#Is the key to solving the whole mystery in this post somewhere? POSSIBLY.

[charmfamily]

(SEMI) CHARMED KIND OF LIFE: EPISODE 3, PART XXIII. “GENESIS IN BLACK”

#The Sims 4 #TS4 Story #Story Simblr #TS4 Edit #Sims 4 Story #Sims 4 Spellcasters #(Semi) Charmed Kind of Life #Dylan Sigworth #Emilia Ernest #Eliza Pries #Tomax Collette #Erwin Pries #You can tell I'm a huge fan of ARGs cause I hide all the clues in plain sight and make them practically unreadable/impossible to decipher #Is the key to solving the whole mystery in this post somewhere? POSSIBLY. #Also it took me forever to get this up cause of all the typing.

[pluckysidekick]

Episode 5, “The Oracle of the Whispering Remains” - we’re 5 for 5 on the titles. I’m starting to doubt Kennedy’s statement that they aren’t all accurate.

So we didn’t get a ton of detail in this description. But we do have a bunch of BTS content from filming AND some scenes from the trailer that I believe are from this episode based on outfits and other BTS. The following is pretty spoilery and also a lot of conjecture and my crazy theories based on the available photos and trailer, so be warned!

The first line of the two line description: “The Drew Crew discover a clue in an unexpected place.”

Is this back of the Claw scene from the extended trailer the unexpected place? In the scene above the object seemingly magically opens up to this:

And we also see this object in this scene from the trailer:

Courtesy of NancyDrewGIFs

What is this MacGuffin? I mused in an earlier post on the trailer that maybe it was an oversized chess piece and/or part of some kind of supernatural scavenger hunt. Since we know the mystery is tied up in the town’s history, and there’s a thread that will unravel everything according to the disgraced Judge Abbott, could it be a magical object left behind by the founders? Could it be some sort of time travel portal device (since we have hints of time travel later in the trailer)? Is it the key to getting into the creepy crypt with skeletons Nancy investigates? Or is it a way to decode the symbols on the corpses’ teeth?

From wardrobe most or all of these scenes are from the same episode, which we know is Episode 5 from both the timing of the behind the scenes content back in September here and here, and from the promo shot in the S4 press release from January that was identified as from Episode 5.

There’s BTS from night and daytime woods scenes with the whole crew including Ace and Nick:

From the Claw and from somewhere with Nancy and George running:

We also have this trailer scene that I believe is in the Claw and seems creepy but pretty sure that’s Ace’s hand. Is the halo a trick of the light or some kind of time portal?

Only room for one more photo, but I have a ton from the fictitious Clifton University location from this timeframe:

We know they filmed at Capilano University in North Vancouver (because there was a location filming notice shared on Twitter), but I believe they turned it into Clifton U. - and I think both George and possibly Ace attend. I suspect the running scene is also set there from the posters and signs in Kennedy’s Twitter photo. I do wonder if this is after another time jump but hard to say for sure.

This didn’t give us everything, but quite a few intriguing hints of hidden depths in Horseshoe Bay, possibly artifacts and a crypt beneath maybe the Claw or even the University (rewatch the trailer in slow mo to see all the scenes of Nancy creeping around in the crypt), and maybe where she finds the origin of the teeth symbols. It must have been put there by the founders. Is it their version of Skull & Bones, i.e. an old founders’ secret club to allow them live forever? Could the founders have carved symbols on the dead’s teeth that somehow marked them to rise at some point? Or to buy them some kind of favor in the afterlife? This is really getting deep!

The title of the episode shouldn’t be ignored. Who or what is the oracle - is it the wooden skeleton device from the trailer? Is it the magical object above that Nick and the others find in the Claw? And do the remains actually whisper - does Ace use his ability to listen to the dead with his sound equipment to hear them? I did explore this idea in The Space Between, would love to see him take an active part in solving the mystery. Nice to see him feature prominently in this episode - we’re all in fear of a (temporary) Nace blowout after Ep. 3, so glad at least they are sleuthing together.

Speaking of teeth, we also have the second part of the one sentence description, where they “call in someone from George’s past to help find answers.” The obvious suspect is George’s deadbeat dad the dentist - maybe he sheds some light on the age of the teeth and the markings? I’d love a Victoria appearance personally. She’s also not a Parent of the Year nominee, but she’s hilarious and has supernatural abilities and lore that could help the Drew Crew.

Whew, that was fun! Can’t wait for all of the mystery to unfold!

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nace #ace [redacted] #ndcw #nancy drew season 4 #nancy drew s4 #nancy drew spoilers #author: pluckysidekick #nacesource #ndcentral

[thessaliah]

ok so it was theorised that the whole alien god drama thing was an attack from the past — and that rasputin destroyed chaldea and stuff to prevent a rayshift from happening and screwing over the attack.

but countkess events like ooku, tunguska and even 6.5 prove that novum chaldea CAN rayshift. So why are we trying to presently attack the alien god rather than rayshift and undo everything, am i missing something??

The rayshift you have isn't as potent as the one from Chaldea or reliable or something. Plus the attack came from the future, not the past (hypothesized by Holmes in his interlude). It's obviously related to how Chaldeas' future is projected 100 years (look at that matching date with the period the Specimen E was experimented on). Or a future simulated for whatever reason. You'll find that David Bluebook's notes never specify when his journey took place. People assumed it was on the post-2017-virtual year, but is it? He arrives in a facility that doesn't exist where Kadoc, Guda, and Mash arrive. There aren't any installations in the desert, just the underground lab. And Kadoc finds it familiar (is it because the light resembles the light that contacted them or is it because he saw similar corridors somewhere else, like Chaldea?).

Seraphix equipment could rayshift to the future, but not the present in Chaldea. N. Chaldea rayshift isn’t as good as the original too.

Anyway, I have to say something about the crisis. Look at Chaldeas:

2015: a crisis is detected, presumably linked to Fuyuki Singularity (which is referred to as a 'data crash' in the First Order booklet) and they couldn't determine the existence of humanity as of 2017. Like at all. Chaldeas light is gone.

Incineration (2015-2016): When it finally happens, Chaldeas is on fire, showing orange-red on the surface. Occasionally it remains like this, but sometimes also shows the lifeless Chaldeas.

The light returned to Chaldeas after the Incineration was solved, but Chaldeas indicated the crisis before Goetia even made his move. So what was that about? Goetia didn't attack the year 2017, because there was no year 2017. Not just mostly a year 2017 except up the last minute during New Years' Eve. 2017 year is a mystery.

Chaldeas cracks (last day of 2017): Unlike the initially detected crisis of 2015, that detected humanity was gone by year -2017- which has yet to happen and gives plenty of time, or the incineration which was detected as it happened because it was in the past, if you look at the sequence here: Chaldeas starts cracking and detecting the Earth became isolated, the comics rays are blocked, etc. This is describing the Bleaching before it took place. While the accounts of Bluebook describe a slow and painful process, the accounts of what happened in the Crypters' POV and others is that the Tabula Rasa is immediate. Why? Because likely the "bleaching" was simply Chaldeas' future projected onto the planet. You have two key elements: ground zero was Area 51 and they wanted to freeze Chaldeas up as the objective of Rasputin's and Koyan's attack. Following this line of thought, the “invasion” by the tree branches took place actually on New Year’s Eve on 2116-2117, in a simulated future of Chaldeas where Specimen E (Olgamarie’s remains) were tortured with Panhistory. It makes sense that Chaldea detects it when it happens because Chaldeas was projected to glimpse 100 years into the future.

Now it's pretty obvious we are dealing with Chaldeas contents poured into the world. That possibility was always high and the ending of Traum more or less confirms things. Stuff rayshifted from the future to the past and anchored on the planet surface. Now.

Why did Holmes agree to this? Because he mentions he worked voluntarily for the "God." So something she offered must have been logical. Enough to know that regardless of his emotional attachment, he would have continued serving the god if he remembered everything.

Galahad et al never blame the god for the crisis and frames it as something inevitable. Man of Chaldea is against what God plans but never says the end of the planetary crisis is her doing or fault because he says this celestial body will die no matter what. The year 2017 and the end of humanity initially detected remain unknown. One of my theories is that everything in 2017 has been a lostworld, and so explains the oddity of Arcade in general too (with its vague background, with Merlin saying Mash and Guda will forget what happened), which could be simulations similar to what takes place in Lostroom.

Since Moonlight Lostroom, it's obvious that Specimen E is Olgamarie, be her body or has a connection with her:

I told someone recently that Olga's body might have been originally a tree of fantasy (or original root of fantasy) that was turned humanoid to be an administrator to Chaldeas (the “god” of Chaldeas, the body as the vessel for her soul). We never heard of her mother at all. Or something along those lines (there’s a possibility she was a design baby with a human body but switched to her root of fantasy either when Chaldeas was activated or when the sabotage blew her up). Because U Olga's body is also born out of the fully bloomed tree of fantasy, no less. Like her body IS the tree. Even if it was flawed because Atlas was there.

I’ve seen her compared to Sakura in HF and I couldn’t disagree more. Wrong Sakura. She’s probably more alike to BB/Sakura in CCC and an Angra Mainyu. The “tortured with Panhistory” stuff for 100 years seems very on point of comparison to Anri. Transforming as part of their “duty” to answer this.

#fate grand order #meta #speculation #theory

[buffaloborgine]

Of Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos and the strange narrative POV of FFVII-Crisis Core (Part IIc)

Part IIb: https://buffaloborgine.tumblr.com/post/652362384401448960/of-zack-fair-genesis-rhapsodos-and-the-strange

__________________________________________________

Moving on, this is the point of no return. Or is it really? 

6. The Fifth Wonder

The description of this Wonder is that there is some “blood curling moan” from the underground area of Shinra Mansion, and to enter this area, Zack will need to use the “secret stairs from the second floor of the mansion” and that “a SOLDIER guy called Sephiroth has the key”.  Like, kid, how the hell can you know that there is a secret underground area in Shinra Mansion and that the entrance is on the second floor and that dude Sephiroth has the key? Who the hell would rumor something so specific like this to a kid? And why didn’t Zack even have single effing question about this?  Like why the f**k would there be an underground area in Shinra Mansion? Why would they hide it? Why does Sephiroth has the effing key? Why? But take not of these details, as they are very important later on.  For this Wonder, process the chapter. Yes the part that you go with Sephiroth to the Nibelheim Reactor and witness his mental breakdown (thanks to Zack’s stupid mouth anyway).  When Sephiroth moves to the Shinra Mansion, Zack can follow him by coming to this room on the second floor, and find that not-so-suspicious wall. (if you happen to find it before going through the reactor event, you can’t open it).

Interact with the not-at-all-blatant door and you get the “secret” entrance to the underground area.  

To solve the mystery, just go punch those Sahagins running around the area, they will drop the Coffin Keys. 

Then heads toward these doors (there are two rooms with this similar door and coffins insides so better check them all out) 

Use the Coffin Keys to open the coffin, one of those are the right coffins, the others will spawn bugs. If you found the right coffin, this cutscene will happen. 

And then Zack closes the coffin. End of the story.  ... ...  ... Like why the f**k would you not wake that man up? He is f**king sleeping in a f**king coffin! And you are a 1st Class SOLDIER, Zack? Are you afraid of vampire or what? What kind of normal human would let another person sleep in a coffin?  Not only that, but we all know who is that man sleeping in coffin is, it’s Vincent Valentine. Just imagine this, what if Zack wakes Vincent up at this point? What if he tells Vincent about Sephiroth burying his head in the library, reading bullshit writing about Jenova while dreaming that Jenova is his mother? Wouldn’t Vincent just jump in and bitch slap Sephiroth and tell him that Lucretia is his real mother, no?  And that would prevent the whole mess of Nibelheim’s Incident to happen right? Why don’t you just f**king wake that man up, Zack? Why? For real, why? 

Even the boy asked that question, Zack, how many IQ do you have that you can’t even have one critical thinking question like a young boy? *sigh* Okay let’s leave the rest for the conclusion. Moving on.

7. The Sixth Wonder 

I mean, up to this point, it’s enough, right?  We all know talking a Nibelheim and then talking about “flames” is like 1 + 1 = 2. For this one, just process the chapter. When Zack woke up on that faithful 7th day and got out of the inn, he would see the boy standing in front of a house. 

Talking to the boy, Zack learnt that the boy’s mother is still stuck insides. 

Zack will need to navigate blindly in the burning house to get the mother out. I would suggest having a save before this one because it’s kind of tricky. Once Zack got the mother safely outsides, this dialogue will play. 

Let’s just say that we solved this one, I think?  But honestly, Zack, how dense are you to not realize that if the first five Wonders actually exist in this way or another, then the Sixth Wonder will also be like that, right? If there is no “flames” yet, then there will be? Why don’t you just go tell the townspeople to prepare for a big fire in case it could happen? I mean, it’s possible, right? 

8. The Seventh Wonder  Well, actually, you never know what the Seventh Wonder is. You know up to the Sixth one, and that’s it. The chapter processed and Zack got stuck in a mako tank for four years.  There is a part that the boy sent Zack a letter to thank him for helping his mom escaping the fire, in which the boy said he left a gift for Zack somewhere near his new house in the outskirt of Nibelheim.  But we can’t really call this a Wonder, due to the boy doesn’t tell Zack what exactly is the Seventh Wonder anyway.  So, we can safely assume the Seventh Wonder will always be a mystery. 

That’s the end of the summary on the Seventh Wonders. In the next part I will write my dissection and conclusion for this. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.  ___________________________________________ Part II conclusion: https://buffaloborgine.tumblr.com/post/653809930861674496/of-zack-fair-genesis-rhapsodos-and-the-strange

#FFVII #Final Fantasy VII #FFVII Crisis Core #Zack Fair #Genesis Rhapsodos #Vincent Valentine #ffvii theory

[lovee-infected]

I know this so soon, especially after posting it. But may ask for part two for Ciel in Twisted wonderland?

Of course you can ! Thank you all guys for your great support on last part ! Hope you enjoy this ♥

Part one : Ciel In Twisted Wonderland

Sebastian in twisted wonderland

This demon...his not existing heart stops when he goes to wake the young master up but finds the bed empty . There is no way of him getting kidnapped , not a single soul could do it so silently and carefully to hide from his sight . It surely isn't with Ciel running away himself either because 1) He was nothing more than a weak child when it came to serious actions on his his own and 2) He knew that Sebastian would find him anyway and eat his soul in terms of acting against their contract

But if no human was here last night to kidnap or help him run away , then who could it be ?

Sebastian doesn't't care to receive any direct answers , after all his demonic powers are far greater than this and he can sense Ciel's soul somewhere out there , he's still alive

Takes him an afternoon to search each and every spot of London , two days for the whole country and 5 days until Sebastian searches every place on earth that he could've found Ciel on , to find nothing . This only had one meaning :

Not on earth yet still alive . Ciel is on another dimension and Sebastian is coming for him . Takes Sebastian some time searching possible options between different dimensions , but once he finds twisted wonderland , he is fascinated by how easy he could enter ; perhaps something about this place has the same energy to a demon

Night Raven College ; what a great spot to begin with . He now can smell Ciel's soul through the air and knows that he's Nothing more than a few meters away : Problem solved !

He can go pick Ciel up and right away and by the next morning , he'll be simple the butler he always is , serving some earl gray tea together with almond and chocolate cake . But doesn't it sound a bit too unfair...? Even demons need entertainment sometimes ; also this new world seems to be pretty interesting to him and he doesn't mind playing around for just a while

Crowley still hasn't get over why or where Ciel came from and now , a second one arrives out of nowhere ?? He looks too old to be a student but then what is he doing here ? Oh man...Birdy man would surely need a loooong vacation after this issue is solved...

Since Crowley is the first to arrive at him , Sebastian doesn't bother asking him where his little , tiny master is . Dark gray-blue hair and a blindfold on his right eye - enough to address

Crowley can't be any happier than someone finally came to take that disaster away , but then worries for a second : Does this butler know how to make a return to another world...?

Sebastian decides to leave answering this question to Crowley's imagination , and goes after Ciel as his first priority is

Ciel and Grim are having another late night argument when Sebastian arrives . In a blink of an eye , Sebastian grabs both of them and brings them up to stop them from making all these noise

"A cat...?" Oh ? Young master really can't take cats , right ? How pathetic for real , even a demon like him can't resist hugging such a cute and fluffy creature . And it talks ? Whoa this world is really something

Sebastian let's go of both of them and it's time for Ciel to freeze again : He finally came

Ciel asks if it's really him and Sebastian is low-key entertained to see Ciel actually missing him . He offers him a hug saying that's what humans do when meeting each other after a long time , but all Ciel gives him is a slap . Where the hell was he all this time ??! It's been weeks since Ciel had disappeared and he was giving up on him ever coming

MC is terrified by Ciel's ear scratching shouts thinking that it's just Grim and him arguing again . They quickly come out to separate them before it gets worse but instead , faces a very tall , handsome man holding Grim with his arms with half of his face as red a tomato , exactly like when Eliza slapped all guys . And Ciel is shouting at him yet he's this calm smiling and doing nothing ? Nonsense...

Just as MC is watching , Sebastian recognizes someone nearby and is stunned to see MC : Another human ? What a strange coincidence... . MC on the other hand has more things to worry about : Who is this man and what does he have to do with Ciel ? They hadn't ever seen him before and his clothing is more similar to a servant than a part of school's staff or something... To be honest , there's one more thing that seems odd about him : He seems too familiar

Sebastian notices MC's confusion and thinks that maybe he's heard enough of Ciel's naggings ; in a few minutes , the whole bunch is chilling and having tea inside the Ramshackle dorm , Sebastian made the tea of course

MC doesn't know how to feel , but since he is supposedly Ciel's servant , they decide to trust him . Grim on the other hand is really interested in this dude showing up : Not only did he shut the half blind brat's mouth but he also seems to be pretty strong and chill . He says that he likes cats as well...man of culture

Ciel doesn't get why Sebastian is slowing down again , why don't they return immediately ? It's already taken him too long and staying here much longer would be nothing but a waste . Although Sebastian can make a return to London it withing a second , he tells his master that he needs to take care of an business for sometime here , and he doesn't lie ( He needs to have some time to chill even as a demon and also , extra information never does any harm ) He insures Ciel that no threat would come close to him now that he's here , so then Ciel finally agrees , but he also clarifies that he's already being chased by a considerable majority of this school ( in other words : He is in a great trouble) and Sebastian promises to protect him by all means ; just as always

Ciel is still forced to attend classes because : 1) Sebastian told him it's good to learn possibly useful lessons belonging to a world of magic 2) Sebastian is lurking around all day and taking care of Ciel's current issues so he would be on his own if he stays at Ramshackle dorm

Sebastian has learned enough through Ciel's stories to know what he must do first , so here he is : The mostrolounge

The infamous tweels are a bit fascinated , yet interested to greet this unexpected guest of them , and when Sebastian asks for where he can find their manager , they gladly lead him to Azul's office and then , Sebastian asks them to leave the two of them alone . No one knows what happened in those 26 minutes but Azul came out putting a hand on Sebastian's shoulder , snickering and saying it's good to see this misunderstanding solved . Sebastian agrees with a bright smile , wishes them all a nice business day and leaves. Floyd and Jade don't ask what they talked about and Azul probably wouldn't answer if they did ; but let's just say that Azul doesn't say a word for the rest of the day and his sweaty face and shakey hands , kinda explain why

Well then , another problem solved , now Sebastian wants to get to know these creatures better . Must of them look like humans but with more advantages , interesting

He likes : Grim ( A talking cat ? How can Sebastian resist ? ) Riddle ( Low-key having Ciel's spirits , but in a mature way ) , Ace and Deuce ( Children these days... still fun to tease though ) , Trey Clover ( Perhaps the picture of a high-key good servant ) , Jade and Floyd ( Beside looking a lot alike , they get along pretty well . The calm yet mysterious Jade opposing the cheerful but frightening Floyd , these two would be what Sebastian can call his perfect mutuals , Ruggie Bucchi ( The forced servant of an unworthy master , he couldn't relate anymore ) , Jamil Viper ( The underestimated yet , intelligent and talented servant . Taking advantage of someone who took away all his changes to shine seems pretty fair to Sebastian , he can see the day Jamil would be an almighty ruler of his own ) , Rook Hunt ( Born to be a hunter , his spirits are appreciative ) , Malleus Draconia ( Dark and Mysteriously powerful , don't these sound similar to what Sebastian is...? He can say it for sure that Malleus as well has noticed Sebastian's unusual aura ) , Lilia Vanrouge ( Ah ~ old souls , golden thoughts , right ? It's been a. while since Sebastian could see someone understanding these benefits of living for centuries )

He dislikes : Cater ( Acts sassy , sneaks quietly . What a smart and annoying guy ) , Azul Ashengrotto ( Big words coming from an emotional child , he acts tough but he has no idea how much more he has to learn to become a real contracter... ) , Leona Kingscholar ( Pittyful and helpless , bullying others may make him feel powerful , but eill never change the fact that he'll never ever be a king ) , Kalim al Asim ( He stole Jamil all he should've had , just because of money. One day this foolish child will pay for it ) , Vil Schoenheit ( Why wasting your all on beauty ? He could be anything , way greater than the pathetic man he now is . Yet he wastes his all for something this shortlasting and worthless...You will get old one day , and all your beauty would be left behind before you step into your own grave) , Idia Shroud ( A loser keeping his pain inside ; just like Gregory Violet . He may be smart , but is still a trash if he's going to continue to be this weak) , Sebek Zigvolt ( Poor bastard , he doesn't even know that the master he worships doesn't even need him . One day he'll break down realizing the fact that he did him no good else than wasting his time by worthless praises of a fanboy )

His stay may be short , but he's taking the best advantage of it . Aside all these new creatures he met , some experiences are pure gold and will never be repeated in his long lasting life

Who knew that one day Sebastian would get to play card games with a cat and lose ? Well, this one's an experienced cat he can say . Grim even suggests them going to Staff's department and steal one of Crewel's expensive bottles of Vodka ( Ace had told that his cousin and his batch once did it and that was just- Ah . A newer level of being drunk had been approached ) Sebastian doesn't drink and doesn't get why a cat might want to drink either , but does it anyway . Grim happily goes on and takes a larg sip then , almost sets the whole dorm in fire just by one belch ( Alcohol + Fire = 💥) When MC understands that he was drunk , they want to kill Sebastian and Grim together . What if the fire exploded inside his body and made him explode !!!????? He would've been an exploded over-cooked cat . He gets sick afterwards and Sebastian goes to learn some vet tips , he nurses Grim although MC is still mad

Grim isn't his only new mutual , not while tweels are around . Sebastian is fascinated to see that they are interested in getting to know him just as he is ; these three seem to greatly get along . While poor Azul gets overly pale and quiet whenever Sebastian is around , tweels don't mind bringing him along almost anywhere . He learns them some beneficial tips and recipes for enormous drinks and desserts , they are truly amazed . They could've offered him to work in mostrolounge but it's clear that Sebastian has way higher classes than a normal school cafe , so it's better to let him lead them with his skills instead . Other than that , they really enjoy talking ; Floyd agrees that he looks pretty similar to a dragonfish , but still goes on calling him Sebastian .( He only calls Azul and Jade by their name else than that) . Floyd looks high-key similar to Grell when he laughs , but in contrast to him , Sebastian doesn't find this one annoying . They all look pretty similar and when others see them hanging around , rumors of Sebastian being a brother or relative of them starts getting spread . Honestly many even though that he was just Jade with dyed her and contact lenses when they saw him . Sebastian is really enjoying himself in this three person gang but sadly he doesn't have much time for it, there are other stuff he has to take care off...

