isn’t here.”  Martin tells him this before even letting him in.  “He knows you are, but he isn’t here.  He’s having dinner with some other teachers in his department.  It’s just us.”  Martin’s signing this.  

Tim is wearing his hearing aids, but Martin is signing anyhow.  Maybe it’s easier for him to get it out through that halfway-to-icy expression on his face.  Maybe it’s out of coldness, but Tim can’t help but feel a warmth deep in his chest that Martin remembered the BSL he labored over when he was assigned to the archives.  

Tim swallows hard around the hope and bitterness and anger and regret and longing.  He nods.  “Thanks for having me.”  He signs quietly.  

Martin ushers him in, and hands him a cup of tea.  It’s still hot.  It’s just how Tim takes it.  And he’s sat on a squashy couch, staring at a squashy cat who is glaring at him.  

Well.  That seems fitting.  

Cat glaring.  Martin… almost glaring.  No, not glaring.  He’s got his own tea.  And he is sipping it, giving a very chilly look to the poor wall.  

Tim takes in the photos on the wall, while avoiding Martin’s eyes.  All Polaroids.  There’s Jon and Martin in Martin’s ratty looking jumpers (ones that were significantly more new when they first met) standing in the countryside squashed together and laughing their assess off.  Jon in oversized wellies, covered in mud, facing off against a cow.  Jon standing in the shallows of a pond, looking peacefully into the distance.  Martin asleep, in a rustic bedroom, golden morning light spilling across his lax and happy face.  There is a frame containing the Litany Against Fear from Dune.  A frame with a page from Slaughterhouse Five.  …A frame with a picture of a young and unsecured Jon looking grumpy, a young and happy and probably drunk Tim with an arm slung around him, and an arm around Sasha who is giving a blushing Martin bunny ears.  That one has a place of honor.  It’s a little worn looking, but in a way that makes it clear it survived a lot… the end of the world, in fact.  

Seeing it hits Tim square in the chest.  It hurts.  

Martin finishes his tea and turns towards Tim.  

“So.”  

Tim puts his nearly cool tea down on the coffee table.  The squashy cat keeps glaring at him from an equally squashy arm chair.  He faces Martin, but can’t quite meet his eye.  Martin is waiting for him to talk.  

“Didn’t die.  Thought I would.  Thought I had.  Didn’t.  Walked away.  Got a job.  I… I uh.  Found Sasha.  Stranger had fucked her up pretty badly, so don’t be mad at her for not calling, she had a lot of trouble remembering and being remembered.  Survived the apocalypse.  Got on with life, or tried to.  Got some therapy.”

He braces himself for the impact.  He’s mentioned Sasha over text, but still.  Not to mention, it’s all a lot.  

Martin’s jaw tightens.  

“Thought you could just, let me think you died?  Tim, the only person who came back from the Unknowing was Basira.  The only one.  Call me selfish, but you died, Jon essentially died, we thought Daisy had died.  Then my mother died too.  I know you had your head up your ass, but do you know what that did to me?  Yeah, sure, great, you got out.  Whoop-de-fucking-do.  You could have called.  Or texted.  Or sent a letter.  Anything!  And you know what?  Partly it was a relief, because at least I thought you were happy.  Or at peace.  Or at the very least you wouldn’t be there to harass Jon anymore.  But you all died.  It was just me.  Everyone I cared about was dead.  Six month Jon was dead.  And no, don’t you dare get on Jon’s case about that.  He mourned you.  He still is mourning you.  He’s been walking on air since you and Sasha…  Tim, I swear, if you hurt him… If you hurt him again, you will regret it.  You will only see him if you are ready to listen.  You don’t have to forgive, but you are not allowed to be cruel.”  

Tim doesn’t have a single doubt.  “I…  I’ve missed him.  I’m sorry.”  

“No yelling, no grabbing, no sudden movements, nothing passive aggressive.  And I will be in the next room and so help me, if you scare him…”

Martin lets the threat hang.  

It hurts.  It isn’t anything he’s ever gotten from Martin.  Didn’t think Martin had enough of a spine for it.  …But.  But he guesses when everyone dies(? he has a lot of questions, but it doesn’t look like Martin is in the right headspace to answer them, and Tim might not be either.  His breathing is uneven and his face is hot and he isn’t sure if he wants to break something or cry or scream or maybe just repaint his and Sasha’s home all in one go.)…  Well… he doesn’t have to guess.  He knows exactly what that can do to a person.  And it isn’t pretty.  He feels the guilt coiling again.  He wants to tear it out and stomp on it.  But… but he guesses, the guilt can guide him.  He needs to do right by the people that used to be his friends.  The people he’s missed every day since he got his head on straight with extensive therapy and a variety of coping mechanisms.  

The scene: The same squashy couch, in the same quiet flat.  

The squashy cat is in Jon’s lap.  The cat is glaring, and Jon is staring at him with those giant, hopeful, tired, guilty eyes.  Haunted and rimmed in shadow, as ever.  

He knows Martin is in the next room, ready to step in if he needs to.  

All Tim needs to do… is reach out.  

[shepherds-of-haven]

I'm obsessed with this dark!Shepherds AU?? Could you tell us more about it? Or in a head-to-head fight, which Shepherds would win against their evil counterparts or vice versa?

Hi there, good question! I haven’t really given that much thought to the dark!Shepherds AU, but I imagine (if we’re making it very similar to the Justice League scenario) something happens to make the majority of the Shepherds snap, and they turn against the Autarchy and instate a form of governance based solely on power and domination. They think they’re doing what’s right by preventing conflict and protecting the world from demons, just like the Justice Lords felt when they took over the world. That being said...

Dark!Blade: Dark!Blade isn’t all that different from teenage/young adult Blade, who was perfectly comfortable with the idea of assassinating and killing people for his cause, and because he firmly believed it would lead to the greater good. Dark!Blade would be like that, but even colder and more ruthless than his past self. He would rid himself of all personal attachments, such as friends, family, and romance, believing that such feelings made him weak and hesitant, and made himself vulnerable to his enemies in the way that the Autarch was made vulnerable through her sons. 

In a toe-to-toe combat situation, it’s hard to say who would win. Both have razor-sharp killing instincts and battle tactics, but I’m probably going to give it to Dark!Blade, because he would be willing to fight dirty (taking loved ones hostage, threatening kids or bystanders) and Blade would sacrifice himself willingly for others while Dark!Blade wouldn’t. So I’ll give it to him 90% of the time!

Dark!Trouble: I really can’t imagine a dark version of Trouble, not in the whole “bad Justice League” sense. I suppose he already walks a fine line between light and dark as it is; his relentless good, altruism, courage, and compassion make him a hero, but there’s that edge of temper, rage, and darkness (especially in his past--he was a criminal and killer-for-hire too, after all) that colors it as well. Like, now it’s fine for him to beat the everloving shit out of an asshole like Lazu Reen, but that could tip over to someone who’s not so black-and-white bad, too--he could turn that hatred towards an enemy who is more nuanced, like a politician who ultimately serves the people and does good, but who happened to make Trouble an enemy by personally slighting or hurting a friend, something like that. Trouble’s sense of loyalty tends to override his desire for justice in some ways, and I could see him supporting someone like Blade or MC to the end if they framed their endeavors in a way that could still be read as “good”. Like, yeah I had to kill this group of people, but it was for the greater good! And he’d be like “alright, I trust you!” He’s got your back even when the whole world turns against you, until there comes a point when he just can’t stand it anymore--but by then, he probably already did a lot of bad out of love of his friends.

If it were a death match between Dark!Trouble and our Trouble, I’m betting our Trouble would win, purely because Dark!Trouble’s desire to live would be just slightly lessened by the weight of all the deeds he committed. I don’t think he’s truly cut out to be bad, so our Trouble would probably win... 

Truthfully, though, if we’re following the Justice League formula, I could see Trouble being the one dying to trigger the domino effect that leads to the Shepherds turning bad. Like the Flash (I’m pretty sure it was Wally West in JL), in a way, he’s one of the hearts of the Order that bridges them to the civilian population and vice-versa. If he were killed, I could see them falling into the path of darkness (with a lot of other factors involved, too).

Dark!Shery: we already know that Dark!Shery and Shery are one in the same, lol. I don’t think Dark!Shery would be so much like the bad Justice League; I think what would be dark about her would be her indifference, her total passive indifference to their quest for domination “for the greater good” and their thirst for revenge. Dark!Shery is more just personally angry, aggressive, loud, forceful, and selfish, but I don’t see any world where she sets out for power or world domination. If anything, I see Dark!Shery (in that AU) being petty and mean, ripping lollipops out of kids’ hands because she feels like it and not batting an eye at seeing a beggar collapse in the street. 

That’s not to say drunk Dark!Shery is like that, I’m just taking her badness to an extreme in an AU where all of the Shepherds are bad!

