#i feel like raps would love books once she finally gets access to more of them

[darwin-xf]

Love is a Verb

His dick knew things.

In general, thinking with your little head not your big one got a bad rap.

But for him? The opposite seemed to apply.

Of course he’d been mortified when he sprung to life in her hand the night before, with Scully in full on doctor mode, acting so clinical and detached. While he was so very very exposed.

A wave of anger arose in the wake of his humiliation. At her. Which wasn’t fair. She was doing him a favor, after all. Examining him, because they were stuck in a crap motel in the middle of nowhere Florida, the day after a hurricane, flights snafued, roads clogged with debris. And him with a sea monster bite on his neck and an angry itchy red rash on his dick to match. She was caring for him, just like she always did. Even though neither one of them was exactly comfortable about the prospect.

But now, considering what that moment of vulnerability had led to, he was glad it happened. And hardly surprised.

And when his big head has been muddled and confused on a night a few weeks before? His dick had shown the way forward. When a different woman had laid her hands on him, slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He didn’t want her. He felt like a block of wood as she kissed him and touched him. And yet he let it happen. His mind filled with a fuzzy gray static as she whispered to him how she needed him, how she’d never stopped loving him, until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. She opened his pants and he let her, hungry for something she was offering. He would think a lot about that later.

But then his dick was in her mouth. And she worked it, employed all her little tricks. And still it stayed soft.

Until, giving up, she stood. She crossed the room and poured herself a scotch. He tucked his junk in his pants and zipped up. Not even embarrassed.

“You love her,” Diana said, her back to him.

He nodded. “I do.”

“But Fox,” she said, closing the distance between them, sitting down next to him, “She doesn’t know you like I do. There’s so much I want to give you...”

She launched into the pitch he’d heard from her before. Since she returned, she’d been whispering to him whenever she could get him alone, offering him access. “There are so many things we can accomplish together, Fox. Why would you want to keep toiling in the dark when you can shape the future of the human race? You’ve more than earned your seat at the table. And your voice is needed there...”

Though he never really felt engaged in these conversations, his big head listened to what Diana had to say.

But the little one was more persuasive. Not to mention more persistent. The truth was, Scully had been the only one able to get him off for months. Though of course she hadn’t touched him.

His extensive collection of salacious videotapes these days stayed tucked in their hiding places, moldering in their cases. The magazines delivered to his door each month, Penthouse and Hustler and Escort and Razzle and Club, remained stacked on his entryway table, their spines uncracked, their pages unperused. Most with the black no-see-um wrapper still intact.

A fact Scully discovered while visiting his apartment a few weeks before. She turned up on the late side one evening, work on her mind, files in her hand, her body tucked dutifully away in some dark suit.

“Oh that,” he said when she placed her palm on the towering cache of smut, popped an eyebrow in his direction. She had spent enough time in his space to understand that this was a departure from his usual behavior, where his porn was concerned. Whereby he’d rip the covers off the mags as soon as they arrived and leaf through them, looking for anything particularly good. He’d turn down the corners of memorable pages then leave them piled haphazardly around his place: on end tables, under the fishtank, next to his bed.

The explanation was not something he was prepared to share. So he thought fast, and invented something on the fly that seemed remotely plausible. “Yeah, the boys tell me that those are going to be collector's items soon. Print is dead, Scully. Everyone making the switch from atoms to bits and bytes. Paper’s so pulpy and inefficient. I have a book on it somewhere...” He riffled through his bookshelf, glad to escape her excruciating gaze. He plucked out a book and handed her a copy of Being Digital by Nicholas Negroponte. “He’s a smart guy. You should check it out.”

His effort to distract her was in vain. She put the book aside without glancing at the cover and continued to silently cross-examine him. He pretended to be interested in another book he’d pulled at random, but the moment stretched on uncomfortably. "I thought I could get more for them if they remained in pristine condition,” he said as he paged through the book he wasn’t reading. For all he knew he was holding it upside down. “You know how people keep their Star Wars toys in the boxes with the cellophane on?”

She shrugged, unconvinced. But she moved on, willing to let it go. Her stacked heels clacked obnoxiously against his hardwood floors as she slowly made her way into his living room.

He doubted she wanted to know the real reason. Though he was pretty sure he could turn the tables on her if he blurted it out. It would serve her right for the way she roamed around his apartment and let her eyes light on his stuff, storing her little data points in that mind, trying to figure him out. But maybe one day the tea leaves of his pitiable life she seemed so eager to read would finally speak to her. Maybe it would occur to her what was actually going on.

Which was that every time he touched himself, he imagined it was her hand. And he would try to switch things over, open one of his skin mags— his trusty strategy for years when it came to getting his thoughts off his partner and back where they belonged —but it wasn’t working anymore.

He’d listlessly page through the glossies, looking for a promising spread, land on some blowjob scene and eyeball it for a while. But when he got down to business it, was her mouth on him, warm and receptive, her eyes on his face, his hands in her coppery hair. He’d smolder for a while, thinking of her lips, her strong small hands, and always her eyes, then feverishly work himself up. And the magazine, forgotten, would slip away onto the floor.

On the bright side, his inappropriate intrusive fixation on his FBI partner was saving him two hundred bucks a month he used to spend on phone sex. The last time he dialed in he couldn’t even get it up. So he spilled his guts to one of his regular providers, droning on for forty-five minutes about how he had it bad for his partner, all the things she did that made him crazy, the reasons he couldn’t tell her. Realizing even therapy would be cheaper, and feeling like a terrible cliché, he’d quit calling those numbers.

His videos were his last line of defense. Their absorbing input had always been able to capture his attention, so he’d try one of those. It might work for a few minutes, but the real action was behind his eyes. In his mind it was her heels digging in to the small of his back as he plunged into her tight little cunt. She’d be beneath him hot and panting, open her mouth to moan and he’d stuff his fingers in, slide them wetly against her tongue. Soon he’d be picking up the pace... The television would blare fruitlessly in the background, rife with bad dialogue and silicone silo tits and oh babys. The money shot would come and go, unseen by him, and the screen would fade to black.

The reason porn had quit working was simple: in his fantasies, she always comes too. Usually more than once. He’d start slow, imagine he was taking his time kissing his way down her body. That could take a while. Then he’d tease her, rubbing the fat head of his cock up and down her slit. When she begged him to, he’d slip inside her and slam his hips forward. He’d hold there, bottomed out, and kiss her sweet mouth. Then he’d slide it in and out, looking into her eyes, feeling every inch of her.

Soon he’d need to fuck her harder, faster. He’d reach down to tease her clit until she was thrashing and pleading. Then she’d say his name, and her face would change, and she’d come on his dick. He’d watch her ride it out, humming with pleasure as her warm wet circles broke against him and travelled up his body in waves. Till his nuts and his gut and his heart and his throat and his brain were replete with her. Finally he’d come, imagining he was cradled by her hips and rocking, buried deep inside her, spilling his secrets into her ear.

In his dirty busy mind he’d already had her so many places and ways: in showers and motel beds, in cars and elevators, bent over his desk at work, the door unlocked, her skirt bunched around her waist, her drugstore pantyhose dangling from her ankle. Quick or slow or sweet or mean, acrobatic or missionary, rough or tender. Or both. God. Even boring. Just the two of them in his bed, nose to nose under the covers, whispering and giggling and whiling away a Sunday morning.

And the most pathetic and woebegone detail? Sometimes his fantasies contained no sex at all. He wanted to watch a movie with her feet parked in his lap. He wanted to shop for groceries with her and hold her hand on the walk home. To spend a weekend with her on the Vinyard and show her his old high school. He wanted to rub her back when she was sad and play footsie with her under the table during boring budget meetings. He wanted to gather her close and kiss her eyelids and hold her in his arms as she fell asleep. To watch her to rise naked from his bed and pull on his clothes she’d just stripped from his body. On red eye flights he wanted to leave the arm rest up and snuggle with her under those dingy felt blankets. To read to her while she soaked in the tub and find the nooks and hollows of her body where she was ticklish. He wanted to make her giggle, make her laugh, make her cry happy tears. He wanted to make her wet just with his voice. To lay in bed and watch while she got dressed for church. He wanted to kiss her in front of her idiot brother, maybe even slip her a tasteful amount of tongue. To shower with her before work, to soap her up and shampoo her hair. He wanted to stock his fridge with an assortment of her gross non-dairy yogurts.

Scully. Before she’d even descended into his office and introduced herself, he assumed she was a plant. Or a dupe, a patsy. Why else would a promising and talented young agent be conscripted to his lonely, disrespected division? Most likely she’d already agreed to keep tabs on him, to cast his work in a negative light. And even if she hadn’t, he was certain she’d be manipulated, using the lever of her obvious ambition, into doing so. He also suspected, since she’d spent most of her time thus far in the FBI in the lab or the classroom, that she was a house cat. The kind of agent who might hold romantic notions about working in the field, but who would soon balk at the grueling, unpredictable hours, the endless travel, the physical grind. And blanch at the dangers. It’s no kind of life for anybody who wants a life.

By the time their flight touched down in Oregon on that first case, he knew for sure that she was fun to spar with. And all kinds of smart. And even sort of cute. And while it can obviously be helpful to have a partner if things go sideways, he remembers hoping that didn’t happen to them before she washed out and retreated back to the lab. Because he suspected this itty bitty pathologist with zero field experience and impractical footwear? Would be more likely to become a liability than properly cover his flank.

After they’d worked a half dozen cases together, it was fair to say he’d reconsidered the hasty assumptions he’d made about Scully. Which is to say she surprised him at every turn. Except on the couple of occasions when she’d astonished him, leaving him flat-footed and slack-jawed in her wake. Against all odds, he had himself a partner. Which is not to say he fully trusted her. Not yet. And he doubted she’d hang around much longer.

But still. He’d learned that she was game. Skeptical and rational, but up for anything. She never complained about bad food or lumpy beds. And courageous, staring down firearms pushed in her face without blinking. She was fearless and cagy, and could take a punch or dish one out. And in the next moment she could soften, to connect with a suspect or a victim, to care for a child, or for him. She believed deeply in what she was doing. When he bumbled into trouble, which he seemed to have a knack for, she more than had his back. Yet when she’d sided with him and blew off her buddies from the Academy? It wasn’t loyalty to him she was demonstrating, but to the victims. To the truth. Above all, Scully was honest.

In some ways, he knew her so well. Yet all these years later there was there were aspects to her he could only guess at. Scully, he’d come to understand, was a deeply private person. Didn’t give pieces of herself away in idle conversation, like most people do. The fact that he was a trained and skilled profiler didn’t seem to help. In his fevered mind he’d become preoccupied with the things he didn’t know about her. Like how, exactly, does she like to be touched? He thought about that a lot. Is she a morning sex person? (God he hoped so.) Is she loud in bed? Or more quiet and intense? A little repressed, or wild and uninhibited? He could imagine it either way. Is she bossy? Submissive? A little of both? What does she taste like? Does she talk dirty? Will she like it when he does? (Because he definitely does.) How would he tease her? What are her kinks? Does she like it rough? And if he wanted to go down on her for hours, would she be okay with that?

So, yeah. He loved her.

That switch had been flicked for him on a steamy summer evening, a moment when he’d been staring down the real possibility of losing her. She walked away. He followed her, flew out his door like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Stormed up to her where she’d turned to face him in his hallway. Fists clenched, voice raised, he was in full on fighting mode. But he wasn’t fighting her. He was fighting to keep her. So instead of telling her off, as his body language suggested he might, he told her what she meant to him. How he needed her. Things he hadn’t even realized before they came out of his mouth. But all of it the truth.

She’d been girded and resolute, her body rigid and self-contained. But then she broke, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, she softened and stepped into his embrace. He looked in her impossibly blue eyes glinting with tears and realized with dreadful certainty that, Christ, he was going to kiss his partner. More than that, if she let him, he was going to pick her up and carry her back through the door of his apartment and lay her down and fuck her.

That plan had been derailed, but the urge for him remained. And not long after, he gathered his courage and, with all the earnestness he could muster, he’d looked her in the eyes and confessed.

So he’d told her that he loved her. But had he shown her?

That was a thorny question, and it made him uncomfortable to consider it. Because he had to admit that for the most part, he hadn’t.

It was strange, but once his feelings for Scully had shifted, his behavior toward her had become less loving. For one thing, he didn’t let her in on that fact that she’d become the only featured player in his secret late-nite fantasy theatre. But more than that, he found himself especially irritable with her. Dismissive. Self-centered. Sometimes even cold.

When he was looking for an excuse to be angry with her, he told himself a story that she’d rejected him. Because, oh brother. But he’d seen her eyes go wide for an instant, felt her animal panic. She’d pored over his hospital chart and had to know he wasn’t high. So he’d concluded that she didn’t want him. Didn’t love him.

And Fowley’d chosen that inopportune moment to skip back over the pond and make a play for his ass. And though he had no interest in rekindling that relationship, just having her around reminded him of all the reasons it just might be a bad idea to get tangled up sexually with your partner.

More than that, even though he knew that Scully felt insecure because of Diana for several legitimate reasons, he hadn’t bothered to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. When Diana called him and invited him downstairs for lunch, he’d go. Mostly to be near his files, and to mine the trashcans for cases when her back was turned. But he’d steal away from the bullpen, not tell Scully where he was off to, or why. He let her twist in the wind, wondering who Diana was to him and what her reappearance meant for their partnership.

It would make sense that once you’ve discovered the person you love, the person with whom you want to spend the rest of your days (not even to mention nights), the person who is, quite possibly, it for you? That you would try to make that happen. To lock that down. And yet he seemed to be doing everything but.

Even after she’d been shot by Ritter, and he’d almost lost her again.

And why was that? How to explain this puzzling behavior.

Maybe she didn’t want him, and he was just protecting himself.

The thing was, when he was being honest, he knew that wasn’t true. When he’d been about to kiss her in his hallway, she’d looked confused at first. And then concerned, with real fear flashing in her eyes. But by the time his lips were hovering over hers? They were on the same page. She’d gone molten in his arms, and her mouth awaited his, wet and ready. His body remembered how she’d opened to him, with her sweet breath and her fingers on his neck. He knew in his bones how that encounter would have ended, if not for that stupid fucking bee. Recalled it every chance he got.

As a psychologist, looking at the situation objectively? He’d have to conclude that he was engaging in some epic self-sabotage. Yup.

That night in her apartment when Diana had made her intentions clear, he’d agreed like some kind of docile sheep to join her. To scrum up with the other chosen few at El Rico Air Force Base as Armageddon loomed and save himself at the expense of the rest of humanity. And Scully, even though he wasn’t by her side where he belonged, was still fighting. For him, For them. For the truth. For the future.

And to repay her for her steadfast faith in him and devotion to their work? He was flirting with the one thing that could tear them apart. With inflicting a betrayal that could send her packing for good.

They’d dodged a bullet that night. More than that, they’d gotten their files back, and were free to resume their work. And by any measure he should have felt relieved. But he woke the next morning with a hangover worse than any he’d ever gotten from liquor. He looked in the mirror to shave and realized he couldn’t even meet his own gaze. He was ashamed. And he had to admit that he’d been seduced by Diana after all. Not into bed, but into complacency.

Needing some time and space to think things through, he called Skinner and redeemed a few vacation days. He threw some clothes in a bag and set out driving, not sure of his destination.

On the road, heading north, armed with this new clarity, he mulled things over. How was he going to feel, he wondered, when he succeeded and chased her away? That seemed to be his end game, after all. He knew what he’d do. He’d track her down to wherever she’d absconded to and interrupt her as she attempted to reboot her life. Then, looking desperate and half mad, he’d profess his love.

But it would be too late. She would conclude, quite logically, that he only wanted her when she was leaving. And even if she loved him like he hoped she might, she would not settle for that. Not Scully. And it would be selfish of him to ask her to.

It hit him then, with complete and utter clarity, that he had no idea how to love someone. He’d had bad models and a dearth of life experience in that arena. He knew how he felt. But love is a verb. It’s about what you do. She had taught him that.

He was good with the grand gestures, sure. Tracking her down at the bottom of the world and fishing her out of an enormous alien vessel, for example. Then breathing life back into her and hauling her to the surface while sidestepping rabid lizard monsters who swiped at them with razor-edged claws? Check.

But she needed more. For him to find mundane ways to express his care and concern, perhaps. To show her how much she mattered to him. How much he valued her and all the ways she contributed to their work. To his life. She needed to see that he put her first. She deserved these things. She had earned them. And he knew wouldn’t let him glimpse her secret self, let him know her like he desperately wanted to, until he gave them to her.

He wasn’t sure he could do it. But he knew he had to try.

He decided to start right away. He’d been thinking of her all morning, of course. About celebrating their return by pressing her her against a wall in their office and pushing into her, fucking her breathless and senseless before lunch, to be exact. But he hadn’t thought of her at all, he realized. Not really.

Scully. She’d be there right now, in the basement waiting for him, their first day back where they belonged. Wondering where he could be with half the morning gone. Bewildered as to what might be keeping him from reclaiming his precious turf. Maybe she already talked to Skinner and knew he was taking a few days off. Maybe she’d be worried. Or pissed. Or worse, wondering if he was enjoying a morning lounging in bed with a treacherous leggy brunette.

At the next rest stop, he pulled off and powered up his cell phone. He was relieved to see that he'd missed a call from her. She hadn’t given up on him yet.

Rather than listen to her message, he dialed her back. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey Mulder,” she said.

“Hey Scully,” he said. “Are you in the office?”

“I am,” she said. “Where I thought for sure you would be. Skinner told me you were on vacation. What’s going on?” Her voice was brittle. Defensive.

“I will be, Scully. I’ll meet you there. And soon. But I need to take care of a few things first.”

“Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “What kinds of things?”

“I, ah, I need to get my head straight before coming back. I’ve been mixed up. About some stuff.”

“I see,” she said.

They were both quiet for long seconds.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Me?” The question surprised her. “I’m good. Enjoying the quiet. Working on expense reports. Glad to be out of the bullpen.”

“You sure? You were popular, Scully. I think Agent Kargoll was working up the nerve to ask you out.” Mulder would glare at him as he brought her a donut on a little plate in the mornings. He’d leave it on the corner of the desk if she wasn’t in yet, like an offering to the high priestess.

“Yep,” she said. “I noticed that too. Reassigned in the nick of time...”

“I did my best to scare him off...”

“He was persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“He seemed like a nice enough guy. You could do worse than landing a boyfriend who arrives bearing gifts every morning...”

“I could do better, too.”

“No doubt,” he said. “What would be better than that?”

“Hmm. Why do you ask?”

“Research,” he said.

“Research,” she repeated. “Okay. Let’s see. The bearing gifts is ok. But maybe someone with some sense of what I actually like?”

“Let me jot that down,” he said. She snorted a little laugh. Which warmed him all the way through. “It’s true, Scully, you’re not a big fan of donuts. I benefitted from his crush on you more than you did.”

“I tried to wait until he had his back turned before handing those off to you...”

“You’re very kind,” he said.

Just then a truck blew by on the highway, laying on the booming brake, rocking his car.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I, ah, hit the road this morning. Just to think. Just to drive. But I suppose I’m heading home. To see my mother for a few days.”

“Everything okay?” she asked. He heard the concern in her voice, the fear that she’d be needing to tend to him trepanned and shocky, bail him out of jail. The usual.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or it will be. I really think it will be.”