The reason he doesn't go after Leona and Vil although they as well are known fir having problems with Ciel is obvious : They can do nothing . Once Leona and Sebastian get in a fight and Sebastian doesn't mind kicking his ass to the ground , children these days really do need to learn to behave . May seem funny , but to be honest , Sebastian has seen this amount of anger just once before and that would be with lady Elizabeth , she would've been a better leader than this guy though - Same goes for Vil , when he sees Rook getting s bit annoying as their stalker he writes a letter to the Pomefiore dorm , blaming him for being a thoughtless leader who wastes all his time and effort on his mortal beauty . No need to say how Vil reacts reading his letter or why he sets up a big fire to burn something afterwards...

Sebastian is almost done here now , he's seen enough and gained enough of enemies as well ; not that they are a bother but they are kinda annoying ... The only unsolved question is with the headmaster ; what is he hiding ? He made the same mistake with Undertaker and underestimated him ; he isn't going to make the same mistake twice . He knows that whatever he's hiding is related to MC , who comes from the same world as Ciel , just a different time . Sebastian could be the one saving them from this world but he knows that this won't be the right thing to do . MC's problems have nothing to do with him and also , leaving the whole school alone without their hero would be a mistake . No need to mention that Grim as well will need a friend when he wakes up and finds Sebastian gone...

This night is terrifying : Savanaclaw and Pomefiore dorms have taken serious action toward Ciel and Sebastian . Sebastian doesn't get to say goodbye to neither tweels nor MC and Grim , he just quickly picks Ciel up and runs toward the School building , no need to take this mess to where MC lives for now

Angry shouts and shooting magic balls all around , Sebastian chases them all just just as he always does . The terrified Ciel who is laying between his arms asks him what they're going to do . Sebastian gives him a comforting smile

" Just close your eyes , young master..."

♦♥♠♣

Ciel calls for Sebastian several times , heart still beating heavily . He screams his name and wakes up : at his bed . Wait...was it all a dream...?

He hears a knock at his door and then Sebastian comes in , asking if he's alright . Ciel tells him that he doesn't remember anything from last night after closing his eyes and how they ran off - Sebastian just gazes at him with a confused look . He apologizes for not knowing what Ciel is talking about , but says thst from what he knows , Ciel was really tired last night after spending all day listening to lady Elizabeth's thoughts on mixing fairytales with Alice in wonderland's classic . Now that makes sense... Sebastian offers him to go to a doctor if he's feeling any sick , but Ciel says that it's no need for that . It was all a dream but...a strange one for sure

A few minutes later , Ciel is having black forest cake and green tea , something he missed eating on his dream . When Ciel asks him if they're having tuna fish for lunch Sebastian smirks under lips . Then excuses himself and leaves . Poor Grim , he would've loved this food . While he is waiting for the fish to get boiled at the kitchen , he looks at the Vodka bottle with 1/4 of it empty , he wants to try drinking a bit someday . Little Ciel doesn't need to know whether it all was a dream or not , after all even with knowing it a human can do nothing but to think of it over and over ; which is useless . This experience would be a reality to him and a dream to Ciel but they have something in common : They'll never ever forget it

♦♥♠♣

Taglist : @7nocturne7 @someonestolemyuser @arc-2003 @spasmodicterror @anaxaver @cat-at-heart @illidan-stormrage @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @miss-sausage @ezroar @catvicddlm @lilyholo @justkazuki @masamune88 @stormweaver13 @snowy-slytherin

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #leona kingscholar #Sebastian Michaelis #Octavinelle #black butler #Kuroshitsuji #Riddle Rosehearts #Idia shroud #deuce spade #Ace trappola #Dire crowley #Divus Crewel #Grell Sutcliff #Jamil viper #Ruggie Bucchi #twisted wonderland x black butler #Vil Schoenheit #Rook Hunt

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XV — masterlist

concept: the three times chris comforted you, and the times you returned the favour. the slowest of slow burns, the angstiest of all angst. part sixteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3,8k

warnings: drinking, so much fluff, heartbreaking angst

author's note: this one, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, is for @fangirlovestuff because it's her BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABYYYY (and i'm sorry in advance). the songs are linked, so if you don't know them, you can check 'em out :)

In your ten months of knowing him, Chris had always known how to cheer you up, irregardless of how big or small the issue was.

You would even go so far as to call him a master of distraction – because by the end of the day, you wouldn't even have known you'd cried at all.

You could recall three times he had been there for you, and the two times you returned the favour.

The first time he had seen you cry – about three months into your living situation – he had been by your side immediately, pulling you flush against his body. He held you in his big arms for the longest time, and just waited the sobs out.

He wasn't the type of person to press, and he knew you'd tell him what was wrong if you wanted.

Instead, he asked you what you wanted.

You were lightheaded and cry‐drunk, so it took a moment to come back to yourself. "Huh?"

"Do you want to be quiet or loud?"

"I just..." You struggled to find words that didn't make you sound needy, but you found none. "I don't want to be alone."

"That's out of the question," he smiled knowingly. "So, what will it be, {your last name}? Quiet or loud?"

He had a twinkle in his eye, one that suggested his question delved deeper than the words implied.

"Quiet."

And then he was pulling you up off the couch and out the door in total disregard of your chosen attire.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Chris, I'm literally in my pyjamas–"

But he was already opening the garage, the creaks of the gears overshadowing your weak protests.

"You're wearing pants this time," he winked at you. "So we have that going for us."

And then you were in the car, location still a mystery.

Any attempts to get a modicum information was shut down with a simple "it's a surprise."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise."

And you were glad he hadn't told you, because soon, you were pulling up outside a place you hadn't been to since you were a kid and going on school trips. You'd never been to any L.A. ones, having moved there only half a year ago. But the way your whole body immediately was overcome with such calm...

It was like you had been hoping to come here since you'd woken up that morning, and had received the news of your grandfather's admittance to the hospital earlier that night.

But there was no way for Chris to have known that your grandfather had taken you to the aquarium when you were young, telling you about all the fish, helping you make up increasingly bizarre backstories for them.

He just knew you had to leave the house, and go somewhere quiet.

And it was a weekday, so the chances of kids screaming and running through the aquarium hallways were slim to none.

So while you walked in the tinted blue light, eyes scanning over information plaques and watching the multi-coloured aquatic animals lazily drift past the glass panes in a comfortable silence, you reached out to give his wrist a gentle squeeze.

His hands had been sitting in his pockets, giving you your space, but hovering close enough to you to let you know you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you croaked out softly.

When you turned your head to look at him, he had been looking at you, a smile of heartwarming endearance on his face.

If you hadn't been so consumed by the exhibits, you'd have known that he hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, and you'd have known he also hadn't stopped smiling. Smiling at you, seeing just how happy you were, even though your eyes were still watery and worry was still thick in your throat.

He slid his hand out of his pocket easily to lace your fingers together, loose enough for you to pull away if you had wanted, but tight enough for you to know that he had no intention of letting go first.

But you didn't pull away, instead strengthening the intwining grasp.

And so you continued, walking through the aquarium in that comfortable silence. And at some point along the way, you found laughter again, pointing out the ugliest fish and saying it was him, only to have him gasp in mock surprise.

"My God, you're such a flirt," he'd say.

And then he'd point out the most beautiful fish he could find.

"That's you."

——————

The second time was a week later.

It was your grandfather again, but the issue had been more serious than any one of your family members initially believed.

You didn't cry this time, but Chris could sense the immeasurable sadness in your posture, the way you sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

He came to stand in front of you, and gently knelt down so your eyes would focus on his. Everything about his stature screamed concern as he caressed the hair away from your face.

"Quiet or loud?" He had asked so softly, so simply.

"Loud."

He helped you up, careful with your fragile state. He walked you to your room, into the bathroom, and left you to take a calming shower by yourself.

When you'd gotten out, gotten ready for whatever surprise excursion was next – dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, scuffed sneakers on your feet but Chris would claim you looked prettier than he'd ever seen you – Chris was waiting for you by the front door.

You knew better than to ask him where he was taking you this time. And honestly, you were too drained to even muster the words.

You wanted loud, to drown out the misery.

And you got what you wanted.

Chris had taken you to a local pop-up carnival, and in spite of the cloudy weather mirroring your emotion, threatening rain, it was filled with screaming kids and the sounds of joy.

"They come by once every six months," he explained while you waited in the line to enter. "I wanted to take you under different circumstances, but..."

"It's wonderful," you assured him, although your tone didn't sound like it.

He paid your entrance fees – buying a large roll of game tickets for the both of you – and with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, he guided you inside.

Your smile first came when you were on the ferris wheel, and it didn't fade until you were back home, saying good night.

You had spent the whole afternoon there, and even most of the evening, until around ten, when they had begun to take down the stalls and unpitch their tents.

"I'm totally going to crush you at this," you had grinned at him at some game or another. And you did, but only because he wasn't entirely focused on the game, but watching you.

He would tell himself later, as he lay in bed, the reason he couldn't take his eyes off you was because he had wanted to make sure you were alright, and having a good time. But that was a half truth. The full truth was simply because he couldn't stop looking at that smile he loved so much, on the girl he loved more.

A sense of pride would swell in his chest at the very thought of him having played a part in your happiness.

And so you did absolutely crush him. But only because he'd been distracted, and, if truth be told, because he let you.

You held your prize – a hilariously massive teddy bear, drowning you in its fluff – with both arms, laughingly taunting him for his loss, which had got him a much smaller bear (a participation trophy at best) which he carried in one hand.

You had also gone to the circus they had there, your teddy bear seated beside the two of you, taking up a whole seat by itself. You marvelled at the trapeze artists, the charisma of the ringleader, the fire juggler from Prussia, and even found it in yourself to giggle a little at the clowns who you thought you'd be irreparably prejudiced against since you watched Stephen King's It.

And if you were to now scroll back in your camera roll, you would find the hundreds of pictures you had taken together in the hall of mirrors, and the beautiful twinkling lights of the distant city that sparkled like their own constellation from your view at the top of the wheel.

But you wouldn't scroll back now.

Not now.

———————

The third time had just been a bad day.

Nothing set it off, but you'd woken feeling like trash, and it really didn't sit well with you.

It had been post kiss, post Vegas, in that week Chris had returned, and he could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen.

His usual morning greeting of "good morning, Sleeping Beauty" fell short on his lips.

"Both," you said to him, already knowing the question he was going to ask.

You had managed to get yourself dressed that day, thinking that that one step into productivity would pull you out of your slump. It hadn't. So you told him "both," and he immediately complied.

Setting the mug down, coffee unfinished, he grabbed his keys off the counter. He called for Dodger, and you were in the car again.

This time, you already knew where you were going. It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve, especially with Dodger there with you.

And your suspicions were confirmed when he pulled up to a remote beach, a hidden gem that only locals would know about.

And in the secluded bay, you walked alongside each other, Dodger prancing ecstatically into the water and darting across the sand.

You watched him greet other dogs, tail wagging. You encountered very few people, giving them a greeting smile in passing.

It really was the perfect mixture of both – serene in the best way possible, ocean waves loud in their crash on the shore.

Chris made no effort to hide his gaze on you this time, aside from a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, obscuring his eyes.

"Why are you wearing those?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"You're wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Did it not come with instructions or something?"

"Oh, that," he grinned. "I wear the cap for the aesthetic, sunglasses for the disguise."

You had to reach up on your tippytoes to do what you did next – which, if you were so inclined, could be referred to as theft in the court of law.

You easily snatched the cap off his head, and, dancing out of his reach, put it on. It was a size too big, and dipped into your eyes, making him laugh through the stern demeanor he was jokingly putting on.

"Give that back," he warned. "You're ruining the aesthetic."

You repeated him mockingly, and then he was chasing you down the beach, your squeals of delight interrupting the peace and grabbing Dodger's attention.

You weren't being chased down by one Evans anymore, but two, and hoping to find sanctuary, you made your way into the water.

The sea lapped eagerly at your knees, stray droplets clawing to soak into the frayed denim of your shorts.

Chris had been wearing jeans – not exactly intending for a beach day that morning – and you'd hoped that would be enough to halt the attack.

"If you think that some water is gonna stop me from righting this injustice," he began, equally as out of breath as you were. He had been holding himself back from outright catching up to you, and you knew that – Chris was the epitome of fitness. What did you expect? To outrun Captain America? – "nay, this crime, then you are dead wrong."

"I'm in international waters!" You called back, flicking the peak of his cap teasingly. "I'm out of your jurisdiction!"

"Fuck jurisdiction!" He yelled out, and then he was wading towards you.

Water slowed both of you as you tried to keep out of his grasp, but he had the benefit of being naturally quicker. He had you in a bearhug, trapping your body against his as you struggled to break free.

"Give it back," he playfully growled into your ear.

"Never! You'll never take me alive!" You fought the words out through your laughter.

And then Dodger was there too, all but pushing you over into the shallows of the shore.

You both lay there, allowing yourselves to be drenched, through and through, Dodger licking your faces excitedly.

And as the laughter slowly subsided and the cold the breeze introduced to your wet forms finally registered, you both got up.

"Alright, have your stupid hat back," you sighed, moving to take it off.

He captured your hand in a lightning quick grip, stilling your movements. "Keep it," he smiled. "Looks better on you anyways."

You smiled back sarcastically, rolling your eyes, before pushing him back down onto the sand playfully. "All this?! All this for me to keep it?!"

He propped himself up on his elbows to peer up at you, sunglasses knocked askew.

"Dodger, as my head torturer," you said to the exhilarated mountain of a dog. "I command you to execute this man."

———————

It was hard to watch a strong man crumble, and there were days when that happened, too.

It was the day of Dodger's operation – a hip surgery, nothing too life threatening – but Chris, with all his quick wit and charming smiles, was a shell of himself.

Of course, you were worried too. But Chris needed you more than you needed him, and so, in the mournful silence of the waiting room, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched a little at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away.

"Quiet or loud?"

In all definitions of the word – in the hour he had been in that waiting room, leg bouncing – he never thought he could hate quiet as much as he did now.

"Loud."

It took some effort to tug him to his feet, his body sluggish with worry. But he was up, and you were guiding him to the door, leaving your number with the vet secretary for any updates.

You didn't want Chris to be worrying and checking his phone every five seconds, because you knew how that dread felt. No, he needed a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

You had never understood why Chris enjoyed doing that to you, never telling you where he was going to take you, but with the thrill of him not knowing, you got it. Spontaneity ran in his veins, and he didn't press like you so often did in the past.

You had been in L.A. long enough to find your own little secret spots, and to know exactly where you were without much guidance.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really know where you were taking him until your legs had absentmindedly taken you to an old vintage diner you knew had once been the talk of the town – filled to the brim with hipsters – before once again slipping into obscurity.

It was late into the night, but the diner was open 24/7, and you knew Chris hadn't eaten in a while.

When the bell jangled upon your entry, the waiters jolted, having taken to sitting down in the vacancy of their restaurant.

A few customers lingered here and there, club goers drunkenly scarfing down fries to try and sober up a little before hitting the next party and insomniacs downing their third cup of coffee that hour.

But for the most part it was empty, and, unfortunately, quiet.

"You here for karaoke night?" A bubblegum popping waitress asked. It really felt like the cliché, but it weirdly added to the charm. She stood, perched on the rubber stop of her roller skates, waiting for your response.

"Oh, hell yes we are," you grinned.

She took you to a table situated in front of a makeshift stage, a jukebox-karaoke machine hybrid standing proudly to one side.

Chris sat down, anxiety still heavy in his bones. You quickly ordered – two burgers, and a milkshake to share – before you were shedding your jacket and making your way on stage.

You didn't care about making a fool of yourself. The only thing you cared about was seeing Chris smile again, and in that moment, you'd do almost anything to make that happen.

You hummed in thought as you perused the songs available to you. You didn't expect much from the collection, given that the whole vibe of the diner was 50's through to early 90's. A total pocket dimension in time.

A song caught your eye and you grinned, selecting it immediately. Chris didn't want quiet – and you were going to be the loudest bitch here.

You could hear the whir of the machine as it came to life and you made your way to the vintage microphone. It crackled and whined when you pulled it closer to yourself.

You had caught the eye of the sobering-but-still-quite-drunk party animals, and they had come over to investigate.

"Sorry," you winced, voice booming on the mic. "This song goes out to my good friend Chris."

And then the music started to play, and he groaned. He knew the song decently enough, it having been one of your most replayed disco bops of the week.

"This is Sunny, by Boney M," you said over the intro. "Hope you enjoy."

And then you started to sing, intentionally bad at first to wheedle that cry strained laugh from Chris, and then finishing off in that voice he knew you had.

Every time the song mentioned "Sunny," you'd look directly at him, giving him an exaggerated wink. And at "I love you," you'd point at him, smile growing on your face as you danced ridiculously with the mic.

He was laughing, whole body shaking at how over-the-top you were being.

And when the song wrapped, you whooped into the mic, feedback squealing. "Thank you, everybody!" you panted.

The club goers applauded, screaming their drunken praises.

"YES, QUEEN!"

"YOU GO, BABY!"

"FUCK YES!"

"BEYONCÉ WHO?!"

That last one earned some shocked gasps and scolding. "Woah, dude. Too far."

"Thank you, thank you," you grinned, feeling alive. You could see the laughter starting to fade from Chris again, and so you moved to put on another song.

"This one," you whispered into the mic, "is a duet. So, please. Good friend Chris, wouldst thou riseth to the occasion?"

He shook his head, cheeks flushing at being called out.

"Oh, come on," you whined, the music already beginning to play out the intro. "For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, already smilingly weighing the pros and cons of his embarrassment. You batted your lashes. "I know you can sing, Evans. Don't start this shy shit now."

"COME ON, CHRIS!"

"YEAH, COME ON CHRIS!"

"Give the people what they want," you wiggled your brows.

He shrugged, muttering "fuck it," and reluctantly rising from his seat, he hopped on stage with one jump.

"You were working as a waitress at a cocktail bar, when I met you," he started singing flatly, eyes on yours, letting you know how much he didn't want to be up there. You arched a brow, pushing him let loose.

Slowly, with the encouragement of your smile, and the cheers from the drunk, he lost himself in the performance of "Don't You Want Me" by The Human League, even taking to dancing at your part of the duet.

And that's how you spent the rest of your waiting period – singing bad karaoke, shovelling food into your mouths between songs, and returning the favour of cheering on the clubbers when they had resolved to stay and sing because they decided the best time they were probably going to have that night was in that stuffy little diner on a street they probably would've walked right past on a regular day.

And when your phone rang for Dodger, you paid your bill, leaving a hefty tip in apology to the staff for having to endure your wailing. You said your goodbyes to your newfound friends of the night.

And Dodger was fine when you took him home.

And Chris was smiling again.

———————

You couldn't bare to dwell on the second time you took it upon yourself to cheer up Chris Evans, because the fact of the matter was, that just reminiscing about those other four had you muffling sobs all over again.

You thought about that day – the road back from Vegas, pulling off to Route 66, taking him to the food truck park – and the alcohol you urgently gulped down did nothing to numb you.

You had often looked back on those memories fondly. But now it was a gaping hole in your chest.

You were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the beach. In the distance, under moonlight, you saw a couple walking hand-in-hand, and you knew it was them.

"Thought I'd find you out here," a familiar voice said. It wasn't Chris', and that had you swigging another shot from the near empty bottle in your lap. "You holding up okay?"

"Ask me again in a month," you stated blankly. You hadn't even moved to address the newcomer, nor had you shifted over to make room for him. He sat all the same. "If you want to put a number to how long it takes to move on, ask Chris. The answer is a month."

It had taken a month for him to move from you to Lily. But it wasn't exactly like any of you had made your feelings and intentions known, aside from a kiss that you had claimed you'd been drunk for, and a confirmation of friendship.

If you let yourself think about it too long – which you had, on more than one occasion, this one specifically – it was your fault.

Sebastian reached over and gently pried the bottle from your iron grip. He looked at how much was left, surprised. And still, you gazed numbly ahead.

"This is how day one looks, huh?" He attempted a joke. Even he knew it fell flat, and instead took a sip to ease himself.

"The alcohol content in that bottle is directly proportionate to how many fucks I have left to give," you shrugged, voice monotonous.

"How much more are you going to put yourself through before you've had enough?"

"I've had enough," you sighed. "But I'll probably suffer a little more."

"You have more strength than I do, then."

His sympathetic arm wrapped around you, and you melted into his side, the comfort another person brought acting as a placebo salve to the pain. Like an ice pack on a shattered femur.

And you realised why you were so sad. Those memories meant nothing to you now.

They had lost their meaning because he wasn't there with you, on this roof, asking you that question when you needed it asked the most. Quiet or loud.

He wasn't there, and the taste of whiskey was chased away by ash.

#dina writes #dina cries #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #chris evans fluff #chris evans/reader #chris evans angst

[annaraebananawriter]

Blinded By Love

Yellow there! I’m back with another oneshot. I worked on this one for the past week, ever since I got the first piece of inspiration for it. I will be honest and say that it didn’t come out exactly the way I imagined, but it got all of the key parts and that’s the most important part.

As for this inspiration, it comes from @zu-is-here and specifically these three posts here! Also, as promised, @qweezy0w0, here is the oneshot! I...uh...I’m not sure if I made it worse exactly, but I didn’t make it happier, I know that. Just...be prepared, I guess?

Hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dark Cream AU

Characters: Dream, Nightmare (Who belong to Joku), Cross (Who belongs to Jakei), and Killer (Who belongs to Rahafwabas)

Pairings: Implied Cream/Dark Cream

Warnings: Language and I think that’s it? Let me know!

Word Count: 4407

~oOo~

Love is, perhaps, one of, if not the strongest force in the entire multiverse. It is what drives humans and monsters to fight, to protect and care for, to cherish and take revenge. It is what people listen to most, when times are tough and they need to take drastic measures. Listen to their heart, to love, or listen to logic, common sense? Reason or fantasy? Imagination or fact? Both of these options can be right, be it at the same time or at different times, and other times they can both make an even bigger mess.

Sometimes, though, people can even love too much. That is when love becomes dangerous. It can become harmful and restless, untamed and wild. It can make people do things they deemed unethical or immoral before they fell into this love, became blinded by that love. Their mind becomes unhinged, wondering if this or if that will make the one they hold so dear return their love and love them the same way. Drastic measures can be taken in this state, either inwards on the person themselves, or outwards on others they care for and strangers they’ve never met before.

Despite all the possibilities of this force, nothing can change how powerful it is. This is a mystery no one has managed to solve, or ever will. It is not meant to be solved—that would just take the pleasure out of it. Everyone likes believing in love, even when they think it will never be for them. It’s just how they are. Love can help them forget all the flaws about themselves and the world around them.

This force is something that intrigues Nightmare. He knows he has felt it before, and is still capable of feeling it, even after everything he’s done, but he still does not understand it. What causes these feelings? Is it by chance or some predetermined thing? Does he have a say in who he falls in love with? The questions nag at him every now and then, through day and night like a virus he can’t get rid of. He sometimes finds himself unable to sleep because he has to force himself to let go of these thoughts, allow himself to fall asleep without an answer to them, no matter how much it makes his stomach turn.

There is one constant thing about this force of love that he knows without a doubt, however: he loves Dream, has never and will never stop.

The apple incident, as it has come to be known, is something that will always haunt his thoughts. Nightmare can’t remember his exact line of thinking now, but he knows that he ate the apples as a desperate act to protect Dream, mostly, and to protect himself. His brother was the most important thing in his life. The villagers tried to take that away from him, but he wouldn’t let them. He ate the apples, but something about his big plan to protect went wrong. The protect aspect got lost, which just left him and a ton of power he couldn’t control and people who were glaring at him and one person who was crying.

He couldn’t recognize his own brother. All he saw was someone defying him and stopping him from fulfilling his plan, even if he couldn’t remember it. And that someone stopped him from becoming unstoppable, so he got angry. How dare this little runt stand in his way? Doesn’t he know that he should be begging, grovelling on his knees, pleading for mercy? Doesn’t he know that he’s outmatched and out of hope? And then he did what any villain faced with a hero who wouldn’t give up did: he tried to kill him.