In a fight, Dark!Shery would absolutely win, lol. She doesn’t have any better combat abilities than our Shery, but her sheer rage would be terrifying and would lend her crazy strength, lol.

Dark!Tallys: Tallys, too, already walks the edge of the path to darkness a little bit, I think. Obviously she’s chosen the good side, but in a different world where a demon promised her revenge for her fallen family and an opportunity to burn the Autarchy down, I think the younger her would have taken it. In a dark!AU where Trouble was killed or something, I think she would be like, “okay, fuck it” and give in to that doubtful, vengeful side of herself and just go apeshit on the world. She would be one of the people spearheading the plan to take over the world. She’d give lip service and say she was doing it for the greater good, but another part of her would revel in the blood and chaos. It wouldn’t heal the wound in her heart, though, and would only make her even more twisted and angry. 

In a head-to-head first, I’m going to give it to our Tallys 60% of the time. Part of the thing that makes Tallys so effective in battle is her ability to sever herself from her emotions and maintain a cool head; she can detach herself from personal feelings and analyze combat with cold clarity. I feel like dark!Tallys would be easy to taunt into a rage, or she would let her hatred and thirst for blood cloud her mind, so I feel like our Tallys would have the advantage most of the time!

Dark!Riel: I say this in complete seriousness: in a world where Riel decided to turn evil or fall to the dark side, everybody is already fucked. He would absolutely be the most effective and terrifying villain out of the entire cast. He will rip, slash, and burn entire countries with the easy ruthlessness of an accountant making budget cuts. He knows a dozen ways to starve, lay siege to, and lead public campaigns against the enemy. He would be the scariest Autarch the world has ever seen. If you think he’s mean to his enemies like Ebert now, wait until he has no moral code holding him back...

It’s difficult to imagine a battle between Dark!Riel and our Riel, but I’m going to guess the utter dispassionate cruelty and lack of compassion in Dark!Riel would win 90% of the time. Our Riel has a little less edge than Dark!Riel, so for that reason, I think he would lose. And so would the world...

Dark!Chase: I feel like Dark!Chase is very similar to our Chase, just colder, more ruthless, and bloodthirstier. He’d take genuine pleasure in torturing and killing his enemies, and I think he would cut out the flirtatious aspect of his personality in favor of a crueler and more sadistic sense of humor. He would also probably be batshit insane, like, somewhere on the Joker’s level but not obnoxious; in fact, quieter and calmer and deadlier, like you could never really know what he was thinking. People would be afraid to look into his eyes. I think it would take a lot more to push him to that point than the others, though; but once he tipped over that cliff into darkness, there’d be no going back or remorse for him. He’d love to kill his enemies with a kiss and a smile.

In a fight between our Chase and Dark!Chase, I feel like it would be 50/50. Dark!Chase would be more reckless, unpredictable, and have even less of a fear of death than our Chase does; our Chase would have the edge in terms of strategy. So yeah, I think it would be 50/50!

Dark!Red: I can’t even imagine what Dark!Red would be like, lol. I just can’t imagine him being truly evil or ruthless without feeling guilty about it. I guess I could only imagine it if, like, he messed around with some spell and it robbed him of the ability to feel love or empathy?? But even then, I feel like he doesn’t have any inclination to go around conquering the world or hurting people. He mostly just wants to chill and read his books. I feel like he’d be the only one out of the group (besides probably Trouble if he’s not already dead) to be like uhhh guys what’s going on here, this isn’t like us?? He’d probably defect and lead a small underground rebel force with Pan and Neon. OMG and he’d be the one to figure out worldwalking and travel to our Blest to get our Shepherds to fight his because they’d be the only ones to stand a chance at taking down the evil versions of themselves!!! OMG!!! IT ALL FITS WTF. 

Dark!Ayla: I could see Ayla Hulking out and becoming full of rage, but it’s difficult for me to imagine her doing something like supporting the death of innocents or using dirty-handed maneuvers to conquer the land. She’s also among the most independent of the Shepherds, so I feel like she’d be the most vocal of their opposition... it’s realllly hard for me to imagine her casually killing anybody except for scumbags who hurt other people, like murderers and kidnappers. In a war between different political factions or a bid to conquer the world, I just don’t think she has it in her--no matter how angry and aggrieved she was at whatever turned the rest of the others bad.

I think she would either be on the good side, such as supporting Red’s rebels, or vocal enough among the bad guys to have been killed as a dissenter; she might not be around by the time our Shepherds made it to the dark dimension. But if she was, I’m pretty sure our Ayla would win against her 80% of the time. Our Ayla still has the courage of her convictions and the scrappy desire to survive no matter what; dark!Ayla probably wouldn’t. 

Dark!Halek: Also hard for me to imagine Halek turning truly evil; I feel like, if something bad were to happen to turn the rest of the Order bad, Halek would give himself more to grief instead of rage and revenge. He most likely would remove himself from the situation rather than try to take over the world; they would probably have to go hunting for him in the wilderness, kind of like when Luke was a hermit on that blue milk island in Star Wars (spoilers I guess?). I guess dark!Halek would be sort of tired and indifferent Halek, not able to go up against his old allies; our Shepherds might regard him as a coward, but he wouldn’t be evil like the others. 

Our Halek would definitely beat that Halek in a fight, but they’d probably have no reason to fight in the first place!

Dark!Briony: did any of you ever watch the Flashpoint Paradox (another DC movie about the Justice League--well, the Flash--finding out about a really evil parallel universe)? There’s a scene in it where Dark!Wonder Woman--Queen of the Amazonians and waging a war against Aquaman and the Atlanteans--like, beheads Aquaman’s wife Queen Mera and holds her head up to Aquaman like “fuck you”. I won’t link the gif because all of the violence in that movie is pretty gruesome, but that’s how I feel Dark!Briony would initially be. Super strong, running through the enemy army like a knife through paper, annihilating whole forces and landscapes with just her fists, and not giving a shit just how many people she’s killing. I feel like there’s already a tenuous grasp on her emotions in our Briony; beneath the happy-go-lucky, sweet exterior, she feels so much and loves so much that there’s also the ability for her to snap. It wouldn’t take that much (a few more Nathes) to unhinge her and decide to hurt the world as much as it has hurt her. I think she would sort of black out into an all-consuming, heartbroken suicide run where she just decided to do everything in her power to create as much destruction as possible, to somehow soothe the destruction in her heart. 

When that wouldn’t work, I think she would come back to her senses a little and start to slowly realize how fucked up and evil the things she’s doing (and the people around her) have become. It would be slower than someone like Ayla or Red, but gradually I think she would start to nurse a secret doubt in her heart, and if someone like Red was still around, he’d be able to convince her to start working for the good guys in secret, as their mole within the dark!Shepherds. However, I feel like cleverer minds like Blade, Lavinet, Chase and Riel would find her out, and she’d probably be executed for her treason.

In a fight against Dark!Briony and our Briony, I feel like it would depend on what stage of her development she’s at. If it’s still full rage mode, Dark!Briony probably wins like 80-90% of the time!

Dark!Lavinet: I could see Lavinet turning evil, but it’s sort of hard to imagine because she takes her duty to serve the people so seriously--it’s difficult to imagine what would need to happen to make her forget that, or to make her think she knows what’s best for them, even if that means doing bad things. It would already be so easy for her to do that in our world that she’s very conscious of it, so it would take a lot for her to fall into darkness. However, it’s still possible, and I could totally see her agreeing to be installed as a figurehead Autarch in order to maintain order and peace, slowly becoming more callous and ruthless over time. She would totally execute the old guard loyal to the previous Autarch and make their heads roll publicly to instill fear and respect for her reign. She does have that streak of ruthlessness in her; in our world, it’s reserved only for her enemies, but in that world, she’d slowly start to view everyone as her enemy--even past friends!

In a fight between Dark!Lavinet and our Lavinet, I would guess that our Lavinet would win 90% of the time. In that AU, I feel like Dark!Lavinet would let others do the fighting for her, and she would get used to ruling and being behind the front lines; in a way, she’d lose her fighting edge, something our Lavinet still has in spades. So in a direct combat situation, I think our Lavinet would win! In a game of wits and politics, I’m not sure--I would give that one 60-40 in favor of Dark!Lavinet!

[tobesolonely]

pinky promise

summary: harry doesn’t give his daughter the attention he usually does since he’s so busy with work, and tensions rise. part of my dad!harry universe! 

warnings: maybe a bittttt of angst? possibly? 

word count: ~1.7k 

feedback is appreciated!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

“Daddy, can we get ice cream?”

“Daddy, can we go to the park?”

“Daddy, Olly won’t stop putting my dolls in his mouth!!”

“Daddy, can you play with me?”