“Allright Mulder,” she said after a long beat. “I’ll be holding down the fort. Drive safe. And keep in touch.”

“I will. And save me some of that paperwork, Scully.”

She laughed and hung up.

He had, in fact, visited his mother. She was glad to see him, and he stayed a few days, helped her out with some chores around the house. Got on a ladder and plucked the muck and leaves from the gutters, shifted some dusty furniture from the basement to the curb.

And he absorbed the silences of that house, his mother’s sadness, the way every possession, every exchange seemed steeped in a deep, abiding misery.

He remembered his mother different. Laughing, for example. Playing bridge with her friends, toying with her strand of pearls as she leaned in to gossip. Teasing him with a glint of joy in her eyes. Before Samantha had been taken.

It had broken her. Broken all of them. Now she ghosted around her own home, tending to her roses, watching television. Always alone. He lived much the same way. This was all that was left.

All because his father had been unable to protect them from the men he worked with, no matter how noble his intentions. The same men he had been tempted by Fowley to join up with, if he was telling the truth. Now they were reduced to ash. He had no idea what remained, but he knew he and Scully would find out.

By the time he climbed in his car to come home, he was committed to not making his father’s mistake. And to living differently. Less stubbornly solitary. To inviting some goodness into his life, no matter how strange it felt.

And last night, when it was actually happening, when he was wrapped up in bed with Scully in real life, it had been so vivid, so peculiar. As he rolled his naked frame against hers, time slowed down. In his head he heard the seconds ticking away distorted by doppler effect, whomp whomp. Felt his stiff prick slide against her buttery thigh, painfully slow. Pressed his ear to her chest. Imagined the steady squeeze and release of her heart beneath her breastbone. Heard the whoosh of her blood through her veins.

Looked up at her flushed face, this beautiful untamable breakable beast.

And he loved her.

He’d told her so.

Now he needed to show her.

Thanks for reading. Check it out at Ao3 This fic stands alone, but is also chapter 10 of Bedside Manner

#the x files #today in fic #msr fanfic #msr #mulder x scully #x files #fox mulder #dana scully #x files fanfiction #the x files fanfic

[mage-and-the-tantrums]

Excerpts from a book I will probably *try* to write

333 Days home.

333 days ago exactly. August the 5th, 2020, I took my final return flight, from Istanbul to Tunisia, after 5 years of expatriation. After graduating quietly, on my bed while wearing shorts, I found no reasons to stay in Turkey, and no reasons to not come back home, in a world torched by a global pandemic.

Upon returning home, and within a month, I discovered how badly my family failed and grew apart. I never thought it could happen to us. My sister helped wake me from my stun. "They just behave for a couple of months, when you were here for vacations, and also whenever we called you on messenger. It's broken", she said, with an acceptance that should be forbidden to her age.

I was led, mystically, to discover some dark secrets. I refuse to talk or write about them here. Only one person besides me knows the whole truth.

The bitch and a half about knowing something that you cannot divulge to anyone, and I mean absolutely not a living soul, is that it detaches you from the world. It leaves you questioning your two best friends with whom you thought you would discuss anything. You charge and trial "in absentia" them, and you find them guilty without them actually doing anything. It has been an education, to discover what loneliness truly meant. I felt corrected, back to school, as harshly as possible, just because I thought I was alone when in Istanbul. Life showed me, in the span of 30 days, how much I could be alone, while within my family, my friends, and the country that I love and missed beyond words.

I would sit next to my friends, in the backseat of a car, listening to autotuned american rap (which I disdain), while they converse about girls, cars, and the eventuality of marriage with the inexplicable costs that it imposes in our country, and how one should escape this sorry corner of the world to Europe. I would hear scribbles and syllables, as if I shrank and sank 6 feet deeper into myself. The only thought swimming in the pool of my brain is "how little do they know about the dilemma tearing me apart. They are here, they have known me for years, they are practically the family I chose for myself. And yet, and yet, we're oceans apart. Nothing would be the same ever again. How many secrets could a person hold while sitting next to you ? We're all strangers to one another.

I truly discovered how loneliness could snatch someone from their settings, to dictate its own terms and draw an existence, in pale shades of grey for that someone to dwell in. At some point, I realised that, no matter how shockingly and frighteningly true my thoughts were, there were equally dangerous and self-destructive. Looking into what felt like a void is fun and instructive and intellectually probably sexy, until it begins leaking into your life, which it does pretty often. I was as alone as I permitted myself to be. I figured that I needed to create a breathing gap between me and some shit in my life, that, in the end, is none of my business. Some persons decided and acted, while apparently thinking so little to none about the consequences. It is not, nor it will ever be, under any pretext, my problem. I kept repeating it, slowly, breathing it into my lungs, and holding to that breath, in the corner of my room, during some long ass nights, and I realised that I really needed to believe that. I needed to find a formula to market that idea to my brain which kept feeding on the void. Truth can be a very subjective and useless concept. So I turned to another, more pragmatic concept; priorities. I asked the primordial, narcissistic question: "What about me ?". No one was asking that question, so I did.

From there, I cruised my way to restore some inner peace after a chaos that was served to me, and before I could speak, crammed down my throat. If I could reduce it down to a words, it would be this: "Everyone thought of themselves. Nobody thought about me, so why the fuck should I lose sleep over it ? I'll think of myself as well, because if I don't, no one will".

Friendships are another big, juicy topic. Tough love all the way, and if you don't like it, then you're overly sensitive. Tough love wrapped by layers and layers of selfishness and a critical lack of any notion of emotional intelligence. But at the end of the day, I think that I am privileged to have a circle of people with whom I can ride and spend time. It could have been a lot worse.

The food is awesome. I genuinely think that Tunisian cuisine is criminally underrated. It never got properly marketed on a global level (nor it ever will). It is very hard to not gain weight here, and I am regularly (although with a shy frequency) I go out to run.

Financially, I am leeching off my Mom, since I am still working on establishing an eCommerce platform with a friend. She gladly helps, and I feel so grateful for her support. She has been my guardian in these difficult times.

Do I think about expatriation again ? I honestly do not know. Tunisia has been sinking for quite some time, and everyone is looking for a way out. I am convinced that we should stay here and fight. No matter how little the effort, we should grab the situation by the reigns and ride our way, no matter where. But I understand those who believe in the "personal salvation". Everyone should aspire for a financial and a moral dignified life, which is becoming harder by the day here. The social tissue is more like a bikini now, with the bra being the wealthy who got wealthier (upper), and all of the rest including the middle class who are sinking deeper into the pit of bank credits. Want to get married ? that would be this huge amount that would never be able to pay for with 2 salaries and a 10 years saving account. Want to purchase a house ? how cute. Mathematically and financially impossible, even with the most elaborate and strict saving measures. But hey, all is possible with a huge, fat, juicy credit bank that would suck nearly half of your salary (if not exactly half) for 1 to 2 decades.

Being back home is re-calibrating your tongue, your digestive system and your daily habits. It is a constant rewiring, and an eternal effort to make things better, because we know better now. Being back home is struggling to find your place again, because everyone is so used to your absence they often need to be reminded you're here now. Being back home is the choice to actually stress-test your relationships, and see if people would bother to grant you once again, access to their lives. Being back home is the shocking resolution that most won't bother to call, and that most relationships are as random as the circumstances. In a parallel reality, you wouldn't even be friends. Being back home is very far from being the solution to anything. But being back home feels like recharging. It feels once again that I am alive.

#excerpt from a book i will probably write #writers thoughts #thoughts of a writer #writers on tumblr #writeblr #poets and writers #home #thoughts of a mage #mage #spilled thoughts #spilled inks #spilled words

[emersonfreepress]

okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches ​​ asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

#lovely anon #answered #hotmess #ok I am truly so sorry for going on and on like this #writing #ch design #ty for this question it was really nice to revisit this stuff 😃 #and a nice reminder to not look back lol #scrapped

[depressedkakashihatake-fics]

Be More Careful

Haruno Sakura/Rock Lee

1593 words

For: @spacebabe51​ and @bazmultifandom (cuz you seemed interested)

One patient left and then Sakura would officially be free from her shifty at the hospital. Able to go out and enjoy the rest of her day.

Perhaps if Ino was finished training with her team for the day, Sakura would be able to convince her to go out for some sushi with her. A treat for a hard days work.

They deserved it.

Stopping in front of the room she had been directed to, she reached out and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come in,” the voice that called out from the other side of the door sounded familiar. “I just, uh…”

She doesn’t wait for whatever is supposed to follow those words. Grabbing the door handle, she pulled the door open swiftly and stepped into the room to see Rock Lee in the process of trying to pull his green jumpsuit back on.

“S-Sakura-Chan!” His eyes go wide when he meets her gaze, his face turning a deep shade of red while he moved the jumpsuit in front of his body to block her view. As if he wasn’t wearing boxers or she hadn’t seen worse since she started working at the hospital. “I didn’t- I thought…”

“That you would be getting someone else as your Doctor?” a shy nod is the only response she gets. “Well, too bad. You’re stuck with me.”

Not that she thought Lee had any real problems with that aside from a bit of embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to waste your time, Sakura-Chan.” Ignoring his rambling for a moment, Sakura started to do a visual check. Though, it didn’t take her long to figure out why Lee was there when she saw a huge bloody bandage on his arm. Likely put on by one of the nurses to stem the flow of blood before she was able to get there.

“What did you do to yourself this time, Lee-kun?” Making her way over to his side, she took hold of his wrist and pulled his arm up. “Hold.”

Releasing her grip on his wrist, she started to carefully undo the bandages so that she could see the full extent of the damage.

Judging by the bruises that littered his arms, abdomen and face she assumed it had something to do with training.

              Unsurprising, given the amount of times Sakura had seen Lee’s name in Hospital records for training related injuries.

“Six new bruises and an injury on your ar. You’re pushing yourself too hard again,” Removing the last bit of bandage, she sighed when she saw a deep, bloody gash there on his arm. “Let me guess. One of Tenten’s weapons?”

“She wanted to try out one of her new moves,” Lee defended his teammate. “She asked Neji to train with her, but he had already promised to train with Hinata today so…”

So you thought that you could fill in for him?” another nod of his head, this time with an ashamed look on his face. “Do you know why Tenten would ask Neji to train with her when she wants to test out a new move?”

Well Lee tried to think of an answer, Sakura examined his wound. The gash was deep, but not deep enough that his humerus was hit. That meant she had one less thing to worry about.

“Neji can deflect her attacks, including her weapons, with his eight trigrams palms revolving heaven,” There’s pride in Lee’s voice when he gives her his answer. Something that is no less surprising that all of the bruises on his body. “Had Neji been available he would have been perfect for Tenten to train with in order to perfect her new attack. But since he wasn’t…”

“You volunteered yourself instead, even knowing you could be more seriously injured even with your speed,” She expects this of Lee, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less disappointed that he got himself injured when he could have avoided it. “You know, everyone is always talking about how you’re so much like Gai-Sensei. I don’t think any of them realize that you have the same stupid blind dedication to people as Kakashi-Sensei.”

That’s the only way she can explain it. Kakashi-sensei and Lee-kun were the only people that she knew who were willing to train with others even knowing that they could be seriously injured.

Just last week she had watched Shizune patch up her Sensei after taking a kick to the ribs from Gai-Sensei that had left him with two broken ribs and a week off from missions. All so that Gai-Sensei could try out a new move he had come up with.

“I think in Kakashi-Sensei’s case it’s love making him do dumb things,” Lee’s laugh rang in her ears. Easily the most beautiful laugh she had ever heard. So full of love and joy. “That’s what Neji is always saying.”

“He’s probably right,” it took her Sensei a while to relax around her, but as soon as he had he went from ‘Hard to read mystery’ to ‘open book’. One of the most obvious things about him was that he was completely, undeniably in love with Gai-Sensei. “But that’s not the case with you. You’re just reckless.”

Removing her hands from his wound, she reached into her left pouch and pulled out the suture kit that she always carried around on her.

“Well, I can’t do much about the bruises. Those will heal within a few days,” though by the time these one’s healed she had no doubt there would be brand new one’s to replace them. “But I should stitch up that wound to prevent infection.”

Lee doesn’t argue, but he also doesn’t move to sit down on the hospital bed directly behind him. Instead, he continues to stand there holding his jumper in front of his body like a shield.

“You know, it will be kind of hard stitching you up while you’re standing,” she frowned. “even after I give you the local anesthetic to dull the pain.”

Even the smallest amount of movement could screw up her work.

“O-oh!” Glancing back at the bed, Lee finally moved to take a seat. “Sorry. I’m not used to…”

She waited for him to finish his sentence, but no other words followed.

“You’re not embarrassed to talk to me, are you Lee-kun?” She gave him a playful smile as she took a step forward and set her suture kit down on the bed side table for easy access. “The boisterous, condiment Rock Lee too shy to finish a sentence. Are you sick?”

“No, that’s not it!” Lee insisted, shaking his head pretty violently for a man insisting that he wasn’t embarrassed. “It’s just…I never thought…”

“That I would be the one taking care of your wounds?” Sakura frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, you always seemed like someone who would, you know…” she leveled him with an unimpressed look. “No, that-I said that wrong!”

“I’ll give you one more change,” she offered. “Try that again.”

While Lee took a moment to rethink his words, Sakura dug into her pockets once more for the anesthetic.

“A powerhouse!” She jumped when Lee screamed his response suddenly. “You always seemed like more of a combative Kunoichi. Not that being a medical ninja is bad. Gai-Sensei told me it takes a lot of skill and studying to become one.”

That certainly wasn’t wrong. Some days she wondered if she would ever finish studying.

“You’re amazing Sakura-Chan,” Lee’s compliment caught her off guard, lighting up a fire in her chest that made her feel warm and…loved? Was that the word she was looking for? “You’re always pushing yourself to be better. You never give up no matter how hard things get.”

“You’re one to talk,” she laughed even as her heart pounded in her chest. “you faced down a surgery that could have killed you, all so you could keep being a shinobi.”

“Well, ya,” Lee responded as if it was no big deal. “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let my dream of becoming one of the greatest shinobi ever die without a fight.”

Always so passionate and upbeat. Nothing seemed to ever get Lee down no matter how bad things got.

“Well, as admirable as it is, I do with you would be more careful while you’re training,” twisting the cup off of the anesthetic cream, she set it down on the table by her suture kit and dipped two fingers into the cool cream. “This will numb the area so I can work without causing you unnecessary pain.”

Nodding his head Lee watched Sakura take a step towards him and hissed when she started to apply the cold cream to the skin around his wound. For a moment a comfortable silence fell between them.

“I’ll try to be more careful,” his voice was tender, a promise lingering in his words. “If you promise me that you won’t over work yourself.”

Sakura’s hand stopped, her eyes locking on his eyes his words sank in.

Taking a step back, she slapped her clean hand over her mouth and laughed. She laughed so hard and long that her ribs were starting to hurt when Lee reached out and gripped her shoulders with a soft, worried look in his eyes.

“S-Sakura-chan are you alright?”

She could kiss him. He looked so adorable standing there panicking over her health because of a little laughed when he was the one who had gotten sliced by one of Tenten’s weapons.

“I’m perfect,” she closed her eyes and smiled at him instead. “Absolutely perfect.”

#Haruno Sakura #Rock Lee #SakuLee #With an itty bitty mention of Kakagai #cuz i'm weak #I'm sorry #XD #This is my first time writing Sakulee so i hope it's good

[love-killed-the-superstar]

i finally finished cass week!! its been lots of late nights but so much fun. thank you everyone whos been reading these. tonight i have some real good cassunzel/unknighted dream content for yall, so enjoy if that’s your thing

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 7 - FINALE

How is one supposed to feel, showing up at their girlfriend's wedding to somebody else?

Cassandra has been through the whole spectrum of emotions in the run up to it all. There's been joy, of course, and in abundance – these are her best friends, taking that next important step in their lives. While she... takes her own next step. Alone.

She has poured over detailed illustrations Rapunzel sent her in letters of the various wedding patterns she's considered. It's amazing how much input Cass has had in the whole thing, considering it isn't even her wedding, especially when also factoring in the distance between them. She's helped pick out the flavour of punch while hunched over a campfire on a cold night; she's backed up Rapunzel's desire to forego shoes, even in the royal cathedral, in her underthings while her clothes hung up to dry after she got caught in a flash flood.

Half the time it doesn't feel like her place, and she withholds her opinion. Or she'll write back something along the lines of 'you should ask your future husband, not me'. But then Rapunzel counters that with 'well, you're like my future wife, so your opinion is equally important'. And... well, that just leads to other emotions that are even harder for her to deal with.

The flip side of the coin is the disappointment she feels, knowing that Rapunzel can only marry one person and Eugene is the clear winner, in both the royal family's favour and the court of public opinion. After all, who would come to a wedding where the princess marries the very person that nearly destroyed the kingdom? Cassandra can't fault Rapunzel for making the choice to marry Eugene; he was in Rapunzel's life first, he's begrudgingly grown on the people of Corona despite his shady past, and during the mess that she caused he stepped up and took responsibility. He loves her. He'll do anything for her.

She's happy for them, really. But the whole situation still feeds back into this complex she's worked so hard to overcome these last couple years. Marriage just a... a ceremony, a piece of paper, a legal contract. A wedding is a big, over-dramatic party that she would never in a million years want to take part in anyway. And hasn't she always told herself, since she was an angry little kid rolling her eyes at the Day of Hearts' puppet show, that romance, matrimony, all that bullshit, is something she's never wanted for herself?

It's petty, plain and simple, to have such a sting of jealousy at the idea of Rapunzel and Eugene marrying. They deserve their happy ending! More than anybody! Cass will just... have to figure out a way to be okay with that. Chasing destiny on the open road is her happy ending anyway, and that's no life for a... what would she even be? Princess consort? Duchess?

...Fine. She doesn't need a title or status to be happy. So much of her identity has been clinging to words other people might use to describe her and it can only end if she wishes it so.

All the same – it would be nice, just for a day, if she could be Rapunzel's bride.

…

Cass doesn't mean to show up late to the ceremony, although she's sure that Lance will slide up and make some comment at the reception anyway. Maybe she just didn't want to get up that morning. Maybe it's because she stayed up late last night, camping out at the lagoon, thinking about the vows they took all those years ago. After all, wasn't that modelled after a private wedding, between the two rulers who bound their kingdoms together? A marriage that is recognised in Corona's history books? By extension, aren't her and Rapunzel already married, in their own way?

That should be enough.

By the time Fidella and Owl rouse her, their casual annoyance morphing into urgency as the sun rises higher in the sky, she already knows she won't make it on time. She won't even have time to change, after Rapunzel spent weeks pestering her for her clothing measurements to have an appropriate outfit tailored. Thankfully, Raps knows her well enough not to commission a dress.

Cass rides like she's never ridden before, determined to get there before the vows. What will Rapunzel and Eugene think of her if they look out to the pews and see she isn't there, after all she's done to convince them she's fine with it all? She promised herself, the moment she held the pale lilac wedding invitation in her hands six months prior, that she wouldn't ruin their big day for them. Even if she shows up with windswept hair and yesterday's travelling clothes on, she has to be there, cheering them on.

With her and Fidella's combined determination they make the journey from the lagoon to the castle walls in record time. Standing at the gate, she purses her lips in annoyance as Stan and Pete, in a frustrating display of competence, ask for proof of ID and her invitation.