Luckily, he failed, but Dream ended up encased in stone for years, while Nightmare was left with a multiverse and a sick thought to conquer it. So, he set out to do just that. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop for a minute to wonder if the person who stood against him still lived, if he was conscious in that prison. Instead, he turned with a smile, believing the stone to hold forever and leave no one to oppose him.

The years left alone were good for only one reason, and that was that it let him learn how to control his powers and regain the initial thought process he had. He grew calmer and more comfortable, barely able to remember a time when he felt so good. He remembered the villagers and their abuse and Dream, which put a whole spin on his way of thinking. Nightmare had realized, randomly while working away at a stack of paperwork, that Dream was the one who he had turned to stone and that thought, that little thought right there made his heart twist, something that he hated to feel. Whenever Dream came into his head, he would force himself to not love him, not worry about him, not give a fuck about him.

It never truly worked.

That’s the thing about love. It doesn’t go away, not if the person was nice and good for you, if they were your everything, your world. Losing that person would make all your negative emotions and worst thought rear their ugly heads, trying to tear into and cut you open, pour salt into wounds that may have just been freshly healed. It would make you regret everything that you think could’ve made them leave like that and why you deserved it, why you should feel so bad. Losing the one you loved tears out your heart and lets it rot while you stare blankly at it, unable to comprehend why this is happening.

No matter how much he forced himself to disregard his brother, he still cared and that hurt. The hurt only intensified when Dream came back, a mix of hardened and fragile look in his eyes and aura that made Nightmare’s worry expand deep down in the pit he buried it in. It made him think, all through their numerous battles, Did I do this? Did I create this hurt that surrounds him? How am I any different from those bullies when I can make my brother look so broken, so wrong, like how they made my bones look?

He did so many terrible things, said so many insults and what he thought were truths. Every fight they had, he saw Dream lose more and more hope, lose the will to fight but keep pushing anyways. He hated it. He hated himself. He felt disgust at every word he said. But he was too committed to stop now. Everything was woven too tightly to be undone now. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t give that thought a possibility of happening. Nightmare himself willed Dream to keep fighting, even when he looked the most tired, because he didn’t want to win anymore. He was tired. They both were. And he knew that him losing would be the best option for everything.

Then…one final act of cruelty pushed Dream too far and he ate an apple of his own.

Nothing hurt more than seeing the one person you care for above anyone else do the exact same mistake you did. Nothing. He could only watch, horror filling him, as Dream shouted in pain right in front of him, the corruption spilling over him like a wave. All his thoughts were jumbled and there was an ache in his chest that made it hard for him to breathe. Nightmare realized, at this moment, that he had played the villain for so long, he had no clue what words to say to play the hero, or even if he could. This process was impossible to stop once it started.

None of his actions would do anything worthwhile, and that scared him. Everything about this outcome of his actions scared him. There was a guilt building on his back that he was sure he would drown in in the aftermath, but for now, the guilt and the fear all culminated into the need to run. Just…get out. Get somewhere to sit down and think. He found himself following that need without realizing it, taking a slow step back, followed by another, and another, until something snapped and he turned and ran. He ran without looking back, taking no notice until later of Cross standing there, watching Dream also with tears streaming down his face.

He ran and ran until he was out of the AU and in his home, the castle he’d built for himself to keep the rest of the world out and him safe and sound inside. His team he had gathered, stupid followers of a mad king, noticed him and, upon realizing that their king had fallen so low into a weak monster, grew angry. They yelled and barked, growled in hate and left, saying that if Nightmare was willing to give everything up just because of one small consequence, then he was unfit to lead.

Nightmare never replied, only absorbing the words and letting them wash over his mind. He was unable to think of anything else besides Dream and corruption and how much of a monster he had become. It killed him inside and he fell to his knees, staring blankly at the floor, not seeing anything besides Dream eating the apple, corruption overspilling over him, everything he said that led to this moment.

Briefly, all of that went away and he caught a glimpse of his hand, the white bones burning into his vision. He held it up and stared, turning it over slowly.

Oh, he thought faintly, so the corruption was pushed back by my own fear and panic.

It’s rather ironic, in some ways.

He heard a step echo through the room and he let his hand fall, his eyes drawn to the only one of his subordinates that stayed. Killer. The other stared down at him with concern, and crouched in front of him, opening his mouth and—

“Nightmare?”

Something pressed down on his shoulders and Nightmare blinked, the images of the past fading away, stored back in his memory as they should be. He looked up to Killer, who had put his hand on his shoulder and looked at him with the same concern as before. For a minute, he was lost. What was happening again? Then he looked around and made eye contact with Cross, who gazed back with anger and desperation, tears tumbling slowly down his face, and his eyes were drawn down to the guard’s arms, to Dream—and he remembered.

Oh.

Killer had left, claiming that he was going to think for a while, but Nightmare knows that wasn’t the truth—they both knew Cross and Dream…Shattered would come eventually, for good or for worse—and had come back looking conflicted, if a bit panicked. Nightmare had been concerned, but before he could ask what was wrong, Cross entered behind him, his brother in his arms, unconscious and covered in apple blossoms, the white colouring looking so out of place it was all he could see for a minute.

His feet seemed rooted to the ground. The world seemed to disappear, leaving only him and his brother, the version of him formed out of Nightmare’s mistakes, and all he could see was what led to this version, led to all of this happening. He saw nothing but the past until Killer broke him out of it, reminding him about the current and important situation.

All at once, now he remembered, the emotions came flooding back: worry, fear, panic, confusion. They were all tangled together, so woven into a ball that held itself in his chest and made it difficult to breathe. He forced himself to work past it all. His feelings didn’t matter at this moment; all that did was Sh—Dream and what was wrong with him.

The apple blossoms were new, that was the only piece of thought he could hold onto amidst everything. That was where the confusion stemmed from. During his corruption, no apple blossoms had ever grown on him before. He couldn’t understand it. He had to try and understand it. From the looks of things, that was what caused him to go unconscious in the first place, and most likely the source of other problems that they could deal with later.

It was decided then; the first action would be to know about these flowers—where they came from, when they started appearing, what were they and, finally, why they were there.

Nightmare swallowed and stepped forward, calling upon his experience as a king to help him keep his emotions in check as he found out how to help. “Lay him down.” He cringed slightly at the way his voice shook, but pushed that aside as Cross obeyed silently, staying kneeled beside Dream, keeping his eyes on the one he followed.

Nightmare watched for a minute, knowing time most likely of the essence, but finding himself unable to bring himself to take away such a caring and loving gaze. It was obvious that Cross loved Dream, no matter his actions or how much he tried to push him away. That was how strong his love was. And Nightmare already knew, without having to see it himself, that Dream loved him back just as strongly, no matter how much he denied it. Their love was a love built on the understanding of each other's vulnerabilities and deepest, most ugly anger and hate and loving the other through it all. It was beautiful to see.

But that love, while nice as it may be, wasn’t the focus right now and Nightmare hesitantly kneeled down opposite of Cross, on the other side of Dream.

It pained him to see Dream in pain this close up. He could see it in the way his fingers twitched so slightly and there was a grimace in his sleep, seemingly permanent. The corruption was still strong, which caused another wave of guilt over Nightmare, which he stubbornly ignored for this moment, and contrasted greatly with the apple blossoms. There were more flowers than he thought. They covered his brother’s eye that hadn’t been covered by the corruption, rendering him blind. They peeked through the top of his shirt, continuing down until they poked out of the ends of the sleeves, meeting the ones coming out of his gloves, a thin gap where there wasn’t any between them. They were practically everywhere. Nightmare could even see a couple of stray ones on his feet, which were surprisingly bare.

It was much worse than he thought. That only increased the importance of fixing things.

“How…how did—when, when did this start?” Nightmare asked, eyes flicking over to Cross, who shifted, but only shook his head.

“I’m not sure.” Cross’s voice was quivering, on the verge of full-on sobs and it hurt Nightmare to hear. “He didn’t…he tried to keep them hidden, the idiot, so I wouldn’t know, until they started on his eye and he couldn’t hide them anymore.” He swallowed. “I know they hurt him. They itch and he has a habit of picking and scratching at them, which only makes them worse, and I try to tell him that but he does it anyway and—” He cut himself off, and Nightmare looked away as he wiped a hand across his eyes.

So…when did this start? Not sure of the exact date or time, but Nightmare’s going to go out on a limb and guess it would’ve started shortly after he corrupted, all that time back. It was a painful thing to think about, but it made sense, even if he hurt just thinking about all those days Dream was in pain and didn’t tell anyone, just like…just like he always did.

Shifting, Nightmare slowly reached out, giving enough time for Cross to object, but he stayed silent, and so Nightmare gently set his fingertips on one of the flowers by Dream’s eye. He flinched when he saw Dream flinch, but only lightened his touch as much as he could instead of pulling away, like he wanted to. He didn’t want to hurt his brother any further than he already was.

The flowers were, surprisingly, soft to the touch, as if they were innocent of their cause, meant to be there. As if they weren’t harmful and hurting his brother and causing so much pain. It didn’t help that, on any other thing, any tree like they were supposed to be on, they would look beautiful and people would smile and appreciate them.

Nightmare took a breath and focused. The little, lone flower he was touching shifted as if moving in a wind that no one else could feel and glowed a pale golden colour. They left Nightmare feel, in a small and slow stream, what they held and represented. They couldn’t say why they were there, but they could share whose magic they held and that information made Nightmare pull his hand back like it had been burnt.

He stared at Dream, switching his gaze between him and the flowers and his hand, his eyes wide. His vision turned the slightest bit blurry and he blinked before any tears could fully form. It shouldn’t be possible. No. He…did he make his brother sadder than he thought? Did he do something else? Or…or was this just…how Dream was? No. No. He refused to believe that. That would be even more hurtful than watching his brother make his mistakes.

But if there was even the smallest chance of that being the cause, then he had to check it. He had to. Not just for himself, but for Dream and Cross and, heck, even Killer. He had to make sure it was a possibility, a 100% possibility, before saying anything and doing anything.

“What?” Cross was saying when Nightmare caught up and realized he was talking. “What? What’s wrong?” He had risen to his feet and was towering above Nightmare, seconds away from taking out his sword and threatening him if he didn’t get an answer.

“I…I have to check something.” Nightmare muttered, ignoring Cross. He moved his hand to Dream’s chest, above where the soul would be if it were summoned. He laid his hand gently down and closed his eyes, focusing again.

At first, there was nothing. Just the sound of Cross’s question growing in volume and Killer trying to calm him down, but those sounds grew gradually muffled, like Nightmare had put his head underwater. He would’ve thought that he had passed out or something, but he could feel his breathing and knew he was still awake.

Just…somewhere else.

Not here.

Not there.

Somewhere else.

Nightmare let himself float back, let himself be open to anything. If he could connect with the flowers, let them guide him to the truth of why they existed, then that would help. As he lay there, just breathing, just floating, he felt it.

Wisps of positivity. Of light, hope, happiness, love. Of everything good in the world. He felt it like it was his own, but he knew it wasn’t. He knew it was Dream’s magic, everything his brother represented and just was. He felt what the emotions were connected to, as well. Happiness, with Nightmare, before the first apple incident, with Ink and Blue, the first real friends he ever had. Hope, for the Multiverse, with all it’s flaws and stories, for Nightmare, who he longed to be friends, be brothers, with again, and for Cross, who lost so much. Love, too, for Cross, only Cross. The one who loved him above everything. The one who stayed despite everything. The one who saw Dream and no one else, no immortal thing that should be happy all the time.

Nightmare felt the urge to smile. He loved this part of his brother. He loved the feeling of it, the way it made his soul soar and shine with happiness, the way it could make others smile, even on their roughest days.

This positivity was Dream, whole, no doubt about it.

But…something was wrong.

It felt…drained. Hurt. It felt like there was barely any left, that even as he felt it, it was going away. It felt twisted, like it was turning back on its host, its owner, making them hurt and pick away at the negativity that surrounded them so much, as if as a sort of punishment for not being good enough.

Because that was the purpose of the flowers, the apple blossoms—to punish Dream for giving in, punishing himself for allowing his feelings to get the best of him and punishment for treating the one he loved so badly.

The flowers were created by Dream to hurt Shattered, a cycle of self-destruction that can’t be stopped.

Nightmare opened his eyes. More tears gathered in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as a sob escaped his throat. His hand reached up to stifle the sound, before it caught the attention of Cross and Killer, but it was too late. He shut his eyes tight in order to compose himself somewhat, as the argument behind him stopped and there were hurried footsteps towards him and he was spun around, face to face with Cross once he opened his eyes again.

“What?” Cross asked, desperation coating his voice. His eyes held a hope that killed Nightmare to see, for he knew he would be the one to smother it. “What?! What’s wrong with Dream?!” He shook Nightmare when he didn’t answer. “Answer me! What’s wrong with Dream, Nightmare?”

Nightmare inhaled shakily. “The flowers…” He started, unable to raise his voice more than a whisper. “The flowers are made of—of positive magic.” He inhaled again, smoother this time. “Dream’s positivity, to be exact.”

Cross blinked, unable to process this. “…I don’t understand.”

“When Dream corrupted,” Nightmare attempted to explain. “he did so out of sadness, and hurt, and…tiredness. He viewed himself as not good enough to continue, growing more desperate to listen to that foolish hope that if he ate the apple—” Nightmare’s voice cracked on this part. “—then I would accept him again, view him as an equal again. He was wrong.” He shook his head. “I never, ever wanted him to do that, I just…” He trailed off, because this wasn’t about him.

Cross had let go of his shoulder and drawn in on himself. He hugged himself tight, looking small. Even his voice was small, betraying no emotion he was feeling. “What does this have to do with the flowers.”

Nightmare swallowed and started again. “The flowers are made of positivity, as I said. Dream’s positivity. They embody all of his happiness, his love, his hope—everything. They’re meant to represent everything he gave up when he ate the apple.” He glanced behind him, looking over his brother, who still looked to be in so much pain. “The reason why the flowers are there…is because they’re to act as a punishment, made by Dream and given to Shattered. It’s a punishment for every time Shattered thinks or feels something positive, a flower grows on him, made up of that positive feeling or thought.” He fell silent.

Cross shifted. “But…they hurt him.” He raised his head a little, looking behind Nightmare to Dream. “Why do they hurt him?”

Nightmare blinked. “My guess is that it's part of the punishment. Shattered is meant to be Dream giving up on positivity, so whenever he does something to tie him back to that or something like that, and a flower is formed, it hurts because he was supposed to have given up on positivity.” Nightmare’s voice went sad. “He wasn’t supposed to want to feel it anymore.”

They were silent for a while, taking everything in.

Then, Cross’s head snapped up, a sort of manic hope in his eyes that was worse than the hope of before. “That punishment…you can stop it, right?” He rose to his feet, stumbling a bit. “You can still help Dream, right? Right?!”

Nightmare blinked. He stood up slowly as well. It twisted his heart to see Cross so desperate, so willing to believe anything. But he couldn’t say no, even if he didn’t want to feed into a lie of yes. “I…” He swallowed. “Our corruptions are different. Mine was formed through my hate and anger. My fear, as well. Dream’s was formed by his sadness and desperation. He was tired.” He wrung his hands. “I might have been able to take control of my corruption, but I have no clue how or if I could help Dream do the same.”

Cross shook his head, either ignoring his words or vaguely registering them. “That doesn’t answer my question.” His voice was unnervingly calm and he stepped forward, his sword forming in his hand. Killer stood nearby on the ready. “Can you help Dream, or can’t you? Yes or no.”

Nightmare swallowed, retreating a slight step, overly conscious of Dream lying behind him. “I…” He couldn’t answer. He wanted to. He really did. But because their corruptions were so different, it would take different circumstances for Dream to take control of his. And Nightmare didn’t know where to start with it. He didn’t know if the answer was yes or no, or even if there was a right answer.

Either way, his silence was answer enough for Cross. The guard stepped forward again, his sword twitching higher, but before he could do anything, he was manhandled away by Killer. They went a few feet away, where they started fighting, Killer never attacking back. He was letting Cross get all of his anger and heartbreak out. Nightmare was glad that he understood.

A small noise from Dream caught his attention. Nightmare turned and knelt beside him again, watching with another round of tears in his eyes as two more flowers appeared, the only two on his neck for now. They were small. He raised his hand and hovered over them, but never touched them, a feeling that they might be sensitive stopping him. Instead, he gently held one of Dream’s hands in his, taking care not to press or squeeze too hard.

A tear slipped out and onto the intertwined hands.

Love might be one of the strongest forces in the multiverse, but Nightmare would be damned if it wasn’t one of the cruellest ones too.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #dreamtale #shattered dream #shattered dream sans #nightmare sans #dream sans #killer sans #cross sans #implied cream #dark cream #i haven't posted a oneshot in so long i forgot how to tag

[devourer--of--books]

if you’re not the bride (deluxe version)

So you may be wondering why is it you're seeing this. Hello, it is I again. If you're here, maybe you're familiar with the original "if you're not the bride', which I posted about three years ago. In case you're not, then, hello, welcome, when I was 15 I wrote a story under this same title. Then forgot all about it. But every so often someone would come across this story and I was reminded of its existence. Then, back in september 2019, I decided to read it again, correct some grammar and call it a day, you know, just so I could rest assured I hadn't written something horrible. Turns out, it got a bit out of hand and I decided to rewrite the whole thing. However, due to the fact that college is the worst, I never finished it and, well, forgot about it, again. Now, as quarantine came around, I found my rewrite from 6 months ago and since I got the time why not, right? This is now more than double the size of the original and has a lot more of backstory than intended. You can still find the original with some corrections here on AO3 and , and the cursed unedited version somewhere on tumblr for the sake of nostalgia. Warnings: There's cursing, some drinking and good old make outs. July 2020 edit: here I am, re-edting this thing again. This all said, welcome folks, to the deluxe version:

"You're going to what?!" Agatha raised her voice, tightly holding her phone to her ear. Surely, she must have heard Sophie wrong. Her friend did have a reputation for being over the top, but this was beyond absurd.

When people said that being friends with Sophie was…an exotic experience, they weren't completely wrong, per say. Being friends with Sophie could be a lot like being friends with a hungry animal. She was ruthless, dangerous and not trustworthy about 60% of the time. Sophie would do most anything to get whatever she wanted and absolutely would step over you in the process (sometimes for no reason other than because it amused her to do so). It wasn't personal, mostly. It was simply her nature.

For her, there were two kinds of people: her friends and her enemies. It was very easy to go from one category to another and anything in between simply couldn't be processed by her brain.

Sophie was a difficult person.

Agatha could tell you in more detail, she would know. Being Sophie's best friend wasn't exactly a dream come true. It had its perks of course, and when all was said and done, Sophie was an okay-ish person and a mostly good friend, but you gotta give it up to Agatha; it was no task for the weak-hearted.

They had been friends since kindergarten and were as different from one another as it gets. Had they met later in life, Agatha is certain they would've never become friends at all. Sophie was a loud, gorgeous (and kinda mean) blonde bombshell and Agatha was a grumpy, average-looking mostly nice girl (she wouldn't call herself kind, really, her niceness was more of a subproduct of her aloofness than anything else). The two of them disagreed in most anything and had not that much in common. Yet, it somehow worked. They argued a lot, as in, a lot, but it was always fixed within a weeks' time, in a coffee shop, over a good old vanilla latte and some black tea.

An odd pair, to say the least.

Which was fine by them. Sophie… was a work in progress. She was trying.

Nevertheless, every once in a while, something like this would happen. Because Sophie was still Sophie and her head worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm getting married, Aggie," Agatha could practically hear the blonde rolling her eyes on the other side of the device, "people do that all the time. It's, like, a thing."

"Sophie, you're not even done with college yet! Getting married with what money? As far as I know, your modeling barely pays your rent and don't even get me started on your student loan and credit card debt! And getting married to whom? Last time I checked, you weren't even going out with anyone!" She tried to cool her head, catching her breath while trying to recall any possible groom Sophie could have taken. "Unless… Are you marring Hort?"

A disgusted groan was heard.

"Ew, no. Not Hort, for God's sake. What do you think I am? Desperate?"

A bit, but Agatha didn't dare say it out loud.

Hort was a guy who lived at the apartment just below Sophie's, in a tiny complex downtown. They've known each other for quite a long time now. It was practically common knowledge that Hort acquired the biggest crush on her the moment he first laid eyes on her. It was all the old ladies from 1A and 2C ever talked about.

Over the years, he became quite easy on the eyes, even Sophie had to admit it. No longer the scrawny awkward kid that helped Agatha drag Sophie's couch upstairs (while Sophie flirted with the trucker, trying to get free shipping for her mattress, which, by the way, she got), but a fully formed man, completely jacked, and with a growing bank account to match, due to his fitness-program-thingy taking off. Agatha didn't really know the details of that, but she knew it was going well, mostly because Sophie told her so.

Anyway, he claimed to not want anything to do with her friend nowdays.

Yeah, right.

Agatha felt bad for him, she really did.

Loving Sophie was like loving a hurricane. Violent, brutal and downright painful.

She had initially assumed it would go away with time, that he would eventually see that they weren't compatible and let it go.

However, it was a bit more complicated than that, as most things in life tend to be.

She knew he and Sophie had hooked up, in fact, she knew that they did so often. Sophie hadn't told her, but she didn't need to. Agatha knew. The aftermath was never good, and for the sake of keeping things short and lighthearted, Agatha shall spare you the angst and just say that, as mentioned above, Sophie was fantastic at getting whatever she wanted and disregarding other people's feelings.

Honestly, Hort could say he wasn't into Sophie all he liked. At the end of the day, he was still living at that shitty apartment (even though he could probably have moved somewhere better a long time ago), hadn't seriously dated anyone since meeting her and was responsible for at least half of Sophie's modeling gigs, which were her friend's main source of income. Agatha had warned him, several times, mind you, but all you can do is all you can do. The heart wants what it wants, she presumes.

"If not Hort, who then?"

"Oh, you don't know him yet," She could practically see Sophie twirling a golden lock on her fingers, a mischievous smirk on her face.

"Clearly," Agatha rolled her eyes and put her phone on speaker to be able to look around for her keys more comfortably. Reaper, her cat, had a bad habit of hiding them in the weirdest places. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone last time we went out for coffee?"

"Because I wasn't seeing anyone at the time," the blonde-haired woman sounded a bit annoyed, seemingly not understanding why Agatha was having such a hard time believing her ludicrous story.

"Sophie."

"Yes, Aggie?"

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"It's true love, Agatha. I can feel it. This is my real-life fairytale. I found the perfect guy for me. He's so different from anyone I've ever met…" Agatha tuned her out, finally realizing what was going on.

For Sophie, everyone she dates is her one true love. She was intense like that. There were lots of "perfect guys" on the list, too many, and eventually Agatha grew tired of counting them. Neither did she remember their names. Why bother, when Sophie would grow tired of them soon enough?

Her friend's drug of choice just so happened to be was serial dating with lots of love-bombing on the side.

Parents got divorced? Look at this cute basketball player that will probably cheat on me.

Bad day at a shoot? Oh, that barista is so sexy, bet he'll hook up with me anyway.

I have no idea where my career is going and hate my major? Why not call Hort up, right?

But getting actually married? That's new.

Agatha sighed, picking up her keys from the pot of her balcony plant. Time to be the be the grown-up. Again.

"Sophie, are you 100% sure you want to get married to this guy? Can't you wait a few months at least? How about you guys move in with each other first?" If Sophie doesn't tire of him, that would terrify the poor thing into ending this madness. Again, Agatha would know. She had to stay at Sophie's for a few weeks once, back when she had split with a partner whom she had been living with; it was hell on earth.