“Daddy–”

“Ally,” Harry warns sternly, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. Your daughter went through phases where she would go to one of you for everything. Most days it would be you, but sometimes it was Harry– and it was always when he was at his busiest and most stressed. He didn’t snap at your children often, but he hated being interrupted when he was working. “Go tell your mum. See I’m working at my desk, don’t ya?” Your daughter crosses her arms, ready to give her father back the same attitude he just gave her.

“Yes Daddy I can see, I have eyes,” she retorts, stomping her foot. “I want you to play with me, I don’t wanna play with Mumma. She’s gonna make me play with Olly and all he does is put stuff in his mouth.” Your six-year-old was still figuring out how to play with her brother, who wasn’t even a year old yet.

“I don’t know what to tell yeh, Ally bug,” Harry mumbles, eyes scanning his email inbox. “Go to your mum, please.”

“But Daddy–”

“Allison!”

At the sound of your husband raising his voice at your daughter, you hurry to his office, Olly on your hip. “What’s going on here?"

“Daddy won’t play with me,” Ally tattles, pointing her little finger at her father. “I’ve been waitin’ all day, and he’s just reading on his computer instead of playing with me! Then he yelled at me Mumma, and he called me ‘Allison’!” Your daughter says her full name with a frown on her face, hating when you and Harry called her by it because she knew it meant she was in trouble. Harry says nothing, not looking away from his laptop.

“It seems like you’re upset, bub. Daddy made you upset because he won’t pay attention to you, is that right?” She nods, sniffling. You walk over to Harry and gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, Ally is pretty upset that you yelled at her.”

Harry looks away from his laptop and at his little girl who was looking at him with big, watery eyes. “I’m sorry I yelled at ya, poppet. Daddy’s jus’ very busy ‘n I promised that we’d have time to play and get some ice cream later, didn’t I? Does Daddy ever break his promises to you?” Ally shakes her head.

“No,” she replies, wiping her running nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Do you pinky promise we can play and have ice cream later?”

Harry holds out his pinky, and she intertwines her tiny one with his. “Pinky promise, darling. Now, can you be a good girl and go hang out with Mumma and Olly for a bit? Maybe you can read some of his new books to him?” He suggests, turning back to his laptop. Your daughter doesn’t say anything so you grab her hand and guide her towards the door, not wanting to mediate any more arguments today.

⋆⋆⋆

Harry didn’t come out of his office for the rest of the evening.

Before you knew it, you were giving the kids their baths, and your daughter was not happy. Your usually talkative little girl was dead silent, wanting to quickly bathe herself and get out instead of play with her bath toys like she usually does. She’s silent the entire time she’s brushing her teeth, and she doesn’t request a bedtime story when you tuck her in like she usually does.

“What’s wrong, Ally? I noticed you’re quiet tonight,” you sit on the edge of her bed, waiting for her response.

“Daddy didn’t play with me tonight. Or take me to get ice cream,” she answers quickly, turning away from you. You gently rub her back, understanding her frustration. You could recall many times when Harry promised you something but got too immersed in work, or had obligations that he couldn’t get out of. Your daughter’s disappointment was completely understandable and valid.

“I’m sorry, love bug. I hope he has the time to play with you tomorrow, I know he’s been busy and you miss him.” Your daughter doesn’t respond, and you take that as your cue to leave. “What do Mumma and Daddy always tell you, Ally?”

“That you and Daddy love me no matter how busy you are,” she mumbles, not in the mood.

“That’s right, Ally. We love you so much, don’t you forget that, yeah?” She doesn’t say anything, so you place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight baby, I love you.” You get up from her bed and switch on her night light before turning off her overhead one, gently shutting the door behind you. You peak your head in Olly’s room on your way down the hall and see he already fell asleep, so you proceed to Harry’s office. The door is slightly ajar, and you see he’s still typing away on his laptop, pushing up his glasses when they slide down to the tip of his nose. You give a courtesy knock before pushing the door open wider, quietly inside. Your husband doesn’t even look up, just gives a quiet, “hmm”.

“Deadline for something coming up?” You move to sit on the plush couch he got specifically for his office, catching him taking a nap on more than one occasion in the very spot you were in.

“Yeah, Jeff wants me to help with some planning for press conferences and things like that, and we’re making sure all the venues we booked are still good for next year. The kids don’t have anything major comin’ up in the next month or so, do they?” He swivels to face you in his computer chair.

“I mean, Allison has her sports games every weekend, y’know she loves it when you’re there. Oh, and she has her piano recital on the 12th. Olly’s one-year check-up is coming up, too.” Harry sharply inhales, rubbing at his temples.

“I’ll just move some things around…” he trails off, turning back to his laptop. You get up and gently place your hand over his, preventing him from typing. He looks up at you, a confused look on his face.

“Did you forget to do something tonight?” You can see the gears in his head turning, and after a moment, he shakes his head.

“Did I? Did we have any plans today?” he reaches for his planner that he kept in the corner of his desk.

“Harry,” you stop him. “You promised Ally you’d play with her and take her for ice cream tonight. She was waiting all day.” A look of realization appears on Harry’s face, which then quickly shifts to a look of guilt.

“Shit,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “Is she mad at me? Is she sleepin’?” He stands up from his chair, closing his laptop and walking out his office before you can tell him not to disturb her. You quickly follow behind him, ready to mediate in case your daughter got worked up. She was a fiery little girl, and her temper got the best of her at times. He heads down the hall and to her bedroom, slightly hesitating before knocking softly. When he doesn’t hear her soft voice telling him to come in, he says, “It’s Daddy, Ally.” She quietly gives him permission to come in. Harry opens the door and turns on her lamp, offering her a warm smile.

“Hi, Daddy,” she says quietly, clutching her stuffed animal tighter to her chest.

“Hi, poppet,” he pauses for a moment, sitting on the edge of her bed as you did earlier. “I hear you’re not too happy with me tonight. Do y’want to talk about it?”

Your daughter nods, sitting up slightly in bed. “I told Mumma I was sad because you didn’t play with me or get ice cream with me. And you promised Daddy, remember? You pinky promised!” Harry nods, staring at her intently.

“I am very sorry I didn’t take ya out for ice cream and play with yeh like I promised, bug. The day got away from me, and I got too busy with work. That’s not an excuse though,” he tells her, grabbing her tiny hand in his. “Can Daddy do anything to make it up to you, Ally?” Your daughter thinks for a moment, glancing over at you standing in her doorway, not wanting to interrupt the conversation.

“I think we should go get ice cream tomorrow and you should let me get two scoops, Daddy! Because you know how I always only get one? And I think Olly should get two scoops, too! ‘N then I can eat whatever he doesn’t finish,” her eyes light up in excitement. “I think we should swim too, then after we get too wrinkly we can play tag! Or hide ‘n seek is fun, too.” She’s talking quickly out of pure excitement. Harry laughs, picking her up and setting her in his lap.

“Slow down, Ally,” he tickles her sides. “Of course I’ll let you have two scoops of ice cream. ‘M thinkin’ that might be a bit much for Olly, no? I’ll share some of mine with yeh if y’want more, though,” she nods, satisfied with that compromise. “Swimmin’ and tag sound fun too, baby. We can do whatever you want tomorrow, jus’ wanna make it up to ya and make sure y’know there’s nothing more important than you, your brother, and your mum. I’m sorry again for breakin’ my promise, I won’t do that anymore. I swear.” He holds out his pinky again and she quickly wraps hers around his, giving him a toothy grin.

“Daddy, one more thing?”

Harry hums, placing her back under her duvet and tucking her in. “Anything, bug. What is it?”

“Can we get the ice cream for breakfast?”

“Nice try, Ally.”

[pink-flame]

Lucky it Was Hotdogs

So! This is my gift for the @jatp-gift-exchange celebrating 6 months since the show came out. I just so happened to be assigned my friend @tmp-jatp as my giftee. Which is awesome because she’s awesome. She asked for angst and my first thought was my reputation is just going to get worse. 😂 And then I started writing, started over, changed to a different prompt two more times...had a few breakdowns but here we are! Basically all of my friends had to hear about my spiral the last couple of days so thank you and my apologies. 🙏 

T, I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

In some ways Luke thinks that it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Of course, if he had been asked to choose a way to go back in 95 he probably would have said old and in his sleep. Or maybe he would have been a smart ass and said jumping the grand canyon on a motorcycle or playing an epic show in bad weather and having some sort of electrical incident (Reggie wasn’t the only one who had been involved in that amp incident not that he was in a hurry to tell Alex that). Contaminated hot dogs in an alley on the night of their big break probably wouldn’t have occurred to him and it definitely wouldn’t have cracked the top ten list of his requests.