“Stan, Pete, this is ridiculous. You know me. You've known me since I was a kid.”

“Sorry, Cassandra,” Stan says sagely, as she begrudgingly hands over her Corona citizen identification card. “Rules are rules, and this is a big day for the princess.”

“Besides, we need to be on the lookout for shapeshifters,” Pete adds on, holding her invitation to the light to search for the subtly printed Corona emblem on the paper. “It's a recent thing we've been told to watch out for. A couple years ago there was an incident at the goodwill festival, see.”

“Pete, that was also me,” Cass says flatly.

“Never can be too careful,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Captain's orders and all. We good here, Stan?”

“Yup, everything looks legitimate. Welcome back to Corona, Cassandra!” Stan says, reverting back to his cheerful disposition.

“I am going to kill Eugene for this. Figuratively, of course.”

Stan motions for the gates to open, and as they do, a narrow stream of what looks to be wine rushes past Fidella's hooves. She moves aside slightly, snorting a little in confusion.

“Eww,” mutters Pete, exchanging a confused look with Stan before clearing his throat. “Well, you'd better hurry to the wedding if you don't want to miss the vows!”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Cass wrinkles her nose a little at the trail of wine leading across the bridge, eyes widening as it becomes apparent that there is much more where that came from. As the gates swing shut once again, Cass wonders to herself what the fuck they have just walked into.

The whole kingdom looks to be a mess. There are lanterns flying everywhere, and between them there are doves. Passing through the lower town, it looks like there's been some sort of roof collapse at the old tar works, and the stream of wine gradually becomes a shallow river. Fidella does her best to step around the mess, but it's nearly impossible; even the houses lining the street have been doused. At this rate, the reception will be an extremely sober affair.

Cass picks her way through the winding streets leading up to the palace, passing by a few torn up carts selling imitation merchandise of Rapunzel's wedding attire. She can't help but scoff at the broken shoe cart. As if Raps would wear shoes, even to her own wedding.

The crowd, all dressed in their Sunday bests, look shaken to their cores when she finally reaches the courtyard. The tables that were laid out for the reception are overturned, there is soup everywhere, and no one knows quite what to do with themselves.

She approaches a guard, looking flustered as he tries to set a nearby table upright, and asks, “Uh, what happened here?”

“Some – some horse burst through in a frenzy,” he explains, shaking like a leaf. “It, uh, from a distance it kinda looked like Maximus.”

Cassandra's brow furrows. “Is everything okay?”

“There are no reports of a disturbance in the throne room,” the guard continues. “But as you can see, the decorations have all been tarnished.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, I won't keep you, I just need access to the throne room. I have an invitation here, signed by the princess...”

After an excruciating second ID check (she was seriously going to maim Eugene for introducing this ridiculous 'shapeshifter' check) Cass is granted access to the venue, and figuring it's probably best not to draw attention to her tardiness, she slips in through one of the side entrances, with its door propped open to let in some cool air on such a hot day.

Cass hops down from Fidella's back, scratching the side of her head affectionately as Owl swoops down to take her place. He hoots at her curiously.

“Yeah, I don't know what the fuck just went down either,” Cass whispers. “I'm sure we'll find out later. For now, let's just not make a scene?”

Fate has other plans, however. She makes it barely two steps past the doorway before almost being bowled over by a runaway eight-tier wedding cake.

“Woah!” she gasps, stepping out of the way just in time to avoid getting a face full of cake. She reaches around, gripping the sides of the trolley to try and keep it from rolling all the way outside. Fidella steps in to help, blocking the exit with her body, and Cass heaves a sigh of relief as the trolley grinds to a halt, the cake wobbling precariously for several painful seconds before stabilising. Owl hoots in victory and Cass exhales loudly.

“Oh thank god. That could have been a disaster.”

“...Hey, where's the cake?” a voice, unmistakably Eugene's, calls from beyond the edge of the corridor. Cass cringes. So much for quietly watching from the sidelines.

Steeling herself, she slips around the back of the trolley and with some effort, pushes it around the corner and into the throne room. There's an audible ripple of uncertainty through the pews, as the confused guests mutter to one another about why some windswept vagrant is wheeling out a cake that was already in position at the beginning of the ceremony. There's a hoot of laughter (definitely Lance) at Cassandra's dishevelled appearance, a sharp “is that Cassandra?” from three rows away (her dad's voice, for sure), and a few giggles she's guessing are coming from Kiera and Catalina's direction. She can't even bear to look at the king and queen.

Instead, she sees two figures in white. Eugene, looking proud as can be in his very expensive wedding garb that he bragged about to her in several letters... and Rapunzel, face framed by the soft lace veil behind her, looking so beautiful Cass could cry. Her surprise melts into pure glee, and if it weren't for the colossal cake in between, Cass knows Raps would be launching herself at her right then and there, present company be damned.

She passes Max and Pascal and almost chokes. That would explain the sorry state of the tar works' roof, at least. From somewhere behind, she hears Fidella stifle a snort of laughter.

“Well well well,” Eugene says, with a click of the tongue and a lopsided grin. “If it isn't our favourite little gatecrasher.”

It's his teasing, strangely enough, that helps her to find her voice in front of all these people. “Well geez, somebody had to stop this cake from rolling down the hill.”

…

The wedding reception ends up being less of a party and more of a clean-up operation after Max and Pascal's prior mischief, but when the venue has been tidied up and the main courses have been served, Cass slips away right as the king stands up to give a tearful toast. If she times it right she can change into the outfit Rapunzel has had tailored for her and return before the speech is concluded, no problem.

At this point, her room is basically an empty shell with a bed and a wardrobe, so it takes no time to lay out her new outfit ready. Glancing around the empty husk of a room while she starts to undress, Cass wonders when exactly Corona stopped feeling like her home. Maybe about the time she realised it was the people, not the place, that she gravitated back to time and time again?

The new suit doesn't look all too different to Eugene's, minus his father's sash. It's white, with similar detailing, and even some of the same gold accents on the collar. Cass blanches a little the longer she stares at it. God, she's going to look like she's trying to steal his thunder. On his fucking wedding day.

“Why did I let you do this, Raps?” she groans. She can't deny once wearing it, however, that it makes her look really good.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror on her closet door, trying for a smile. This whole situation feels bizarre, and she still can't stop thinking about how stunning Rapunzel looks in her wedding dress.

I wish she was marrying me instead.

The admission, even inside her head, is enough to make her growl in frustration, slap her forehead.

“Enough,” she grits out. “You are going to go out there and be supportive and happy for them because this is their day and you love them so much. Enough throwing yourself a pity party, Cass.”

With nothing else to say to herself, she ties back her hair, shaggier from her foregoing a haircut in quite some time, neatly plaiting it and securing it with a short piece of string from her satchel. Pulling a pair of white gloves on to tie the whole outfit together, she glares at her reflection for a few seconds to compose herself before heading back towards the venue.

“Looking dapper, Cass,” Lance mutters in greeting as she slides up beside him, trying to pretend that she hadn't slipped out in the middle of the king's big speech. He glances over at Eugene, sat beside Rapunzel at the front table reserved for the royals, and then back to her again. “Tell me, which one of you is the groom again?”

“Don't you dare draw anyone's attention to this, Lance. Raps has no idea how petty this makes me look to onlookers.”

He bursts out laughing, which quickly dissolves into a fake cough to deter the few people who turn to stare at him disapprovingly. “Haha, hmm. Uh, you know that was definitely intentional on her part, right? She wants you to feel included.”

“Included? I just feel like I'm third-wheeling a wedding.”

“Isn't that exactly what's happening?”

She groans quietly, before bursting into polite applause as the king embraces Rapunzel tightly and then raises his glass, before taking his seat. Edmund rises, and she can already see Eugene looking nervous at the weird shit he's about to start spouting to the unsuspecting audience.

“I came back here to support them, not to upstage Eugene at the after party.” She chews her lip. “Maybe I should change. D'you think I should change?”

“Look, Cass, Eugene knew about the matching suits ahead of time. If he had a problem with it he would have said something, believe me.” Lance grins and shakes his head. “I was just messing with you before about the third wheel stuff. You're their equal, don't you get that? This might as well be your day too.”

Cass pinches the bridge of her nose. “Don't say this stuff to me, Lance, or I'll seriously start feeling depressed. I need a drink. Is there any booze left, or is it all out on the street?”

“Unless they're planning on breaking out the communion wine, I think we're out of luck.”

“Damn it. Maybe I should just hide in the bathroom for the next six hours.”

As the toasts conclude, Rapunzel and Eugene are called to the dance floor for the first wedding dance. The orchestra rise as Arianna removes the train from Rapunzel's hair, and she and Eugene make their way to the centre of the venue with their hands clasped. Rapunzel's eyes search in the crowd as she walks, finally locking in on Cass as the conductor motions for the band to play.

“I love you,” Rapunzel mouths, and Cass weakly nods before losing Rapunzel's attention to the sweep of the music and the arms of her new husband.

…

“Cass!”

Rapunzel finds her on the steps, having put some distance between her and the rest of the party about an hour ago. After a couple hours of shit-talking bad dancers with Lance from the sidelines, catching up briefly with her father, and downing about a third of the punch bowl in an attempt to avoid conversations with people, Cassandra is all partied out.

Rapunzel's hair is mussed from hours of relentless dancing as she patters down the steps and flops down beside her, uncaring if the dust from foot traffic leaves a mark on the fabric.

“Hey, newlywed. You having a good time?”

“Of course! Oh, Cass, aren't the orchestra just wonderful? They play the classics, for my parents, but the upbeat stuff was a great surprise! When I'm queen, we'll dance like this at every function, mark my words!” The gleam in her eyes only brightens as she adds, “Besides... I keep stopping mid-step and thinking, I'm married now. I get to spend the rest of my life with Eugene. Isn't that just – just wonderful?”

“It is.” Cass offers her the warmest smile she can muster. “I'm so happy for you, Raps, really. You and Fitzherbert are going to have a great life.”

“All three of us are.” Rapunzel scoots closer and rests her head against Cassandra's shoulder. If only time could stop right now, Cass wishes silently, she wouldn't ask for anything ever again. “Cass, you are both my future. It's been so hard to find time to be with you today, and it's driving me crazy! You deserved to be up there with us today, you know?”

“But Corona law doesn't allow it,” Cass says softly, as if saying the words delicately will shelter her heart from fully feeling the weight of them. Rapunzel swallows and nods.

“Mhm. Yeah, it... it doesn't.”

She reaches for Cassandra's hands and squeezes them in her own. Cass can feel Rapunzel's wedding band dig slightly into her index finger, and tears spring to her eyes.

“Well,” she forces herself to say, “it's okay. If you had to marry either one of us, it should be Eugene. He's the more stable presence in your life, after all. He can help you keep this place afloat, while I – while I'm off travelling.”

“Let's not talk about this,” Rapunzel whispers, a pleading tone creeping in. “This... this should be a happy day for us, Cass! The start of something new!”

“You're right. Raps, this is a happy day. And – and I mean it, Rapunzel, I am so happy for you both. My best friends get to be happy together forever. Why wouldn't I be?”

She stands up quickly and holds her hand out, pulling Rapunzel to her feet. Rapunzel stares at her for a heartbeat, face clouded with some emotion too tumultuous to unpack in this moment, before reaching over and wiping a tear away as it spills over from Cass's eyes.

“I know you are.” Her face softens into a smile. “Hey, dance with me? Please?”

“I don't know, Raps...”

“Just one dance?” she asks, biting her lip. “I'm about ready to turn in, but... it wouldn't feel right if I didn't share at least one dance with the woman I love the most.”

“That's sweet of you. How will the man you love the most feel if I take the last dance?” Cass asks, quirking an eyebrow as Rapunzel begins tugging her up the steps by her wrist. “And your father, for that matter?”

“Oh, Eugene won't mind, silly,” Rapunzel laughs airily, marching them both towards the centre of the dance floor as other party-goers begin to stare. “And my father isn't dancing with you, I am.”

There are some whispers as they begin to dance slowly, stepping in time to a waltz; it's more of an open secret than anything, the way Rapunzel and Cassandra are with each other, but it still feels pretty brazen all the same. Cass is a bit rusty on her feet, having gone years since she last danced ballroom-style, but as she stares lovingly at Rapunzel's face, counting the smattering of freckles on her nose and seeing her own flustered face in Rapunzel's eyes, she realises it doesn't really matter. The steps are bullshit; everything is, except the hand clasped in hers and the other curled around the back of her neck.

Out of the corner of her eye Cass spies Lance, grin a mile wide, offering his hand out to Eugene. They start their own dance, a little clumsier, a little more comical than their own. Rapunzel giggles as they waltz past, Lance almost knocking into them as they spin.

“See? Eugene and Lance can make their own fun.”

Cass smiles back, exhaling slowly. There are still a few people watching with rapt interest: Queen Arianna, looking misty-eyed; Cassandra's father, fidgeting a little, his anxieties no doubt feeding off of the nervousness in Cass's own body language; a little girl she doesn't even know, clad in a waistcoat and pants, looking like she's seeing someone who mirrors herself for the first time. But as interest in their dance begins to wane, so do her fears.

“Dancing still isn't really my thing,” she confesses, as they begin to slow down. “It feels... awkward.”

“Oh.” Rapunzel pouts. “But, you know, gotta try everything once?”

“Of course. I can stand it if I'm with you.” She leans in to press a kiss to Rapunzel's forehead, but thinks better of it, leaning back again. “I, uh... yeah, it might be time for me to turn in, Raps.”

Rapunzel's smile fades a little in disappointment, but she nods. “Yeah. It's about time for us to leave too, so...”

“You're leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. No time like the present, right?” Rapunzel winds her arm around Cassandra's, clinging on as she calls over the din of the music. “Eugene! Are you ready?”

“Sunshine, I'll be right with you,” he calls back, in the midst of being dipped by Lance. Once he's back on his feet and says his goodbyes in a bone-crushing hug, he joins the two of them as they make their way to the edge of the dance floor.

“Is... is it okay for us to just leave like this?” Cass asks suspiciously. “You two don't need to make some kind of big announcement, or anything?”

“...Nah,” Eugene says after a long pause, exchanging a look with Rapunzel. “We can let the king and queen deal with that, right? Besides, the ship won't wait forever.”

Before Cass can protest further, Eugene slides up to the other side of her and links his arm in hers, and the two effectively march her down the steps and towards the docks.

“This is lovely and all, but I can't help the feeling that you two are kidnapping me,” she points out, as the three of them march on in silence.

“What! No! We – we just think you should see the boat! It's really gorgeous, and there's apparently an ice sculpture on board,” Rapunzel gabbles, starting to wax poetic in her ear as Eugene stands on the other side of her, equally enthusiastic.

“And get this – they didn't screw up my nose this time!! That's a huge deal, you absolutely cannot miss it-”

This weird pimping of the boat continues as they follow the path down to the harbour, greeting a few puzzled guards on the way as they tag along for protection. Cass can't shake the feeling that something extremely weird is going on. Eugene and Rapunzel have been shooting her odd looks all day, and she thought it was because her complicated feelings were obvious to everyone around her, but as they get closer and the ship comes into view, it definitely feels like there's a bigger story than that.

The boat is beautiful – the wood is dyed a deep cherry red, and the sails are the same rich purple as the Coronan flag, complete with the golden sun crest. On board, true to their words, is an ice sculpture, but as she strains her eyes, the sculpture depicting the happy couple looks suspiciously like a happy throuple, instead.

“Raps... Eugene... what exactly is going on here?”

“Oh, you'll see,” Eugene says under his breath, while Rapunzel giggles gleefully and gives no further answer.

Trunks of their belongings are already being loaded onto the ship when they arrive, and Cass notices a familiar satchel and carry on pack nestled beside one of Rapunzel's cases.

“Are – are those my things? Guys, what is going on?”

Finally, the two of them release her arms and she takes a step back, eyes darting all over as she tries to comprehend what the fuck is happening right now.

“Cassandra,” Rapunzel begins, clasping her hands together joyfully, “we're boarding the ship for our honeymoon, and... we were hoping you would like to come with us.”

She stares. “...But why?”

“Why?” Eugene scoffs. “Why indeed, Cass, let me think. You're our best friend, you're in a relationship with my wife – something as intimate as a honeymoon doesn't just happen with two out of three when it comes to us, you understand?”

“But – but this wedding isn't for us, it's for you,” splutters Cass, still wondering if she knocked her head at some point and woke up in a parallel universe, where things like a honeymoon for three were commonplace. He rolls his eyes, hard.

“Cass, look at us. We're wearing the same freaking suit. You do the math.”

“And we had our own wedding dance,” Rapunzel chimes in. “Even if you didn't really like it.”

“All right, just... stop, okay? Give me a minute to think.” Cass is starting to feel dizzy. “I – I know you both love me – in different ways,” she adds sharply, as Eugene opens his mouth. “But this is... pretty crazy. Even for us. I mean, people will talk about this, guys.”

Rapunzel and Eugene exchange amused glances. “Cass, everyone who knows us knows, and everyone who doesn't have a pretty good guess about what goes on between us three,” Rapunzel says slowly. “You don't have to worry about that anymore, do you understand?”

“It's different now!” Cassandra protests, shaking her head in pure, unfiltered amazement. “You two are married now and it's – adulterous. Probably. Maybe even treasonous? God, my head hurts.”

“So it's not a cut and dry situation, that's fine!” Eugene throws up his hands in exasperation. “But damn it, Cass, you're acting like this is the end of days. If you stuck around more than a few days at a time, you'd realise that the people of Corona really don't care as much as you think they do.”

Cass opens and closes her mouth a few times, unsure of where to even start with protesting everything they've been saying to her. She loses the train of thought anyway once she lays eyes on Rapunzel, with a desperate look in her eyes as she watches Cass, fidgeting with her hands.

“Cass,” she says quietly, taking a tentative step forward, “we can't force you to come with us, but we would really like you to. So we can right this – this rigid law that stops us all from being happy.”

“...Okay, now you've definitely lost me.”

Rapunzel makes a frustrated noise in her throat, running her fingers back through her hair and resting both hands on the back of her neck, like she so often does when she's trying to think.

“Cassandra – once we are outside of Coronan waters, the laws don't apply anymore.”

“...And?”

Eugene half-laughs, half-coughs, and Rapunzel shoots him a pointed look before continuing more gently, “And, when we're out at sea, certain... marriage laws... don't apply either.”

She bites her lip, hoping this will be enough to get the gears turning in Cassandra's head, but she stares on blankly.

“Oh, for christ's sake!” Eugene slaps his forehead and pulls Cass along to stand beside Rapunzel, staring them both down with folded arms. “Cass, I don't know how many times we have to spell it out for you, but this has always been your wedding day too. If you want it to be, anyway.”

The words finally seem to hit home, and she stares between them with eyes as wide as a deer being stalked.

“What?” she squeaks.

“Cassandra, I have wanted to marry the both of you for as long as this has even been a conversation,” Rapunzel explains, and her voice shakes a little with her next words. “Of course this is crazy, everything we do together is crazy! And, Cass? If you don't want to get on the boat and do this... I'll accept that. But – but I hope, after all that we've been through together, that you want to be my wife as much as I want to be yours.”

Time moves slowly as the weight of these words sink in, and Cass glances between Eugene, who is beginning to look emotional just in the presence of this proposal, and Rapunzel, laying her heart on the line just to show Cass how much she matters.