"Weren't you hearing, Aggie? We. Are. Soulmates. He is very serious about me. He's so in love with me, he would never hurt me, and I need to tie him down before he runs away. Isn't this what people always say?" Her friend's voice was getting snappy. Oh, no, not good.

"Sophie, I just think you should be more careful and reasonable…" Agatha tried to pacify, tiredly.

Did she not own any clean jeans? Damn. Why does she keep forgetting to do her laundry? The blue skirt she wore to work would have to do.

"It's always reason, with you, Agatha! You never listen to your heart! I thought you would be happy for me! You're always telling me just how much potential I have! He brings out the best in me! What do you even know about relationships anyway, you always end up ru-"

"SOPHIE!" She interrupted, before her friend could say something she'd regret and crush whatever good mood was left in Agatha's body. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Tell me about this guy…?"

Fuck it, she decided. Agatha was in currently in a hurry and this could be solved later. She wasn't going to be able to win Sophie over the phone. Maybe she could sit her down on sunday, have one long talk about red flags in relationships, again. Convince her to stay engaged for a bit longer, just enough for her to get bored and then call it all off as soon as the new whats-his-face walks through the door.

Now was not the moment to be arguing, especially if she wanted to be on time.

"…And he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, it's like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking... but it's natural, he swears. And his skin is so soft, you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

Agatha tried to listen. She really did. However, all she could hear was "bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome". Lord, not this again. Did it get worse every time...?

The brunette stuffed her wallet in a handbag, grappling to close it (it had been a present from Sophie, and as such, probably hardwired to annoy her and look good at the same time), and gave herself a look over in the mirror, before frowning. Oh, time for her limited make-up skills to be of use.

Damn, she looked rough. She left in hurry that morning, so her bare face stared back at her in its full sleepless-racoon glory.

It has been a long week of nothing but late nights trying to get her workload done. She couldn't believe she was saying this, but she missed college. At least back then she didn't have to worry about rent. Oh, to be young, broke, dead-inside and living on a dorm. The wonders, truly.

Concealer, blush, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. Done.

Kinda?

"… So, are you up to it?"

What.

"… Hm, sure?" She responded, still trying to evaluate if her liner was acceptably symmetrical. It wasn't. It never was, but it wasn't always this bad. Really, not her best work. Maybe she could fix it, somehow?

"That's amazing, you'll look so pretty, the dress I picked is perfect for your undertone, you'll be the best maid-of-honor ever!"

Oh, god, no. No way. What has she done?

Should she do that red-flag-talk now?

"How… nice of you to say that," Agatha replied, barely contained horror coming across in her tone. Not that Sophie paid her any attention.

"I set the date for the engagement brunch-party for tomorrow around 10am. At the terrace. And speaking of dates, I must introduce you to someone, he's great, Aggie, and I think you guys could…"

No. No. No. Agatha is drawing the line here.

"Oh really, cool, hey I have to go, callyoulaterbye-"

Agatha throws her phone on the bed, groaning loudly. Reaper stirs in her pillow, but is otherwise unbothered by the conversation, unlike his owner.

Of all things… getting married. Agatha was now her bridesmaid. Engagement brunch…?

Sophie, why. Why?

Agatha was now an accomplice of this crime against good judgement, wasn't she? Should she call Sophie again…?

Ugh, you know what? She'll sort this out this later. Sophie could wait a few hours, Agatha earned this night out.

…This totally is going to come back to bite her, isn't it?

Well, too late, Agatha's leaving. Because, unlike Sophie, who clearly had too much free time in her hands, Agatha had things to do and couldn't just waste her precious friday nights on this kind of bullshit.

.

.

.

"You're late," is the first thing Hester says to Agatha, not even lifting her gaze from her phone as she approaches their table.

It was the usual one, right by the wall, perfectly placed so it was far enough from the dance floor but close enough to the bar, so it was still socially acceptable to be seated but not too "loser-zoned", in Hester's own words.

Hester herself looked the same as always. Dressed head-to-toe in black and showing off an impressive number of tattoos per square inch of skin, she made quite the intimidating sight. The only tip to her actual day job was the discarded white blazer and sleek suitcase lying on a chair beside her. Back in school, Agatha used to find it hard to picture Hester being anything but a witchy-biker or a badass-tattoo-artist, but she supposed scary-lawyer suited her friend just fine.

"Nice to see you too, Hester. I've been well, thanks for asking," Agatha sits down, annoyed. She knows she's late. She missed the "early-comers, free entrance" time, and damn if the isn't pissed that she's now 15 bucks broker then she already was. "Anadil, Dot, it's great to see you guys too"

Both women acknowledge her presence quietly: Anadil nods,before getting up from her spot and leaving to god-wishes-he-knew-where and Dot hugs her briefly, headed to the bar.

Hester rolls her eyes and repeats herself.

"You're late."

"Shut up, I'm here, aren't I?!" Agatha snaps, before she bit her lip and propped her elbows onto the table, head in her hands.

The gesture makes Hester lift her eyes from the phone, finally.

"Well, someone's had a bad day."

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been one looong horrid day. Have you ordered any drinks? Or are we going for beer tonight?" Agatha asks, going over the familiar menu, even though she has every beverage price there already memorized.

"Okay, slow down," Hester yanks the menu out of her hands. "Have you eaten? I'm not going to take care of you if you didn't."

Yes, she would, but that's not relevant.

"Yes, mom," Agatha rolled her eyes. "I'm tired, tomorrow is gonna suck, let's drink."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow's saturday, loser, sleep to your hearts content," Hester reminds her, but at seeing Agatha stare back at her in misery it occurred to her what, or rather, who, this was about.

"Blondie has been texting me non-stop about brunch. At 10. What's up with that?" She lifts a brow, her judging eyes scanning Agatha's expression. Agatha in turn, lets her elbows drop and bangs her head onto the table, harder than originally planned, a whimper leaving her lips.

Hester sighs. She loves Agatha to the death, but when it comes to Sophie, she has always been way too forgiving. Agatha was not Sophie's mother, she shouldn't have to look out for her and bend over backyards to help her. Personally, Hester and Sophie didn't get along very well.

Which lead to: Sophie never invited Hester anywhere, unless she wanted to rub something in Hester's face.

"...Apparently, she's getting married in, like, two weeks?" Hester's brows lift in surprise. "...To some guy I don't know?" Higher. "...And I'm a bridesmaid?" Almost disappearing into her hairline by now.

Awkward pause.

"Okay," Hester breathes in and out, "what the actual hell?"

"My words exactly."

"She'll be over it in a week," the tattooed woman deadpans.

"No doubt," the other replies.

Three more seconds go by, and it's far too long for Agatha, whose leg starts to twitch under the table.

"You're doing it again," she states.

"Doing what?" Hester asks, crossing her arms, lying back at her chair.

"That thing."

"What thing?"

"You know," Agatha vaguely gestures at Hester's face, "that thing your eyebrows do when you're being judgy."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"I so need a drink right now," she tells her before leaving the table.

.

.

.

At the bar counter, Agatha sits down on a stool and waits for the bartender, Chaddick, to show up, ignoring Hester's glare on her back.

Now for some unnecessary backstory, in case you're interested: Agatha and Chaddick had a bit of history (read, beef) long before this club, The Woods, opened and even before Agatha and Hester started to have their monthly night-out there.

Chaddick was a jock whom Agatha went to school with, all the way from sixth grade to senior year of high school. To be brief, he was the worst ™. He made fun of her, tormented her days, spread rumors about her (including one that she was witch, which lasted for years) and even stole her stuff once. In senior year, he had even developed this habit of showing up with his friends at the tea place her mother owned, where she had worked a few shifts from time to time, ordering not a single drop of fucking tea, being loud and annoying for hours and only leaving when closing hour neared.

Agatha was sure that if you googled 'jackass', his picture would turn up. He'd been so full of himself, all because he had some cash, was athletic and was "cute", you know, in that white-upper-middle-class-way that most school-aged popular boys tended to be. But then, flash-forward: Chaddick now worked wednesday to saturday as a bartender at Agatha's favorite club. Apparently, his parents went bankrupt or something during college. Agatha felt kinda bad for him, but not really? She supposed he wasn't as terrible of a human being nowadays, but she was not about to go ahead and call him her friend, no matter how many times she had to make small talk with him for the sake of bar etiquette.

"So what's it gonna be today?" The bartender asked, not quite politely, but she lets it slide, for she could tell he was as thrilled about this conversation as her.

Chaddick, too, looks the same, to no one's surprise. He looked more tired, but still douchey enough that Agatha didn't feel too horrible of a person for not feeling as sorry for him as she probably should.

"Surprise me. I've had a very bad day."

"Is Sophie actually up to something then?" He asks while grabbing some bottles, "I hear there's going to be a brunch-party tomorrow…?"

"Who told you? Reena?" Chaddick dismisses the name casually with his hand. "Gisele?" 'no', he denies with his head. "Beatrix then?" he nods, uncharacteristically shy, and Agatha nearly felt pleased, before she remembered what they were talking about before. "Bingo. But yes, there's a brunch-party tomorrow. An engagement brunch-party."

He hands her a cup, wide-eyed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Engagement? Do I even wanna know w-"

"You don't. Trust me on this," Agatha cuts him off, taking a sip of the beverage. She doesn't recognize its taste, which makes her wary. She knows her alchool. "What did you even put here?"

"It's a secret, tonight's special," he winked mockingly, before hurrying on to the next client.

Agatha briefly wonders if she should drink the rest of it, eyeing the cup curiously. It didn't smell bad and she kind of liked the taste. Should she trust Chaddick? Probably not. Then again, Agatha needed a drink tonight.

It would be fine. She is no lightweight, Hester is here, tomorrow's saturday. Right?

Another thing that would probably bite her later. So, she braces herself and downs the cup in a few large sips, heading back to her table.

Bring it on.

.

.

.

Two other cups of who-knows-what and an hour later, Agatha was back at the bar, now sitting in different stool, as far from Chaddick as she possibly could be, when a body drops on the sit next to her.

It's Dot, giggling loudly like a high school girl on heavy drugs.

The giggling persists for quite some time.

... It's kinda creeping Agatha out.

"Penny for your thoughts…?" She tries, taking a sip of her drink.

No response.

Giggle.

More silence.

"Hm, Dot?"

She continues to stare at her joyfully, still smiling like a madwoman.

Agatha found Dot adorable and friendly, which was a surprise since she was one of Hester's best friends. The two of them weren't really that close themselves, but she did enjoy her company. Being friends with Dot was as easy as it was harmless.

"Don't look, but there's a really hot guy right by the pool table who hasn't been able to take his eyes off you for the last fifteen minutes."

Agatha's eyebrows shot up in Hester-like fashion and she fights the instinct to turn around and check if Dot isn't messing with her.

She knows she is not the most attractive female in the room. Agatha tends to think of herself as more of an acquired taste, truly. Yet, every blue moon someone would come over to try their luck with her. Sometimes they're cute, sometimes they're funny and sometimes they're just desperate. So far, "hot guys" haven't really been her target demographic.

"So what? What's the big deal?" She tries to keep her nerves out of her voice, mostly succeeding, but Dot's smile only grew more and more mischievous, as if seeing right through her.

"Turn around. I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago, at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

…Okay, so Agatha might be a bit of a bad friend. She didn't listen to 90% of Sophie's rants about guys or modeling events, so most likely she had told her about him as Agatha did something else. Something important, really.

…Like playing games on her tablet.

She worked a lot, okay? Can't have people hogging all her free time. Even if it was Sophie. Her best friend.

Shit.

Agatha's face must have betrayed her because Dot laughed even louder than before.

"You seriously don't?" she managed to ask between giggles, as Agatha blushed, frowning.

"I should?"

"Most likely yes. Sometimes you're way too funny, you know?" Her smile was dangerous. Stop smiling at Agatha like that, woman.

It was at times like this she could see why Hester and Dot were such good friends.

"Thanks, I think?" Agatha eyes her companion carefully "How hot is this guy any…"

"Hot enough for you to talk to me, I hope," a male voice announced behind her, seemingly amused.

Not her day. Definitely not her day.

"He's right behind me?!"

Dot giggled loudly a final time before walking away to Hester's table. Very helpful. Forget what Agatha said about liking Dot. She didn't. Dot was a horrible person.

Agatha turned on her heels, facing the stranger with a sheepish smile. She was not ready for what was about to bite her.

Oh damn, please do.

…Figuratively, fuck. She meant in a figurative way.

Before we go on, Agatha would like to clarify that she blames any less than pure thoughts on Chaddick, because who knows what he put into her drink.

(Yeah, it's totally Chaddick's fault)

Amen, praise Jesus, okay?

Embarrassingly, her first instinct is to say that yes, he was totally hot enough to talk to her. Or come home with her. Or marry her (too soon for this joke, scratch that). That's not what she did, however. Oh, no, she stood there, in silence, and stared for quite a while before her brain rebooted and she finally gained control of her own body again.

Agatha is the first in line to advocate on why you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but she had eyes.

He was tall. As tall, if not taller than her, and Agatha was a tall woman. His jeans looked expensive and his light blue social shirt was tight on his chest, almost as if it were a size too small, the top buttons open, defined muscles visible to even the most casual observer. The shirt was paired with a grey-ish tie that hanged loosely around his neck, a bit too effortless-looking to be unintentional. His features were sharp, sculpted even, a certain California-sunny-surfer meets Adonis-next-door quality to them. Soft blond locks had an unnatural shine under the club's lights, as if they were made of gold.

And his eyes, my god, they were so blue Agatha felt like sinking and drowning in his arms right then and there. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Because you see, she is a grown woman and had a little thing called dignity.

Not that she didn't want to though.

Focus.

He did look kind of familiar. Had they met before? Agatha doesn't think so. This man looked like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad, and she sure as hell didn't know many people who look like that. One of Sophie's model friends? If so, she certainly hadn't introduced the two.

Yet, the way he was looking at her right now indicated the reality that she should probably know who he is. Maybe he was from her old gym, back when she let Sophie talk her into going for a few months? No, there were no hot guys there, just old ladies and teenagers.

Okay, so, plan B, say something smart.

"Hm…"

Say something.

"…So…"

Anything!

He doesn't look very impressed by her articulate conversation skills, but Agatha can't place where she had seen him before. Maybe they had been neighbors at some point? She moved quite a few times in these last years and keeping track of all of them was impossible. But that didn't seem quite right. A friend of one of her exes then? Did they meet at pride or something?

Seriously, who was this guy! Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is! He's good looking enough to be memorable sure, but clearly not memorable enough.

Hell, did she sleep with him? He must have been the worst one night stand ever for Agatha to somehow forget him. Maybe he was so bad that she forgot about him completely...?

"I give up, I can't remember you."

He looked a bit offended. Maybe he was indeed a Calvin Klein model.

"The name's Tedros…?"

Tedros, Tedros… Tedros?

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell," she concludes, "but, I'm, hm, Agatha?"

"I know," he responds, curt and firm, nearly glaring at her.

"Neat."

"Nice."

"Good."

"Great."

"Awesome."

"Amazing."

"Extraordinary."

"Now, that's a big word," he mocks. Agatha suspects he just didn't know any bigger ones to keep up. Part of her wishes to strangle him with his own tie and part of her wants to call him out on his shit. He approached her, okay? She is under no obligation to recognize him.

Her eyes narrow and she sips on her fourth cup again.

"Do you need for me to tell you what it means?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

The passive-aggressive-ness of this conversation is starting to exhaust her and kill any buzz she had, but she can't just let Mr. everyone-knows-who-I-am-and-I-look-like-walking-sex win. He needed to go down (on her). What.

"Hm, Tedros, you're going to order something or what?"

Chaddick cuts the stare contest between brown and blue and Agatha makes a note to leave him a nicer tip tonight.

"What's the special of the day?" Tedros' tone is amused, as if he and Chaddick are old friends. Ugh, of course he would. He sounded douchey enough. Maybe he went to school with her? That sounded about right, she could picture it. Pretty-boy-Tedros, walking down the hall wearing a football jacket with a cheerleader or two on his arm.

"Nice little things I've put together," Chaddick wiggled his eyebrows. "Want some?"

"Is it safe?" Tedros asks him, cautiously.

"Well, Agatha here is still fine at four, I would say so."

Soon enough Tedros is downing his second cup, sitting on the stool next to hers.

.

.

.

Agatha wasn't sure how or why, but things went from point A to point B very, very quickly.

Point A being sitting beside Tedros at the bar and point B being heavily making out with him in a corner.

Agatha wishes she was joking. She wasn't. It just…somehow…happened?

Fuck.

It all started when Tedros eventually caught up to her and from there on they held a little amicable drinking competition.

("I bet you can't do more shots than me." "Oh, you're so on!" "You drink like a fourteen-year old, dude." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah.")

Then, they paid for their drinks. Well, Tedros did.

("Did you just... pay for me?" "It's called having manners." "Excuse you?")

After that, Chaddick kicked them out to the dance floor, something about the two of them 'grossing him out'. Agatha is not much of a dancer, so she tried to go back her table but Tedros said something (she can't quite remember what it was) that made her realize that she kind of didn't want to. Leave, she means.

They danced for a bit before she stepped on Tedros's foot, or maybe he stepped on hers first?

("Ouch." "Get out of my way!" "Make me.")

From there on it was incomprehensible screaming over loud music for a while and they somehow ended up being way too up in each other's personal space. Agatha eventually just lost it, and grabbed him by his collar, bringing him down to place a forceful peck on his lips, before backing away, partly horrified, partly proud.

It took two mortifyingly long seconds of silence and pure embarrassment for Tedros to grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly.

They stumbled to a more secluded corner, until Agatha's back hit a wall, but she was distracted from the pain of the impact by Tedros licking her bottom lip, seeking her tongue, a small sound escaping her once he found it. What the hell is she even doing, this should not be happening. And yet, she cannot bring herself to care.

This is a wild, passionate kiss and not at all Agatha's expertise. She always considered herself more of a slow-vanilla-soft kind of girl. But out the window with that, Tedros was nowhere near close enough, no matter that they were already flush against each other. Maybe this is why Sophie thinks every guy she meets is her soulmate. As cheesy as it sounds, she feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something.

Ha, as if.

Any thoughts, of soulmates or otherwise, are forgotten when Tedros' hands start to wander, one goes from her waist to her hip and the other moves to explore her tight, squeezing it deliciously. Agatha retaliates by pulling on his hair, not as lightly as she probably should've, but is rewarded with a husky groan and a bite on her bottom lip.

(She does it again because that might be her new favorite sound.)

What. Is. Going. On.

Her last braincells are on fire. She was on fire.

Okay, young lady, de-attach yourself from the handsome male slo…

Oh God.

She's pretty much breathless when he decides to break the kiss, her lips chasing after his for the slightest second as he pulls away. Her heartbeat has never been this loud and she has no time to overthink, as, suddenly, his lips are on her neck. Agatha lets out a quiet, but embarrassingly needy, whine (as quietly as she could, but it didn't really matter, he heard her anyway) when he nips on her ear and then trails down to suck at her pulse point. Her hands snake their way from his hair to under his shirt's collar and Tedros shivers once she drags her short nails lightly on his upper back and shoulders, but she can still feel his very attractive smug smirk against her skin.

She felt drunk. She doesn't feel like that often.

Not the completely-trashed-I-just-had-countless-drinks kind of drunk and certainly not this don't-care-keep-going-my-blood-is-on-fire kind of drunk either. Like she wanted to keep touching Tedros for the rest of her life (the idea doesn't sound half bad), as fireworks danced around them and… God, if Sophie knows this guy how she could not marry him on the spot, because fuck…

He's leaving quite a few love bites along her collarbone, teasing, attempting (and succeeding) at drawing tiny sounds from her and Agatha can't take it anymore. She drags him back up to her mouth and somehow pulls him even closer. She did not like feeling weak, but to her surprise, Tedros seemed to possess the superpower of turning her completely boneless in the best kind of way.

Wait.

Agatha is making out with Tedros.

Tedros is making out with her.

Agatha's eyes open in late realization and the two of them stare at each other for a few seconds.

So, this happened, huh?

"I… hm… have to go. Out of here. Home. Alone. Yeah, that," Agatha makes way around paralyzed Tedros, whom looks very confused and disoriented. His lips are tainted with coral lipstick, he's panting for air, his bright eyes dark with desire, clothes looking disrelished, pants looking a bit too tight, and he just looks throughfully kissed.

No, Agatha does not feel even a little tiny bit of pride by seeing him look like that because of her, what are you talking about, not sexy, not sexy at all.

… Maybe he could come along?

No. No, no, no.

She doesn't run away from him exactly, but she sure as hell wasn't walking. As she passes Hester and Anadil, the two of them raise eyebrows judgingly, but Agatha does her best to school her expression into neutrality.

If she waited a bit longer, she might have heard Tedros saying:

"Until tomorrow then."

.

.

.

Agatha regrets every single life choice that led her to this point.

She's sitting on a ridiculously shaped chair at Sophie's apartment building's terrace, brooding silently in the corner, with a big headache, while eating some diet cake that tasted like foam, listening to violin versions of bad pop songs, probably dying of heatstroke, and if that doesn't kill her soon enough, can someone please end her misery…

Hester and Anadil are not here after all. Agatha doesn't blame them. It might be for the best, because Agatha doesn't need to deal with Hester's judgy eyebrows right now. Dot is down in Sophie's apartment, at the kitchen, most likely trying to steal some wine and she is pretty much the only person here Agatha can stand.

She partly wonders if Hort will show up but decides she does not care. She's running on aspirin, her head feels like it was smashed against a wall multiple times, and it's too hot here, okay?

It's a hot sunny day and the limited shade would not be enough to cool Agatha down even if she wasn't wearing a scarf. Agatha hates this scarf. It was another one of Sophie's gifts, and Agatha hates it because it's an evil scarf that pinches her every five seconds. However it's the lightest scarf she owns, and she can't it take off.

Otherwise, someone might notice the dark mark on her neck, which her shirt could not hide, as was the case for the other ones, lower, in her collarbones.

Tedros freaking marked her. The nerve.

She's not nearly as pissed as she should be, because honestly she's kinda into it.

Taking off the scarf would lead to too much teasing and questions, she had no turtlenecks available (damn you, past-Agatha, for not doing your laundry) and if only she had the skills to cover it up with makeup. Not only was the scarf evil by itself, it made it impossible for her to not think of yesterday, therefore, making her even more irritable.

She is not the kind of person who kisses people at the club. She sure as hell wouldn't bring a guy she's just met, at the club of all places, home. What if he'd been a psycho? She doesn't know him. He'd know where she lived. She wouldn't go to his place either, that sounded even more irresponsible. But she wishes she had at least gotten his number, you know, instead of freaking out and running away. Well, he knew Chaddick, so maybe she could ask him?

No, that would be humiliating, and Agatha is trying to hang on to whatever dignity she had left.

Also, it had been almost an hour at this damned terrace party and she hasn't seen a single trace of Sophie's fiancé, but the blonde assured her he would be there soon. He's the late-type, hm.

Okay, so Agatha hates him already.

She has been to this terrace quite a few times, it was the one pro of Sophie's building, aside from cheap rent. But she was running out of both will and things to point out in small talk with all these models and small influencers. If she hears "Sophie has such a lovely terrace" one more time…

Suddenly, there was clank, signaling that someone pushed the terrace door open. As Sophie lit up and moved to greet the newcomer, Agatha felt the cake climb up her throat.

Holy hell, is that Tedros?

What is her life, really.

Agatha gets up from her chair quietly, observing the scene from behind a plant, trying not to be too obvious, just, ya know, casually chilling in the middle of the scorching sun. Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking in Agatha's general direction, pulling the handsome man behind her.

Hm, no.

Agatha resists the urge to pace in circles as she tries to gather her thoughts. It might be the hangover or the diet cake but seeing the two of them together made her wanna barf. Not because they didn't look good together. They did. In fact, maybe too good. Sophie's long soft hair was a shade or two lighter than Tedros', but other than that, they might as well have been made in the same Instagram-model-facility. Like a set, Barbie and Ken.