But now that he’s in the future, with his band and with Julie and with their dreams once again a real possibility...he thinks the hot dogs would have been the right choice.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how tragic it is that three kids had their lives cut short at the same time it’s always going to be at least a little bit funny that they went from death by hot dog. It lets him use the tragedy as a means of teasing Julie as she bites into her sandwich and it lets Willie give Alex an affectionate nickname that’s only a little in bad taste. It lets Reggie hover behind Ray when Julie’s dad gets the grill out and clutch his stomach dramatically in a reenactment for his friends amusement. It lets Julie look at Luke like the fact that he is a ghost is mildly exasperating but not inherently upsetting, not like it would be if he was a walking reminder of a car accident or the cancer that took her mom.

So yeah, it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Except...sometimes Luke wishes that it wasn't.

Sometimes he wishes that he had died from an illness or an accident or anything that would prompt someone to look at him and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Because...he does. Just sometimes. Wants to talk about how much it hurt. Wants to talk about how scared he was. Wants to talk about how even though being able to make music still (being able to make music with Julie) matters most it does bother him.

It bothers him that Julie is the only lifer he can touch (even though she would clearly be his first choice).

It bothers him that he fades into non-existence as soon as they stop playing.

It bothers him that he can’t even thank Julie’s dad for hosting their garage gig or show her brother that he’s holding it all wrong when he catches him strumming lightly on Luke’s guitar one day.

It bothers him that he won’t ever be anything other than what he is, a teenager with a guitar and a longstanding suspicion about the consequences of wearing sleeves while performing.

It bothers him that Julie will always be what she is now (an amazing teenage girl with a wrecking ball voice and a heart big enough to keep them with her through sheer force of will) but she will also become so much more.

An adult.

Someone with a job and a family and…

He can’t think about it.

Except he does.

Not all the time but often enough, especially at night when Alex is off with Willie and Reggie is watching tv with an unsuspecting Ray and Luke is wishing more than anything that he could find the escape of sleep.

So usually he ends up writing when he feels like this, seeking out the familiar sensation of pen flying over paper, words tumbling from the deepest recesses of his mind to collect into the shape of a song.

I know I’m being selfish

But feeling alive isn’t being alive

Feeling you breathe isn’t breathing

I just want this feeling forever

Instead I count every moment I’m stealing

“Why are you writing in the dark?” Julie’s amused voice cuts through the silence causing him to jump, a remnant of a time when he had anything to fear other than his own uncertain future.

He’s not sure if it’s a ghostly superpower or just the fact that he had been peering at his notebook from only about an inch away but it’s true, he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and he saw it just fine.

The dark felt more appropriate somehow when he felt like this anyway.

She flips on the light and crosses the room to sink down beside him where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s so distracted for a moment by just how Julie she always manages to be (beautiful and amazing and distracting in the best way) that he doesn’t realize that she’s reaching for his notebook until it’s too late. He tries to snatch it back fruitlessly as she turns her eyes to the words he has scrawled across the page. He hopes momentarily that she won’t be able to make out his infamously illegible handwriting but his hopes are dashed when she reads out the last few lines in a thoughtful tone. He has a brief flash of affection at the realization that she must be his soulmate if she can read his handwriting.

He’s distracted from that thought though when he sees the smile slide off of her face only to be replaced with a tight frown before she turns to face him, concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” He says quickly, hoping to prevent any of his dark mood from seeping into the girl beside him.

The girl who has already known enough darkness for a lifetime.

“Every moment you’re stealing?” She quotes back to him, setting the notebook carefully back on the floor. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

He considers brushing off her concern, playing it off, claiming he’s not even writing from his own perspective anyway, that he doesn’t know where the idea came from.

He can do that because he may be dead but the culprit was hot dogs and that gives him an out to make a dumb joke and change the subject and keep things the way they are now.

And if it was anyone else he would have. But it’s Julie. And he’s Luke.

She can read his handwriting.

And she can read him too.

If he lets her.

“You know how you said your dad made you talk to someone after your mom died?”

She tilts her head, clearly not expecting this question. She answers it anyway.

“Dr. Turner,” She nods. “Three times a week for a while.”

“Did it uh…” Luke swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry considering he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually producing spit anymore period. “Did it help?”

Julie’s hand twitches in her lap and he can tell she is deciding whether she should touch him. He reaches out to toy with the frayed edge of her jeans where they burst open at the knee. The answer to whether Julie should be touching him is always a resounding yes in his opinion but he also wants to let her come to him. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve even been able to touch each other and despite how much they crave it there’s a lingering awkwardness after all the build up.

“Talking to someone?” She asks carefully. “Yeah, it did. After a while I felt like I needed space to sort through things on my own but by then I was able to talk with my dad and Flynn too.”

He nods, keeps his eyes firmly on the hole in her jeans.

“Luke…”

Damn.

He has to look at her when she says his name like that.

He raises his eyes slowly, meeting her soft ones with nerves he can’t quite place.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

Her question is so small and yet so big at the same time. Such a simple offer containing such a big promise.

Always.

Wasn’t that the problem?

His always might not line up with hers.

He could forget that fact for a bit when the band was hanging out and laughing over nothing or rocking a crowd’s face’s off or when Julie was smiling in that certain Julie way that seemed reserved only for him.

But he couldn’t forget forever.

And he couldn’t promise always.

So where did that leave him?

“Luke?”

She breaks him from his thoughts again and he pushes past his caution this time, reaching out to link her hand with his, their fingers slotting together effortlessly despite the way one of them isn’t really there.  

He isn’t really there.

Is he...real?

Luke suddenly feels a strange rush of panic, all of the thoughts he’s been pushing aside for months crashing through him at once.

He must have squeezed Julie’s hand inadvertently because he sees her flinch.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says breathlessly (not that he needs to breathe, he’s breathless, literally, he’s dead), drawing her hand up to press an apology against the skin there, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls away.

She’s not unaffected by his sudden actions, the way her eyes widen for a fraction of a second is proof enough of that, but she’s also determined and she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Talk to me, Luke,” She says like an order and a request and a prayer all at once.

And he can’t deny her anything.

Not even this.

“I’m fine, I am...it’s just...I’m so happy that we ended up here with you Julie no matter what. I need you to know that ok? I just..I don’t...I don’t want…”

She waits as long as she can for him to finish that sentence but when he doesn’t seem prepared to, she leans closer, squeezes his hand, gives him that last push off the cliff he’s been teetering on the edge of for months.

“Don’t want what?”

“Don’t want to be dead.”

The words escape him in a hurried rush, one blending into another until it sounds like one long syllable of pain rather than a proper sentence. Still. He’s pretty sure the message got through.

“I know,” She says simply, her eyes sad but her touch impossibly gentle as her free hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I know, Luke, I know.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she’s brushing his tears away with the delicate tips of her fingers.

And maybe he is real, at least a little bit if his eyes can still muster up the ability to leak like this and damn it why is that what he’s thinking about right now when the girl, the living girl, he loves is waiting for him to say something.

He wants to think of the perfect thing but what ends up coming out leaves a lot to be desired.

“Julie...I love making music with you. I love y...I love being in your life. But I’m dead. And maybe...maybe it would be better…”

“No,” She cuts him off firmly, gripping his chin lightly to turn his face more fully towards hers. “Whatever you think you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

“Julie…” He tries again.

She’s already shaking her head.

“I don’t care if you’re about to suggest some noble sacrifice or push me away or blame yourself for something...just...don’t.”

Any protest he has prepared dies on his lips, the slightest quirk of a smile taking their place even as a few stray tears make their way down his face.

“Ok,” He agrees simply.

Julie brings her other hand down to grip his knee as though she’s trying to keep him with her by anchoring him physically, making him part of her, making him real.

And that’s that.

It takes time.

A hundred aborted conversations with half confessions and unspoken requests for comfort and love freely given if not freely spoken.

But eventually he gets used to talking to Julie the same way he got used to writing with Julie and singing with Julie and falling in love with Julie.

So steadily he doesn’t feel the progress until one day he looks up and there’s no going back, not that he would ever want to.

He’s dead.

He can’t get around that.

He ate some bad hot dogs, and that will always be a little bit funny. It’s also sad and scary and tragic.

He’s dead.

But he’s also so alive.

He can’t promise always but he can promise as long as I’m here.

And he does.

Over and over and over again.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

the People have requested my book report on The Library at Mt. Char so this is now a Mt Char book club.

if you have not read The Library at Mt Char there is no reason to keep reading. I hope you're having a nice day, stay safe and don't do drugs.

So Mt Char has a couple of problems, but in my opinion only one grave problem.

Not a grave problem:

Erwin doesn't need to be in this book. An astonishing amount of ink is spilled on giving us Erwin's POV and I am at a loss in regards to what that's supposed to bring to the story. I mean, it's kind of neat to see Carolyn's "trick shot" from the POV of one of the people being manipulated, but that perspective could have just been provided by Steve. Everything Erwin does of any plot significance could have been done by Steve, a character who actually matters.