“You'd really do that? For me?”

“With you,” Rapunzel corrects, mouth splitting into a grin as her eyes gloss over with tears. “Cass, I would sail to the ends of the Earth if it meant I could marry you when we get there.”

“Oh god,” Eugene says in a hushed voice. He turns away, hand over his eyes. “You're both killing me here.”

“Can it, Fitzherbert,” Cass says on instinct, before a laugh bubbles up from her throat. “Raps, I – what do I even say to that?!”

“Say yes already, oh my god!”

“Eugene!” Rapunzel shakes her head, giggling helplessly. “Sorry, proposals get to him.”

Cass gives a watery laugh. “I'll bet. What's he going to do when we actually get married, huh?”

Rapunzel blinks a few times, then gasps in delight. “So it's a yes?!”

All Cass can do is nod before Rapunzel throws herself at her, hugging her tight enough to choke. Even with all the oxygen being squeezed from her lungs, Cass feels like she can breathe for the first time all day.

There's the sound of a throat being cleared behind them, and they turn to see a guard looking a little awkward to interrupt.

“Excuse me. Um... the smaller bags, should we load them on the ship, or...?”

“Yes, you should,” Cass says, barely able to contain her cheer. “Wherever these two go, I'm going with them.”

The guard shrugs, quickly turning back to the remaining luggage, and Cass cups Rapunzel's jaw, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before hiding her face in the top of Rapunzel's hair.

“Aww, don't be shy! I loved that!” Rapunzel giggles, pulling her in closer. “I loved that so much. Wherever we go, you're coming too. Yep... that's going in my journal for sure.”

“No,” groans Cass, still giggling despite herself. “Please, no record of anything sappy I say ever again.”

“Too late. See, you should know by now, Cass. Everything mushy we ever say will be immortalised in our wife's notebooks for the rest of our lives,” Eugene sighs, slinging an arm around her. Cass nods, keeping close as they steer her towards the boarding plank.

Our wife. It feels too fucking good to be real.

“This isn't a dream, right?” she asks suddenly, as they're halfway up the plank. “This is really happening?”

“Of course it's real, art can't imitate life!” scoffs Eugene, looking a little offended. “This face can't simply be replicated in dreams, Cassandra.”

“No one is saying anything about your face, Eugene,” Rapunzel sighs, shaking her head fondly.

“You know what, Fitzherbert? You've got a point. If this were a dream your nose would be a totally different shape, for a start.”

“I don't get it! How hard can it be to draw somebody's nose in accurate proportion to their face?!”

As they take their first steps onto the boat and the plank is removed, they turn to see a few familiar faces have gathered. The parents have come to wave their children off, in a quiet moment of finality before the next chapter begins. Arianna waves to them, her aura simply overflowing with joy, Frederic watches on with a stiffer wave, clearly still coming to grips with what's about to happen once the boat leaves Corona. Edmund, stood off to the side, is loudly asking Hamuel why their good friend is tagging along for the journey.

A little further back, Cassandra's father watches on. Upon first glance, she freezes; Rapunzel's arm is still holding her in close, and she nods towards him, trying for a smile. He nods back, slowly at first, before raising his arms to wave.

He is called over by Arianna and sheepishly joins her, his eyes never fully leaving Cass as he does so. Overwhelmed, she glances down at Rapunzel, who is leaning with her head against her shoulder, still beaming and waving at her parents.

“My father knew about this, then?” she asks quietly. Rapunzel shrugs, a shy smile on her face.

“I know we don't need it, but I wanted his blessing. I wanted him to know that you're loved, and you're gonna live a long life and be okay.”

The regal trill of trumpets fill the air, as the small cluster of guards on the dock stand to attention. A few words are read from a prepared scroll, carried away by the ocean breeze before Cass can hear, and then suddenly they're moving. The faces of their parents are growing smaller, the stretch of ocean growing larger, and Cass exhales shakily before turning to Rapunzel and Eugene.

“I think I'm going to puke,” she confesses.

“What?!” squeaks Rapunzel, alarmed.

“Well, now would be a terrible time to tell us you get seasick,” Eugene jokes, clapping her on the back. “Seriously though. You okay?”

“I'm fine. I just... realised how much of what was said happened in front of all those strangers. And then our parents. God, I'm gonna jump.”

“Yeah, no jumping,” Eugene says firmly, tugging her away from the boat's edge by her shoulders. “How long until we're out of Coronan waters.”

“Less than an hour.” The tremors are back in Rapunzel's voice again.

“And there are... aha! Three hours until the clock strikes midnight. You're in luck, ladies. If we play our cards right, this day will go down in history as both our anniversaries. How's that sound, huh?”

“Sounds like everything I've dreamed of,” Rapunzel sighs, melting against Cass. “Doesn't it feel good just to be here and not having to hide it?”

“I mean, we're embarking with a very small crew for a private ceremony outside of Coronan waters,” Cass points out. “Feels pretty hidden to me.”

Rapunzel pouts. “Ah, you're right.”

“You know... I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want it to be some public affair anyway,” Cass says quickly. “But yeah, this still feels like I'm in some sort of fever dream.”

“Want me to pinch you to be sure?”

“If you pinch me I will kill you. And hey, what was all this about a shapeshifter check at the gates, huh, Fitzherbert? I missed your wedding vows just so you could mess with me?!”

“Oh, that. I thought it would be funny!”

The ship sails off, disappearing into the evening sky, and even as she's bickering with Eugene and being held back by an exasperated Rapunzel, Cass can't help believing that this might be the start of her own happily ever after, after all.

#cassandra appreciation week #cassandra week #tangled the series #tts #cassunzel #unknighted dream #tts cassandra #rapunzel #eugene fitzherbert

[loganscanons]

bedtime stories

a story about Bambi and her older brother, Krish

Articles with bolded newspaper headlines cover Bambi’s desk, marked up with pen. The margins are covered in notes that get increasingly frustrated and illegible with each article, the handwriting growing messier. Bambi underlines a phrase in the article she’s currently reading, “…Krish Kotak turned himself into the police on…” scribbling her blue pen hard enough to leave a grooved impression. The article doesn’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know. With a heavy sigh she folds her arms over her desk and buries her face in her arms.

She’s lost count of how many articles she’s read, all printed from a compiled folder on her laptop. The transcript of Krish’s trial sits on the edge of the desk, held together by a binder clip, similarly marked up. She’s poured over any and all information she can find, learning everything she can possibly can about Krish’s case. In all of it, all the articles, the transcript, the internet forums, Bambi hasn’t found the answer she’s looking for. A question that’s haunted her since the day of his arrest. How is she supposed to feel about her brother?

Krish’s arrest was the mystery of Bambi’s childhood. Her parents shielded her from the headlines, forbade any family friends from speaking of it, pretended that Krish had never existed. They created the first ghost in her life, erasing any evidence of Krish from their lives, aside from memories and the few items Bambi had managed to grab before Krish’s bedroom was gutted and the two gifts Krish left for her.

From what Bambi could tell, she was the last person to talk to Krish before he turned himself in. She’d been winding down for bed when he came to see her. At the time, she hadn’t suspected anything out of the ordinary. She was curled on her bed with a book in her lap, wearing a pink nightgown when Krish knocked lightly on the door. She knew it was him because he rapped his knuckles against the wood three times, pausing briefly between the second and third knock, as he always did.

“Hey, little bee,” Krish said, poking his head into her bedroom.

Bambi sat up, shoving a bookmark into her book as Krish silently slid into the room and shut the door behind him. His presence was unexpected. She hadn’t seen him much over the past few weeks, though no one would tell her why. Krish had said he was doing real hero work, but she wasn’t sure what that meant, especially since her parents seemed to never know where he was. They were heroes too; why didn’t they know what hero work Krish was doing? And why was Krish calling it “real hero work”? Whatever he’d been up to, she was happy that he was here now.

“Hi,” she said with a smile. “When did you get home? Mommy said she didn’t know when you were coming home tonight.”

Krish sat down on the edge of her bed, smoothing the pink ruffled comforter.

“I just got home a few minutes ago,” he said. “And I thought I’d come say hi to you.” There was a beat of silence then he said, “I was thinking I’d read a bedtime story to you. It’s been a while.”

“Really?” Bambi asked, her eyes widening. He was right. It had been a long time since he’d read her a bedtime story. Her mother stopped reading bedtime stories to her when she was five or six, at which point Krish took over. The change wasn’t a loss, as Krish was much better at reading stories. He used different voices for each character and startled with her with growling sounds for bad guys and monsters, before making her laugh with a funny voice. Through him, she could live in the story.

The bedtime stories got less frequent over the past two years. Krish got busier and she was getting older. Next year she would be a sixth grader. A middle schooler. Practically a teenager. Maybe she was getting too old for bedtime stories.

At that moment, after not seeing Krish much, and eager for a return to the old nightly routine, being an almost-middle-schooler and too old for bedtime stories didn’t matter. It didn’t even cross her mind.

“Yeah,” he said. “Pick something out,” he nodded toward her bookshelf.

She scrambled out of bed, crawling over Krish’s knees, and rushed to the bookshelf, which was stocked full of colorful children’s books. She put one hand on her hip and a finger to her lips, the same way her mother stood when she was debating a few choices, and she scanned the shelves. Nothing seemed like the right choice. She wasn’t sure if Krish would read to her more in the future, so she couldn’t pick a chapter book. But, so many of her other books suddenly seemed to babyish.

She decided on an old favorite. A book so loved that the edges were worn and creased. A retelling of the Grimm’s brothers’ “The Goose Girl.” It was a book that Krish had read to her dozens of times, but she wasn’t sick of it. She wanted something familiar. In hindsight, she would be eternally grateful she hadn’t chosen something else. An old favorite, something familiar, seemed like the right story to end on.

She handed the book to Krish, who was leaning against the headboard now, with his feet kicked up on the bed. She crawled over his legs again and settled in beside him, leaning against his chest. He wound his arm over her shoulders, so he could hold the book and she could see the illustrations as he read.

“A good choice,” he said approvingly. Once Bambi had gotten herself comfortable, cuddled in the crook of his arm, Krish cleared his throat and began in a clear voice, “The Goose Girl, a story from the Brothers Grimm, retold by…”

She struggled to stay awake for the duration of the story, finding herself growing sleepier with each page. She wanted to be awake so she could spend more time with Krish, but the attempt was fruitless. She was asleep before Krish reached the final page. She wasn’t awake when he tucked her into bed. She didn’t hear the strain in his voice as he kissed her forehead and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Bambi.” She didn’t hear him creep out of the room, The Goose Girl still in his hand, and disappear into his own room.

In the morning, Bambi would find a CD in a clear plastic case on her nightstand labelled The Goose Girl, and her copy of the book back on her shelf. In the coming months and years, Bambi would listen to that CD over and over. As technology improved, the audio file moved to different devices, from her first iPod, to her laptop and phone. In all that time, she managed to keep it hidden from her parents, refusing to give them the opportunity to rob her one of the last pieces of Krish that she had.

Days after Krish turned himself in, Bambi would find the second gift. Tucked in the pages of The Goose Girl, Krish had left a note. The letter was three pages long, folded in thirds, written in Krish’s scrawling, looping handwriting. It was an apology and an explanation. A plea for her to keep being the best person she could be. At ten years old, she didn’t understand all of the letter. She knew the words, but not the weight of their meaning. The letter became heavier, more painful to read, as Bambi grew older.

/

Bambi sighs again and lifts her head from her desk, gazing at the court transcripts. On top of the stack of paper, Krish’s letter is folded in thirds. The words are faded and worn where the paper has been folded and refolded hundreds of times. She has scans of the letter on her laptop, so she’ll always have them, but she’ll never get rid of the physical letter, no matter how hard it gets to read, wearing thinner each time her eyes rake over it.

Maybe if Krish hadn’t left the letter or the CD, Bambi wouldn’t have such a hard time finding the answer to her question. Maybe she could be like her parents and pretend he didn’t exist. She could villainize him and hate him. The letter and the CD complicate everything. She can’t reconcile the depiction of her brother in the articles with the goofy, loving older brother who read her bedtime stories and tucked her in at night.

Bambi knows how to find the answer. She’s known since before she asked tech savvy teammates to get her information she shouldn’t have been able to access, since before she poured over countless articles. She knows she has to talk to Krish.

The research alone has been a defiance of the messages she’s received for years from her parents. Do not talk about Krish. Do not ask questions about Krish. Even away from home, in the safety of her room at the team base, Bambi finds herself glancing over her shoulder, afraid that her mother will barge into the room. To talk to Krish, to go visit him in prison, would be a level defiance Bambi has hardly dared to think about.

Bambi can’t think about it tonight. She knows she’ll visit Krish soon. She’s wanted to for years. She’s avoided it for too long. But, thinking about it puts her nerves on edge, makes her want to pace around the room and curl up in a ball on the floor at the same time. It’s late. She has to save those thoughts for tomorrow.

Bambi gets up to brush her teeth and ready herself for bed. When she returns to her room, she curls up beneath her comforter and puts her earbuds in, scrolling through the music on her phone before clicking one without album art. The Goose Girl.

Closing her eyes, Bambi drifts off to the sound of her brother’s voice reading the fairy tale. In a clear voice, he begins, “The Goose Girl, a story from the Brothers Grimm, retold by…”

#bambi kotak #krish kotak #my writing

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (9/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta. I’m still leaving you on that cliffhanger for a little while, though 😉

You guys were really excited about the last chapter, and I think you’ll like this one too!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @emmas-storybook @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @galaxyzxstark @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

How long can she stand outside of an apartment building before it become creepy?

Right now, Emma is verging on fifteen minutes, and she feels like that’s fine. However, once she starts creeping up into the twenty and thirty minute categories, that’s when it gets weird and she feels kind of stalker-ish even though she was explicitly told to come over.

Maybe she should go hang out in the Duane Reade that Killian has across the street from his apartment building. She needs chapstick, right? Everyone needs chapstick at all times. Lips get dry and kind of flaky, and no one likes that, especially if they’re currently in some kind of arrangement where making out with another human being occasionally occurs.

She’s in one of those.

Kind of.

She’s not sure, and she’s very obviously freaking out and going to lose her mind on east ninety-first street. Maybe she can buy something at Duane Reade to knock her out, and she’ll never have to remember any of this. That would probably be ideal.

Wow. She is outstanding at relationships. Or quasi relationships with a man who she has worked with for several years, rejected on national television, and then made out with at three different stadiums across the United States.

But secretly made out with.

Oh shit. They’re going to get caught if they keep doing that, and the only reason she agreed to this was under the promise of no one knowing.

(And because he makes her stomach swoop in a painful, yet good, way.)

She cannot handle anyone knowing. Her career cannot handle anyone knowing. No one can know.

Creepily standing outside of his apartment building holding the Vanderbilt sweatshirt she still hasn’t given back (it’s only been a week, okay?) is probably not the best way for that to happen.

Taking a deep breath, she looks to each side of the street before crossing the road and entering his apartment building. It’s already approximately one thousand times nicer than hers, which is to be expected, and she dodges the front desk guy and turns the corner to the elevators to punch in the code Killian gave her to get in, and then walks inside the doors to wait to go up to his apartment.

This isn’t weird, right?

Did she feel this way when she started dating Neal? Or Walsh?

Nope. No. Nope. She’s not going to start thinking of them right now when she’s already freaking out enough over everything.

Why in the world is she doing this?

Because you like him, you dumbass.

The little voice in her head sounds a lot like Ruby, and Emma’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

It takes two raps of her knuckles on Killian’s door for him to swing it open, and then all of the sudden he’s standing on the other side with a bright white smile on his face, his beard clearly not having been trimmed in a few days, and a bit of fringe hanging over his forehead. Her eyes scan over him, clearly trying to buy herself some time for how her heart is like a freaking drumline beating against her ribs, and she notices that he has on a loose-fitting t-shirt, some jeans, and he’s not wearing any shoes.

Why is she so charmed by the fact that he’s not wearing any shoes? He’s in his own apartment. Why would he be wearing shoes? Do people wear shoes in their own homes?

“Hello, love,” he greets, his own eyes flickering over hers. “Nice to see that you finally made it inside the building.”

Her mouth gapes open, but she doesn’t even get the chance to form a rebuttal before Killian is dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers with his palm coming to rest behind her back, tugging her forward and into his apartment so that the door closes behind him and she’s left with wood solidly against her back. Killian really likes kissing her against solid walls. That’s a thing she’s noticed. He’s also got this thing with his teeth and his tongue that makes her see stars in broad daylight. She’s noticed that too. Gooseflesh is rising on her skin, and she’s grabbing onto the soft material of his t-shirt over his biceps and about to open her mouth to him when he pulls back, leaving her gasping for air even though she now has access to it.

“Hi,” he whispers, greeting her again while she leans her head back to rest it against the doorframe.

“Hi. How’d you know I was waiting outside?”

“Darling, my windows open up right out to the street.”

She presses up on her toes to look over Killian’s shoulder, and he’s right. His windows do look out over the street.

Holy shit does she love his apartment.

His walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, which is so much more than she can say for her place, and everything is so…simple. And it’s not simple in a bad way. It’s just that she has a lot of junk with her throw pillows and blankets and miscellaneous plants everywhere. Killian’s apartment is all warm colors and clean lines, and his couch looks like the most comfortable thing in the world. And she’d probably cook if she had a kitchen that was more than five feet of space in the corner.

Is it too late for her to play some kind of professional sport so that she can live somewhere like this? Ruby and Graham would love it.

Wait, no. Ruby and Graham would not be moving in with her if she could afford to live on her own. She loves them, but no.

“You stare at me too much,” she finally says in response, her eyes looking back to Killian so that she’s overwhelmed by the blue. Seriously. That kind of blue should not be possible. “You’ve got to let a girl freak out on the sidewalk in peace.”

He raises a brow. “Why were you freaking out? I don’t bite. Unless otherwise asked.”

That doesn’t do anything to her. Nope. Not at all. Especially not because his voice got super deep when he asked that. She is so in over her head that it’s not even funny. Why in the world does anyone date when it causes this much anxiety?

“I’m not very good at dating,” she admits, kind of wishing she could melt through the door. “I don’t have a good history with it.”

“If you did, I very much doubt I’d get to kiss you hello like that.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Apparently because you’re super smart, Professor Jones.”

“Eh,” he protests, backing up to give her some space as he scratches behind his ear. Is he nervous too? “I’m not too sure about that. You want something to drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning. I think it’s too early.”

“Believe it or not, I do have things like water to offer you.”

“Oh. Yeah, water would be good.”

Killian nods his head up and down before leaning in and pressing his mouth to her cheek, breath hot against her skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely.” He pulls back then and walks the few feet to his kitchen, opening his fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, placing them on the counter. “So, I know that technically speaking you’re the one who asked me out on this date.”

“Only because you demanded it.”

“Semantics.” She watches as he twists open his bottle and takes a sip, practically swallowing the whole bottle at once all the while she barely touches hers. “But this is my apartment, and I feel like I should show you around. I already have lunch secured, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to pay. You’re stealing my date, twenty-nine.”

He smiles at that. It seems the man who is always calling her by every nickname in the book likes having a nickname of his own that’s not from Will Scarlet. Huh.

“I’m not stealing anything. I owe you half of a pizza.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a sailing accident.”