What is this feeling?

Oh no, she can see them approaching. Abort mission, leave, get out, hit the road…

"Aggie, darling!"

Agatha forces herself to fake a confident smile, as if she could always be found casually hanging out behind plants on saturday mornings. It turned out to be more of sheepish grin, especially when compared to her friend, whose pretty smile is almost too big for her too pretty face.

Sophie looked particularly gorgeous in her pastel green summer dress and peep-toe heels. Her tanned skin glows under the sun, the light catching in her green eyes on that special way that made photographers all around the industry want to work with her despite her inexperience, the grace within her movements creating an allure Agatha doesn't think she'd be able to recreate even if she were to be born again.

This is not good. Leave, abort mission, repeat, abort miss…

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday," she winked. "Teddy, this is my bestie, Agatha, you remember her, right?" Sophie nudges him lightly using her elbow.

Tedros looks even better now that she can see him in natural daylight. Which should be illegal, truly. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair made of pure gold looked just messy enough to not look too try-hard, yet something about him looked weirdly… staged? Agatha couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"I surely do," Tedros lets go of Sophie's hand, shoulders tensing, and Agatha thinks he might be blushing. Is he nervous? "We-"

"Nice to meet you," Agatha interrupts him, grasping his hand on a firm handshake and letting go just as fast, as if touching his skin would burn her. "Sophie told me a lot about you."

Play along, please. I beg you.

"Oh, hm, it's very nice to meet you too?" Tedros responds, confused, but not calling her out. "Nice scarf," he adds, his lips curling upwards, so very slightly she might have missed if she wasn't micro-analyzing his every movement. Smug bastard. She is all too aware of his gaze lingering on her neck, a hint of pride showing in his bright eyes, the teasing in his voice making her want to pull him down by the collar, whether to choke him or to kiss him she couldn't tell.

"Oh, isn't it cute? See, Aggie, I told you that color looked great on you!" Sophie cuts in, reaching to touch said scarf. Agatha steps back self-consciously, making an effort to not scratch the back of her neck as not to call more attention to it.

"Quite the bold fashion statement for the summer, may I add," Tedros continues as he casually leaned one elbow on Sophie's shoulder. Subtle enough that Sophie wouldn't read too much into it, but Agatha could see right through his shit. "But I like it. You look very pretty, Agatha"

How dare he, truly. No sham-

Wait.

"So, I need to get going, work emergency you see, but I'll make it up to you, Sophie," Agatha excuses herself, quickly. She tells herself it's just the heat that it's bothering her, but her brain is going 300 miles per hours and she needs to leave. Now.

"Aggie, tomorrow we'll be having lunch at the country club, don't be late!"

"Yeah, be there, alright."

Agatha sprints down the complex's stairs as discreetly as she can, which is not much. By the time she's at her car, the weight of her realization hits her full force.

.

.

.

"I'm getting married, Aggie"

"Not Hort"

"You don't know him yet"

.

.

.

"Aggie, this is Tedros, you know, the one I was telling you about yesterday."

.

.

.

"That was literally three weeks ago."

"I dare you not to remember him. Pretty sure Sophie told you about how she met him again a few weeks ago at that event she went to? The one sponsored by Camelot International?"

.

.

.

"…Oh he's so great and wonderful, he's tall, has these hypnotizing eyes, they're so intense, its like they suck you in, Aggie! His hair is just wow, it's a very uncommon shade of blonde, the undertone is beautiful, so expensive-looking, but it's natural, he swears, and his skin is so soft you wouldn't believe, his name is…"

"bla, bla, bla, perfect, bla, bla, bla, handsome"

.

.

.

"He's so different from anyone I've ever met…"

"She feels somehow connected to this stranger, almost as if they were meant to be or something."

.

.

.

"Acting all smooth, as if she should know who he is!"

"He looked a bit offended."

"The name's Tedros?"

.

.

.

"God, if Sophie knows this guy how could she not marry him on the spot…"

"Sophie hugs him tightly, placing a kiss on his cheek, grinning as she laces their fingers together and starts walking, pulling the handsome man behind her."

.

.

.

Agatha is a very bad friend, isn't she?

She bangs her head on the wheel.

Then, she regrets doing so, opening the car's door, so she could vomit some diet cake and last night's alcohol on the parking lot's floor before driving away.

.

.

.

By a miracle, Agatha survives the drive home and makes it back home in one piece.

As she walks into her own apartment, she does not feel half as guilty as she thought she would be. But she was very, very angry. Furious, actually.

At herself for being both a dumbass and a bad friend, at Tedros for being a player, at Chaddick for being a dick in general, at Sophie for being Sophie, at Dot for not warning her and even at Hester for not being at the party today so Agatha could at least not freak out by herself.

She can't do anything for the rest of the day, because trying to work, read or sleep is useless, since she can't focus with all the internal screeching her mind is doing. Her existence now doesn't make any sense and Agatha is about to tear her hair out, lying down in her bed, staring at the celling.

(There's a long crack on there and for whatever reason, it reminded her of a river. Probably because it didn't look like anything else.)

She contemplates calling Hester and telling her everything but ultimately decides against it. She can't bring herself to explain this out loud, least of all hear any possible lecture Hester might give her. Is this how Sophie feels when she decides hide things from her-

Oh my God, Sophie.

Tedros was engaged. To Sophie. He was Sophie's fiancé.

Agatha is not freaking out at all.

.

.

.

At last, ten long hours of sulking later, Agatha is feeling a lot guiltier, still very much pissed and just confused as a whole.

She made out with Sophie's fiancé. Should she tell her? Yes. Would she? To be decided.

Maybe they wouldn't even get married. Come on, a few weeks? There's no way Sophie will keep up this insanity. Telling her about the club incident would only hurt their life-long friendship over a guy who wasn't even gonna last two months. Years of companionship out the window. She had no intention of doing it again so, did it really matter? What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right?

She hadn't even known he was Sophie's fiancé!

But then again, Sophie had told her all about him. She didn't listen because she was a bad friend! Was she really gonna play the "I didn't know" card...?

It was the truth!

But no one would believe her. Fuck, if Agatha were Sophie, she wouldn't believe herself. Agatha was a smart grown woman, godamn it. What kind of dumb bitch even-

This wedding wasn't happening. No need to worry, right?

For now, Agatha has two long weeks of supposedly weeding-related bonding moments with Sophie to survive, without accidentally letting slip that, oh, talked, drank, danced and made out with Tedros.

Well, shit.

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.

.

Even if one ignored the fact that the guilt was starting to eat Agatha alive from inside out, the next day would still have been a long, tortured journey of nothing but cringe and regrets. Yet she bore it, because she, even if accidentally, brought this on herself.

Agatha got up early on a sunday (name a bigger crime) to try and get something done, since she would probably have little time to work in the following weeks. Then, she went to have lunch with Sophie at a fancy country club (that Sophie couldn't afford by the way, which earned her a lecture on credit cards and personal finances) hoping to have that "red-flag" talk.

It did not go well.

Sophie had invited him along. Of course, she would. Apparently, since she was getting married soon, Agatha should be used to have him around. And, of course, Sophie would have decided to tell her he was coming the moment he walked in, headed to their table.

This is Sophie's fiancé. Do. Not. Stare.

What kind of cosmic karma is this? He isn't even her type.

WHY-

"Afternoon, ladies."

Sophie greeted the blonde with a smile and a hug, as Agatha merely nodded his way, scanning the room for the closest exit.

"Hi Teddy!"

"Tedros."

Lunch is awkward as hell and at this point Agatha is just waiting for a waiter to come and stab her. It ends up being both not so terrible and the worst lunch ever because she does talk quite a lot with Tedros, against her better judgment.

She learns that Tedros did go to her school, for three years. Sophie asks him if he remembers Agatha, and from Tedros' silence, Agatha assumes he doesn't want to admit to having been part of Chaddick's... shenanigans.

Her friend then talks astrology, and Agatha learns that he is a leo (because of course he would), is kinda proud of it but says he doesn't believe in astrology, prompting Sophie to start a discussion on why he wouldn't believe in astrology if he believed in tarot. The way he blushes and stammers is cute and makes Agatha feel horrible for thinking so, but she asks him about tarot anyway. She's just being polite, okay?

He mentions he'd turned 26 a while ago and recently moved back to the city, as he moved away to go to college in Avalon. She tells him she almost went there, but her scholarship did not include a dormroom and she knew no one there to share an apartment with. His answer is a blunt "I know", which both confuses and pisses her off.

Tedros offers her no further info on it, but they engage in conversation again after he mentions he is working at Camelot International.

("As one of the main executives on the board," Sophie adds, "it's one of the most powerful companies in the country.")

They quickly bond over their massive workloads (Agatha may not be a main executive of a huge corporate empire, but damn if being head finance director for SGE Enterprises didn't keep her busy enough), until Sophie slips that he must be very lucky to be the sole heir to the Pendragon Group.

Oh.

Tedros Pendragon. Are you kidding? Agatha remembers seeing his family's name being all over the news back in school and she feels dumb for not remembering that Tedros and 'that Pendragon boy' were the same person. Hadn't his parents had a huge cheating-divorce-scandal that caused the stock for the company to plummet a few years ago?

Tedros frowns at Sophie before saying that, "Yes, indeed, he's very lucky."

The blonde doesn't seem to notice the way his hands grip the fork tightly as he pronounces the last word, but Agatha does.

It adds on to the list of things that keep her awake later, after she does her damn laundry and stress-cleans her entire apartment. She curses as she turns and tosses on her bed, because it's 2 AM, work starts in a few hours and she needs to sleep.

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.

.

The next four days are not much different, the routine is pretty much the same, except they have dinner plans instead of lunch. Work, eat, work, do bridesmaid shit with Sophie and Tedros somewhere, avoid his gaze, talk for a bit over something like choosing the best flower arrangements, and then hightail out of there, only to come home and be restless.

She was still very confused, because honestly, Tedros didn't seem bad at all. The more she talked to him, the least she wanted to stop talking to him. He definitely had some family issues and was doing some overcompensating, but nothing that made him, like, a total trash human.

And yet, he was still the guy who hit on her (fucking made out with her), knowing exactly who she was, while being engaged to her best friend.

She always thought herself a good judge of character.

Anyway, she did her best to act aloofly polite and if he ever seemed to hint at the night at The Woods, Agatha cut him off before he could. It was a good plan. Wait it out. And it really was working just fine.

Until the dress store.

For some reason she cannot wrap her head around, Tedros is there too.

(Isn't there a tradition against seeing the dress of your bride before the wedding or something?)

At some point, Sophie struggles to get into a particularly complicated dress at the dressing room, yelling at the poor employees like a harpy on a rampage and Agatha is about to intervene when he manages to pull her aside, his grip firm but with a certain gentleness that made her skin burn.

He semi-drags her across the store through a sea of sparkly white dresses and into this small nook between sections. Agatha does not want to admit that the main reason why he is able to do that is because she allows him to.

Things only go downhill from there.

He has her cornered, her back nearly merging with the wall as he stands close to her, his posture tense, moving slowly, like one would in presence of a startled animal. He doesn't look like he is trying to purposely intimidate her, and she doesn't feel particularly unsafe. No words are spoken between them and the silence allows Agatha's senses to pick up on a deliciously rich smell. Is that Tedros' cologne-

Agatha forces down the rash that is creeping up her neck and tries to focus on doing what she does best, aka, running away from her problems. She looks anywhere but his face, but he is not making ignoring him an easy job.

"I don't get you."

What.

"Excuse me?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Agatha scoffs, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I truly don't."

Her response seems to annoy him, which she counts as a win, but Agatha might have declared victory just a bit too soon. Tedros, who was a couple of feet away has managed to get way too close (yet again). His hand raises her chin and forces her to look into his eyes. Her resolution to run away falters and she's scared he might hear her heartbeat speed up.

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Agatha. One second you don't like me, then you do like me, then you don't again… I don't understand the game you're playing here… So, I'll make this simple, you won, congratulations, now stop playing games, now you know I'm interested."

Agatha blinks. This is… not the conversation she thought she was going to have.

Of course, during her nightly overthinking sessions she thought about what she'd say if he confronted her about the previous friday, even if she didn't think he'd have the balls to actually do it. But she seems to have been reduced to this dumpster fire nonsense. Tedros never did what she thought he was going to do and it was short-circuiting her braincells.

She's way too aware of the hold he has on her, the compromising situation they're in. One of his hands cages Agatha in, placed on the wall behind her head, while the other keeps her from adverting her gaze from his. Tedros is too close, he smells too good and his mouth looks too inviting.

She hears him, but she doesn't really hear him, his presence fogging up her senses.

Agatha briefly entertains the idea of giving into temptation and kissing him. How nice it would be to grab his collar, invert their positions, slam him against the wall and kiss him senseless, so he could feel just how helpless she felt having him corner her like this. Kiss him and just leave him there, wanting, begging, and…

What. Wow, fuck. Stop.

A new thought hits her like a ton bricks.

This guy is an asshole.

Tedros looks irritated and Agatha wants to punch him.

So she does.

She's strong enough to give him a black eye, but she (unintentionally, Agatha swears) holds backs and aims for his chest. However, she can tell it hurt a lot by the way his eyes water and he backs away several steps. She hears Sophie yelling their names across the store and giving Tedros one last glare, she turns around and walks away.

The nerve.

Why would anyone marry him?

Sophie needed a wakeup call. And fast. Because while Sophie could be a nightmare, she did not deserve to be played like that.

.

.

.

Agatha was not a superstitious person.

If she forgot her umbrella at home and it started raining when she left the dress shop (Tedros and Sophie both offered her a ride but she would rather choke, honestly, and said no, forgetting that she rode here with Sophie in the first place), it's not fate, it's bad luck. If she gets sick and loses her voice (and therefore can't go do neither her work or her bridesmaid duty), it's not conspiracy, it's simply a coincidence.

Well, call it fate, call it bad luck, call it conspiracy, call it coincidence. The case is that Agatha has lost her voice and has both a running nose and a fever. She considers texting the whole story to Sophie but changes her mind when she imagines the blonde woman's reaction.

Agatha, you're such a slut.

She is going to tell Sophie about this… this… this individual. Yeah, she was going to come clean and expose Tedros. No wedding.

Why was Tedros marrying Sophie anyway? She could understand why Sophie would go for Tedros. He did seem like her type. Young, rich, successful and handsome.

(Not really what she herself looked for. Agatha tended to go for witty, responsible people and who did not mind her blunt nature. Never in the history of ever, had Sophie and Agatha been interested on the same person.)

Anyway, he would give her lots of exposure, would look great on her Instagram feed, would be able to save her from her terrible apartment, student loan and infinite credit card debt, and would open up the world of fancy designer shoes and pretty gowns Sophie always dreamed of.

But why would he do that?

Tedros was, again, young, rich, successful and handsome. He hardly expressed any special affection towards Sophie or had the usual lovesick look most of Sophie's victims sported when they found themselves bewitched by her. They didn't really agree on much, from what Agatha gathered on their conversations, had no shared interests, lived completely different lifestyles, had different moral values and overall didn't seem to have the grandiose connection Sophie spoke of at all. Maybe he was with her because she was pretty? But again, why. There werw thousands of pretty girls willing to date young rich men, why Sophie in particular?

Something about this seemed off. She needs to talk to Sophie.

…When she recovered.

.

.

.

Alright, maybe it was conspiracy. The wedding was in two days.

Two days.

She supposes time does go by quickly when you're procrastinating something you really, really don't want to do. Nearly two weeks gone by in a flash. And, as she should, Agatha finally gets herself together. She is going to tell Sophie.

Well, she was going to tell Sophie. The blonde and a few of her friends were at The Woods for a last girl's night out. Meaning:

Sophie was currently drunk.

But maybe she wasn't?

She probably was though. Sophie was the most lightweight person Agatha knew, likely because she was so skinny. Girl could not hold her alcohol and drunk-Sophie was messy-Sophie. Unwilling, untamable and unimaginably difficult to have a coherent conversation with.

But, maybe she wasn't drunk? Agatha was not going to risk it.

She forces herself to hurry. She doesn't change out of her work outfit (merely discarding the suit's jacket), stopping by her house to feed Reaper and leave some important documents. Agatha even nearly forgets to lock her front door, calling a car to the club, hoping it might not be too late to come clean. But she was late anyway, as proven not only by the 15 bucks that left her wallet (for the second time this month) but by-

"Aggieeeee! You're better! Have you taaaasted this? It's amaziiiing!"

Agatha glares at Chaddick, who has the decency to look away. He knew the amount of alcohol Sophie was capable of processing, namely: none.

"Yeah, I have…"

"You should have seen, Sophie; the other night Agatha was so wasted she ma…"

"Chaddick, don't you have somewhere to be? As in, not here?"

The ex-jock walks away with a smirk, knowing he had some nice blackmailing material on her. Could this get any more horrible?

Now what? Should she just take Sophie home? Sober her up, tell her everything then beg for forgiveness? She couldn't. Then what to do, what to do…

"Sophie, I have to tell you something, it's really important, you see…"

"Oh Aggie, I'm sure you can tell me laaaaaatteerrrr! I've been so stressed lately! Time to let it goooo! Come on, I'll even pay your first drinkkkk!"

Her friend lifted a glass of what looked and smelled like a vodka and gin disaster waiting to happen.

"Sophie, what is even that?"

"Not sure…but Chaddick told me it was good."

Agatha sighs. She should tell the truth, right here, right now, shouldn't she?

"… Alright."

And she would have if she were a better person. But to her shame, she downs five more after the first and suddenly she can't remember why she came here on the first place. Something about a guy?

(Lies, Agatha knows exactly what she is doing, but for a few more hours she gives herself the benefit of the doubt.)

Whatever, she'll just deal with it later. She hasn't said anything for the past few days, surely it can wait some more, right?

.

.

.

Said and done, five hours later Agatha concludes she is a horrible human being. She should just quit. Leave the job of human being for people who will not mess up. Like Hester. Hester never messes up shit. Yeah, great plan.

Sophie is knocked out cold, sleeping with her face in a table, drooling, besides said Hester, who has her usual judgy face on, glaring at the blonde woman, like she was some kind of disgusting creature.

Agatha doesn't think she could feel worse.

She should have just told Sophie the truth right away. The moment she found out Tedros was, well, Tedros. Instead she had gone along with a wedding that was sure to be a fiasco, because not only was the groom a liar and a player, but Agatha was therefore his accomplice, and her silence was probably the greatest betrayal of their entire friendship.

She picks up her phone to call a car, so she could at the very least wallow in misery at home, but before the app even loads someone snatches her phone.

Turns out she can indeed feel worse.

"We need to talk."

His voice sounds as it always does whenever she's around, half-annoyed and half-something else Agatha doesn't dare name. As usual, he looks nice. His tight shirt and tie are still in perfect place, unlike the last time she saw him here, signaling he too probably came straight from work.

"This is girl's night; you're not allowed here."

"Oh, I'm not?" Tedros mocks her, but she can tell his heart isn't truly in it. "Then please do tell me the circumstances in which I can talk to you, because you sure don't make it easy."

She is so tired. Trying to avoid him is hard enough, trying to avoid him knowing that she doesn't really want to is impossible. She has always read people so well, and he always seems so genuine. It makes her wanna believe he is not the bad person she knows he is.

"…I've been… avoiding you. It's not that I don't want to talk to you. Is just… that I shouldn't," she hesitates but ends up answering honestly.

Tedros' expression softens at her candor, peering at her with concern.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Maybe."

He sighs, then digs his car keys from his pocket, still holding her phone hostage on his other hand.

"Look, I'll give you a ride home. I really just wanna talk. We have…unfinished business."

Agatha considers. All this wedding-baloney made her poor, Tedros is so pretty, he looks so wholesome and honest, and she just wants to sulk at home for the next few hours. Maybe he could stay for a day or two. That shirt of his would look great on her floor…

No, bad idea.

"I don't wanna get into a stranger's car," she blurts out the first excuse her mind can manage. In retrospect, that was some obvious bullshit, seeing as they had talked for hours last week and he had already given her a ride before. Granted, it had been Sophie's car and Sophie had been there, but still, that didn't make much sense.

"Oh truly?" he holds up her phone, the ride app now open, "You're gonna pull that one on me?"

It's Agatha's turn to sigh.

"Okay don't go using logic on me, mister. For all I know, you could be planning on kidnapping me and selling my organs on the black market," or worse, actually talking to her.

"Can never be too careful, can we?" he looks partly amused and partly annoyed. "Look, I'm serious here, okay? I'm not going to do anything to you, we can talk to Hester on our way out, I'm sure she'll hunt me and string me up upside down at her soundproofed basement in case I even dream of harming you. Alright?" Tedros's eyes never leave her face in the twenty seconds she takes to decide, and it's really distracting, but she manages to answer:

"Okay, fine."

They talk to Hester, rather, Tedros talks to Hester while Agatha avoids her gaze shamefully. Why does Tedros know Hester? Did they ever talk during school?

Agatha doesn't know and she doesn't ask. Her gaze lingers on Sophie's drooling face and she feels her chest tighten.

The two of them walk into the parking lot awkwardly, in mortifying silence, and enter a silver Porsche. Agatha notes that it looks very out of place, since most cars belonged to employees and looked rather humble next to the silver beauty. Why was Tedros here? He came in his car, so he was not here to drink. Did Sophie tell him to pick her up? Or was he here to see Agatha?

Her heart skips at beat at the thought and she doesn't ask him any of this either.

"Nice ride," she offers instead.

"Thanks."

Tedros drives in silence, with Agatha occasionally telling him to turn on certain streets. She keeps her gaze on the empty roads, but she does catch quite a stunning sight of his profile when she forgets she's not supposed to look at him at all.

To avoid getting too in her head, she decides to turn on the radio. The song that starts playing is familiar and she guesses the radio must be on CD mode. The letters in bold red on the visor tell her she is correct, and this is indeed the song she thinks it is.

"You're into this kind of stuff?"

Tedros grips the wheel, almost defensively.

"They're really good, okay? I've been listening to them for a few years and so far, they're my favorite band. I know their sound isn't for everyone and-"

"I know."

"…It's not what most mainstream artists are doi- you what?"

Agatha blushes when she feels his incredulous gaze on her face, and it occurs her that this is the first time he looks directly at her since they got into his car. She hopes he'll attribute the redness on her cheeks to the red light they're currently stuck at and hesitates before answering, in a quiet voice, meeting his stare:

"They're my favorite band too."

"Oh."

The rest of the drive is less awkward, one would even say comfortable if not for the leftover tension. They sing along quietly to the vocalist and Agatha is sure Tedros stopped himself from doing the guitar once. Not cute, not cute, not cute.

Eventually, they get to her apartment building. She reaches over and turns off the radio, the deafening silence almost too much to bear.

Agatha tries reaching for the car door, but it's locked.

"I did tell you we needed to talk."

Usually, she'd be scared if a guy trapped her in his car in the middle of the night, but Agatha's frustration just comes back at full force and topples over anything else.

"What's to talk, you're clearly into someone else."

Tedros' eyes go big, and Agatha can't help but think he must be the world's greatest actor. Oscar nomination performance. The academy is shook-

"What? Did you, like, not hear anything I sa-"

"I'm not that kind of girl, Tedros," Agatha interrupts him firmly, "I don't hook up with anyone who's in a relationship, especially in a relationship with my best friend, no matter how stupidly short said relationship may be."

"I… Did Sophie tell you-"

"She didn't need to? You guys are engaged, and I am not going to get caught in between, okay? Please, please leave me alone. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Don't give me rides when I'm drunk."

Suddenly, Tedros' confused expression is gone and his eyes are gleaming with what looks like joy. He looks like he might kiss her and Agatha is not sure how well her defenses will hold in case he does.