Please note that I don't hate Erwin, he's perfectly fine as characters go, he just contributes nothing, and it is baffling that he and Carolyn get the last scene in the book (instead of just ending on her reunion with Michael, a scene that was emotionally affecting and felt like a natural end point to her story). We are taking no questions, Erwin needed to be cut.

Also not a grave problem in my opinion, but I am sure others feel differently and I understand why they would:

Yo, the scope of what the catalogs cover is mad vague. I mean, I get that that's the point: when you have a character whose magic powers are "anything that has to do with death or murder," that's a broad license, and I'm fine with that. These are supposed to be demi-gods. I don't require a rigorously explicated magic system.

But then like...why can't Jennifer, the healer, also heal minds? That seems weird. Or like, it's implied that she kinda can, maybe, but none of the kids talk about their therapy sessions with Jennifer: they explicitly call out that she heals their bodies. But then she talks about how Margaret and David are sick (meaning mentally) in a way she can "no longer help?" Aren't you supposed to be the God Of Healing? Why can't you help anymore? And were you actually trying to help them before - or anyone else? That's never shown. You could have just said you only healed bodies, not minds, but then it's repeatedly implied that she CAN diagnose mental and emotional problems (and therefore should probably be able to do something about them).

So that's weird.

Or like, why is there Alicia, who "sees the future," and Rachel, who "sees possible futures?" That, uh, just sounds like the author was running out of ideas. Also, if Alicia could see the future, she probably shouldn't have been in that house when the SWAT team hit, yeah?

Stuff like that. The magic the kids can do is very "they have the powers the author needs them to have when the author needs them to have them, and they can't do anything the author would find inconvenient for them to do" but that's not a deal breaker for me because overall the vibe being put off by their various magical specialties works for me. Still, there were ways of getting us where we needed to go without begging quite so many questions.

Also not a grave problem, although more of a problem than the other stuff:

You know that anime trope where a super-genius character is having an entire conversation with another super-genius character through a screen, and it's revealed that the whole conversation was a distraction and pre-recorded so that Character 2 could Complete His Scheme against Character 1? And used his super-genius brain to predict every single thing Character 1 would say? And your suspension of disbelief staggers bloodied into the alleyway and collapses because you're really trying to hang in there, Code Geass, but that's fucking stupid, you're asking for me to believe that this character's intelligence is flat-out supernatural now and you've given me no reason why that should be?

That's how I feel about Carolyn, by the time she takes over the Library. Like, okay. The kids canonically have not even been at the Library long enough for any of them to master their catalogues except for Jennifer. None of them but Jennifer are masters of even their own subject.

Carolyn has been studying in secret from multiple catalogues - which is cool! I like how she slowly reveals over the course of the latter half of the book that she has powers from other people's specialties.

...But like...

She seems close to mastering her own catalogue. She is a competent healer and can raise the dead (Jennifer's catalogue). She can block attempts to read her mind, beats David in a fight, and understands how to kill Father (David's catalogue). She speaks lion and controls the dogs that surround the Library (Michael's catalogue). She could make the mathy "Denial That Rends" thing that kicks off the whole plot, and she can make a new sun and correct orbital rotations around it (Peter's catalogue). She can predict the future with such specificity that she knows how to cause Steve to drop a clip of bullets while he's being attacked by dogs exactly where Erwin will need to pick it up later (Rachel's catalogue, also this one is stupid, she could have just given Erwin an extra clip or something, but whatever).

That's half the catalogues. Carolyn doesn't seem prodigiously more intelligent than the other kids. She's smart, sure, but they're all weird demi-gods with a genius for their specialties. The rest of them haven't even mastered their own catalogue, and I'm supposed to swallow that Carolyn has attained 'competent or better' status in six? When she has to research five of them in secret? Without falling behind in her own studies?

It would be fine if they had all been masters of their own catalogues for years and years; that would mean they would begin to stagnate, while Carolyn kept learning. But that's not the case. By the end I wasn't impressed anymore at Carolyn's resourcefulness, it just felt like she could do anything and everything, shh, don't ask questions, she's the Chosen One so she just can.

The reason this isn't a grave problem to me is because Carolyn's journey isn't about becoming more powerful: it's about her emotional journey, which isn't affected by her being stupidly OP for no reason by the end of the book. She still sucked at the things that mattered, like "feelings" and "relationships" and "not being a shitty person." But I do think it hurt the story. I should be cheering on my protagonist when her wild schemes come together, not rolling my eyes.

Anyway. All that was the aperitif. Let's talk about

THE GRAVE AND GLARING PROBLEM AT THE CENTER OF MT CHAR.

So everything that happens in the book stems from Carolyn's thoroughly justified hatred of Father (and David, but David was made that way by Father). Father treated her, and all of the other kids, with extravagant cruelty. If you haven't read the book in a while, here's a sample of the kinds of things Father did to the kids, or, if David did them, that Father did nothing to prevent:

- Cooked David alive over 2 full days in a giant bronze bull (and made the rest of the kids bring the fuel)

- Put Michael's eyes out with a hot poker every night for 2 weeks (and made the rest of the kids watch)

- Murdered Margaret every few days, often in drawn-out and painful ways

- Made Rachel repeatedly give birth, raise the babies to about 9 months, then murder them with her own hands

- Allowed David to rape all 11 of the other kids (except Jennifer, probably because she was the healer and he wanted to stay on her good side)

- Allowed David to crucify, brutalize and rape Carolyn and Peter

- Gave Carolyn a loving new family for a year when she was nine years old (those two deer), then had David murder them in front of her and blame it on her for not remembering her homework well enough, then served the two deer at a feast to 'celebrate' her returning to the family

- Whippings, skinnings, and bone-breakings as standard disciplinary actions

Whoo-ee! Okay! We are talking about mythological cruelty. I am fine with this! The story takes place on a mythological scale. As outlandish as all of that is, the cruelty feels proportionate in a story about killing and replacing god. Father is cruel, indifferent, controlling, and alien. I have no questions, Carolyn please proceed with your revenge. We seemed on track for a tale in which Carolyn defeats Father, but in doing so she runs the risk of becoming him. Will she step back from the brink and retain her humanity after all of the trauma and brutality she's endured? Let's find out!

And then

and then.

Oh boy.

And then.

...It turns out, Father is a good guy after all.

And let me be clear: THIS IS NOT, IN AND OF ITSELF, A PROBLEM.

By the time you learn that Father is actually benevolent, and loved those kids, and cares about being a responsible steward to the world, and tried to leave the universe a better place than he found it, and genuinely regretted the suffering he inflicted on them when they were growing up, it feels kind of...natural? Like, I was surprised, but also not, because there were 90 pages of book left and Carolyn had already become god. This seemed like a thematically meaningful place to take the rest of the story.

It turns out Father was training Carolyn to replace him the entire time. He had to make her hate David because it was important that she "defeat a monster" on her path to becoming god. (It's not explained why she had to defeat a monster, but sure, okay; it's the kind of mythic feat that fits with the story we're in.)

Why did he choose Carolyn to be his successor? Well, originally he chose David, but David wasn't strong enough: every time Carolyn was the monster in David's story, she defeated him, and went on to rule the universe as an unspeakable tyrant. Since Carolyn always won, Father swapped their roles. He knew he had made the right choice when he put David into the bronze bull, and heard David begging for mercy: because when Carolyn had been the fated monster, she had never begged.

...Okay, so...hang on.

Hang on.

The only rule that we've established on "how to become god" is "you have to defeat a monster," right? I'll even grant you for free that it has to be a monster who is personally meaningful to you, although that part is never stated. Overcoming a great evil which has cast you down and abused you many times before, sure, okay.

...Why the FUCK did all that other awful shit have to happen??

I did not have this question when Father was just evil! That was a good enough explanation! But now that he's not evil, you HAVE TO EXPLAIN why he treated all of the kids so brutally!

Like dude you're GOD. If you need a monster for Carolyn, I'm sure you can make that happen without TORTURING CHILDREN FOR DECADES.

There didn't even need to be any other children! You could have two kids: the languages-kid, who is the chosen one (the chosen one has to be the languages-kid so they can read the Onyx Codex or whatever it was called at the end, the one written by Original God), and the war-and-murder kid, who is the monster. They could have just been forbidden to read the other codices, if it's important to you that your chosen one still prove her resourcefulness or whatever.

Why include all of the other kids??? It wasn't to give your chosen one a sense of family: Carolyn didn't feel close to any of them except for Michael (who I liked, but whose contribution to the plot was negligible).

Or keep the kids! But then why make them, and Carolyn, hate you?? You could just say, "Hey Carolyn, I am raising you to be my successor, you have to figure it out yourself because part of proving your worthiness is this kind of abstract, big-picture thinking, but I love you and whatever you end up deciding to do, just believe in yourself." And meanwhile you're off torturing the fated monster in order to get him piping hot and ready to be served.