Her heart may actually lurch at that, and when she looks at Killian, he’s glancing away, obviously as uncomfortable with talking about his accident as she is even if he’s the one who brought it up. But he jokes sometimes when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and honestly, knowing that Killian may be just as nervous as she is for this whole thing makes her feel a hell of a lot better.

It’s the blind leading the blind with absolutely no expertise in the area.

“So pizza?” she questions, tapping her knuckles against his countertops. “What’s your poison while at home?”

Killian smiles, one side of his lips stretching into the others, and it makes her feel like she just consumed gallon after gallon of carbonated soda. “The oven-cooked margarita at Nick’s. Like I said, I’m a simple man and like simple things. You’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”

“Well, pizza is a bit more serious than us seeing each other.”

He winks. “Obviously.”

-/-

“I mean, arguably, NBC makes some of the best comedies.”

“Fox had a few good ones.”

“Fox dropped Brooklyn 99.”

“Okay, valid,” Killian laughs, leaning over to the coffee table in front of his couch to pick up another slice of pizza. It has to be his fifth by this point, and the food got here an hour ago. She hasn’t quite figured out his diet yet. Sometimes he eats like an athlete should and other times he eats like an athlete can. “That was a dumb decision on their part.”

“The dumbest. But then again, NBC picked it up, so that furthers my point.”

“I should have known you were a serious comedy fan when you knew I was quoting The Office.”

She watches as he takes a large bite of his pizza, not at all caring how messy he looks, and she tucks her feet further underneath her thighs. For as nervous as she was to show up here, to come inside, it’s oddly comfortable right now. Of course, they’ve had pizza (even if it’s not noon yet) and reruns of Superstore playing on the TV to distract them, but it’s comfortable.

Killian Jones makes her comfortable.

That should be terrifying, is kind of terrifying, but she’s having too nice of a morning to think too much about that. And this pizza is actually really good, and she doesn’t want to have to walk away from that.

This is for the pizza. It doesn’t have to be about anything else even though it most definitely is.

“I mean, I’m all about the dramas. I can watch a cop show any day of the week, but Graham always complains about how inaccurate it is and makes me change the channel.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “Graham?”

“Ruby’s boyfriend. He’s why I had to come over here for our little secret rendezvous. Ruby is at the offices, but Graham is home this morning. He’s got the night shift tonight.”

“Ah,” he sighs, taking another bite of his pizza. Was he just…jealous? No, that would be weird and kind of primal, but they’re…seeing each other so maybe also kind of normal. It’s like she’s sixteen again or something. How the hell do sixteen-year-olds handle this when she, a twenty-seven-year-old woman, cannot? “Sorry. I forgot his name for a moment, but I remember now. He’s the detective, right?”

“Yep.”

“That would explain why he hates any crime drama. Liam hates any and all medical shows and will turn the television off if anyone is watching it when he’s around. Elsa freaking loves those things, though. She’s got the ability to look past the things that are wrong.”

“I think it may just be a stubborn man thing.”

“Says literally the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Emma sticks her tongue out, like every mature woman would do, only for Killian’s warm, rough hands to wrap around her calves and pull her forward on the couch (which is the most comfortable thing in the world, as she expected), making her head land against the cushions and the breath she was holding escape her.

“I am not stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn about being stubborn,” he sighs, pulling her forward a little more so that he can lean forward over her, his knees on either side of her thighs and his hands next to her head as he hovers over her, the chain that’s always hanging around his neck falling out of his shirt so that it rests over her breasts, a shiny silver ring in the middle. What the hell is that? Is she allowed to ask? “I kind of like that you’re stubborn.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Mmmm, that’s not true,” he hums, dipping his head down and brushing his lips across her jaw, a shiver immediately running down her spine. God, she likes the way that his scruff feels on her skin. He should keep doing that and definitely never shave the stubble. “You’re an observant one. You know these things.”

He nips at her skin, and she arches up into him, reaching her arms up to trail her fingers across the muscles in his arms. The talking may be hard, but she can handle this. This is good. “You don’t exactly hide your affections for me.”

“I most definitely do.”

“You asked me out on TV.”

“You looked beautiful that day.”

“You looked sweaty.”

He laughs into her neck, rubbing his cheek into her skin, before moving back up her face and hovering over her mouth so that she can see the few freckles on his face and the blue of his eyes. She is never going to get over that blue.

His breath kind of smells like pizza.

He probably tastes like it too. She does really like that pizza.

“Now, Swan,” he sighs, visibly put out as he leans down and presses his mouth to hers in a quick, dirty kiss before pulling back, making her cant her hips up into his and tighten her grip on his arms, “I do believe that you asked me out the second time. I don’t think my rejected proposal counts anymore.”

“No, you’re never living that down. If I can’t, neither can you.”

“I feel like it’s worked out pretty well for me.” He waggles his brows across his forehead, and she slaps his arm, rolling her eyes even as she presses up to try to kiss him again. They’re good at that. She’d like to keep doing it. “Or maybe you’re just here for my pizza.”

“It is good pizza.”

“The best.”

“Jones, are we going to talk about pizza all day, or are you going to kiss me?”

“Why not both?”

“Shut up,” she gasps as he lowers his entire body down to her, the warmth overcoming her, and rests his elbows on the sides of her head as his lips cover hers, slowly but surely sliding over hers over and over again until she cannot think of anything else but the noise Killian makes when she pulls at his bottom lip.

She’d like another order of this pizza and Killian making that sound. That would be the perfect morning.

He licks into her mouth without any hesitancy, his fingers curling into her hair as his tongue curls around hers in a slick, wet slide of heat and desire and all of those little things that make the hairs all over her body stand at attention. It’s overwhelming and not enough all at once, and when Killian pushes her body further into the couch, the cushions gaining an Emma-shaped dent, she knows that she never wants to move away from the way Killian is hungrily devouring her and settling between her thighs, hips rolling against hips and desire continuously building as the air is very thoroughly kissed out of her.

Who needs air? She certainly doesn’t.

Arousal curls between her thighs, a warm and thick heat that spreads up her stomach and to her chest, tightening around her heart, and she scratches her nails down Killian’s back in response, wondering if she can leave marks even through his t-shirt.

“Oh fuck,” she mutters, both to Killian and herself, as he slides his lips against her jaw until he’s biting down on the lobe of her ear at the same time that she’s pushing her hips up against his groin to grind against him, little burst of pleasure exploding just under her skin.

“You taste like pizza,” he mumbles in a dark growl, one that’s definitely not how any normal person should sound when talking about pizza.

“You did say you liked that.”

“I believe that was you.”

“Semantics,” she gasps out when his tongue flicks behind her ear while her hands grapple for his ass and her legs snake around his hips to push him closer into her space. Killian’s hands are moving from her hair to between them, his stomach lifting up so his hands can fit between them, and then she feels the warm, calloused fingers against her stomach and nearly melts right then and there, officially becoming part of this couch.

How the hell has she ended up in this situation?

Why didn’t she end up here sooner?

Lips find hers again as fingers inch up her skin, Killian’s thumb brushing under the swell of breasts. She can feel the tingle of her skin as his fingers push up the cup of her bra, and she knows that she’s on the precipice of having Killian rile her up more when her phone rings, the loud buzz causing it to move across his coffee table.

Talk about a buzzkill.

“Ignore it,” she huffs, tugging on Killian’s bottom lip.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Her mouth continues to explore his, his hands moving over her body, and they’re on that precipice again when her phone buzzes once more.

“Fucking hell,” Killian grumbles, falling on top of her before inching back up to give her some space. His chest is heaving, his hair completely and totally disheveled, and she’s so distracted by his hooded eyes that she can’t even bother to look to see who it is that’s calling her. “You want to get that, Swan?”

She jerks in her spot, a different kind of shiver running down her spine, and leans over to grab her phone only for the call to end. Luckily, or not so depending on how she looks at it, Ruby calls right back.

“Shit.” “Well that is certainly a way to answer the phone,” Ruby huffs, the audible sound of music playing behind her. She must be in the editing room. “Why didn’t you answer your phone the first two times that I called?”

“I was showering,” she lies, guilt piling up in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, did you go to the gym?”

“No, just hadn’t showered yet. Lazy day and all that.”

“Do you want to go to the gym with me after I get off of work?”

“Sure. What’s got you in such a hurry to be calling me three times?”

Killian raises a brow, a little bit of blue coming back to his eyes, and he pulls her legs forward to settle them between his thighs as she listens to Ruby talk. “Oh, I’m bored on my lunch break, and I couldn’t get Graham to pick up his phone. He’s still sleeping I think.”

Oh shit. She forgot about Graham. How did she forget about Graham? She was just talking about how he’s at home, but she didn’t think about what happens if he tells Ruby she’s not home when she’s telling Ruby that she is. She is going to get caught in her lies so damn easily, and it’s been a week.

A week.

She really hopes Graham is actually still asleep and she can get away with this one. Maybe he’ll think she’s locked herself away in her room to nap when he wakes up. This is something she definitely has to get better at.

Getting better at lying seems like an awful skill.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him today.”

Killian traces his nail across her ankle, all of his attention focused on a little freckle that’s there. It’s distracting, but it mostly just feels good. This has been a much better morning than she thought it would be…not that she thought it would be bad. Not at all. Her nerves simply got the best of her.

“I’ll try him again soon. Can you get to work early tomorrow? I want to go over some stuff for when you travel for the Rays series. I’m so mad at David for taking me off of a lot of our travel dates. He let me go to Texas but not California or Florida. Why does he hate me?”

“I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to pay for your plane ticket.”

“Oh,” Ruby gasps at the same time that Killian tugs Emma forward a bit more, making her emit a tiny yelp as her head falls against the couch, “I forgot to tell you, but David told me to tell you that when the team charters a plane, you have gotten permission to fly with them. No more weird ass times for flights so that money can be saved.”

“Are you serious?” Killian raises a brow again, obviously far too interested in her phone conversation. She doesn’t blame him. This is the conversation that interrupted their very thorough make out session. “That’s freaking incredible. I’m kind of sad I’m going to lose my miles, though.”

“You have a million saved up. You could fly to Europe and back for free. Multiple times.”

“This is true.”

“I bet Jones tries to sit next to you on the plane.”

If she were drinking water, she’d spit it out. Right now, she might as well be choking on her own saliva. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Your lover boy. He’ll probably try to sit next to you on the plane. Or any of the other guys who have crushes on you. You live the life.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t do my job for the men it surrounds me with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Killian whisper-shouts, and she has to lean across the couch to cover his mouth with her hand.

“What was that?” Ruby asks.

“The TV.” God, she’s an awful human being for doing this. “Rubes, can I call you back later? My phone keeps going off with emails.”

More lies. If this thing works out, the first person she is telling is Ruby, and she will give her whatever she wants to make it up to her for lying to her.

“It’s probably David. He speaks in emails.”

“It’s definitely David. See you at home before we go to the gym?”

“See you at home.”

She ends the call and moves her hand off of Killian’s mouth after he lightly chomps down on her fingers. The weirdo.

“So what is this about the men who surround you at your job?”

Emma rolls her eyes and rises from the couch, adjusting her top and her hair, trying to make herself a little more put together. The heat is still simmering, but it’s deep below the surface now so that she can think of other things.

“I get to fly on the chartered plane with you guys now, and Ruby was making fun of you and your very public crush on me by saying that you’re most definitely going to try to sit next to me.”

Killian hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head and rest his head there as he lazily smiles up at her, the smugness practically radiating off of him. “Little does she know, I managed to do that already.” “Overachiever.”

“Always.” He tilts his head toward the television. “You want to delve into some more comedies or do you need to get going?”

“Comedies sound perfect.”

They lapse into easy conversation, and she realizes with every minute that passes, she becomes more and more comfortable sitting on Killian’s couch and simply spending time with him outside of work. He’s visibly relaxed, his arm slung over her shoulders and his hands playing with the tips of her hair. She doesn’t think he even really realizes it.

She could probably rattle off all of his best games, worst games, and all of those in between, hundreds of stat sheets piled up in her brain, but she realizes that she knows so little about Killian outside of baseball. Why would she? They’ve only ever had a working relationship, but little by little, she’s piecing together more and more information as he probably does the same to her.

The womanizing man splattered across tabloids and on the internet is actually a kind of nerdy man who bakes and keeps pictures of his nieces everywhere and laughs these big belly laughs at Jim Halpert and Dwight Schrute pranking each other. The womanizing thing tugs at her a little bit, curiosity and worries festering, but if she’s not willing to open up about her past right now, she can’t expect Killian to either. This is all so new, so fresh, and there’s no need to get into the heaviness of her past so that Killian gets scared away right now.

She feels good, and she wants that to last for a little bit longer while she figures things out. This whole thing is terrifying and exhilarating and makes her lose her mind a little bit all at once.

Ending up here is the last thing she ever expected.

“That was a good date,” she tells Killian when the hours have passed, and she has to leave so that she’s home before Ruby gets home.

“You want to go on another one?” he teases as he leads her from the couch to his front door, the spring sun shining through his windows.

“Why, Mr. Jones, who the hell said you could ask me out now?”

A brow rises, his lips curling into a half smile while her stomach swoops. “I figured I’d earned that right back.”

“Maybe. I think I might still take a bit more convincing.”

Killian leans into her, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear while his hands find purchase on her hips, tugging her closer. “Which method of mine would you like me to use to convince you?”

She tilts her head back, raising her brow in response to his own. “What are my options?”

“Well,” he drawls, breath hot on her ear, “I can do this.” He follows the words with a slow caress of her mouth that has her toes curling in her shoes. “Or I can feed you again.”

Emma chuckles, unable to help herself, and wraps her hands around the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair. It’s so soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy shampoo and conditioner. Is it weird that she’s kind of tempted to go look in his shower to see? That seems like a weird thing to do.

“Tell me more about that food thing.”

Killian pulls his head back, this vibrant smile on his face that is completely different under the warm lights of his apartment than under the bright lights in stadiums or the dimmed lights of the locker room. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.

“Well, we have pizza. We could also go the healthier option of some grilled chicken and rice.”

“Pass.”

“I’ve seen you eat both of those things.”

“Yeah, but they don’t entice me to want to go on another home date with you.”

Killian’s eyes flutter closed as his head leans forward so that she can feel his kiss against her forehead before he pulls back. “I can bake you something.”

“Now that,” she laughs, moving her hands down to press them against his chest, her fingers grazing a bit of chest hair and his chain, “is a brilliant idea. I like chocolate.”

“I don’t most of the time.”

“We’ll compromise. I also really like grilled cheese sandwiches”

“You eat like a small child. How the hell are you so in shape?”

“I’m pretty much a Gilmore Girl.”

“I’m not sure that you talk enough for that.”

A man who gets her pop culture references even if she’s pretty sure he’s never seen the show. She likes that. How many times can she think that in one day? Is that some kind of metaphorical sign or something?

“I can work on that.” Emma presses up on her toes and quickly slides her lips over Killian’s, knowing that if she lingers too long, she won’t be able to pull away and will end up staying far too long. She can’t do that. She’s not quite ready for it yet. And she has to get back to her apartment before Ruby gets home. Lying to Graham is kind of easy. Lying to her best friend, not so much. “You be thinking about what you’re going to bake for me, and I’ll consider coming back. I’ve got to go work off that pizza with Ruby.”

“Are you going running or to Pilates?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to figure out what kind of outfit you’re going to be wearing.”

“Okay,” she laughs, pulling back from him and ducking around him to open his apartment door, “I’m leaving now.”

“Bye, love. See you at the stadium tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Killian nods his head, his hand propped up against the doorframe so that she can see the slightest bit of his stomach as she walks away to the elevator with her lips curved upward. “And yoga pants, twenty-nine.”

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #Captain Swan

[hy3ma90sqz1h]

Hi, friend. Do me a solid? Trope Mashup: 48 + 73 Queliot, if you're so inspired.

sorry for getting back so late. (i still have 3 others to work on) 

48 + 73 = stranded due to weather inclement + fake dating… ooh!!! (this was a fun one!)

Eliot had promised something big, but like always, had trouble delivering fully on the actual promise. He’d done outlandish things before without plan, without reason; falling into something eagerly and only because he wanted to. Usually, these were contained in Ibiza, with Margo, who could actually control Eliot, however, minimally. She would recount later that Eliot was merely a wild creature unable to be contained. That if he had wings, he would never use his feet again; if he had a fountain of money, he would never work another day in his life (though, even without the fountain of money, Quentin swore he had never seen Eliot work a proper job).

“I’m going to take you on a ski trip,” Eliot declared to Quentin on a Monday. He’d just returned from class, overwhelmed with a new stack of books to read and take notes on; so for Eliot to pile an additional task unto him stressed Quentin to the core. His mind tumbled, billowing like an unrestrained curtain in a summer wind.

“Do you even know how to ski?” Quentin promptly asked Eliot, who simply shrugged and replied, “I can always learn there.”

Preferring a ski trip to note-taking, after all, Quentin agreed to the trip. He packed his number one winter essentials: big, warm sweaters and fuzzy socks. Then, through common sense and thinking, packed double, for Eliot. Eliot typically only wore what he wanted, not for the weather. This had been countably proved time and time again.

Eliot wanted to be conventional and take a car; though he spelled his luggage into the trunk. With the trunk packed, Eliot slid into the driver’s seat and beckoned to Quentin, who, with a heavy sigh, took the seat up front next to Eliot. A grin passed across Eliot’s face; it was devious and inviting. It would’ve been foolish for Quentin not to accept the idea of this trip.

The drive was long and Quentin spent most of the time with his forehead pressed against the car window, daydreaming slightly. From the window, he watched people on the sidewalk, on their phones, minds so involved in things he couldn’t even pretend to care about. Even still, he could feel the eyes of Eliot skim him once every few minutes; intrigued, worried, Quentin didn’t pay enough attention to make a proper hypothesis out of that.

“How’s Alice?” Eliot finally asked. Every time before, Eliot always seemed reluctant to mention Alice. She’d spent a generous amount of time hanging out with Quentin; helping him with studies, joining him for lunch, sitting with him in the dim corners of Margo and Eliot’s Physical Kids Cottage parties. Quentin looked away from the spots of snow that, in packs of loose clumps, littered the dead grass out the window and turned to Eliot.

Eliot’s eyes were on the road, his hands relaxed around the wheel. He drove smoothly, which surprised Quentin, for some odd reason.

“She’s good,” Quentin simply replied.

“Are you two a thing… or?” Eliot kept digging. “‘Cause it seems…”

“No,” Quentin cut him off. There wasn’t anything important else to add. She was a stone in his life; someone who helped keep him stable. Once, he had fallen hard for her, but there are some things that don’t work out and you have to accept that. At least, she told him when he asked her out once. Alice was lovely, but she preferred the fulfillment of Quentin as a friend; someone who would always be there for her, thick and thin; through gross tears and countless breakups. It, in turn, also happened that Alice confessed she rather thought Margo would make an attractive partner. For herself. And Quentin was fine with that and dropped the subject with her.

“Okay,” Eliot said. He dropped the topic of Alice quickly after that. Though, it piqued Quentin’s curiosity that that was all he brought up. They could’ve spoken about anything; talked endlessly as the blocky buildings morphed into beautiful, staggering mountains; as snow-capped huge rocks sitting in powdery white grass. The number of cars they saw decreased and Quentin turned up the heater in the car. He no longer let his forehead fall against the window; it had become an icy chill, something rather unfortunate.