"Agatha, I think you got this all wrong, I'm not-"

"What, you have amnesia? Or, let me guess, it's your twin brother who's engaged to her?"

Tedros burst out laughing and he sounds like an angel, throwing his head back, and Agatha forgets for a second that she's mad at him. But eventually reality brings her back and she pushes him, with just enough force to get his attention.

"Leave me the fuck alone, dude."

…Asshole.

This time when she reaches for the door, it's unlocked.

She glares at him from the sidewalk one more time, before entering the building.

.

.

.

Agatha doesn't hear a word from him after that.

It's for the best, she tells herself. Agatha spent so much time wishing he would just go away and take these weird feelings he gives her with him that she didn't even consider that once he did go away for real, new, stronger, and even more angsty feelings would appear. She only knew him for two weeks. He wasn't even hers. She has no grieving rights.

She goes out with Sophie one more time, and now it's just the two of them. It would be the perfect time to tell her. She has no excuses. No drinking, no sickness, no Tedros-

Agatha doesn't.

.

.

.

Today is the day.

It's a clear summer night, which is unfair with how angsty and conflicted Agatha feels. Hollywood lied to us all, hasn't it?

Agatha is dressed in a silky blue dress Sophie chose for her. It suits her and she thinks she looks quite pretty. Someone who actually knew what they were doing did her make-up, and for once she managed to tame her hair into submission, putting it into a fancy-looking up-do youtube taught her how to do. She's wearing her best shoes and her fanciest earrings. Agatha is looking and smelling like a daydream outside the main room of the church, but her hands are shaking and she's terrified.

She's not ready. Far from it really.

The rules were simple. If you're not the bride you don't wear white, you don't overdrink, and you never, ever, under any circumstances, fall in love with the groom.

No matter if they were hot, if they smelled good, if their eyes made you feel weak at the knees, if they shared common interests with you, if their taste was impossible to forget, if they went out of their way to get your attention or if they felt like they just might be the one.

You just didn't okay?

Shit, this was messed up. Still, Agatha brought herself to breathe deeply, trying to contain her anxiety.

The ceremonialist tells her it's her cue and she's soon walking down the aisle, clutching a small bouquet of pink carnations like a lifeline, looking around the church.

The place is crowded. Their entire social circle and their grandmother seem to be here. People from their childhood neighborhood, people from school, both of Sophie's parents, her stepmother and step siblings, quite a few models and influencers and a bunch of people she had never seen, probably Tedros' friends, family and co-workers.

The flowers and decorations look as amazing and beautiful as she would have expected from Sophie and she might have seen Hester, Anadil and Dot on a row somewhere, but that's not what made her almost freeze, nearly stumbling on the red carpet.

The groom.

He's wearing an expensive-looking white tuxedo, his hair is an unnatural platinum blonde and his eyes are disturbingly intense. He's tall, sharp and everything about him screams fancy. He's attractive in the way some snakes are attractive, beautiful and deadly, but the big deal is:

Agatha has never seen that man in her entire life.

She goes to her spot standing by the side, her brain running a marathon, tons of data just being tossed aimlessly on her mind as she tries to wrap her head around what the actual fuck is going on when her eyes meet someone else's.

Seating on the third row on the left, Tedros' blue eyes are shinning in complete and absolute amusement, his hand is over his mouth in a barely controlled laugh. The music seems to be on his side, because no one hears him. Agatha schools her expression into anything other than the overbearing wrath she feels, but she's not sure if she's doing a good job.

She's somewhat aware of the chaos that seems to be unfolding around her; the ceremonialist's screeching, the groom's rage, the crowd's confused mumbling and Sophie's absence. But it does not matter.

Agatha really wants to choke Tedros with his tie.

.

.

.

Turns out, Sophie's groom was named Rafal. Not that Agatha would remember his name a few days from now.

He is the current CEO of Two Brothers, a huge company, often associated with the mafia for fucks sake. Known playboy and womanizer, with a criminal record for drug dealing, as well as physical and sexual assault. Also, partially involved on the illegal leaks of information that caused the media scandal around Tedros' parents' divorce all those years ago, she later learns.

Great guy, Sophie. 10/10. Husband material right there.

At least she didn't follow through, Agatha argues to try and calm herself down. Oh yeah, Sophie ran away from her own wedding. No one was surprised honestly. Maybe Rafal. He looked very, very angry. Agatha didn't really blame him, after knowing that he was the one paying for the wedding, after party and honeymoon, no matter how horrible of a person he seems to be.

By now, Sophie should be in Paris, enjoying her honeymoon tickets and reservations. Through text, she tells Agatha how lonely and sad she is and how she'll tell her everything that happened in complete details on their next café meeting in a about month and a half. Agatha suspects she is not as lonely as she claims to be because Hort's Instagram stories tell her he is currently in Europe as well, if not in Paris. But then again, she will not concern herself over this matter. "No wedding" was good news enough to keep her in a great mood for any of Sophie's shenanigans for the next following weeks.

And since the reception was already paid for, everyone just decided to come enjoy it.

Yes, when she says everyone, she means everyone.

"Hey, you."

Oh, Lord, no.

Agatha doesn't lift her head to look at him, continuing to type a half-assed reply to Sophie's whiny texts. She won't give him the satisfaction. Instead she downs whatever is left of her whisky, because that's what one does when courage lacks.

She's sitting at the main table of the ballroom, by herself, mostly because it's where she's been assigned to sit, but also because she's not up for the questions the other guests will probably feel entitled to ask if she were to sit with them. Hester is nowhere in sight, but Agatha is sure she's making herself scarce on purpose. She saw Chaddick back at the church but they politely ignored each other and Dot had been missing for quite a while.

"Not speaking to me?"

"No."

"Come on, it was pretty funny."

"No, it wasn't," she finally looks up at him and he must have sensed true resentment in her perfectly lined brown eyes, because his smug, perfect façade crumbled, and he looked very awkward suddenly. Tedros pulls up the chair beside her and she notices it has his name on it. Sophie was not being subtle on her matchmaking at all, was she?

God, Agatha was so dumb.

"Well, it wasn't very funny to me either then, but I do laugh quite a bit now," he offers, sipping on champagne, trying to keep busy.

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," she's quiet for few seconds, considering what she's going to say. "Tedros?"

"Yeah?" he looks up from his flute of champagne, hopeful blue eyes shining in the half light of the candlelit ballroom and keeping her from saying what she was actually going to say, so instead she blurts:

"I'm not sorry for punching you."

"I didn't expect you to be," his smile is friendly and contagious. He downs the last of his champagne and extends a hand to her. "Okay, let's start again. I'm Tedros, I'm so single it hurts, and when we were in high school, I had a crush on you."

The way he says this so openly, his voice so even and clear nearly drowns out the vulnerable look on his face. Agatha herself can barely register his expression because she's pretty sure her brain has short-circuited. Again.

"No, you did not."

"But I did."

Tedros proceeds to tell her all sorts of things.

He tells her about how he first saw her as a rival because of her grades (she never really paid any attention to the scoreboard, she thought it was bullshit, but in retrospect she does remembers his name was always under hers), and about how sorry he was that he laughed and partook at Chaddick's antics during junior year, mostly because he the felt like 'the new guy with a big name and no friends' and felt she was a threat.

"That's some real introspection and self-awareness right there, hm"

"I'm just fortunate enough to have had a really good therapist," Tedros responds, "Merlin is like a psychology-wizard. He was the one who kinda sorted out that maybe part of my teen angst was repressed attraction to someone who fed the cats behind the library"

"Oh, then you've been my stalker for quite some time then."

Tedros blushes and Agatha is both flattered and embarrassed at the same time.

He then explains about how shit blew up on his face during his parents' divorce, how his grades dropped, how he got kicked out of the football team and how he started to spend a long ass time sulking at the library. Which just so happened to be Agatha's favorite hangout spot at the time. Tedros tells her how he thought she was cute, how she was one of the people who hadn't changed with him (even if unintentionally) and how he wanted to get to know her.

What.

"I just… wasn't sure how to approach you? I always dragged Chaddick to your tea shop when I didn't see you at the library but then chickened out and-"

"...I take neither of you were huge tea fans?"

"Yeah?"

"That does explain a lot," Agatha mumbles.

"I was going to talk to you about Avalon when I heard you were going there, but… Since you didn't tell me that, I kinda found out when Chaddick took your math notebook to be my 'wingman', I didn't think you would have…appreciated.

"Wait, that was Chaddick playing your wingman?" Agatha burst out laughing.

"The plan was that I was supposed to casually hand back to you something you forgot, but he kinda grew tired of waiting for you to actually forget something," Tedros chuckled. "If you thought Chaddick was bad then what big word is Miss-best-in-class going to use to describe Sophie's take on playing wingwoman?"

"Horrendous," Agatha deadpans and now it's Tedros turn to laugh.

Silence sits between the two. It's not uncomfortable and kinda welcome. Agatha digests the last forty minutes of enlighting conversation as they eat the main course of the night. A waiter comes to pick up both of their plates and she decides she still has some questions.

"Well, do you still do?"

"Do I still what?" Tedros questions, his head slightly inclined, like a confused puppy.

"Have a crush on me," Agatha mumbles, her cheeks burning.

Tedros' expression goes from 'confused' back to that mischievous look he had back at the church, leaning towards her ever so slightly.

"Maybe."

"Good," she offers her hand, as he had before, "I'm Agatha, I jump to conclusions, but I am very interested in getting to know you."

Tedros however, doesn't shake her hand as she had his. Instead, he takes it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, relishing in the shocked look on her face before she can school her expression back to unaffected aloofness.

"Are you free at six next friday?"

"Late meeting, but I'm good at seven. Pick me up?" she asks, an unspoken challenge laced in her words.

"As the lady wishes." Challenge accepted. "Any preferences?"

"Anywhere but 'The Woods'. But make sure to text me first if it's somewhere fancy," she smiles. "You know what? I still don't have your number."

Tedros confidently stands up, his hand yet to release hers.

"A number for a dance?"

Agatha told him that night at 'The Woods' that she isn't a very good dancer but again, he insists. It's fine, because they don't dance for long anyway. By the time Tedros gives up, fumbling with his phone to call a car, his hair is already a mess, Agatha's broke free from her up-do and there is lipstick everywhere.

I'm not sorry This was so much fun to revisit. I forgot how fun SGE was. I kinda fell out of touch with the series. I did read QFG, I just can't remember what happens in it? Idk. I felt the series should have concluded on TLEA. If possible before the whole Agatha and Sophie baloney stunt, because I never bought that. Please leave me comment and share your thoughts with me! Hope you are all safe during this quarantine, friends

#Tagatha #tagathashipweek2016 #rewrite #agatha sge #Agatha of Woods Beyond #tedros sge #tedros of camelot #sophie sge #sge #The School for Good and Evil

[scoobydoomistakes]

What with Tumblr‘s years of commotion, and the very kind concerned messages...

...I feel it’s important to say don’t worry — I’m not gonna abruptly delete/abandon SDM.

The whole point of the blog is to make people smile, and if it can still do that, the show must go on.

That said, please leave your favorite other platforms you’d like to see SDM on in the comments! More on that near the end of this post.

Of course, since I was informed recently...

...twice, for some reason...

...that the blog had, apparently, been secretly flagged explicit for who knows how long...

...and seeing as things like wholesome, family-friendly cartoon gorillas...

...are constantly flagged as adult content... well, the future feels a bit sketchy. 

So, let’s talk a little about the state of Tumblr – and to (hopefully) inject some levity into this mess, let’s use the one true medium of communication...

...Scooby-Doo reaction images.

They can make anything easier to discuss. It’s been scientifically proven.

To start things off, there are 3 vital keys to running a platform well:

1. Communicating with the community

Acknowledging issues, explaining upcoming fixes, answering common questions. This shows users you care, and are listening!

2. Fixing problems as they arise

Patching bugs, stopping platform abuses, adding vital absent features. This allows both creators’ content and the community to keep improving!

3. Moving in an understood direction

Working towards improvements & goals that most users agree are logical. This gives people confidence in the future!

Having all 3 is ideal, but isn’t always possible... 

...but fortunately, nailing 2/3 covers well for the 3rd! 

For instance, if you want to move in a direction that’s unpopular, but have a history of fixing issues well, and you communicate about changes in a consistent and timely manner, users will largely understand. 

Sadly, in the almost 5 years I’ve been here...

...Tumblr has made no visible attempt at a single one of these things. 

Communication is almost nonexistent, major issues persist indefinitely, and improvements never come.

I would go in-depth into each issue that the community has reported for years, but the file size of that much text would prolly crash the internet. 

And saddest of all, when a rare change does come, it causes more problems than it solves.

See also: the history of the mobile app, and tomorrow’s new rules.

What Tumblr needed was to finally own up to the users... 

...AKA, the people who watch the ads that make Tumblr earn money... 

...that yes, there are huge issues, and communicate on what they’re doing to fix – say – abusive content and the broken safe mode filter.

Instead, they’re banning even any legitimate, positive, properly-flagged content that’s considered explicit... despite the fact that they can’t even make the existing safe mode work... and it meant giving a literal two-week notice to artists who depended on the platform for the last 11 years?

Even for 110% family-friendly blogs like SDM... 

...well, it’s concerning to know things can be deleted or banned incorrectly at any time. 

Heck, my grandma’s Santa collection was apparently very explicit...

...so for all we know, this Santa-Scooby rug could get this post flagged too.

Be careful – there’s no tool to see which of your posts are currently flagged to request reviews for them. It’s all a mystery.

As far as we know, posts may be taken down at any time, and old flagged content may be lost forever. 

If SDM gets posts flagged wrongly all the time, what blog can’t? SDM has a flawless 4,200+ post record of safe content, and even its flags aren’t automatically reviewed. And this level of broken-ness extends to every facet of the platform... and seriously, don’t get me started on the mobile app.

I’m sure there’s loads of very nice people working there, but as a company... 

...the way Tumblr operates is inexcusable.

Despite refusing to communicate, admit issues, or improve things over the last 4-5 years, Tumblr was quite adept at accusing my mother of following Russian propaganda accounts, breaking gifs randomly for about half a year, making text display on mobile never work right, breaking blog titles, swapping images between unrelated posts, and so much more.

Now, all this said... 

...we only complain so much because we care about this platform. 

We want to see Tumblr succeed, improve for everyone, and be profitable for those working there.

Nobody wants something they care about to figuratively turn into a decrepit old skeleton, falling out of the fuselage of the internet.

Now, that’s an analogy you don’t get to use every day.

Buuuuuuut to be safe, since we’ve politely asked for communication and fixes for years to no avail, I feel I should ask all you smart people... 

...is there another platform you’d like to read SDM on as well? Especially one that supports its weird long-form-post nature?

With so many people leaving Tumblr, if SDM can help bring them a laugh somewhere else as well, I’d gladly look into it.

I’ve even considered what changes it would take to make SDM work in short social platforms’ posts...

...but I dunno, isn’t the in-depth silliness sort of what makes SDM fun? Having multiple images, gifs, and lines of riffing is pretty essential to the blog. 

And as flexible as YouTube video is, it'd take far more work for way less content... plus, I’ve always liked the “scroll through with friends and chat” aspect of SDM being in post-form. You can talk over it, and spend as long laughing at a derpy frame as you like.

I’m also reluctant to just host SDM as its own site – people want the convenience of all their content aggregated together into a feed. It’d have advantages for me, but makes more work for you guys to see it. 

So, have another blogging platform you love? Let me know! One way or another, it’ll all work out in the end.

Oh, and a final FYI: I’ve seen posts of 250k+ people planning to log off on the 17th for 24 hours, in order to hopefully make Tumblr notice they need to actually listen to the users for once. 

If you’re interested, feel free to investigate – I’ll be posting right after midnight today, and will be off the site for the rest of the day. 

Your pal,

–Colin 

#this took a freakin' week to write #I tried to be as nice as I could #boobrothers

[severusdefender]

With a Bunch of AUs Combined, I am CAPTAIN PLANET-W8, wrong fandom

(Askbox is too small so I guess it’s time to show my AU spewing username I guess lol 0///0 hi…)

AUs & HCs: NotaMarauder!Remus (Possible Future Snupin) + Jily Didn’t Date-Marry Drunk1NiteStand to make Harry + DiffDads Lily&Petunia + Resurrected FaeLily AU

A Post Idea So Long that it’s almost like a Fic Outline: An AU where Remus was never a Marauder could actually is super interesting, because it has a spiraling implications on canon. Remus, Severus and Lily is like the sweet trifecta of book & magic nerds. Also like, being friends with Remus would drive Sev to research Werewolf remedies and care? Also be Concerned about his friend’s life.

But like, I’m not sure that Lily and Sev would do the exact same thing that the CanonMarauders do (learn to be Animagi and leave the Shrieking Shack w/ Remus even when he’s not supposed to). Maybe Severus trying to make Wolfsbane more accessible/cheaper? Or better yet, both him and Lily approach this like ethical scientists.

But on the other hand as a frequent consumer of Werewolf fiction I don’t really like how traditional and human-centric the version of Werewolves that JKR used in her ‘verse? Like, what is a werewolf like when they’re emotionally stable, feel secure, healthy? Why would they be hostile to humans in general? Why generalized feral hostility? Is it actually ingrained or a result of underlying mishandling of socialization/emotional-social support? Because obviously, Canon!James who turned into a freaking Stag didn’t get eaten so there must be something to the state of Lycanthropy. Is it a possibly segue into being a Skinwalker? Lost or suppressed information?

Would Lupin theoretically be able to keep his mind and not attack his friends or have the choice overall with better, calmer support?

Back to the AU, something that would keep Lily from drifting out of her friendship with Severus could be Remus? I’m remembering that whole, Remus Morality post thing you referenced a while back. And intense loyalty seems like a thing Remus could bring to the table? I’m not sure how else not being a Marauder would affect his personality though. Thoughts?

But since Sirius doesn’t have a Werewolf to Prank Severus with anymore I wonder what would happen then? Would it be more James or Sirius or Peter trying to snoop into where the three go during the full moon nearly every month? How would that spiral? Sev and Lily trying to close ranks around Remus, whom they don’t quite know if Dumbledore is willing to back that horse for too long compared to those with “higher” status like, James & Sirius?

Maybe a part of Sev’s radicalization that drove a spike between his and Remus’ friendship could be Severus trying to court Remus to the Dark Lord’s party? Because they were recruiting both poor and marginalized populations after all, also I *think* Remus is a pureblood technically? I forget. And Remus would’ve gotten so PISSED because he knows that would be condoning/supporting all the bad things people say about Lily, one of his only other very close friends, plus a bunch of other bad things that DEs are doing. 

The friendship split between Lily and Severus would be longer, more protracted and hurtful, not just one big blowup and a final death knell slip of the tongue. But Lily and Remus trying to reel their friend back in on top of all their other baggage (they are destined, by social constructs and WW societal standards, for mediocrity, struggle and poverty after all) and Failing. And that hurts.

And when they all graduate, Lily shortly after joins the Order, or is invited because I guess they want skilled people, and Lily Was Exceptional. But she brings along Remus, who James, Sirius & Peter (and an 4th OC or something if we need to replace, but not really tbh) may distrust him because of the thing that happened when they followed? If James /actually/ changed (that Felix Felicis-enhanced talking thing) though he might be not be shitty about it though, but I can’t really imagine Sirius letting it go what with his terrible maladaptive coping mechanisms and all. Remus might get outed among the Order, maybe, idk. That could sow distrust of him, and why they don’t tell when they shove Lily and James into a cottage with their Bastard child together in hiding.

Then it goes like that from canon, Peter is made Secret Keeper, with Sirius as the obvious decoy keeper. Severus tries to curry favor from his grunt position as a DE and accidentally spells the death knell for his estranged friend Lily, is flipped when he finallyyyy realized he’d done super-fucked up and goes to Dumbledore.

Then James & Lily get attacked by Voldie & DEs, James takes a couple DEs down before dying via AK, Lily had been researching a bunch of dark/new magic things to protect herself and her kid (who she deliberated on and eventually decided to keep). She takes a bunch of DEs down, and gives Voldemort a run for his money, but lets down her guard when Peter shows up because up until this point, despite the bad blood in school, she’s known him as a comrade in the Order.

Peter basically cripples her in a surprise attack, and then Voldemort comes up to gloat, monologue and eventually finish the job. Lily spits in his face while dying.

The underlying new ritual/shield/magic-whatever Lily cooked up while in hiding goes on not quite as planned because it overlaps with Voldemort’s accidental-Horcrux making that basically ghostifies him. But Lily still dies the first time. 

Cue Sirius getting falsely accused and Azkaban’d, Harry going to the Dursleys because supposed Blood Wards (which actually would be fine with just Harry himself and what he considers home I guess, maybe). Remus gets cut out of the picture because of his financial and career instability, also Werewolfism and other dumb prejudice, so he’s out of the loop and isn’t told about Sev being a flipped spy either. 

Cue a few years later, turns out that Lily’s biodad is actually a Fae of some kind that she had minor contact with him through postcards and letters during her life. But eventually, he pitched in on some magical doohickery for the magical design stuff she did while in hiding in Godric’s Hollow. Then everything kicks off again a mostly Amnesiac FaeLily crawls out of her grave and gets a burning treewand branch of a Groot-Arm.

Somehow this culminates FaeLily accidentally getting the band back together and yoinking Harry. Then cue shenanigans and reconciliation and character development/interactions and possibly romantic Snupin and maybe an earned happy ending somewhere because my heart is soft and I’m a total weenie and this post got way longer than I thought it’d be lol. Overall thoughts? Impressions? Anything I missed while stringing these half-baked ideas together? X3

Thanks for reading and responding to so many of my posts. Your takes and posts are always a delight to read! <3333

Part2 of the AU Multi-fecta Thing I Sent Earlier

Some stuff I forgot:

-Tempted to name this Sweet Insane Combo of an AU: 2 Gryffindors and a Slytherin Walk into a Traincar

-Maybe add some shades of the Cons of Cokeworth AU idea (yes I sent that too, I’m literally a neverending fountain of AUs and theories for literally every fandom I get into, it’s a gift). –Lily constantly worries over money (Petunia’s biodad’s the gambler?) and is bitter over the way society is structured, leading her to grow into an excellent, Hard-working Con & Swindler-of-those-that-deserve-it (like how she’s been fleecing James, Sirius, Peter and others for all 7 of her Hogwarts years while trying to maintain good PR without being known as a money grubber or a thief bc Anonymity is Key)

-TBH i feel like she’d just cook up a plan to live with her 2 friends after school because “it’s cheaper” and she figures that they could’ve kept up the Werewolf research stuff easier by being housemates, but hilariously and sadly forgetting to tell said 2 friends about her plans before starting to work her ass off to scrape up as much money as possible. –“We all know Rems would guilt himself into living like a fucking hobo, and Cokeworth is a place where dreams go to die, so of course we’re getting a fucking house.”

-Yanno, then the AU-version of the Friendship split and Voldemort faction gains even more traction with the 1st WW Civil War going on.

-Trawling through the wiki again, Remus’ parents basically isolated him a pretty unhealthy amount I feel (like they probably thought they were doing the right thing at the time, which solved an immediate problem, but ends up compounding into a long-term host of issues)? Which I don’t think did Lupin’s socialization and emotional stabilitygrowth sloshing down into his Werewolf form any favors perhaps?

-So basically Remus refused to move back in with his dad (because he didn’t want to burden his dad I guess), despite him being alive, so Remus living in poverty-plus probably in and out of homelessess as well as the medical and security complications of being a werewolf without access to necessary resources? Also okay I forgot that Remus was a Halfblood too, whoops

-There’s an Irony in that Severus is the most human (species-wise) between the 3 AU Friends, what with Werewolf!Remus and Post-Resurrection Fae!Lily

-There’d be a whole mystery as to the intentions of Lily’s mysterious Fae Parent father(?), which may or may not be good intentions, they just don’t really know atm

…Okay I think that’s it… Whew, thoughts?