Was the idea that Carolyn had to endure so much horror in order to prove she was 'tough enough' to be god?? Because that's not how trauma works! Kids who have been brutally traumatized are usually not made tougher by the experience! A fact that even the book understands, because 10 of the 12 kids are completely destroyed by their upbringing (I'm giving marginal exceptions to Michael and Carolyn herself).

And like

if Father doesn't have a good reason for having treated them so badly, the whole book falls apart!

Because getting revenge for that cruelty is Carolyn's whole motivation!

We are clearly supposed to feel okay about Father going to make a new universe at the end of the book: he's going with his cool tiger friend and that little girl with the connection to the elemental plane of joy who used to be the sun, he's happy to see Carolyn embracing compassion and kindness, which means he cares about compassion and kindness. He invented light and pleasure. Carolyn does nothing to try to stop him from going. He seems like a pretty good candidate for god. And I do feel okay with him leaving! I was convinced! Father is not evil after all!

But then you have! to explain! the abuse!!

It can be a throwaway line!! "Carolyn realized that everything she and her siblings went through had to happen the way it did, because [X]," embedded in the middle of a paragraph! That would have been enough! But I need an explanation!

"They were raised the way Father was raised himself" WHY? He was raised by the Emperor, an on-the-record awful fucking dude! Father proceeded to rule the universe in a far more benevolent way than the Emperor did, why would he feel like he had to raise his kids the way the Emperor raised him?

"Carolyn needed to overcome challenges on her path to godhood" how is TRAUMATIZING HER SO BADLY SHE ALMOST BECOMES INHUMAN - SOMETHING YOU WERE OSTENSIBLY TRYING TO PREVENT, see Steve being preserved as something that could give her hope, etc - A "CHALLENGE??"

Again, none of this is a problem if Father is just evil! YOU CHOSE to make him not evil! And that's fine!! I think it's a good choice for the story actually!! But then you have to, you have to, HAVE TO explain why all of that bad shit happened!

Because all of that bad shit is the reason Carolyn made there be a story.

And it turns out it doesn't make sense.

[seikyoko]

Johnny Gill appreciation post

There’s plenty of issues I have with DGM Hallow, people other than me have talked about it and honestly I don’t feel like rereading the manga AND rewatching Hallow to explain all my dissatisfaction with it, but whatever, they wanted to make it short enough for it to be 14 episodes, it’s difficult to make it 100% faithful, whatever, I understand, even though I’m sad the zombie arc and the funny part of the phantom G arc were not in here, I understand, I’m not going to nitpick even the little things.

BUT WHY THE HELL would they on purpose take out the Johnny content in such an outrageous manner? like at the very beginning, where Johnny is the one who notice that polite speech doesn’t suit “Allen” and that when he doesn’t pay attention, he slip to more casual speech. It was instead replaced by.. Lavi, and while yeah good to give more Lavi content,

It was annoying to steal another character’s very rare screentime, and besides, it was impossible for Lavi to do this interaction, even if Johnny didn’t in the manga. Look, that happened after the 14th reveal, Bookman forbade him from getting too involved with “Allen”, because it was going to be his downfall if he involved himself that much in the war, and Lavi heeded his advice, you never see Lavi & “Allen” interacting again after the 14th reveal (though with the recent events of “Allen” going to the campbell mansion and is going to meet bookman and everything even if Lavi’s not with bookman that’s probably going to change), and that interaction was way more important than “woah bro no need to be so formal” with the mana mask revelation and Red’s actual personality and everything, and you know it’s relevant to that because it happens in the same episode, and in the manga very few chapters after.

And also the whole “the regret won’t let me die in peace” between Johnny & Kanda, instead.. happens between Marie & Kanda & Lenalee, and the anime scene absolutely sucks, the sacrifice Kanda is making doesn’t really hit you and it comes off as the dbz “past evil dude/asshole is now helping the protagonist”.

Look, he got better after the alma karma arc, and he love and trusts Lenalee & Marie a lot, but I find it kinda weird Kanda would volunteer such personal information on his feelings that easily with virtually no reason to (though I’m no Kanda expert), the interaction is just Lenalee who wasn’t involved in the Alma arc weirdly insisting on prying, after Kanda already accepted the innocence and can’t take it back anymore and Kanda pouring his heart out just like that , which, weird, because when Lenalee say “don’t you were already trapped in the order more than all of us and the order harmed you so much”, his reaction is to change the subject by successfully picking a fight with most people on the room (like Komui and Bak at least) by drinking it out of Lenalee’s hands.

It doesn’t even work as real Lenalee screentime because you can tell she was a mouthpiece to make Kanda say it before Hallow end/say it to someone other than Johnny, it wasn’t a real Kanda & Lenalee interaction

In the manga it was after Johnny and Kanda (who already bonded and came to care about each other quite a lot during their roadtrip/travelling around), who are both people who are pretty much risking everything to find and help “Allen”,  exited the pub and Johnny showed that he was a ride or die friend, reminding Kanda of Alma, likely the first time he thought of his past without feeling pain (like “Allen” comparing the orphanage director to Mana), then Johnny ask why Kanda did it, whether Kanda even answered or not, it was going to be nowhere as personal as how it ended up being, then that akuma snatched Johnny, and it very much stated “it’s Kanda yuu” at the beginning, showing that it was a speech personally aimed at Kanda, rather than a generic exorcist, saying that he was an absolute fool to come back, that he had very very little left to live, and he should’ve spent his last moments in peace, and that he chose hell, and he doesn’t go “what are you talking about ?” or deny it, showing that yeah, he does have little left to live and he most probably did choose hell.

Then Johnny goes “really Kanda... why ?” then go silent, so Johnny wasn’t going to badger him on it, then Kanda goes on to say his reasons (and yeah Johnny works better because he have more informations about the Alma thing than Lenalee had, since Kanda most likely almost never talked about it, and the scientists there were probably more informed than the exorcists after the facts and Kanda most likely didn’t tell her much, if anything really, I mean the dude can’t even stand when you say his first name just because it reminds him of that time, and Johnny did witness Kanda stab “Allen” and the whole shitshow, he’s more involved I mean).

AND THE “I was about to say sorry and then I stopped myself, thank you kanda, thank you, than..” WAS SO TOUCHING

end rant about “the manga is better !!”

And they’re not only making these moments worse, but they’re shooting themselves on the foot, because Johnny is a vital character to the “searching for Allen Walker” arc. and they keep down playing his worth as a character and his bond with “Allen”.

Johnny dropped everything for “Allen”, he loved his job as a scientist and everyone in the order, and the whole thing was risky as hell, and he did it anyway (he had no guarantee of quitting the order safely, and he wouldn’t have without Kanda, he had no guarantee of finding “Allen”, he had no guarantee the Noah or the 14th wouldn’t kill him immediately and when he first decided it he didn’t know Kanda would be around so doubly gutsy), and the love is very clearly mutual with how badly “Allen” freaked out at thinking Nea killed Johnny and that heart warming hug when he exited the wheat field and how desperately he wanted Johnny to be okay when the earl attacked and Nea took over, and you can tell it’s because Johnny mattered to him a lot instead of a general kindness thing because, really, the whole TOWN/CITY was in danger from the Millenium earl being around and homicidal, and last but certainly not least, JOHNNY’S DECLARATION OF FRIENDSHIP which really mattered to “Allen” (It was the most flustered he’s ever been in the whole manga).

And it mattered in the end ! it changed everything ! Kanda wouldn’t have found “Allen” without Johnny’s plan. and “Allen” would be literally dead, erased, not from this world anymore if it wasn’t for Johnny.

Look, unlike all the other times Nea took over, the last one was pretty bad, in fact it should have been impossible for Allen Walker to ever open his eyes again, his soul was done for, he was technically dead.

But the power of people’s bond is probably the most powerful thing in DGM verse, so powerful that it can even do the impossible, like bringing back the dead.

Cross, Tyki and Link weren’t going to do that because of their allegiances, Road can’t maintain her form, even if Mana was going to choose “Allen” over Nea, he is very much amnesic, it wouldn’t have occured to Kanda and most of the order to try that, because it was very obviously the 14th, and Kanda doesn’t even call “Allen” by his name anyway, they’d have jumped straight to trying to defeat him or try another method to bring “Allen” back, if Apocryphos could still bring him back his way, he’d have merged with “Allen” and “Allen” as we know him would be no more.

Yeah, pretty sure “Allen” would be no more, and it wasn’t a case of right place/right moment or anything, it was because Johnny and “Allen” loved each other (platonically, I shouldn’t have to precise that but here we are) and it shook reality in ways usually only the earl take advantage of.

Also you imagine the amount of mental badassness it would take to take your friend, and physically try to carry him away while he’s the target of the earl who is looking extremely deranged and is being really violent ? 