The sun had begun to disappear, dipping behind the clouds and slinking away; merely a coin falling down, endlessly into a coin-slot. Stars began to twinkle and Quentin wondered why they were still on the road. Once or twice, they’d stopped at a gas station for bathroom breaks and cheap snacks, but there’d been no sign of life for some time.

“Are we lost?” Quentin asked. He’d pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands; they were becoming numb and Quentin desperately wanted to tuck himself into a warm bed, possibly beside a roaring fire.

“No, we’re nearly there. I hope,” Eliot said. “My fingers are fucking freezing.” A few more minutes passed as the road stretched on, the end of it vanishing in the empty darkness.

“Are you sure we’re not lost, El.” It came out more of a statement this time, not a question. A stressful declaration, in fact, and Eliot looked at him, with a frown. He slowed the car and pulled over to the side, parking.

He paused, mouth half open before finally admitting his mistake. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but I happened to check the weather back at the last gas station and it’s impossible to access right now. They got snowed in; we got snowed out,” Eliot told him. With wide eyes, Quentin gave Eliot an exasperated look, defeated almost. A warm breath-ghost left the lips of Eliot and clouded the air in front of him, shrouding him in a sort of mysterious mist.

“We’ve been driving. For TWO HOURS! And you didn’t tell me this?” Quentin almost shrieked. He was freezing everywhere; places that weren’t supposed to freeze! Eliot gave him an innocent, hopeful smile. Quentin took a deep breath, “Can we check if there’s a motel nearby?”

Though, it turned out that Wi-Fi didn’t reach them all the way out in the snowy, deserted lands of absolutely fucking nowhere. Quentin groaned and slipped down in his seat, trying to sink into the leather material of the seats. Eliot complained about not having any gloves, which prompted Quentin to pull out a pair, which prompted Eliot to say, “Those are horribly ugly. I am not putting those on my hands.” Instead of putting the gloves away, Quentin forced them onto Eliot’s hands, using a little restraining magic.

“Let’s drive around some, see if we can find someone trust worthy enough to accept us in,” Quentin said. “But this time I’m driving since you can not seem to be trusted with that.” He was met with pouty lips, but nonetheless, swapped the driver’s seat from Eliot.

It was quite dark outside; the stars were extremely bright in the expanse of the sky, but the abundance of mountaintops concealed many of them from view. The moon stood high, lighting a small path and, with the assistance of the car’s headlights, Quentin searched the sides of the roads for houses of different variants. Perhaps someone would be nice enough to let them spend the night; get away from the chill that wrapped its thick arms around the men.

Finally, as if by the grace of some good lady God, Eliot pointed out a porch light in all the darkness. A sigh of relief washed through the car; an unknown reassurance of hope. Quentin pulled up to the curb and took in a deep breath; what if they accidentally awoke the people in the house? What if they were shunned away? What if, what if, what if. There was never an end to his constant questioning.

“What’s our story?” Eliot asked. He looked toward Quentin as if that were an entirely normal question to ask. Especially in a situation such as this. Stranded, cold, stress level set to the maximum.

“What is our what?”

“Our story. Why are we stranded? Who are we? What are we even doing out here?” Eliot explained to him. Yes, normal questions to think, absolutely!

“Well, we’re stranded because you didn’t tell me about the snowed-in ski resort. We are two students, and we’re out here because you wanted to take me skiing! For some reason!” He said the last part with a sour distaste and Eliot flinched slightly. Quentin looked toward him sheepishly and apologized. “Fine. Whatever you want, let’s just go knock on the door.”

They trudged up the front steps; the lawn was vacant and piles of snow sat ignored, vigilant and mighty in the night. The porch light flickered ominously; a bug buzzed, wings flapping wildly, trapped underneath the bulb. It would soon die from the heat, Quentin took note. He stood a little closer to Eliot, fearful at the emptiness the house presented.

Quentin, when they got to the door, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood. It was a piercing break in the silence that Quentin or Eliot didn’t even take notice of shortly before. They stood together, bodies close in the cold and also in some fright, for a few seconds, perhaps a minute, until the door began to creak open. A little old lady stood there donned in a bathrobe and fluffy slippers; a thick pair of glasses sat on the tip of her nose, anxious to fall off. Eliot smiled at her, widely, with a full set of teeth. Quentin, though, stood back a little, weary.

“Hello, dears,” she said with a broken voice, the one that attacks everyone breaching their late seventies. “It’s pretty late, what are you two boys doing out knocking on strangers doors. You’re gonna give someone a heart attack like that.” Quentin bit his lip, embarrassed now at his behavior.

“Oh! It’s late? We apologize, ma’am, it’s just, we’re stranded out here in the cold,” Eliot began, putting on a full show. “My boyfriend and I were simply wondering if you had a spare room for the night. I mean, I don’t want him to freeze to death! He’s too cute to lose to the hands of the frozen terrain.”

Quentin almost did a double take. It dawned on him that he did allow Eliot to take the reigns of the situation, but he didn’t think Eliot would make them a couple; that was the only situation his mind didn’t manage to conjure for a quote on quote “story.” However, he was cold, and if this worked, he’d be thanking Eliot; so he went along with it.

“Yes, very cold,” Quentin stuttered out.

“Oh, you poor boys!” the lady cried. “Come right on in, I can get a fire started if you would both like.” She ushered them in with her wrinkled hands, delicate and generous. Quentin nodded greedily towards her.

The lady led them to a towering fireplace; logs already chucked into the pit. Eliot and Quentin took a seat as the lady began to crinkle up newspapers, shoving them between the cracks of the logs. She lit a match and touched it to one of the newspapers. The flames licked the roof of the fireplace, pouring out a comforting orange light. The two men were flooded with warmth. Eliot took this opportunity to wrap one arm around Quentin’s shoulder, drawing him near, close to his chest. Quentin really didn’t mind. Next to Eliot, Quentin felt small and cared for; a puppy drawing itself close to the body of its owner.

A few minutes passed in silence with a subtleness that hung over the room, stealing the unnoticed pleasure from the fireplace, and they began to warm up, fingers able to stretch themselves out, though still dry and mildly cracking. The lady returned with mugs of cocoa and two thick, wool blankets. They looked as though they had been knitted from scratch, by her for someone else.

“My son comes by weekly to bring new logs for my fireplace. He’s so generous to me. He’s like you two,” she said with a gentle smile. “Come this way, you can sleep in his old bedroom for the night.” She led them up a flight of stairs, rickety and falling apart from overuse to a room at the end of the dimly lit hallway.

Inside the bedroom, a whole childhood came to life; posters covered the walls, sports decorum littered the bookshelves alongside great classics, and a giant stuffed bear, propped against one wall, head leaning a little to the right. And a singular bed with blue and white patterned covers.

“I’ll leave you two alone now,” the lady said and disappeared.

Eliot stretched his arms high and walked over to the bed, already starting to tuck himself in. The pace that all of this was happening at alarmed Quentin. Stranded, cold, stress level set to the maximum and now: shelter, boyfriends?, sharing a bed. This had started out so freely; Quentin setting aside his homework to do something mindless with one of his friends. Jesus, time went by so fast.

“Eliot, how are you acting like any of this is normal?” Quentin began to panic. He stood frozen to the spot.

“Well, we’re warm now, aren’t we? A nice woman let us stay in her gay son’s childhood bed. This is every Friday night for me,” Eliot shrugged. He pulled the covers over his body and sighed, ushering Quentin to join him. “Does it matter?”

“I mean… yes!” Quentin said. “It has to matter. Why’d you want to bring me on a ski trip anyways? You don’t even know how to ski! And you go and tell the old lady we’re dating. Eliot… please.”

Eliot sat up now. His mouth twitched; his cheeks were rosy from the cold and the fire. In the dimness of the room, Quentin could see the glow that spread across Eliot’s face. A secret passage hidden in his sunken cheeks, worn down, yet still dazzling… still glowing.

“Come join me,” Eliot said. Quentin did. He slowly crossed the room; it suddenly seemed frozen in time; like this moment was encapsulated in suspension, that nothing else got to exist during its occurrence; just the mere action of Quentin pacing across a room, heading toward Eliot who beckoned him from some random dude’s old bed.

“I never get to see you anymore,” Eliot began. “You’re always buried in studies. Hiding in the bookshelves of the library with Alice or something. Even at my parties, you’re just barely present. I miss you.” He looked down at his lap. Quentin’s shoulder touched Eliot’s; it felt so intimate; more intimate than any kiss one could receive.

This silenced Quentin; stunned him quite so. That one could miss him. He’d never thought of himself as someone to miss, only someone that others preferred not to be reminded of. This was such a high pedestal for him to place himself on. And in some sudden, unexpected act of bravery, he reached over and took Eliot’s hand, holding it tenderly. Eliot looked up at him, softly and shyly; something, Quentin had to admit, he’d never witnessed before.

“You missed me? And so we had to pretend to be dating?” Quentin whispered jokingly. “We could’ve been anyone.”

“Yes,” Eliot replied. “We could’ve been anyone.” He stopped there, choking on his voice as if saying another word would mute him forever. In some universe, he would’ve risked that, but in this universe, he wanted to keep his voice; keep his voice so he could praise Quentin head to toe with it, his… voice.

“I don’t mind that,” Quentin said. “Being boyfriends. I’ve only had one before, years ago so I might be a little rusty.” Eliot turned his head with a snap.

“Wait? All this time you could’ve told me you’ve dated a man before and instead you kept silent?” Eliot gasped. He was still holding Quentin’s hand; it felt right; natural and like home; he didn’t want to ever let Quentin go. They could be having a terrible argument, life-threatening, and Eliot still wouldn’t want to let Quentin’s hand go. He couldn’t.

“I guess there are some things that people keep from each other,” Quentin said referring to the weather disaster situation. “But also, it’s not even a big thing. I like who I like and that’s it. Julia once told me that I fall in love with anyone who pays attention to me for more than a minute. I think she might be right.”

“I hope she’s wrong,” Eliot said. “I’d rather you only fall in love with me.”

“Don’t worry, El, I’ve been in love with you since you said my name for the first time,” Quentin replied. This was the only moment that had to matter. There were a million things that could matter then: a flight landing safely, a nearly extinct species being saved, someone refusing to give up on life quite yet. But to Quentin and Eliot, who’d lived their lives quite miraculously thus far, this was the moment that mattered to them right now. This was the start to an even more miraculous future.

READ HERE ON AO3

#the magicians #queliot #quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #teehee i am back!

[nicole-lynne]

Worlds Colliding - Chapter Six

I hope you all enjoy Chapter Six! Some things are starting to happen!

Relationships: Stiles x OC, Dean Winchester, Scott McCall, Alan Deaton

Warnings: None

Catch up here:  Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

A month had passed by quicker than Natalie realized. She had pushed that missed call out of her mind, deciding to ignore it and went about her life as if it had never happened. Now, she had been so busy between work and spending time with Stiles. Almost every day that month, she had seen him at some point, even if it was just for a pop-in hello. Every time he would stop by the cafe, he would surprise her with little gifts to brighten her day. She was elated that he had walked into her life that day.

There was something about this man that made her feel like her heart could finally be repaired. She had never expected to fall this hard for someone new. But his sarcastic mouth and dreamy eyes had wormed their way into her heart in such a short span of time.

Stiles was just as happy to have this sweet woman in his life. She was everything he had been looking for and surpassed so many of his expectations. Being with her felt more natural than he could have ever asked for. But he was walking a tight line between adoration and guilt. He still hadn’t told her that him and Scott were keeping a close eye on her and it was eating him up inside.

He wanted to talk to her so badly, but how do you ask someone what type of supernatural creature they are. Stiles hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary as the month passed by. That was the worst part of it, now he just felt like he was spying for no reason.

Stiles fast walked up the path to Natalie’s front door, rapping his knuckles on the wood in animation. The hours had passed agonizingly slow until he could see her today. Natalie swung the door open with a squeal and leaped into his arms. He enclosed his strong arms around her waist and buried his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent of lavender and vanilla. Stiles felt a sense of calm flush through his body and he could feel his muscles loosen up. She attached her lips to the side of his neck in a delicious kiss and fire rushed through his veins.

“Well hello to you too, beautiful.” He set her feet on the ground softly and brought her hands to his lips. She blushed and smiled with pleasure. Her hands wove into his like matching pieces.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” Her purred softly and his heart leaped for joy. With that, she pulled him into the house like an excited puppy. She flourished her arm out like Vanna White, directing him to the living room. He looked around at the pizza, movies, and snacks she had set up. “I thought we could have a proper night in and have a Lord of the Rings marathon.” He studied the woman before him in awe.

“Where have you been all my life?” Stiles asked her with a chuckle.

“Waiting for you to find me, I guess.” She shrugged like it was obvious and dropped onto the couch, pulling her feet under her. Holding up the large, fleece blanket, she gestured for Stiles to come join her. He kicked his nikes off and scooted in beside her, making himself comfortable.

Natalie angled her body closer to his and whispered, “But I’d say I’m pretty damn lucky myself.” She nipped at his earlobe playfully and he bent down to catch her lips in a kiss, familiarity and passion mixing together. He loved that she could make him feel this way with just a simple kiss.

Stiles broke apart from Natalie and reached for her phone and snapped a photo of the two of them. He looked at her eagerly, “I thought you might want a new phone background?” Amused, she bobbed her head, letting him set his attractive face as her new screensaver. “That’s been bugging me forever.” He laughed faintly.  

He set his eyes on her puffy, pink lips and resisted the urge to lean forward and suck on them. She snuggled into his body, her curves matching his like a puzzle piece. Natalie let his warmth envelope her, feeling happier than she had in years. “Well let’s not waste any more time, shall we?” She clicked on the movie and settled in for a relaxing evening.

---

It was one in the morning when Stiles’ phone rang and jerked the couple awake, Stiles’ body thumped onto the floor as Natalie pushed him off the couch. The Lord of the Rings screen menu blaring on the tv. “Get the phone, Stiles.” Natalie huffed, her voice groggy with sleep, and she pulled the blanket around herself tighter. Stiles clicked the tv off and fumbled around on the ground for his phone, finally locating it under one of the pillows that had toppled to the floor.

Calling: Scott McCall

Stiles slid the green arrow over and glanced at Natalie’s sleeping form, walking out of the room without a sound. “Hey what’s up man?” Stiles whispered.

“Stilinski, where are you? You were supposed to meet me at the clinic at 12:30.” Stiles smacked himself in the forehead and groaned.

“Man, I completely spaced out. Nat and I fell asleep during a movie marathon.” He ignored the angry silence that was on the other end.

Finally, Scott said, “Well are you going to come or not? This is, like, the third time you’ve flaked on me.” Stiles rubbed his hand over his tired face and sighed in frustration.

“Yeah, give me ten minutes. I’ll be there.” He jammed his thumb on the end call button over and over. He padded into the living room and gathered his things. He pulled on his red flannel in hopes to calm the chill that had danced across his body. Stiles looked down at the sleeping Natalie and wished he could crawl back in next to her. He wish he could run his fingers along her soft skin and make her sigh in content, but that would have to wait.

He pushed his hands through her messy hair and murmured into her ear. “I’ve gotta head out, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Natalie grumbled and rolled over, pressing her cheek into the couch cushion like a child. He jotted down a note for her and slipped out the front door, locking the bottom bolt behind him.

The world around him was quiet and the night air was crisp in his lungs. Her neighborhood had long been asleep and as he drove to the clinic in silence, his eyelids were begging to go back to sleep too. Stiles slapped his cheek a few times to wake himself up and cranked the radio up.

Before he knew it, he was sitting in the parking lot. He could see the light gleaming through the darkness that always had been his beacon of hope. He hopped out of his jeep and slinked towards the front door. Completely unaware of the eyes that watched his every move.

Scott looked up at him with irritation dancing along his features as the door slammed shut. “Don’t give me that look. A boy needs his beauty sleep.” Scott rolled his eyes at the statement. Deaton walked out from the back room and peered at the two boys standing before him. They had grown up so much from when it was hard to believe that they were still the same people.

“What have you found out about Natalie, Stiles?” Deaton looked at him, expecting something substantial.

Stiles dropped his head, gazing at his shoes. “Well... Nothing yet. There is nothing about her that feels supernatural and I’ve never seen her do anything strange. She just seems to be like me... Human...” He trailed off. He hated talking about Natalie behind her back, even if it wasn’t bad.

“Truthfully, Deaton, I couldn’t even catch a scent of anything. I’ve never heard her heartbeat rise like she was lying about anything. I don’t know where you heard that she was supernatural, but I think you might have gotten some wrong information.” Scott was frustrated that so much time this month had been wasted on a useless lead. His muscles seemed to be permanently tense and he was in definite need of some down time, preferably with a beautiful girl by his side.

Deaton was flipping through an old leather book, his face pinched with frustration. “I knew a shaman once who mentioned her name, I’m sure of it. If I could just find it...”

Stiles looked up, confusion filled his features, “I’m sorry, did you say shaman? Like an old dude who crazy chants to spirits in his free time?”

“That’s quite a stereotype, Stiles. Try to remember that all of this used to be unfamiliar to you.” Stiles dropped his head at the correction. “This man was a Native American man I came across during my search for something many years ago. He was a highly intelligent man who had ties to the many astrological plains. He had the ability to call to the spirits to do his bidding when he wished. It was a great joy to watch him practice.” Deaton continued to scan the pages of the book.

“Well then just call this dude up and ask him about all of this.” Stiles murmured.

Deaton’s eyes fluttered between the two boys. “That contact is... no longer accessible. But I’m sure it was her name. Natalie Costas. I just wish I could remember what he had said about her. It’s like there is a block on my mind.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Scott looked up, “Is it really going to be such a big issue if you don’t?”

“Beacon Hills has had their fair share of ups and downs due to supernatural beings. I believe it is fair to be cautious of all who come here. Especially ones who keep the company of Shamans.” Deaton rested against the metal table.

Stiles groaned into his hand, “I just don’t feel like she could be dangerous. You know how I am with my gut feelings.”

“Stiles, we can’t rely solely on your gut feelings. Her name wouldn’t have been drifting around in a Shaman’s conversation for no reason.” Scott remarked.

“Well you two need to figure out something. I’m not going to keep lying to her, I’m trying to have a meaningful relationship with this woman.” Stiles said bluntly.

“I’ll keep thinking on it. I have a few more techniques that I can try to use to jog my memory. For now, just try to find out why she came to Beacon Hills.” The boys nodded and started to head towards the door. “And Stiles, try to be careful. Until we know what she is or what she’s capable of, you are left at an disadvantage.”

Stiles dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand, Scott trailed on his heels. He knew deep down that Natalie would never hurt him, it didn’t matter that they’d only known each other a short time.

“Man, we’re not trying to make you feel bad.” Scott tugged on Stiles’ arm. “We have just been burned too many times to not be wary of people who move here.” Stiles smiled but was quiet. His friend was just looking out for his best interests.

“I know you aren’t. It’s just so difficult because I’m falling for her, ya know?”

“I knew you were from that first day, dude.”

“Just something about her takes my breath away. Sometimes I feel like my heart would just stop if I didn’t have her there by my side. Her green eyes are just... and she’s so smart. I’ve never met a girl so smart. I know you don’t know her very well but she’s kind and caring too! She always asks about how you’re doing, Scott.” Stiles rambled on and on, a star-struck look on his goofy face.

Scott patted his shoulder and said with a laugh, “She seems great. I’m happy you found someone who makes you happy. You deserve it.”