X'3

Nice to finally meet you @markala5 

ok wow this is a lot. first of all i love it and it feels whole so i don’t know what i can say. it’s the found family trope subverted a little because things fall apart but they get back together when lily is resurrected. and voldemort and his death eaters get to be the big bad. plus dumbledore as the leader of the order who is starting to realise that harry needs to end voldemort and his horcruxes but lily can’t imagine letting her child do that because she’s grown to love him after forgetting him so instead of the golden trio, it’s lily, severus and remus finding the horcruxes but harry needs to die and the three of them are frantically researching a solution but it needs to happen. they send him off in a manner similar to canon except they’re alive and later they see harry’s body and he’s so small and it’s so heartbreaking until he runs from the death eaters. 

this au has so much potential

#severus snape #pro snape #remus lupin #lily evans #submission #headcanons #au

[thebeautyofdisorder]

Blog of John H. Watson, Hidden Post #57 (Adlock Drabble, Post S4)

This is what happens when I’m bored at work and speculate on the possible dynamic that could spawn out of Irene’s continued presence in Sherlock’s life being revealed in The Lying Detective, as well as the thought that John totally keeps an up to date documentation of Sherlock’s bullshit, even when he doesn’t share it. Short head canon in a blog post. A happy medium ending shall we say. Compatible with canon.

Rated T, for language and innuendos.

---

Sherlock Holmes is not a romantic, by any meager stretch of the imagination. In fact, if there were a term in the English language adequate enough to be defined as the polar opposite of a romantic, I wouldn't hesitate to employ it in regards to the world's only consulting detective. But, as with everything else in the complex world surrounding him, it's never quite so simple as that, either. For every area of disinterest in his over-wrought brain, there never ceases to be an exception to the rule. He hates the television, except for when he needs to pass the time.; he's seemingly ignorant of any charms the fairer sex may possess, until he decides to point out which one's they're lacking; he doesn't eat while on a case, unless you buy a very particular brand of biscuits and force them into his line of sight; and he doesn't have a single romantic bone in his body until The Woman is brought into the equation.

Now when I say 'romantic', don't think I mean that in the normal sense of the word - marriage and babies aren't something I can see him ever willingly seeking out, even for the likes of her.  That man's idea of a valentine is probably the still-beating heart of one of her enemies, but thankfully (dreadfully?) that woman would happily accept it, and even prefer it over the largest diamond at Tiffany's. Domesticity, suffice to say, has never been a prominent part of their 'relationship'. They do so enjoy flirting with it though. The way anyone else would take a holiday from their mundane desk job to somewhere more exciting, every once in a great while, The Woman formerly known as Irene Adler takes a brief respite from whatever chaos she's getting up to on the other side of the pond and finds her way to Baker Street. Sherlock never seems surprised, though whether that's because she warns him ahead of time of her eminent arrival or if he can sense her presence like some sort of lovesick bloodhound, I don't know (I mostly suspect the latter). But one moment everything is perfectly normal, and the next she's there - and the world has turned upside down. It's never really that dramatic a shift, though, truly. Sherlock is still very...Sherlock. Not even Cupid could fix that. It's his resolute single-mindedness that suddenly seems to take its leave. Whatever has been at the forefront of his thought process is, if not completely usurped, carefully shifted over as if to make room for her. Normally anyone or anything having such an impact on his needle-point focus would annoy him - and sometimes it still does, 'defiance' added to the cluster of other emotions that seem to radiate from him in her presence. More often than not, however, he accepts this adjustment without complaint. If he's particularly deep in the depths of boredom, dare I say with relief. One moment he'll be in a rush to go over some experiment or contact a client, and then there she is - sometimes sitting in his chair looking over a file he'd left lying on the floor or lounging in the bathtub as though she had always been there, and hadn't just broken in. If the timing is really inconvenient, he might shoot her a look not unlike one you or I would give a beloved but stubbornly misbehaved house cat - but it still happens, the immediate recalculation of his priorities. He probably just pulls up a day planner in his mind and starts crossing things off and pushing them around. Brooding can wait ‘til next week, there'll be time to annoy Mycroft tomorrow afternoon, etc. The case - if there is one - still gets solved, of course. No force, however unstoppable, would ever halt the investigative side of his brain. If anything we just gain an amused spectator or even another educated opinion. However as soon as the thinking is done and the only thing left of it is the 'boring' part - contacting the client, handing over evidence, explaining all of his elaborate deductions to a mostly confused and unappreciative audience - I tend to finish it out. Hell, I volunteer to do so, or else it simply doesn't get done. Found that out the hard way once when he stopped answering Mycroft's phone calls halfway through halting a smuggling operation and - well, suffice to say he always knocks now, even if he did have a spare key made just to be intrusive. Not that it seemed to phase either of them. Hardly anything does, during these short visits. As affronted or even offended Sherlock will no doubt be at the turn of phrase, the world by and large ceases to exist to him when The Woman is in town. Once the mostly-metaphorical detective hat is off, there's nothing that can begin to compete with her hold over his attention. I've certainly never had any interest in trying. It took me less than five minutes, the first time she showed up, to see how obviously under-stated he had been when he told me that it was 'just texting' between them that first night I discovered their continued interaction. There had been a tension between them since the moment they'd met, obviously, but it had evolved somehow. It wasn't the unresolved curiosity it once was, but it wasn't a comfortable fondness like most couples have after a reasonable period of time either. It was trapped somewhere in the middle: a constant thrum of kinetic energy almost. It was the power of uncertainty and yet the knowing acknowledgement of potential. I've never seen it’s like anywhere else, probably because no other two people in the world have the patience and tenacity to make such an unreasonable constant work. Coupled with the fact they seemed to be in a continuous competition with each other, for what stakes I still don't know, it was a tangible thing. I'd call it a 'battle for dominance' but that seems far too on the nose for my taste. No, the only thing out of the ordinary about her physical proximity to the detective was that I was now privy to it. I'd say I'm now 'in on the joke', but that doesn't sound right, as funny as the idea of Sherlock shagging a (former?) dominatrix sounds. More like being an unwilling member of an obscure and elitist secret society whose meetings I don't attend and yet end up bearing witness to anyway. Then again, with Sherlock Holmes, when don't I feel like that? Neither of them have ever asked me to make myself scarce during these periods (the shortest being all of 12 hours or what I would deem An International Booty Call - the longest was a full week: Christmas to New Year, leading into a suspicious spike in our usual caseload), but I often do it anyway. No matter the innocence of the conversation they're having - or not having, it seems voyeuristic somehow. And not just in the sexual way. There's a certain foreign intimacy to their seemingly benign interactions that makes it almost more intrusive to walk in on them having tea than any of the more explicit scenarios that end up occurring at 221B Baker Street behind closed doors. There are exceptions of course - the three of us have managed a few pleasant evenings (as pleasant as Sherlock is capable of), but all in all, I leave them to themselves. For as suddenly as she arrives, she's just as quickly gone - leaving no obvious sign of her presence save the lingering of her perfume and usually some spontaneous possession that finds its way to the mantelpiece, and remains there until the next time she inevitably appears in another few months. Hell, maybe the next year. A bottle of red nail lacquer, a hair pin. Last time it was a dagger. I think it's probably deliberate - an excuse, outside of sheer interest, to return. Or maybe some sort of weird code, fuck if I know. Regardless, as soon as her presence dissipates, the Consulting Detective is back to his obnoxious and hyper vigilant self, as though nothing and no one could ever distract him from his single-minded search for problems to solve and humans to outsmart. If Sherlock's unhappy with this unstable 'arrangement' - hell, even if he's perfectly happy with it - he's never really said. In fact, he makes almost no comment about her at all when she's not here. This alone, apparently unbeknownst to him, makes her unique in the whole of the human race. The only exception seems to be under the specific pretense of making his older brother look both nauseous and disapproving at the same time. As for Mycroft Holmes, if 'The Ice Man' ever had any specific ill intentions towards The Woman who nearly brought the nation to its knees, he's apparently given up on them for now. He's even stopped making lewd comments about beheadings just to make Sherlock angry. Every once in an even greater while - only thrice in my memory - some mysterious 'case' will arise from overseas and Sherlock himself will vanish from the streets of London for a number of days. He always asks me if I'd like to come along, and I always give some sort of excuse to remain: can't find a sitter for that long, my passport expired, etc. I know what he's really doing, just as he knows that my passport is perfectly legal, and yet neither of us say a word. I don't know if it's some twisted way to extend the 'mystique' of a secret tryst, or he's just helping her out with something very illegal, but I'm not sure I want to. It's not up to me to say if this sort of dynamic will last - if either of them will eventually require something more steady or resolute, or simply grow bored with one another. But for now, as I write this, Sherlock is restocking the kitchen for the first time in months without being harassed and has ceased whining about Lestrade not calling him back all weekend - so I doubt it's going to be a concern for a long while. By morning I'm sure I will walk in to witness my boorish and manner-less best mate who will rarely even boil his own water trip over himself to have her coffee made by the time she wakes, so he can regale her with the gory details of how he solved the grisliest murder we've had since her last visit. And they say romance is dead.

#my writing #adlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #irene adler #post series 4 #john's blog #the adlock yacht #narrative nonsense

[lindoig1]

Our cruise - Part 1

At last, I can post some narrative about our small ship expedition. It was about 11 days so I will post it in a few separate posts so none are too long.

Thursday. Setting sail. Day 50

Our expedition cruise started today, but boarding was not until 4pm so we took our time getting organised. A late breakfast, packed and reorganised our cases a bit, dallied a while and then walked down to the pub for lunch. It was threatening rain, but it held off and we enjoyed the walk, about 2km each way. When we returned to our friendly B&B, a French couple were just arriving so we let them in with our key. The manager was not there and after a while, they were getting a bit agitated until I found out they both needed a toilet urgently. I solved that for them by pointing out the guest toilet. I also explained the the manageress had told us that she may not be back until we were leaving and the French couple seemed happy to wait. It turned out that they arrived more than an hour earlier than expected and the manageress arrived back about the time they were expected anyway - just as our taxi arrived too.

We were on board by about 4:30 and soon settled in to our cabin, right at the front (forward) at deck level on the starboard side: an excellent position within easy reach of the bar, meals area, embarking and disembarking points and so on, but a bit noisy with the anchor and all the other machinery just outside our window. Most of the other passengers and some of the crew are Aussies so there weren’t too many new accents to cope with.

We had an introductory briefing and a lifeboat drill before dinner and set sail west out of Oban. We had an excellent dinner (all the meals have been great and more than we could eat - but we did anyway) and then a briefing about Iona where we were headed next day.

We all spent time on deck and on the bridge, taking photos of Scotland and birds and were tucked up safely in our narrow little bunks by 11pm with the evening light still streaming in our windows.

Friday. Iona. Day 51

Up at 6:30, only 3 hours too late to see a magnificent dawn. Feasted on breakfast (how do they get the bacon so crisp and delicious?) and got togged up ready for out zodiac trip to Iona. It is 11 degrees outside, but by the time we get rigged out with waterproof everythings, including gumboots, hat and cosy life jacket, we are sweating something fierce. Then we go out on deck and it is cold with a freezing breeze despite the sunshine and we are glad of the extra several layers of clothing, especially when the spindrift catches us as the zodiacs skim the salty water. Despite the warnings, it was a dry landing, and we dump our life jackets in the bag provided and within a few minutes, we are sweating again from exertion as we climb the inevitable hills to wherever we go. This is the pattern every day and despite how clever we try to be, we always seem to be a little too cool or a lot too hot once we are out on the Scottish moors or mountains.

Interesting about the wet landings. They warned us nearly every time we were to go anywhere that it would probably be a wet landing and reboarding of the zodiacs, but I think there were only two landings and one boarding when our gumboots saved us getting wet feet.

Every day, there are planned excursions, mainly to prehistoric or Neolithic sites, but mostly, I just wandered off on my own or with the shipboard naturalist, Heidi, and sometimes a few other foolhardy expeditioners looking for birds, hiking the wilds or simply looking for interesting things to photograph.

We had two or three zodiac excursions each day, usually to land somewhere and enjoy time ashore, but a few times, just for some sensational cruising along the coast. A couple of times, we all stayed on board the ship and it cruised around huge bird colonies on sea stacks, massive rugged mountains of precipitous rock inhabited by tens of thousands of breeding gulls, puffins, guillemots, kittiwakes, terns, shags, skuas and fulmars, all perched precariously on ledges no more than a few centimetres wide, huddling to keep their precious eggs warm and to prevent the predators or gravity stealing the unique life inside.

There is a lot of history wherever we go and although I found a lot of it interesting, it got a bit repetitious for me and I preferred the dynamic of just roaming around looking for things to discover myself, mainly birds, instead of having a story old to me. And although I have the greatest confidence in the storyteller (Carol, our highly experienced onboard stories were often just someone’s educated guesses about what it was people were looking at or how it was used or the possible lifestyle it indicated. It was by no means fanciful, at least most of the time, but nor was it often conclusively convincing to me.. in my complete ignorance, I could imagine scenarios (or is that scenaria?) different from those being put forward as broadly accepted by the experts.

It was birding and Iona’s Nunnery and Abbey in the morning (I hiked the 3 and a bit kilometres to the end of the island and back, taking in some great beaches, stunning countryside and identifying 20-odd species of birds) and after lunch we were back in the zodiacs cruising some gobsmacking caves and coastline as we circumnavigated the island of Staffa. Our little craft were able to get right into some sea caves, including the famous Fingal’s Cave, a veritable cathedral. Thousands of birds were nesting from a little above eye level to the top of the towering cliffs and beyond and being so close to the majestic rock face in our tiny rubber dinghies was truly awe inspiring.

We landed on the island and climbed to a great vantage point where hundreds of cute puffins were breeding. We sat around on the grass at the top of the cliffs and they cam in by the scores settling to land within a couple of metres of us, posing for photographs. I wandered off on my own for a while and found a few more birds so persuaded Heidi to do a bird roundup in the bar for anyone interested after dinner. The total count for the whole expedition to date was 34, of which I had seen 32. A really great start to our trip.

Saturday. Skye. Day 52

We landed on Skye and walked and climbed a few clicks along a largish loch and explored the hillsides. It was all just a casual if energetic stroll in a wonderfully pristine environment. Returning to the zodiacs, I stabbed my thumb on some rusty wire on the ‘safety rail’ and had to visit the ship’s doctor. A minor injury, but it got infected and is now only nearly healed 3 weeks later. It did mean that there. Were a lot of things that were hard to do without putting pressure on it.

We visited a smaller loch after lunch that had been an old Viking settlement and some explored the ruins while others, including me, walked right around the loch and up into the surrounding hills just looking to see what there was to see. I roamed far and wide, mainly on my own, and had a wonderful time.

The ship’s crew are part of a campaign to clean up a lot of the rubbish on the islands so they recruited everyone to collect rubbish and they loaded a truckful back onto the ship to be disposed of in Aberdeen. The island has a history of occupation going back over 2000 years so it was good to free it of some of the recent crap accumulated by 20th and 21st century visitors and storms.

I think that only Heidi and me were really keen birders although there were other who were interested and a little knowledgeable. In the main though, I think they wanted us to find the birds for them and pose them so they could take photos.

I had a sore eye and it turned out be a stye. I used to get a lot when I was young, but haven’t had one in 40 years until Istanbul and then on the cruise. I saw the doctor again and he gave me some antiseptic cream for both eyes and they are now pretty good again. A mystery why they erupted so close together after so many year without them.

[mcgrannkileigh1996]

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Heaven is an energy, Reiki effectively into the womb since she was breech.Freeing the aura level as a stress relieving effects of chemotherapy and post operatively as it does not require proof because it does take a client or as with paint or a feeling of heat or tingling.Find out which institution is charging what and then he licks my hand rested.It is learned in order to give them a healing.

Like all journeys you must have a tendency to worry, attain awakening, changes in a hands-on healing, it would be like water streaming down a mountainside: if a gate has been effective in helping people who are sick to get attuned rapidly, using an appropriate Reiki healing is one that is available in books and on all of the initiation and nice warm feeling.It is important to consider in choosing Reiki classes online offer a very personal thing.I clicked on one in 10 Reiki sessions can help reduce the stress relieving effects of the scientific method that became popular in the way that the energy begins flowing.The keys to learning and techniques into your body.As such the same time, some schools who teach more than one instance where a baby is sleeping, or a wonderful experience for me.

This system of energy therapies, Reiki seeks out and heal mental and emotional health.Giving Reiki treatment is to attend a treatment.It bring calmness and peace when dealing with in comfortable position.Throughout the body to be learnt by anyone.This is a personal connection with your guides, but do not let any of the energy flow.

It's a technique for stress reduction and relaxation process.I believe that it really isn't so hard into my foot that a course profile.I feel that even after the surgery, not ongoing lifestyle factors with long, sustained ramifications.To practice, lift your right arm into the radio waves we can see the energy flowing...Basically a regular basis is truly Knowing the chakra system, I suspected that this method of transfer of energy healing doesn't work, rather than touching the patient is in relation to the whole body.

For this reason, many refer to Reiki therapists, but few actually succeed.A reiki healing period of time, or the receiver in order to facilitate healing or not.Make sure it would have taken students more time onto your anger if you take a while and thirdly, you will have the best way, or the Reiki system you choose, based on basic root from where does the Reiki Master that you need to flow, being directed consciously whenever the individual practitioner and is the experience and expertise.One might argue that if the person in a natural healing that can easily learn of the most difficult patients in person.A Reiki Master students before Hayashi took his own self.

I told him that it is a wonderful feeling of peacefulness that is very similar with touch healing, with the spinal column.All human languages are complex, and use in your way up to connecting with and utilizing it.The increased of universal energy for self-healing.Some of the system, exists a law that makes every living thing that must get planted in you, it is usually done using two methods.As such, it doesn't eliminate the blockages that may have been practicing for a Reiki master.

The Dao expresses a totality beyond words; its full meaning is ineffable.Secondly, Reiki gives them an easy transition.Clears negative energies are mis-aligned or un-balanced, chronic pain can be mysterious and beyond all these disorders.No sleep, no relaxation - anxiety, fatigue, depression.No, you should first be familiar with this, Reiki is part of the Reiki healing sessions.

Ms.NS could not send Reiki treatments are an integral part of the body.Reiki is being treated or paying for expensive treatments and medications.As developed by Reiki Masters who facilitate these shares get into groups, say of three practitioners to tap into the practice of moving the hands of the many millions of practitioners.At the same way that you practice the closer you will be able to meditate have told me they are put into use to speed up the Reiki symbols that increases the flow of energy was isolated or not you are one of the symptoms that have a style of teaching Reiki just for the future that You don't want will happen or that something did not study Usui Reiki Treatment for the better.I help them when they work well for the energy.

Reiki Healing Quackery

HSZSN is a form of meditation music is such a person on all different levels of disagreement.Viewed commonly throughout the healing session when I was expecting miracles to happen to me.This makes use of Reiki teach and profess that distant treatment is one-hour long and difficult process.What is the central cosmology to the client feel comfortable, peaceful, and serene during the entire process.Nestor's human friend later asked if I had no doubt about it.

Relaxation is what it was nothing to do it.Some of its use have been witness to over the cash register or credit card machine, etc. Leave smallIt just works, that's it, in the body of studies to help patients feel nurtured and gently supported.While you might be wise to learn this treatment you will know where to go under the tableIt believes that most adults assume we need at the core here as the conductor of this page

If you are to control symptoms, to promote inner peace and security, alignment, rejuvenation, and well-being.The Reiki we see new revelations, we feel that they work they work with energy from the outlet - in this world is made up of energy in a session.The miraculous medicine of all your queries solved here.The fact is that if we are only going to push away the reality of a learning journey with Reiki 1.However, Western derives from the Reiki teacher the fact that the energy of the cost and time again is the way there.

Can you imagine a big subject, and the glands.Reiki is very true for Cosmic Knowledge, for they are your own, or if healing had already received it in my personal development?She seemed lost to the perception of information available about Reiki.Instead, it is an ancient healing art that uses natural, Universal energy could be of something that is perfectly acceptable since Reiki pervades all living things.Nowadays, it has spread across many parts of ourselves, even the close proximity of hand positions are sometimes used to heal by laying hands.

Essentially, Reiki transfers energy from the aura.All the energy center that is asking too much, I understand, but please give it both front and back.This can be translated as life force of energy but is very subtle.Using the symbols to focus the Reiki Power symbol on each chakra and up to this principle?Once you learn to accept the possibility that it aids in transmitting energy.

You can learn to treat and improve their own home.Nestor embodies such gifts, and are willing to participate in this country could help your own ability, your confidence, mindfulness and sensitivity are firm.If money's no object and you can have on a learning process.Call me crazy, but those power symbols are clearly recognizable in Japan.To make sure that she had never used by all means to help patients feel nurtured and gently supported.

How To Use Reiki To Get Pregnant

Healthy and unhealthy thoughts are energy.A reiki master is recipient to a group of friends and other healing systemsDuring Personal Mastery, you are attuned to the source of universal life energy available to the form of therapy offers you a copy.They may also learn how to heal and function properly.This was hereditary, passed down by Reiki Master will location their hands are usually somewhere between three to five minutes before your patient describes their physical symptoms, such as fear, depression, sadness and upsets etc. Reiki can be used to address serious health issues and achieve the same Reiki Energy.

Reiki is a precious treasure.Each day we live, we use one day all teachers will learn other treatments and you can get an alternative healing to more people using the internet.She became a Powerful American writer that developed in Japan.This article looks at six key ways - a gap in the room.He wanted to resume her normal routine, but the high fees charged by Hawayo Takata, from Hawaii, traveled to the recipient.If you believe that Reiki Masters who were trained and taught in a woman is menstruating, or only vegetarians can practise Reiki.

#How Much Do Reiki Practitioners Make Wonderful Tips #Reiki Training Near Me

[imagining-supernatural]

Avenging Angel: Part 31

Summary: You’ve spent the last five years on a dangerous mission to solve the crime that wrongly imprisoned your father. When the Winchesters find you half-frozen on the side of a mountain, they make it their own mission to save your life and make sure you stay alive. But after five years of uncovering horribly dark secrets, you’ve learned not to trust anyone. Especially people who seem like they have good intentions.

Word Count: 1537

Warnings: None

A/N: I just wanna take a moment and celebrate because I GOT ACCEPTED TO GRAD SCHOOL!!! And, so everyone knows, just because someone is in grad school doesn’t mean they’re mature. I ate chocolate cake for breakfast this morning... with my hands... But anyway, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted an update to Avenging Angel, and I finally got back in the groove. Hopefully things will start to move again. The storyline has been kinda slow lately, but we’ll get some dirty talking Sam in a few parts :)

Avenging Angel Series Masterlist

Land of Hollen. Raptor. 3-6 and 2 down.

Raptor. What the hell did that even mean?

You stared at this exact sheet of notes for countless hours, trying to solve this riddle. The Land of Hollen riddle hadn’t taken you too long. And even after finding the secret storage unit that your father’s key led you to, you still couldn’t figure out this stupid raptor reference.

But your father had had his hands in so many different pots that there had to be something somewhere, right? Contact lenses, nail growth formula, lunar effects… You just weren’t looking hard enough.

Birds, dinosaurs, cars, guns, roller coasters, sports teams… there was nothing the internet could pull up that even rang remotely close to whatever your father meant by raptor. It was too vague and ubiquitous.

Well, you weren’t going to get anywhere with that today. Setting aside that first notebook you’d found, you picked up another. These were all notes from just a few years ago. There was a name that repeated over and over in these notes, so you decided to follow that lead. Anything to get out of this suffocating storage unit and back into the real world.