Also he prevents Kanda from using violence against “Allen” who was in pretty bad shape, and that with Tiedoll’s speech help him find the guts to face “Allen” eye to eye and a lot of what ensued after

Don’t ever underestimate Johnny’s importance to the story.

Yet here he’ll always be a barely relevant side character to the anime (well at least Hallow I refuse to watch the 2006 anime and check if his earlier moments were done justice), and for what reason ? because he’s not good-looking/hot, and because he’s not physically powerful or badass in a conventional way.

That’s.. the end to my salt I think

[novelconcepts]

Greetings Novel. I was wondering, would you ever consider writing a vampire and/or werewolf Damie version? There’s already such a strong emotional connection whenever those stories are told, and I think you would just enhance that because you have such a knack for relaying Dani and Jamie’s thoughts and feelings. Anyway, just an idea because I love those tales and you’re absolutely one of my favorite authors. 😊

It’s the quiet she likes best, she thinks. The quiet, the dark, the simplicity. No one asks anything of her anymore. No one makes demands. She belongs to no one at all these days, for the first time since she can remember.

Except the Lady. She’ll always belong to her. 

But there’s a give to these things as well as a take, and Dani Clayton sometimes thinks it’s worth it. Worth it, not to have to sit at dinner parties and elegant balls. Worth it, not to have to titter and engage in small talk. Worth it, not to have to wear the ring.

Worth it, to leave him behind. 

And if it’s all shadow, all lonely, all deep-rooted ache she can never seem to soothe, that’s fine enough. She belongs to no one. No one except the Lady, and the Lady asks so little of her. Only to carry the curse--the disease--the hunger. Only to feed the shade coiled around the remnants of her old self. Only to wake. To walk. To drink. 

It’s dramatic, she thinks, but a little theater never hurt anyone. She makes sure of that much. It’s sustainable, so long as she keeps walking, walking, walking in the quiet. The dark. The simplicity.

It’s sustainable, until she reaches the village.

***

The pub is nearly empty. Too late, or too cold, or too poor an economic situation for carousing to be the game--Dani doesn’t much care which is the real reason. She likes the emptiness of the tables, chairs pushed patiently into place, every surface as clean as it is old. She likes the warm lighting, the oak bar, the smooth wooden floorboards under her boots. 

The mirror, she does not care for, turning her head swiftly away so as not to see the void where a young woman ought to stand. This part, she has never grown used to. This part, even after carrying the Lady--the Lady’s curse, more like, to hunger and need and wallow in lonely anger--for decades. She barely remembers, now, what that woman looks like. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Paler now than it had been in life, but only by so much--her mother had held such strong opinions as to what women should do with their time, and lounging in the sun had never been part of the pageant. Polite society, Danielle, has no use for a lady like that. 

Like what? she’d always wondered, never quite daring to ask. Adventurous? Athletic? Interesting?

No matter. The past is long, long dead--deader even than she could imagine back then, dreaming of being someone else. Someone free. All of them are gone now: her mother, with her antiquated ideas; her mother’s friends, who peered down their noses at Dani and smiled without heart; even Edmund. Even him. 

Long dead, now. Old age, or unrepentant illness, or freak accident--she doesn’t know. She wasn't there. 

The woman she was is dead, too, Danielle Clayton buried in a grave she’d only hauled herself back out of the next night. The Lady had whispered in her ear, granted unexpected strength, unexpected fury. Danielle went in. Dani came back out again. No one ever needs to remember. 

And no one ever has. She’s been walking for--fifty years, now? More, maybe. The date on the newspaper crumpled on one table reads June 24, 1987. More than fifty years gone in a blink, and Dani is still here. Washed clean, maybe, of all the bits that had once made up a patient, kind, hopeful young teacher. But here all the same. 

She settles at the table, drawing a book from her bag. The night is still young, the hunger not yet pricking at her patience. It’s good to start smooth, start simple, to remind the Lady that the curse might have its needs, but it is Dani who is still in control. Dani, who, despite making a decision unwary of its consequences so long ago, has managed to hang on this long.

Still here. Still walking. Still--

“Get you something?”

Her head snaps up, her body primed to run. An old instinct. As if anyone could touch her without consent now.

The woman watching her looks curious, but only faintly so, as if by old habit. Her hair is tied off her face with a bandana, her sleeves cuffed at the elbows. There is a loveliness about her Dani has always fostered a weakness for--a loveliness that matches, in a less primal way, that of the Lady who had come to her in that dream so long ago. Walk with me. Walk with me, and you’ll never be alone again. 

She shakes her head, smiles. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Right,” says the woman slowly. “Only, this isn’t a library. Don’t order something, Tom’ll have me throw you out.”

She speaks like she doesn’t much care one way or another, but Dani has been around long enough to read between the lines of a person. The words are callous, but the inflection is specific--the emphasis placed not on throw you out as a threat, but Tom’ll have me. An apology before an offense. The woman glances toward the window, aware of the wind battering the glass, her expression calmly letting Dani know I’d rather not have to. 

“I’ll have whatever’s your favorite,” Dani says. Eyebrows raise, the woman’s head tilting. 

“Mine?”

“Sure.” Dani smiles, reaches across, touches the woman’s hand lightly where it rests on the table. It’s easier, influencing human minds through touch. She doesn’t like doing it at all, if she can help it--there’s a film over the idea, a nasty oily sense of wrong--but sometimes it can’t be helped. People who look at her the way this woman is looking tend to become a problem.

People who smile at her the way this woman is beginning to smile, lips quirking up at the corners like she doesn’t quite mean to, tend to become a danger to themselves and others. 

Mostly themselves.

The woman disappears briefly behind the bar; Dani, aware of the mirror, doesn’t watch her go. Her eyes remain on her book, her fingers tracing mindless sigils into the table until a glass is set gently down before her. A thin amber ale of some kind--Dani feels no curiosity, no interest at all. She smiles. 

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” the woman says. Hesitates, as though wanting to say more. Shakes her head. The fog--the sense of forget Dani brings in her wake--is already sinking its claws into this woman, already wiping Dani away. Good. It’s best when they don’t see her, don’t take an interest, don’t remember when she’s gone.

Especially women who smile like this one. 

She leaves the drink untouched, putting away two chapters in easy silence. Money, she drops on the table. No one looks up as she strides back out into the dark. 

Tonight’s meal will be found elsewhere.

***

The story should end here, she knows--a person like Dani is only still here because she’s long-since learned the art of keep moving. The Lady commands it. The Lady is impatient to walk. 

The hunger, pushing in along her ribs, pulsing under her wrists, is impatient for more. 

She ought to leave the little village be. There’s not much here to begin with, and it’s dangerous to feed in places where one single thread can be followed to each house in turn. Dani’s careful not to hurt where she doesn’t have to, not to kill ever--a little time, a little tender care, is all it takes to prevent it. She hasn’t left a body behind in almost thirty years. There’s really no excuse for making a kill where one could simply leave a vacant few minutes of memory, she thinks. 

Not that humans recognize the kindness for what it is. Not that she can blame them for their fear. She was afraid once, too--waiting, always, for the Lady to become Beast, for her to rise up over Dani’s good sense and turn her into something hateful. Dying, for Dani, hadn’t been the hard part. The idea of becoming something she isn’t...

But it’s been years and years, and she is still here. Still Dani. Lonely, and quiet, and living the simplest life she can manage, given the circumstances.

And back at this same pub again.

Shouldn’t, she thinks--knows, though she’s pushing the door open and striding back to that same table again. Out comes the book. Her eyes remain resolutely clear of the bar, of the mirror, of any patrons who might give her trouble. 

“Back again?”

The woman, this time in a t-shirt, her curls loose around her face. Same woman. Same smile. Same problem. 

Dani really knows better. 

“Noticed you didn’t touch the ale,” the woman points out, leaning her hip against the table. There’s a quiet confidence to the way she holds herself, a constrained line of motion that says she’s in no hurry. Dani watches her, smiling a little, and thinks, Shouldn’t be here. 

“No, I,” she begins to reply. Her smile fades to a frown. “Wait. Noticed.”

“Yeah,” the woman says. “And you overpaid. Drinks much pricier in America, then?”

Dani wouldn’t know. Dani hasn’t set foot in America since the sixties. 

“I guess,” she says, still puzzled. This woman shouldn’t be speaking of last night as though it was--well. Only last night. This woman shouldn’t remember Dani at all. The Lady’s influence generally makes certain of that. 

All these years, it’s never failed her. 

That is the idea.

“Something darker tonight, maybe?” the woman goes on, watching Dani with shrewd eyes. “A stout?”

“Okay,” Dani agrees, knowing full well she won’t touch it when the drink comes, and finding herself quite unable to say no. Quite unable to do what she should, which is to slip out before the woman can return to this table and smile at her again.