The boys let the conversation die. Suddenly, Stiles asked, “Do you think Deaton is right? Do you think she’s supernatural?”

“Truthfully, I think that if she is...she doesn’t know it.”

The boys were so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t paid attention to the heavy boots slapping across the pavement coming from behind the jeep.

A man came out from the shadows and locked eyes with Stiles. He looked like he had gone through war and Stiles noticed his harsh green eyes looking at him like he was a pile of trash. “No, she doesn’t know it. And it’s going to stay that way.”

Tags:  @multifandomdisappointment @music-magic-mayhem @ghostaccio @screamxqueenx94 @dark-night-sky-99 @rissyrapp20 @pissoffghost-korg

#stiles x oc #stiles stilinski #dean x oc #dean winchester #sam winchester #scott mccall #fanfiction #supernatural #teen wolf #superwolf #worlds colliding #dean x reader #stiles x reader #Jensen Ackles #dylan o'brien

[chrisv73-blog]

Secrets - Part 1

Word Count: 3,712

Warnings: None mostly fluff.

Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted from behind the bar and into the ladies room. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Being alone with him in my environment- his smell, his sounds, his skin, his hands, thighs- everything made any self-control evaporate into thin air. I was unraveling.

Two long years since I’d set eyes on him. This man had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Now he was here and I was so stunned- I ran. His ghost still haunted me like a secret you can’t tell.

I felt like such an idiot. Facing myself in the cracked mirror of our dingy employee restroom I rubbed my hands under the faucet splashing water across my cheeks.

A light knock came at the door. “You okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” Embarrassed. Stupid. Flustered. But Fine.

I stared, disheartened at myself in the mirror. “What the hell was I going to do now?” This was my job. I had to go back; smile, pretend, sling some drinks and make rent. Whispered dirty things, winks, grins, napkins full of phone numbers with broken promises was expected as a bartender. Give the experience and make them love you.

Having him walk through the door was never part of the plan. He is not the plan. A kaleidoscope of flashbacks were scattered in my mind. “Fuck, shit, shit, shit!” I slammed my hand down on the cracked ceramic sink.

I cracked the door and stepped out hoping that whoever I replied to was long gone.

Leaning against the wall there he was, waiting for me. Gorgeous and dripping, of course, he had to be even better looking than I remember. He couldn’t go from 19 to 21 and not be every woman’s fantasy now, a fucking international pop-star. I could not mortify myself in front of a less famous ugly- ex. No, definitely not.

I avoided eye contact. “I’m not fine. But I will be.” I hesitated before continuing.

Surely he knew how bad he broke me. He knew that some scars don’t heal. He had heard the stories from his friends by now.

Lifting my head, his smile made me nervous. Not the kind of nervous where I’m going to grab my mace from my purse when a patron gets a little too fresh and waits for me in the parking lot after work. No, his smile was cocky and hit me in the knees amongst other places. He made me nervous.

“How you been Shawn?” He didn’t need to know that I’d woke up at midnight to buy a copy of his most recent album as garbage men clanged and newsstands opened. He didn’t need to know that I cried for weeks after he broke my heart in his driveway with four simple words only to never hear from him again.

“I’ve been good, are you okay, you don’t seem okay?” Shawn’s eyes are distracting. I close my eyes and I’m back on the tattered couch of my apartment watching him perform on some music awards show. But after a blink I’m still here standing in front of him in my cut-off tied t-shirt, jean shorts with black ripped fish nets, combat boots, dark lips, cat lined eyes and messy blonde top knot. A far cry from the girl he knew. I’d changed and I knew it, he knew it.

I shoved past him, walking briskly toward my bar, determined to forge forward.

“Shawn you already know you fucked up, let’s not do this.” My supersize nerves were camping out in my body, but I would be damned if I would let him know it. Because if I think about what might happen in the next few hours - if I let him in even an inch then I’ll burst with anxiety.

I feel a lump rising in my throat. I swallow it down while my emotions live close to the edge. All I need is that trigger and the tears that dwell beneath the surface will bubble up and roll like gritty sandpaper down my cheeks.

Shawn is so good looking now that my co-bartender Melissa once called him fucking lickable when she was checking out a magazine picture of him online. Of course, she knows nothing of my past with him. Now he was here and our past was about to collide like a freight train.

“Wait, Kameron, wait a fucking minute, Jesus!” Shawn’s two strides caught up to my ten and I felt his long fingers grasp my elbow and turn me toward him.

Shawn is looking at me with reverence, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to be adored by someone, but it can’t be Shawn. Not after crawling back from the abyss I found myself in the last time he decided he was done with me.

“No we’re not doing this again.” I find my voice to verbally shout what I want to say but won’t, that he can’t walk all over my heart and leave me bewildered and confused when his next tour starts. “This isn’t a game I’m playing with you anymore Shawn.”

“Actually, I never play and tell,” he teased. Now I clutch my hands to my side even tighter as I suppress a sarcastic smirk. “I’m fucking thrilled for you,” I quickly add.

He winces as he slides his hand off my elbow, clearly contrite. “I’m actually really sorry about everything and how I handled it all.” Shawn hides his hands in his pockets head hung low.

Suddenly I’m laughing, not because I want to hurt him. It’s because I realize that this is in essence is the final phase of a breakup. The denial, the begging, the pathetic tender long goodbye “but I thought you loved me” pleas, whether it’s public or private, it feels the same. No one ever really knew about me and Shawn except for our friends, so I suffered in silence while he mended on a stage. Yet, here in this moment, there is no more argument, no more pointless debate I would never win and emerge victorious, the entire universe begins with the words I’m sorry: closure.

Shawn stands here in front of me. The crowd melts around me and I’m colder than ice. This is what we are now. I’ve moved on.

I decide quickly what my next move will be. Grabbing his shoulders I hug him and his cologne wafts through my nostrils. My palms start sweating and butterflies take flight in my belly, nothing more than aftershocks. I pull away as Shawn’s long arms squeeze me back and he buries his head in my shoulder. I pull away with more force and push an errant strand of hair off my cheek, then answer.

“Shawn, I live my life now based on my positive decisions. When I look back at the things in my life that really hurt sometimes the easiest thing to do is forgive.”

I mean it, truly, just now, I have forgiven the 19 year-old boy who broke my heart. He stands there feet melted into the ground as the bitter but blunt words hit him like a wounded animal. I take the opportunity to walk away with my pride, head high, the lioness.

(Hours later)

Shawn is so ridiculously handsome that it’s almost not fair. Now that I’m back behind my bar, in my element, on my stage, he watches me from the distance of his roped off corner. Melissa cornered me at the trash can as soon as I lifted the access gate. I told her only what I wanted her to know of course. Shawn wasn’t helping me keep the gossip from reaching maximum peak.

Time passes in the frantic pace of pickle backs, buttery nipples and lemon drops. I’m at least 3 deep at every corner. My memory puts Shawn aside as I pull them in, I make memories for my patrons and let them believe I’m the best friend they never had.

Turning around I’m disarmed to see Shawn and Geoff standing in front of me, looking over our beer list. Shawn motions me over and I lean down to hear him over the now thumping bass beat of some familiar dirty rap song. “Is there anyone waiting for you back home?” I laugh, a truly self-deprecating one. I have to, really. There had been no one romantic since Shawn. There had been men, but no one permanent. “Definitely, no, nobody waits for me.” I bite back.

Its then that I notice the familiar glazed over look I’ve seen on so many men here. I lean forward because I want to torture him and show more cleavage. I already worship at the altar of the genius who invented a push-up bra. Agent Provocateur has nothing on me.

Shawn licks his lips and burning desire is present in his eyes. “Kam”, he begins slowly, too drunk, but also clearly enjoying the taste of my name in his mouth as if he’s trying it on, rolling it around on his tongue like a cherry. “I am the biggest idiot in the world because you loved me wildly, crazily and passionately. I fucked it all up so bad.”  Words tumble off his lips like verbal diarrhea. I take a deep breathe, reassuring myself that I can deliver what Shawn needs. “You don’t want me tonight Shawn, you’re just lonely and drunk.”

“Nope, not drunk, wrecked for you,” Shawn stutters. His eyes blink ever so slowly another tell-tale sign an observant bartender recognizes. This is the longest conversation I have had with Shawn in two years. I can see that he has developed this uncanny ability to hop from witticism to raw and very honest emotional insight. It’s making him even more attractive if that’s possible.

I push back from the bar and swivel my hips around to the side, grabbing two stout beers from the cooler below. Twisting the cap I push them across in friendship. “Tell you what, those two are on me”, I say as I walk to ball cap Joe one of my favorite customers. “I’ll call you tomorrow, is your number still the same”, I shout.

Because I don’t know how I can begin to trust Shawn again I’m not so eager to agree to just have him come over. I’m pretty sure that’s where that conversation was headed. This could be especially complicated when the ex is an international pop-start and flirty and when I’m already entertaining after-hours thoughts about him. I’m in desperate need. My gauge is so far out of whack that I don’t know what’s up or down anymore.  What good could possibly come from any friendship with Shawn Mendes?

Next Day

Turns out I didn’t have to call Shawn. He managed to get my number from Matt and sent me a drawn out apology text for his unforeseen interruption at my place of work begging me to please meet him for coffee that afternoon.

I put my books away on my desk and take a quick shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m staring at my bed littered with outfits I have tried on and rejected. This is just a coffee, no big deal. It’s definitely not a date with an insanely hot ex-boyfriend who’s a popstar treated like teenage royalty. Whichever outfit I chose next will be the winning one. I reach for my favorite black jeans, an intentionally distressed torn grey sweater that’s soft on my skin and my chucks. It’s very me and with just a quick swish of powder, blush, mascara and lip balm on my bee stung lips I’m ready to go. I grab my coat and bag, head downstairs and take an Uber to our determined location.

When I arrive I swipe to pay and head into the little coffee shop painted emerald green tucked into the corner of a building. It’s a little out of the way, but I figured it would be a better location for less potential fan sightings. Shawn and I agreed to meet at three o’clock and I am only ten minutes late, so it feels like I’m on time.

He’s already here. Damn, I arrive nearly on time and I’m still late. Then again, Shawn was always the type to be on time, hold doors, and rise when I came in the room. Shawn was very chivalrous.

I walk up and he clicks to lock his phone and pushes it deep into his pocket of his $250 designer black denim skinny jeans. Damn he looked good. The olive green shirt he is wearing makes his eyes look hazel. Standing to give me a barely there kiss on the cheek my eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment at the feel of his soft lips near me.

I restrain myself and tuck away my emotions even if the sensation feels so good to me.

“Let me take your coat?” Shawn offers as he automatically slides it off my shoulders. I feel his hand gently graze the back of my neck. I decided last minute to pull my hair into a high pony. His fingers send shock waves down my spine. He folds my coat and lays it over the chair, waits for me to sit and finally pushes his long limbs into the seat next to me.

“So thank you for fitting me into your busy schedule, even though I wish you would have at least bought me dinner before taking me home”, Shawn joked.

I laugh. “Nice try. But we’re not there yet.”

He reaches across the table to clasp my hand in his, and my breath catches. He squeezes my hand three times reassuringly and the barest form of touch from him is dizzying. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve been this physically close to him and had him touch my hand, but I pull away like he’s burned me. He places his hand on his lap and I miss it instantly.

“So where should we start Mendes.” I chatter anxiously.

Shawn takes a big gasp of air. His brow furrows and he wipes his palms anxiously on his jeans. I can tell that whatever comes next is weighing heavily on his mind.

“We could start with I’m a fucking fool. I got scared. I didn’t know how to have you and a career at the same time. So I shoved you away and spent the last two years living with that regret ever since.”

“Where is the tape recorder”, I laugh nervously. My eyes dart back and forth from his face to my hands.

Looking around the room anxiously I scan to see if anyone has their phone out. “I could so take down your career in one second if the story of us ever leaked out. You know the whole internet’s boyfriend thing and all.”

Shawn smirks, wagging a finger at me playfully.

“This guy, the guy you’re sitting in front of, he isn’t a pop-star, you know that right?”

Swallowing, here he goes again racking up more points in his favor.

“Because I can tell I’m making you a little nervous and I just want you to know it’s me, Shawn apologizing to you, meaning every single fucking word of regret. So let’s grab some coffee eh?”

We sit and chat about old times. We remember fond memories of public park scandalous rendezvous. I hold up a hand and stop him as he starts to recall the juicy parts with a mischievous glint in his eye. Slowly as each minute passes and Shawn discarded the beanie he was wearing we’re drawing more eyes on us, but Shawn doesn’t seem to care. In fact, the more people that begin to notice us the more unaffected by it all he is.

Shawn will excuse himself for a few minutes to take a few selfies and then slide back into the conversation like he never left. We did this for almost two hours. I tell him that I fucking loved his first three albums and I can’t wait to hear what he does next. He admits that he wrote a few songs about us.

Eventually he leans in closer across the table, looks me straight in the eyes and when he does that my resolve starts to weaken because his eyes are so beautiful and he doesn’t break my gaze. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this moment. How many ways I have played this dialogue back and forth in my brain?”

All I know about this moment is my body is buzzing, alive with possibilities. The exact opposite of the chill demeanor I had in the bar last night. Something shifts in Shawn’s expression too. His eyes, which I remember from 19 as playful and twinkling are now darker with an intensity to them. Neither of us says anything, and the electric quiet makes my blood turn hot. I don’t want a single thing to ruin this moment. Just as fate would be a young fan tugs at Shawn’s shirt, she can’t be more than 7 years old.

Whatever spell I was about to succumb to is broken. Holy Shit, that was close. I reach for my coat and bag before Shawn can stop me.

“Thai or Sushi for dinner,” Shawn winks.

I smile at him, giving him a flirty tilt. “You’re presumptuous.”

“Optimistic”, he counters with just enough swagger that tells me he hasn’t lost a damn thing in 2 years.

Shawn does that thing again – where he reaches for my hand, clasping his on top of mine. I’m suddenly aware of the pressure he is gently putting on my wrist, the small ridges from callouses on his otherwise smooth palm, not doubt from countless hours spent perfecting his craft. His skin feels hot on my skin. The taste of his lips would be deadly. I’m dying for him to slide his fingers through mine like old times but I can’t go back on this rollercoaster.

I slowly rise from my seat and Shawn follows me out of the quaint coffeehouse. I reach up to place my hands on his shoulders. He’s way taller than me. I catch the faint scent of his cologne again and I’m so tempted to lean in and inhale deeply. But I do resist.

But the look in Shawn’s eyes is full of hunger and then I feel the softest touch on my hair. He’s fingering a strand and I am so far gone that I’m not sure what to do next. All I know is I’m leaning in closer to him because this kind of touch from him I have missed so much. My body is racing and the moment is full of so much anticipation. “I really want to kiss you, Kam; you better stop me now or…..” Shawn sighs.

I can barely process his words. My head is so woozy, his smell and the feel of his hands. My fog is replaced by Shawn’s lips as he presses against mine with such softness, sexiness that my knees threaten to buckle. I keep my arms looped around his neck so I don’t fall. He wraps his long arms around my waist, tugging me closer as he deepens the kiss. Shawn’s lips exploring mine, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands yanking my pony tail. His sexy sighs and moans tell me that he is savoring this kiss as much as I am. He yanks me even closer and for a brief second I can feel him pressed hard against my upper thigh. He’s aroused and that snaps me out my kiss induced fog. I pull away.

“Shit”, he stumbles backward. “You okay? Kam, I honestly didn’t expect that to happen. Please speak sweetheart.”

“I have to go, Shawn I’m not your sweetheart, not anymore”, I stammer.

“But I want you to be. Let me drive you home”, he pleads.

“No Shawn. I know where that will lead.”

My hand touches my lips as we exchange a sidelong glance and Shawn clears his throat shoving his hands back deep in his jeans. Feeling his eyes on me I glanced back a few times, and his gaze was always waiting for mine.

Shawn takes his phone out placing a quick call mumbling something like plan B. A small black SUV rounds the corner and stops at the curb in front of us. “Kam this is Kevin, he’s one of my security team and he’s going to take you home. I’m going to call you tomorrow because I don’t want to push my luck.”

My breath catches as Shawn moves closer then presses his hips into mine while pushing me against the door of the SUV.  Lining his tall frame up against me in a way that makes it clear how much he wants me, he delivers a scorching kiss, deep and hungry and desperate in a lot of ways. It’s threatening to send me up in flames. I feel it across every inch of my body as he continues to explore my mouth with his tongue. One hand drops away from my face and I feel his fingers graze underneath my sweater along the waistband of my jeans. Shawn draws a simple feather trace line across my belly with his index finger and my back arches into him. I wish we were not here in public and he would undo the button, slide the zipper down and push his hand inside my panties to save me from this now excruciating ache between my legs. But I have no such luck because just like that he is reaching for the door handle.

I slide into the seat as Shawn shuts the door and bangs on the top of the car two times. I’m in this giddy drugged out state now that I’d like to stay in forever, but I needed some space to clear my head. I am tempted to shake it like I’ve just emerged from a pool of water. But yet amidst my confusion, four words are loud and clear like a drum in my ears- but they are not those four words from two years ago. The opposite. “I want Shawn Mendes.”

#Shawn Mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes

[ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash]

For Pity V

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2 l Chapter 3 l Chapter 4 l Chapter 5 l Chapter 6 l Chapter 7

Overall Summary: Sigyn, queen of Vanaheim, is gifted a consort by the Allfather of Asgard, unknown to her, said consort happens to be his adopted son; Loki, and the only reason he was ‘gifted’ was that he should be someone elses’ problem.

Chapter Summary: Sigyn gets worried about Loki's constant confinement and decides to go and visit him to make sure he is alright, only to find his room ransacked, but not by intruders.

word count: 1887

Warnings: mentions of nightmares?

Note: as per usual inspired by @nanihoosartblog and her awesome loki x sigyn consort AU! go and check it out!

(btw if you want more frequent updates for this story here’s my ao3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superwholocked_wizard)

Loki didn’t like leaving his room.

It had been one week since Sigyn had told him he could stay, and 4 days since he had insisted on going to the guest bedroom and letting the queen back to his personal chambers, and yet within that time Sigyn had only seen him twice, first to request to change rooms and second when he came to her room and asked where the library was. She was constantly worrying if he was eating enough, however Amora, who delivered his breakfast, lunch and dinner at the queens request, assured her that he was indeed eating, and whilst less than they expected, it was better than nothing.

It was on the 7th day of hearing nothing from him, save those two conversations, when Sigyn decided to go and see for herself if everything was alright. Whilst she understood his need for privacy, she couldn’t help worry for him after what she had felt after calming him in the healers room.

She was pacing outside his door, trying to think of the best way to either start a conversation without directly saying ‘I’m worried about you, are you alright?’ And yet, nothing came to mind except the exact words that she was thinking.

Slowly, she exhaled and raised her fist to knock on the wood separating her and her guest. She gave two dull knocks on the great oak before taking a small step back, waiting fore some acknowledgement of the knocks. When not answered, instead of going and knocking on the door immediately, she waited her mothers mandatory 35 seconds.

“Its a politeness,” she used to say, looking down on an impatient infant Sigyn, who would usually whine and try and knock again.

28… 29… 30…. Her foot started fidgeting under her gown, tapping ever so quietly and yet quite rapidly, to match the pace of her heart.