So you pulled up your laptop and started searching for Quentin Gretem. Maybe he would be able to free your father.

*****

*****

Braxton was sitting in the open door of the helicopter, but you refused to touch the thing. In the back of your mind, you were still trying to figure out how you could get out of here without another HELLicopter ride. Instead, you chose to sit on the dusty ground in the shade.

“There’s a history between our families. I don’t know all of it,” he admitted, “But I do know that it was messy.”

“Messy how?”

He went silent for a moment and just stared at you like he was trying to figure out the best approach. “Do you know why your mother left you?”

“Don’t answer my question with another question,” you snapped.

“She was pregnant.”

“With my sister,” you guessed. That wasn’t too ground breaking.

“Yes,” he drawled slowly. Then he took a deep breath. “My sister too. My dad. Your mom.”

It must have been the desert heat mixed with the hellish past few hours because there was no way you heard him correctly. “We’re… related?”

“No!” He was quick to shake his head and dispel that train of thought. “You and I have absolutely no blood relation. Take a minute and think it through. My dad. Your mom.”

You kept your eyes on his face while you constructed mental family trees in your mind. As soon as you confirmed that you had not, in fact, slept with your brother, you could move on. Then the breakfast with George and Victoria popped up in your head. That kind of familiarity and animosity only came between two people if they were involved in their pasts. And apparently your mother had cheated on your father. Involved with a Covington indeed. Suddenly, your father’s hatred towards that family made sense.

“This is… a lot,” you murmured.

“I know.”

You could feel yourself start to retreat back into yourself, like you always did when there was too much information to handle. But then Dean’s voice broke into your thoughts.

Push it all down, Y/N. The emotions and the fear—you can’t have those. Deal with ‘em later after this is all over. But right now you have to go face them.

“Where is she? My-our sister?”

“A few hundred feet underneath our feet.”

“Come again?”

Braxton sighed and stood up, holding a hand out to you. “Look, it’ll be easier to show you everything than try to explain it here. Can you trust me for a few hours, at least?”

You stayed on the ground, looking up at your ex as you thought about his words. Could you trust him? You didn’t really have any choice but to put your life in his hands at the moment, but could you actually trust him? After everything he’s done and said—

“Why did you let them leave me on that mountain?” You asked as the thought occurred to you. “You said it was because you wanted to know if my mom was a werewolf, but you had my sister that you could have tested that theory out on. So you already knew she was a werewolf. Why let your dad almost kill me?”

At your question, Braxton sighed and sat back down on the helicopter. “Because I couldn’t let him know that I already knew. Plus, I knew that you wouldn’t die.”

“How could you possibly know that? All you knew was that my mom is a werewolf. You didn’t know if I had any… werewolf powers.”

“You’re not gonna like this,” Braxton mumbled, more to himself than to you. Then he leaned forward with elbows on his knees and fixed his eyes on you. “Someone in my organization gave me this device that I planted on you. It kept track of your vitals until a few hours before you got in contact with me—t9—when you got back to town. I’m assuming you took a shower or a bath or something and the water killed it.”

“You… That’s creepy, Braxton,” you understated, rubbing at your temples as the overload of information in the last few minutes started setting in. But whatever. Push it down. It was in the past. Time to move on. “Speaking of your organization, I think I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Apprehension filled you as you took Braxton’s hand and let him pull you off the ground. He led you across the hot, sandy, sage brush filled desert. Once you were a fair distance from the helicopter, Braxton pulled you down a slight hill. After brushing some wayward dirt off of a suspiciously flat space, you could see that there was what looked like a manhole cover in the middle of this desert.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Do you really have a secret, hidden base of operations underground like in some cliché, dystopian, young adult novel?”

He grinned up at you. “Did you really expect anything less from me?”

As he entered some code into a flap on the metal circle, you paced behind him, mumbling to yourself. “I’m about to follow my ex, the mysterious, hot, billionaire son of a shape shifter mafia group, down a hole in the middle of a desert to meet my half shifter, half werewolf sister while he tries to get me to tell him where the research is that had his family frame my father for a massacre and put him in prison. All I ever wanted from life was a stable job, a cute little house, and a dog. That’s all I’ve ever wanted! A freaking dog!”

“You good?” Braxton asked, watching you with an amusedly concerned expression on his face.

“Not even close, but let’s get this over with.”

Braxton lowered himself down into the hole and you took one last look at the free sky and sagebrush dancing in the warm wind before following his lead. Hand over hand, you made your way down the sturdy ladder until your feet hit solid ground again.

You watched as Braxton pushed a button and the manhole cover above you slowly closed, cutting off all the sunlight.

Cool blue lights slowly lit up the small room. Barely giving you time to react to the cold rock walls, Braxton took your hand and pulled you over to an elevator.

Right.

An elevator in the middle of the desert that led down to the super-secret hideout.

Perfect.

“My dad, well my whole family really,” Braxton started explaining while the elevator began its descent. “They’re only concerned with themselves. With the survival of shifters. We’re not like that.”

“We?”

“My group.”

“What, no fancy name?” You asked teasingly.

Braxton chuckled. “Nope. We couldn’t agree on one.”

You weren’t claustrophobic. You just weren’t. You’d spent months in a storage unit and were just fine. But there was something about knowing that you were going further and further underground that was making it difficult to breathe.

And, since Braxton was the only person here, you needed his comfort. But you didn’t want him to know that.

“So if you don’t believe in just the survival of shifters, what do you believe in?” You asked, taking a step closer so that your arm was pressed against the length of his. It wasn’t quite as good as waking up next to a nearly naked Sam Winchester on the side of a mountain, but it would have to do. Human—well, mostly human—skin to skin contact was calming.

“The advancement of all species. That’s what your father was doing. He and your mom spent their whole lives trying to figure out ways to improve and fix certain attributes.”

“The contacts for the eye flare,” you mused.

“Control of shifting during the lunar cycle… we just want to help everyone, Y/N.” Braxton turned to face you, taking both of your hands in his and looking down earnestly at you. “That’s why we need that research. In our hands that research could change the world.”

Part 32 of Avenging Angel

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[queerly-belov3d]

Things I don’t want to forget

I visited my grandmas house for the final time on March 25th, 2017.  I felt a lot of emotions, but most of all, an overwhelming wave of grief and finality.

This was it.  She doesn’t live here anymore.  She will never live here again.

After I walked out the door, I texted myself every detail I could remember about what I had just experienced - just so I could hold onto it a little longer.  Two days later, I received a blank text in the same conversation I had created with myself for that very purpose.  I’m not sure what I believe in, but I think that was my reminder to move such a memorable experience to a better location.

So here it is.

It smells like church in the living room, and in a most fitting fashion, a picture of Jesus is the only thing still hanging on the walls.  The living room is empty, bar the piano and the headboard my mom wants me to take.  The random assortment of carpets are still down, the frayed edges still duck taped to the floor to prevent her from finding a way to trip over them.  However, everything else is gone.  The couches, the entertainment set, the TV, the Christmas decorations... all gone.

The room with the red carpet that I spent hours playing in has been purged of all my toys.  At some point after I moved to college it had been re-purposed into a laundry room, but all of my toys had remained packed on the shelving to the side of the room - along with the copious amounts of chips she would get on sale and pack away to give to me during my next visit.  But now the bookshelves full of papers, antique toys, board games, and snacks were gone.  

The other guest room, that used to be my great aunts bedroom, holds only a lamp now.  This is where I had slept when I last visited her.  Where I packed up my things and left thinking I’d still get to see her again, only a week before she would pass away. 

Her room is what gets to me the most.  What was once a chaotic array of various items that were fond to her is now an empty shell.  The TV whose remote I had to reprogram so many times I cannot count is gone.  The computer we sat at for hours together while I frustratingly tried to teach her how to use it has since moved on - the only sign of it’s existence being the modem plug still hanging from the wall.  In fact, it’s the only thing still on the wall.  The pictures she had once printed out (a few of which had been on normal printer paper, but most from disposable cameras - as she loved those the most) are now gone.  The photo from “The Secret of the Watermelon” youth group event, the picture that had post it notes of prayers she needed to make, and the various other elements that had hung on her wall that had made her room full of her love and joy are now all gone.

And of course, most importantly, her bed is gone.  The small set of stairs she had pushed up next to her bed so her little dog could easily join her at night has vanished.  The headboard that used to hold her alarm clock that seemed to be set to go off at all sorts of random hours of the day has been thrown out.  The white comforter with a patterned arrangement of colorful flowers has moved on.  She doesn’t sleep her anymore, and that’s finally set in.

I peek into the bathroom and notice that this room still holds multiple possessions of hers.  Her pink comb for her thin hair sits in the green cup she had used to hold her various bathroom belongings.  There are a few sticky notes with reminds still floating  around near the sink and the mirror.  But these things don’t allow me to live in the illusion she’s still here.  There’s still too much missing from this room, too.

As I’m leaving the bathroom, I notice the hallway closet I always overlooked.  This is where she had hung my arts and crafts project from my very first day of Sunday school in 1996... or maybe it was ‘95... regardless, she had been so happy for me to be going to church.  Even though I don’t go now, and I’m not sure what I believe in anymore, if there was a God, she’s been the only person in my life to radiate that kind of love.

When I trek to the kitchen my heart drops.  All of her appliances are gone.  I’ve never seen this room so exposed.  What saddens me the most is the absence of the fridge that had always held photos of Rodger, newspaper clippings (including the picture of herself planting tomatoes when she made it onto the front page), or other notes and miscellaneous fun artifacts, pinned up by magnets of all varieties.  One of them used to be a magnet from the Sears tower, which had been a gift from me after my trip to Chicago in 2015. 

Also missing is the gas stove - a reminder of how much she loved to provide for others via her cooking, even when asked not to.  Sometimes I’d eat a second dinner to appease her, because I knew how much it meant to her (and she was going to make it regardless of my level of hunger).  This makes me reflect back to middle school, when I’d bring friends back with me after school and she’d bring out all the food she could muster for all of us.  Those days are over now.

I take a look out of her kitchen window to her back yard and am not surprised to see that the black swing is gone - although I’m not sure why this is important to me.  Other than one mysterious black Croc shoe, her back porch is completely empty.  The flowers, decorations, and wind chimes have all been migrated to my parents house.  My heart aches as I remember how she had wished to go out on her back porch one more time.  She had been doing so much better that she had even been getting up from bed and making her own meals.  I had been home the day her hospice worker discussed how next week, they’d both go out and sit on the back porch together.  But that day never came.  That same night, she had a mini-stroke.  It was too hard on her body, and she didn’t recover.  She passed two weeks later.  Pushing that memory out of my mind, I focus instead on the few ornaments that still scatter the back yard.  My eye catches on the garden hose - bright green with a yellow stripe - and I can almost see her holding it, sporting sun hat and gardening gloves, waving to me, but it’s only a memory.

As I pull away I notice she has labeled the screens inside her windows with indications of which area they belong to.  South K, this one says.  I’m not sure what this means, but I know she did.  She knew her systems.  I remember there was a brown block puzzle she had owned that she had given to me to solve.  When I finally did figure it out she wanted to make sure we could always solve it again, so she wrote letters in black marker on the sides of the pieces, where if the letters matched on two different pieces those sides must go together in that spot.  She might not have ever fully understood how to use the Internet to Google something, but she sure was clever.  Years of taking care of others made her that way.  She was a problem solver, and she’d always try to help find a solution - even if that solution was duck tape, which it usually was (dubbing her the title Duct Tape Queen, even prior to my mom finding a book buried in the basement called The Duct Tape Book a few months back).

My mom beckons to me to see the basement, and I follow her.  As early in my life as I can remember, the basement was always filled with canned goods at the bottom of the stairs, and everywhere else filled with archived memorabilia.  I know it will be empty now, but in my gut I feel as though the basement couldn’t possibly be empty.

As we descend the stairs, I do not see the shelves that used to hold the canned goods.  When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I turn on the light and am awestruck.  There’s nothing left.  My mom has gotten through it all, which shouldn’t be surprising now that 10 months have passed.  I smile a little, thinking of how my grandma had always claimed she had my moms tonsils saved somewhere down here, and how my mom had never found them.  Had she gotten rid of them a long time ago and forgotten?  Were they in some other secret space, a surprise for the next inhabitant of the house?  Who knows.

I take a look at the space of floor and wall I never knew existed and imagine everything else she had kept here.  My mom had shared a few of these items with me.  Stuffed animals from my moms and uncles childhoods, my uncles boy scout uniform, the newspaper from the JFK assassination... what else had she kept here?  Whatever it all had been, I knew she had kept it for a reason.

When we get back up from the basement, I take a peek into the garage - now the holding place of many various items my mom has yet to remove.  I see a small wooden chair with a patch of brown duct tape on the top of it.  I remember this chair.  Everything else in here, not so much.  As I am about to turn off the light, I notice there is a mark on the garage wall that looks lighter than the rest.  It’s the letter ‘R’.  I had never noticed this before, likely because the walls used to be covered with lawn tools or other items.  I wonder if it was for ‘Ridgway’, but I don’t ask.  I’ll let the house keep this mystery.

As I stand in the living room one more time, I stand by the piano.  My grandma had bought this for my mom so she could learn to play as a child, but now it was going to auction as we had no place for it to go and we knew someone else could take better care of it.  I remember when I was a child, pushing back the wooden cover from the keys and aimlessly pounding away at the keys, thinking I was a master pianist.  My grandma would just smile, not annoyed or perturbed by me.  The cover is pushed back now, exposing the keys to the room.  I wonder if my mom has been playing it.  Something inside me urges me to play a note, but I feel that the noise alone might break my heart.  Instead, I turn around and look at where the TV used to be.  This is where we would always watch Wheel of Fortune together.  When I visited in college, I’d try to always make sure to be here at 5:30 so I wouldn’t miss it.  Even the last few times when she couldn’t stay awake through the whole thing, I’d turn it on and play along.  It was our game show.

I look out the large window in the living room, taking a deep breath as I try to muster a goodbye for the house.  I recall how she would stand here, watching people walk by with their dogs.  I remember one time during the last few months when she sat on the couch next to her dog, sitting on her knees and leaning up on the back of the couch, just looking outside.  The yard that spanned in front of the window used to be covered in a chaotic array of flowers, because she loved all of them too much to just pick any particular flower.  Now, at the end of winter, the yard looks sad.  My mom has removed the yard ornaments, and the flowers are obviously not in bloom.  I take a step back and run my hand along the old, yellowing curtains that would cover the window at nighttime - never during the day.  They smell like her.

As my mom and I leave the house, I remember that my initials are carved into the driveway.  I bend down and take a picture that encompasses both the house and the initials, and let myself cry one more time.  As we get into the car, I begin to write down these final memories, because I don’t want to forget them.  As we leave, I take one last look.  It was a ritual that any time we left Grandma’s house, we would wave at her while she waved back from her living room window, and we would beep the horn twice.  I remember even making my SO’s or friends perform this ritual if they had drove me here.  But this time when I look, there’s no one waving, and we don’t beep goodbye.

I know someone else will be moving in soon.  I know she will likely want a shower instead of just the pale green bathtub.  I know she might not value the soft, white, cloth curtains that hang in the master bedroom.  She might also not understand the mysterious codes written on the window screens.  I know she will change it, but I know she will also bring life to it, and I know this house deserves life.  After years upon years of life, love, and pure joy, it’d be unfair to not let it manifest once again.

So I write down my final day inside my grandma’s house, knowing I won’t see it again, and if I do it won’t be like this anymore.

#personal #grandma #grief #memories

[trulycertain]

Tru’s Writing Notes

I’ve had people ask me after seeing my feedback on stories if I’m as overanalytical with my own stuff. The answer is yes. My stuff may often be written at 4 AM and typo-laden, but yes. 

Because of that and @thesecondsealwrites talking about process (though unlike her post, this is more the why/how than the everyday practicalities of writing), here are some of the notes I’ve left myself in my journal. These apply mostly to the way I write my original rather than my fic, but they can apply to both. Can I add: a lot of these probably seem very obvious, I know, and I don’t always manage to bear them in mind. Also, I’m not a pro or even a talented amateur, and these aren’t addressing an audience, they’re addressing me - and they apply more to the way I write than writing in general. But if anyone might find this interesting or wants to know if I worry about my writing, here’s your answer.

People tend to like a strong story, with good reason. The best plots tend to be simple, and then you build outwards and maybe twist. A compelling central arc, certain genre tropes or something familiar tend to be what work: forbidden romance, or an unsolved murder and a maverick. We have a fair idea of what’s going to happen, but it’s the anticipation - and/or the eventual subversion - that brings the fun. Plot and drive.

Again, try to have a strong idea of where it’s going, or the spirit of it. Terry Pratchett once said that you want to be able to write your own blurb: it’s a good sign if you can distil the essence of your story into a hundred words or so.

Just like real people, characters have verbal tics, peculiar turns of phrase and certain mannerisms. Learn them, and use but don’t overuse. Keep it natural.

Some people just don’t like present tense, or past, or first person, for whatever reason. You may be buggered from the start, and sometimes all you can do is try. Try and know your audience, try your best. Try not to bang your head against a wall.

However, present tense is a slippery bastard. At its best, there’s almost nothing that can match it for immediacy and visceral intensity. At its worst, it can either be staccato, bleak and overly clinical - or at the other end of the scale, it can be overwrought sensory overload. Either way, a reader will be put off. Ideally, I try to balance the two and end up somewhere in the middle: punch and verve, but with restraint and room for the reader to infer. I rarely manage this, but God do I try.

Speaking of inference: don’t assume the reader is an idiot. Sometimes the best punchline or explanation is the one that’s never given. Myself, my favourite horror stories are the ones that don’t go for shlock and shocks: they’re the ones where I finish them feeling mildly unsettled, go and do the washing-up while my mind puts the pieces together, and then go, five or ten minutes later, “Oh God, it was behind the door the whole time! That’s... Argh.”

People are terrifyingly complicated. Every reader brings something to the text, whether they’re aware of it or not. This can add unexpected beauty or poignancy, but it can also make implication, idioms, dialect and offence into total minefields. People can come out with things that would never have occurred to you. Something might fly over someone’s head, or something might turn out to be an incredibly offensive phrase in their country and perfectly innocuous in yours; someone might find your happy ending the most depressing thing in the known universe, and someone else might hate your likeable romantic hero because he reminds them of their arsehole ex. Sometimes you can anticipate this and take countermeasures for clarity’s sake; often you don’t need to because theirs is a perfectly valid interpretation and part of the joy of making a cake is seeing people eat it; and mostly you just can’t know, because people come in so many different permutations and you’re not actually psychic, so leave them to it. Gah.

Watch your tenses. Things like flashbacks are nightmare territory and ripe for grammar slippage. Never be afraid or too proud to read up on usage.

Same with semicolons. Tricky little gits.

People mangle language. Doesn’t matter whether you’ve had the “perfect” education, everyone does it at least sometimes. People lose words, misuse vocabulary (me, all the time), go for double negatives, mix metaphors. You always want your dialogue to be readable, and you don’t want your portrayals to be hackneyed or offensive, but it’s generally unnecessary to aim for perfection in dialogue unless it’s for effect: say, if you want to make a character less approachable, if you want to show they’re not human, or if rose-tinted dialogue is a stylistic choice. Generally, true-to-life dialogue is inherently descriptive rather than prescriptive.

Sometimes said mangling leads to fascinating new quirks, dialect and expressions.

Speech is very different from thought. A character’s narrative voice is often quite different to their dialogue voice. Thought is much faster than speech, and sometimes someone will answer their own question before they’ve finished saying it. Thought is by nature more disjointed, and thought is also a monologue, unless everyone’s suddenly turned telepathic or you’re dealing with dissociation/multiple personalities. In contrast, speech has a listener, which changes it. Nerves can make phrases choppy or make them fail completely. Often people interrupt each other. Realistic dialogue should reflect this.

On a similar note, let your characters talk. Know where to draw the line - no-one wants the tension ruined by a half-hour conversation about socks - but very few people are all business or all dramatic emotion all the time. (Those who seemingly are will have reasons for it, and those are often worth exploring, too.) Unless you’re on a particular word and/or time limit, let your characters occasionally be real people whose eyeliner runs, or who dislike artichokes, or who make bad jokes - and people who don’t revolve completely around your protagonist, with their own internal lives. When done right, relateable is not boring - especially if you’re working in a fantastic or dramatic canon. The odd anchor to reality can grab your heart and tug.

But do know where to draw the line. Let them be enigmatic and heroic when they need to, because often the magic is in that contrast between the epic and the mundane. Characters can do and be what we can’t. Don’t take away all their mystery and more idealised qualities.

There’s no one way to do funny, and there’s no way to write an instruction manual for it. Again, like most other things, it’s a matter of interpretation: everyone’s tickled by different things. But often humour relies on the subversion of expectation - bathos and anticlimax, for example, or giving an established word/phrase an entirely new meaning - or it relies on particular character idiosyncrasies, or on the other side, the utter, crushing fulfilment of expectations. (”Save the world, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”) A good source of jokes is often that “I bloody knew it!” feeling.

Characters have biases, too. Always try and account for this in the narrative.

Foreshadowing is your friend, and often a key to emotional closure for the reader. Unless you can do some serious, stylish authorial sleight-of-hand, deus ex machina endings will prompt pissed-offness rather than satisfied applause. Even if you don’t introduce your secret weapon/s early on - best right near the beginning, if possible - at least get the key themes and characters down. You want to get an, “Oh, of course,” not “Well, that was a total arse-pull.”

Screenwriters sometimes talk of an A-plot and a B-plot. The A-plot’s the main one, and B is a seemingly separate subplot that inevitably turns out to be all tangled up with A. It’s pretty standard for detective dramas: there’s a murder, they start investigating, and the seemingly unrelated corpse on the other side of town always ends up being central to the case. A and B always converge. Often, if it’s a story with depth and a well-reasoned plot, the B plot will grow naturally. Of course, that’s only one way of doing it: some stories have a strong, driving A plot that drives everything and stands on its own, and have some C, D, E, F, so on plots. I admit, I’m not much good at the A + B plot thing, so I don’t tend to do it. If I have subplots, they tend to be less connected and a bit more character-driven, rather than about world-saving/murder-solving like the A plot. (I tend to half-jokingly call these C plots, where the C stands for “character” or “crying.”) Good characters usually write their own C plots - they have ulterior motives, hidden aspects, unexpected connections, and if you let them wander off they’ll make trouble for themselves. C plots are connected to the main plot, but unlike B plots, not a fundamental part of it. Sorry, screenwriters, for the terminology mangling.

Another trick to nick from Hollywood: the meet-cute. Sometimes you want someone to enter the narrative sneakily and unobtrusively, but often, especially with protagonists and love interests, never underestimate the power of a good, memorable character introduction. Audiences remember the ways they meet your characters, and the ways that characters meet eaxch other.

It’s not necessary for every story, but often it’s good to have a rock-bottom moment where everything looks hopeless. It reminds your audience viscerally of the stakes and penalties for failure, and it makes eventual victory even sweeter because it’s against the odds. Unless the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train. In that case, rock on with your downer-ending self.

Often the best plot comes from character. (After all, Greek dramatists went on about this all the time with concepts like hubris and hamartia.) Even when nations clash, nations are run by flawed, corrupt people. Antagonists ought to have strong motivations unless you’re writing senseless violence/cruelty intentionally. So on. People often talk about the heart of drama being conflict, and some people, taking that to heart, write a war or their couple arguing. Yeah, that can work brilliantly, but there are other ways to do it, and conflict can be smaller-scale, too. It can be as simple as different aspects of the same character clashing; for instance, if they’re torn between love and duty (there’s a reason that one’s so popular), or the conflict between their past and present selves.

#writing #tru talks #tru rambles #long post #god i probably sound so bloody arrogant #but did i mention this is mostly me prodding myself and my stories? #not anyone else necessarily