Try harder, she tells herself, when the glass is standing proudly beside her book, laid face-down on the table. Try harder to do it. Because, the thing is, if this woman remembers her--if this woman keeps remembering her--she’s bound to find herself on the other side of a beheading. A torch. A particularly sharp slat of wood. 

Her hand brushes the woman’s again, her fingers tingling. The skin is soft, the nails short; when she turns the woman’s hand over in her own, she finds callouses on the pads of her fingers. 

“Bold,” the woman says, amused--but there’s a flare of something more in her eyes, matching her smile too well. Dani swallows. Presses forward with her own mind, gently caressing the woman’s intentions. Forget me, she wills. I was never here. 

“Enjoy,” the woman says, the clear focus in her eyes drifting to hazy confusion. 

Dani watches her go, her chest tight with an unfamiliar sensation--something like hunger, and yet...

No one, she thinks, has ever remembered her when she’d wanted them to forget. No one since the Lady’s curse. Even Edmund, who had dreamed of a big wedding, a big house, a big family since they were children, had forgotten her, in the end. Easily. She’d willed it, and walked away, and he had forgotten she’d ever climbed out of that grave. 

This woman, whose name is not Dani’s to know, whose life is not Dani’s to touch, remembered. 

Even as she’s leaving, even as she’s slipping out into the dark to find someone to dull the Lady’s hunger, Dani knows she’ll be back again. A terrible idea. A terrible test of the universe’s machinations. And yet.

She can’t erase the curiosity, bent behind a shop with a young woman’s wrist pulsing warm against her lips. She can’t erase the way the woman had smiled at her with knowing amusement, as her teeth sharpen and the Lady takes what she needs. She can’t forget, as copper runs sweet across her tongue, and the girl sitting on the pavement heaves a languid sigh beneath her. 

It’s an awful idea. Truly, the worst. 

She has to know.

***

“Starting to think you don’t actually drink.”

The woman actually sits this time, sprawling into the chair across from Dani as though belonging there all along. Dani bites down on a smile.

“Why else would I come to a place like this?”

“The company?” the woman suggests, and though her tone is idle, her smile scorches. Dani shakes her head, laughing. 

She can’t remember the last time she laughed. 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she confides. The woman raises her eyebrows. 

“Where are you supposed to be?”

Alone, Dani thinks. Forgotten, Dani thinks. That was the deal, Dani thinks, the price of a young woman’s freedom. Wake. Walk. Feed. There has never needed to be anything else. 

“Not here,” she settles on saying--a truth without teeth. The woman nods slowly, leaning across the table, her hand sliding over pocked wood to brush Dani’s wrist. 

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you. Twice is an accident. Three is a habit.”

She isn’t wrong. Two people in this village bear Dani’s mark now, the inner slope of their wrists stained with new scars they won’t be able to explain. She’ll have to drink from a third tonight, and the odds of getting out unscathed--even with the fog clearing her from their minds the minute she walks away--shrink yet again. This isn’t a good idea. 

But this woman, impossibly, illogically, remembers her. Forgot, maybe, briefly--in the time it took Dani to pay and leave--and then the memory just...sprang back into place. Dani has made mistakes with women before, has let their smiles grace her heart in ways she was never meant to allow, but it’s never resulted in this. 

“I’m Jamie,” the woman says, and Dani almost recoils--almost says, Don’t tell me that, don’t put that on me, you’re not supposed to remember--but I won’t be able to forget. 

“Dani,” she says instead, and feels the Lady pulse deep in the place she’s always imagined her soul to rest. The Lady, a curse--a gift--a structure around which she’s built her second chance at life. The Lady, who looks upon Jamie now and sends a powerful swell of hunger up through Dani’s bones. 

Take her. Take her. She wants it, look at her. 

Jamie does, Dani senses, want something. Something that has no need for Dani’s influence, no requirement for Dani pulling the strings. Jamie wants something from her--something honest, something human--and the very idea of it spikes fresh terror like she hasn’t felt in decades.

“This is a bad idea,” she says in a low voice. “It’s dangerous.”

Jamie, fingers tracing Dani’s palm, searching out her lifeline, shrugs. “Always is. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.”

***

There’s a place upstairs, a little flat. Jamie leads the way as though she’s done this a hundred times, taking Dani’s hand with an almost nonchalant gesture. 

“If you let me in,” Dani says, “this gets so much more complicated.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Jamie says. She should be laughing as she says it, a flirtatious bit of banter designed to delight, but she isn’t. She’s looking at Dani, her free hand turning the key, like she already understands. 

“I’m not,” Dani says. Stops. Sighs. “I’m not what you’re--what you think I--”

“Start here,” Jamie says, and pushes open the door. An invitation without words, one Dani can’t resist leaning into. She hasn’t let herself accept an invitation like this in so long. 

Take her, the Lady breathes. Take her, bring her to me. Dani squeezes her hands into fists, the familiar rage of hunger grinding against this new, too-human variant. Jamie is closing the door, kicking off her shoes, smiling. 

The smile is what really breaks her. The smile, which is a little teasing, a little tempting, but mostly just real. 

She’s kissing Jamie before she can stop herself, and even as she’s doing it, there is something too warm about it. Something too good about the way Jamie catches her, hands digging into Dani’s hair, lips parting when Dani brushes against her with the tip of her tongue. For all the skin she’s tasted, all the times she’s kissed and licked and bitten, this is different. This is--

This has no path. No road to follow to the end. No lie baked into the heart of it. Every woman she’s ever led into the dark, every time she’s ever drank deep and pulled back before the Lady can win back control, seems to fall away in comparison to how desperately she’s kissing Jamie. This person she barely knows. This woman who slips a hand around her hip like an anchor. This woman whose kiss is confident, who is smiling into her, who leans back breathlessly and says, “You’re sure about this?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Dani breathes, kissing her again. Jamie makes a soft groaning sound, tilting her head away. 

“Why not?”

“Because,” Dani says, unable to stop herself from kissing around every word, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t, or don’t want to be?” Jamie is backing her against the wall, and Dani can hear her heartbeat, can’t seem to erase the dizzy scent of life pouring off of her in waves. Blood, yes, thrumming beneath her skin, but also breath, and desire, and something giddy and nameless that can only be joy. 

Such a human thing, joy. Why, then, does Dani feel it pressing in on her, too?

“Hey.” Jamie has stopped kissing her, is simply holding her face gently between her hands. Her thumbs have found Dani’s cheekbones, are pressing so lightly, Dani closes her eyes to keep from crumbling. 

“Hey.”

“If you really don’t feel good about this, we don’t have to. We can, I dunno. Talk. Or not. Whatever you want.”

Dani breathes slowly, all the little measures of human in a body that is not. She likes breathing, she’s found. Likes willing her heart to beat. Likes feeling warm, likes feeling as though any sunrise might be welcome, someday. Someday, when all of this fades. 

Like it ever can. Like the Lady would ever allow it. That wasn’t the deal.

“There are things,” she says hollowly, “you don’t know.”

“All the things,” Jamie agrees comfortably. “Everything except your name and what you don’t like to drink.”

Despite herself, Dani laughs again. She leans forward until her forehead presses Jamie’s, until Jamie’s breath coasting lightly across her lips is the only thing she can feel. 

The only thing outside of the beating, raging, desperate hunger.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she says. “I--sometimes even I think I’m crazy.” And, really, might she be? Might this all be some delusion, some shattering of sense that has led her to believe there will be no woman waiting for her in the mirror? Or, worse, a delusion leading her to believe she is here--that she is still Dani, despite it all?

“Tell me anyway,” Jamie says, and Dani kisses her again. Kisses the edges of her lips, the curve of her jaw, the length of her neck. Kisses the place where the pulse beats like fists against a casket lid, her lips parting, her tongue flat against the salt of Jamie’s skin. She hears Jamie draw a sharp breath, one hand tight in her hair, hears Jamie say, “Yes” in a tone Dani has to fight to deny.

She doesn’t mean it. She can’t mean it. She doesn’t know. 

And Dani, though the Lady roars with that unrelenting need, can’t take. Not like this. Not here. This woman remembers her. This woman will remember tomorrow, even if Dani slips out of her bed, even if Dani never shows her face again. She’ll remember. It will, somehow, unfairly, haunt the rest of her life. 

“It’s a long story,” she says, face still buried in Jamie’s neck. Her hips are twitching against Jamie’s thigh, her hands sliding under Jamie’s shirt. “A long, crazy story.”

“I have time,” Jamie says. Dani lifts her head. Smiles. 

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s meant to be quiet. Dark. Simple.

Lonely. 

That was the deal.

“The teacher,” she says quietly, closing her eyes as she scrounges for the beginning for the first time in over fifty years, “was, by choice, a solitary young woman...”

Jamie listens.