32… 33….34..35

As soon as the counting in her head hit that number, she took a brusque step to the door and gave three sharp raps before stepping back once more. Vaguely, she heard shuffling around behind the door, perhaps in the physical bed, but she couldn’t be sure. More shuffling and then the opening of a door to reveal Loki, but he wasn’t… Loki. He was, different in a way she couldn’t describe. His skin was shimmering and constantly changing as if it were some sort of mirage. It went from pale, to a green shimmer. At one point she could have sworn she had seen a flash of blue and a bright red eye, and yet it vanished the moment it appeared. Each time it switched from one area to a millimetre to the left it gave her a flash of a headache.

“My Lady?” He, it inquired.

She walked closer to the mirage and gently pressed against it, watching it dissolve in a flurry of green light. Whilst she expected only him to disappear, she did not expect the entire room to light up with a shimmer before evaporating to reveal a circular radius of bowls, books and sheets surrounding the bed, leaving the centre of the circle to be completely empty of everything save the bed and the white curtains adorning it.

Instantly she ran in, drawing her dagger which was hidden at the hip of her gown, with easy access through a slit which was present in all of her clothes, should it be necessary. She surveyed the scene, trying to look for some sort of sign of intrusion, blood, anything that could indicate a struggle or even a kidnapping, and yet all she found was disturbed bowls of fruit and books with pages ripped out forming a disturbing circle. It was almost ritualistic.

She turned around, surveying the scene, and trying her best to imagine what on earth could have happened and yet, nothing came to mind. Sigyn walked to the other side of the bed, looking for any sign on Loki, only to stumble right upon him.

He was sat in a corner, a common occurrence it seemed, with closed eyes and calm facade. His head was leant back on the wall which seemed to be the most comfortable thing in the world right now and his arms were casually draped across his knees, and though he looked quite relaxed, his tightly clenched jaw and fists that were tangled in part of the tunic he wore.

As Sigyn took a step towards him, she saw his eyebrows quickly frown, before going back to their original shape.

“How do you keep doing that?” His voice broke the relative silence of the room.

“Pardon?”

He opened his eyes to reveal green orbs looking at her in surprise and perhaps a little curiosity.

“You can see past and break my illusions, how do you do it?”

She sighed and found herself giving him a half smile and kneeling down, almost as if they were two children simply engaging in a quick chat. Rather than respond to him, she opened the palm of her hand and released little tendrils of green light, which rather than stay still, danced around the room, searching for something to latch on to.

It extended out and twisted in the same way one would imagine the current of the ocean moving along the water, sweeping everything away gently and creating beautiful patterns of different greens, from dark emerald to light teals, mints and leafy greens, every shade dancing to create a beautiful display of light.

eventually, Sigyn let the light fade and closed her hand, before looking back at Loki to see his curiosity replaced by wonder.

“You’re a sorceress?”

SIgyn smiled, a fuller smile this time.

“What are your abilities?” He was interested now, slightly being drawn out of the corner.

And so the conversation began, the two of them comparing spells and natural abilities, and which ones were more powerful. Loki told him of his illusions, chameleon and shapeshifting, and in return, Sigyn told him of her empath abilities, the ability to ‘see truth’ in a sense, as well as her foresight. Both were giddy to finally talk to one another about such things, so much so that the state of the room was almost completely forgotten.

“Do you get side effects?” This was Sigyn’s question, curious to see if she was the only one who sometimes had to limit her use due to how it could effect her later on.

“Everyone does I suppose, I get fatigue when using illusions for too long,” he paused, somehow they had both ended up on the bare bed, cross legged and facing each other, “but the more I practise, the easier they are to maintain.”

Sigyn sighed and felt her back curve and her posture worsen. Of course, it was illusions not emotions, and the effects didn’t seem that bad for him.

“You?”

Sigyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him, afraid that perhaps it wasn’t wise to tell the man she helped ‘i felt your intense emotional burden and that weighs me down and makes me fear for you.’ None the less, she digressed, and found herself explaining the drawbacks of being an empath and a seer.

“When I comfort someone, after the physical touch has ended, I find I can feel whatever was weighing them down, and sometimes that becomes a bit much,” she wasn’t quite looking him in the eye, “and foresight isn’t always a gift, I saw my mothers death years before it happened, in my nightmares, and yet I couldn’t prevent it.”  She didn’t cry anymore for her mother, she had plenty of times before, and whilst it did hurt her to think of her coronation, one week after the death of the woman who raised her, she still lived on, as did all who encountered death in one way or another.

“Sometimes I see people whom I’ve never met die, and I know it has yet to happen, but still. Some are simply nightmares, and some come true. I’m not sure which is worse. If they die, I can simply move on, if not then I worry.”

She looked up to see Loki giving her a knowing look, as if he understood such a predicament. Of course he might have known death but she was sure that he didn’t completely know the feeling of watching a loved one die, and completely expecting it.

“So when you calmed me…”

He was somewhat apprehensive, either to know if he caused her any pain, physical or emotional, or simply because he didn’t like that someone could control him so easily.

She laid her hand over his in reassurance, giving it a light squeeze.

“Only for a while, it goes away eventually.”

This seemed to comfort him, whilst only slightly, still visibly. He seemed to relax into her touch, maybe because it had been so long since positive touch for him, or perhaps she was an exception only because she was able to calm him, either way she kept the hand reassuringly placed on him.

After a while, the silence above them lifted and they resumed asking each other questions. Of course, Sigyn brought up the ruined room.

“So, what happened?” He looked down, ashamed somewhat.

“I had a nightmare.” His head was bowed as a Childs was when it professed such a thing. His voice was small and timid, almost if he was embarrassed or ashamed that such a small thing could cause such a strong reaction within someone like him. A sorcerer frightened by such little things as dreams.

Of course, Sigyn could completely understand. When she was younger and had nightmares of fires, or deaths, before her family were aware that she was a seer of sorts, she would dismiss them and simply put her bad nights sleep down to tossing and turning, afraid that if they saw her own mind made her afraid, she wouldn’t be ‘worthy’ in a sense.

She nodded, trying to prompt him to say more, only to find that he had been struck completely speechless with a will to stop sharing anything whatsoever. Its almost as if the revelation of him having nightmares was almost too personal for his liking.

Instead of staying in silence, Sigyn found herself compelled to start revealing the intensity of her own nightmares, somewhat against her will.

“Everyone has nightmares, even royalty.” He gave a sort of a sniff which she couldn’t quite decipher, but suspected it was sort of dismissive.

“No truly, sometimes I scream myself awake and Amora informs me I’ve almost woken up the entire palace. Sometimes my room ends in the same state as yours, thats why my curtains are so thick, to reduce the damage.”

She looked over to see him smiling tenderly at the mattress, possibly in thanks that he didn’t have to deal with such a mundane thing in a world of royalty alone.

“If you want, I can get you some, if you would like them.” Loki looked up astounded, still not used to Sigyn’s kindness. In his world, nothing came without a price, and yet she seemed to.

“Well, at least that way I’ll cause minimal damage to the room.” Sigyn gave a breathy laugh and looked at him through her lashes.

“We’ll cause minimal damage together, I guess.”

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki headcannon #sigyn #sigyn fanfiction #sigyn headcannon #consort au #consort!au #loki consort au #loki consort!au #odin fanfiction #odin #odin headcannon #odin is a bad father #thor #thor fanfiction #thor headcannon #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel headcannon #avengers #avengers headcannon #avengers fanfiction #queen sigyn #queen!sigyn #king sigyn #king!sigyn #loki x sigyn #loki x sigyn fanfiction #loki x sigyn headcannon

[classicrewind]

Tomorrow Never Knows

Chapter Nine

The break hardly seemed to last a day before it was time for new term to begin.  Classes resumed once more and Anna was thrown back into the ebb and flow that was her hectic life. With the album launch right around the corner and a world tour soon to follow, she was kept busy at Swan Song. This left little time for her outside of school and the Times for anything other than her day to day activities. Tonight was the English department’s student-faculty gala to kick off the new term. She never looked forward to these events as they forced her to hide her entire relationship with Paul. Anna was in her office, tackling her already immense workload in the peace and quiet until Paul was to return from lecture. Her head was buried inside an Oscar Wilde book when she heard a light rap at the door.  Peering up from the pages, she crossed the room before pulling it open. A young woman stood on the other side. A student. She was tall, thin, beautiful. About the age of twenty-one or so, she had long, strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes that stared widely all around. "What can I help you with?" Anna asked, pulling the door open wide. One of Paul’s students. "Is - Is Pau - I mean, Professor Andrews in?" Shaking her head, Anna leaned against the door frame. "No, I’m afraid not. He’s in his last lecture of the day. Is there something I can help you with?" The girl shook her head vigorously before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, uh, no thank you. I just really needed to see him." Puzzled by her anxious demeanor, Anna narrowed her eyes slightly. Sensing her confusion, the girl blurted out again. "Oh, that’s not what I meant! I’m in his American Lit class, but I’ll just, uh, stop back later." She said, turning to head back down the hall. Anna held her hand out for a second, stopping the girl. "One second, let me just get your name, and I’ll let him know you’ve stopped by." She stopped, staring up into Anna’s eyes. "I’m Carolyn." She then proceeded to stick her hand out. Anna felt all of her breath leave her system as she wracked her brain trying to remember where she’d heard the name before. ‘You are never to call here again, Carolyn. Do you hear me?’ It was Christmas Eve. She could feel sweat start to form on the back of her neck as she finally recognized the girl in front of her. C. Slowly taking Carolyn’s hand, she shook it. "Nice to meet you, I’ll him know you came by." "Will you both be at the mixer tonight?" She asked, smoothing out a wrinkle in her dress. Anna swallowed thickly before nodding. "Y - yes." "Then, I’ll probably see you later!" She said before flouncing out the door and down the corridor. Anna immediately closed the office door behind her before falling back against it.  Breathe. Anna, breathe. Dropping her hands, she crossed the room back over to her desk before resuming her place. Without thinking, she picked up the telephone and called Swan Song. Within two rings, Peter picked up. "Hi, Peter. Is Jim in today?" She asked him, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Nope. Stepped out about twenty minutes ago. Sorry, Anna." As soon as the words left his mouth, she could hear rustling on the other end of the line before Robert’s voice came through. "Anna? You there?" She smiled at the sound of his always cheerful voice. "Hello, Robert. How are you?" "Uh - oh. What’s wrong?" As she took a breath to answer, she heard some mumbling over the line before hearing Peter yell out something along the lines of ‘Get your own fucking office’ before the door slammed shut behind him.

She closed her eyes, taking in the silence on the other end of the line. She took a deep breath before starting. "I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Maybe it’s just starting to get to me, I don’t know." "Talk to me. Tell me about it." And she wanted to, really. But she couldn’t. She could barely tell Jim half of what was going on in her head. She shook her head. "Oh, it’s nothing. School stuff. Why don’t you tell me about your day? That would make me happy." He chuckled. "Well, if you say so. Let’s see, the Prince of Peace woke up soundly this morning, as he usually does on wonderful days like these. The sun was streaming through his curtains and he awoke with a feeling that today was going to be a good day..." As he started the beginnings of a fantastic rendition, Anna felt herself finally relax, leaning back into her desk chair. A distraction was exactly what she needed. "And that’s how he came to be on the phone with just the nicest girl one could meet. Anna, I think her name was? Yes, he could never forget a name like that." He laughed. "Do you feel better now?" He asked her, his voice returning once more to its normal caliber. She laughed softly. "Yes, thank you. That was just what I needed. If he returns to studio, could you just let Jim know I called?" "Of course. Anything for you, dear. You have a good night, okay?" "You too, your majesty." As she placed the phone back in the receiver, her eyes followed Paul as he entered the office. Shutting the door behind him, he set his briefcase down on his desk. "Who was that?" "Swan Song. Peter had a few last minute alterations before the launch next week." She could sense him starting to grow tense as she finished her sentence. Quickly, she changed the subject, crossing one leg over the other. "How was lecture?" Sitting down at his desk, he leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Long. And today isn’t even close to being over yet.” His voice dropped to a hush as he rubbed his eyes. “God, all I want to do is just climb into bed with you and blow this whole thing off." She felt butterflies form in her stomach as the words left his mouth. Feeling a smile tug at the corners of her lips, she reached for him."Me too." She said softly, crossing the room to his desk. Within a moment he reached up as she stood before him and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. She swiftly climbed into his lap, straddling him before placing one hand lightly upon on his cheek. Her thumb traced softly over his lips. "Can’t we stay in tonight? When was the last time we just stayed in bed?" She murmured before placing her lips gently upon his. "Far too long." He replied, his hands slipping swiftly up her blouse, meeting her breasts with ease. She slowly let her head fall back as he cupped each of them, letting his thumbs flick over her now erect nipples. "Oh, Paul." "My sweet Anna. All mine." He whispered before using one hand to reach under her skirt. Finding her panties, he pulled the material to the side before slipping his fingers between her folds. "And you’re absolutely soaking." He growled, drawing in a breath. "Oh, my - Paul." She gasped out as her hips began to grind against his growing erection. He let his thumb flick erratically over her clit, watching in excitement as she began to unravel. "Oh, please. Please." She softly begged to him as he slowly inserted his fingers into her. "Only if you’ll promise to be a quiet little girl for me, okay?" He responded, gripping her hips tightly, rendering her motionless. Anna opened her eyes, nodding vigorously as she met his gaze. Quickly Paul unfastened his belt buckle, swiftly pulling out his erection. Placing his hands under her bum, he slowly lifted her up before placing himself at her entrance. Closing her eyes once more, she gently lowered herself back down, moaning loudly as the entire length of him filled her up. Immediately, Paul placed his hand over her mouth. "I told you, you must be quiet. Do you hear me?" Biting her lip, she nodded once more as he began to establish a steady pace. Still straddling him, she spread her legs wider, granting him easier access as his entire length was drilled into her.

"Oh, Paul - oh - my - " Her voice was strained as she whimpered as softly as she could. His pace soon grew quick and rough he gripped her hips and tore up into her. “All mine. Do you hear me?" He whispered as he gripped the ends of her hair, pulling on them. “Let me hear you say it. Now.” He ordered, tugging hard on her hair. Anna let out a loud moan somewhere between pain and pleasure as Paul held her head back. “I - I'm yours. I b – belong to you.” She stammered, her whimpers growing subsequently louder as his pace grew faster. He quickly clamped his hand back over her mouth. “You’re doing so good, don’t spoil it now. I don’t want to have to punish you.” His breath was hot in her ear as she gasped as softly as she could.“Oh – I”

As punishment, Paul bucked as hard as he could into her, causing her to cry out. He kept his hand tight against her mouth as he roughly fucked her. She held nothing back as she moaned loudly into his palm, her cries unrelenting. He felt a surge of lust tear through him as his hips continued to thrust needlessly up into her.  "That’s my girl." He murmured before letting out a deep, guttural moan. He was close, and judging by the gasps coming from her mouth he could tell she wasn’t far behind. He dropped his hand from her lips and tightly gripped her hips once more before giving her everything he had left in him. Her eyes wide, she bit her lip hard, trying her best to conceal the sounds escaping her. "I – I’m close - Paul." She whimpered, arching her back as he held her in place, guiding her up and down. Within moments, his thrusts began to grow sloppy as he reached climax.He was close too, and Anna’s strangled cries were sending him straight over the edge. Letting out another moan, he allowed himself release. She followed soon after, riding it out to his rapidly slowing pace. Gasping quietly, she collapsed against his chest. Her chest was heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. Slipping his hands once more under her skirt, Paul rested his hands on her bum before murmuring, "You know I love you, right?" She lifted her head from his chest before gazing up into his deep brown eyes. She responded with a brief nod. "And I love you." The words felt strangely foreign on her tongue, like a language she used to speak but now she no longer understood. She brushed a lock of hair from her face before pulling her blouse back down over her bare chest. She sat up straight and adjusted his tie. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him delicately. Her soft lips met his innocently before she pulled away. He gripped her bum once more before his hands made their way up to her flushed cheeks. "Come on. We’ve got a party to get ready for."

As Paul put the car in park and killed the lights, he turned to Anna. "I’ll go in first, you follow a few minutes after?" She nodded her head languidly. "Of course. I’ll see you in there." She hated this. Hated having to pretend. But it was unavoidable. She watched him step out of the car before quickly heading inside the dean’s mansion. Rolling her window down a crack, she pulled out a half empty pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and lit one. Leaning her head back, she thought about Carolyn. She really is beautiful. Is he happy with her? Happier than he is with me? Why hasn’t he left me? As she ashed part of her cigarette out the window, she felt her eyes start to well. Today was a roller coaster of a day. A quickie in the office? When has he ever acted like that with me? Paul had become completely unpredictable; a loving partner one day, and a controlling, secretive bastard the next. She couldn’t keep up anymore, it was too tiring. And now that she’d finally come face to face with the other woman in the picture, it was the icing on the cake. But he still loves me. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t left me. She blew out a heavy cloud of smoke before flicking the butt out the window. Rolling it back up, she spritzed some perfume on her neck before stepping out of the car. Pulling her coat tight against her, she took a deep breath and headed into the mansion. "Anna, you look lovely tonight. How are you?" She was greeted by the dean of the English department, Angela. "Thank you. I’m well. And you?" She replied, handing her coat to the doorman. "Just fine. Are classes going well? You still enjoying your T.A. position?" She inquired. "Yes, everything is fine. It’s looking to be another good term." Angela smiled before turning to another professor who’d just entered the mansion. Taking the opportunity to slip out of sight, she headed into the main hall. Nestled in the corner was the bar. She kept an observant eye out for Paul as she made her way over, but he was currently nowhere to be seen. "Riesling, please." As the bartender poured her drink, she turned back to the scene unfolding in front of her. God, I hate these. Professors mingled left and right, most simply trying to talk over each other, as if to proclaim that their ideas were more important. These things were always the same. One big pissing contest. Her attention was soon caught by a gaggle of students entering the room. Immediately she spotted Carolyn amongst them, wearing a pale blue dress, her long hair curled softly. Unconsciously, Anna looked down at her own black dress. She could feel a sense of inadequacy wash over her.

She reached up and ran a tentative hand through her auburn hair. Biting her lip, she grabbed her drink from off the bar and took a generous sip, followed by another. "Slow down, you don’t want to make a scene tonight." She heard Paul murmur from behind her. Turning around, she gave him a half-smile. "Can’t help it. You know these things bring it out of me." "Well, watch yourself. I don’t want to have to hold your hair back because you couldn’t control yourself." He replied coldly before taking a small sip of his scotch. Here we go again. Her smile faded as she watched his attention slowly drift away from her. "I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me." She replied as he continued to look straight through her. She slowly turned to follow his line of sight. Without looking yet, she already knew. Carolyn.

There she stood across the room talking to a professor, her head thrown back in laughter. Anna took another sip of wine before turning back to Paul. "I wish we were home. We could pick up where we left off earlier..." She offered, toying with his tie, desperately trying to recapture his attention. He tore his eyes from across the room before glaring at her. "Shh! For Christ sakes, people can hear you! Keep your voice down." He hissed, his brows furrowing in irritation. Immediately she felt the sting of rejection as his attention returned once more to the beautiful girl across the room. She frowned, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor.  "I’m sorry. I just really don’t want to be here." He sighed heavily in annoyance. "Then go. No one’s forcing you to be here." And you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you? She finished off her glass of wine before setting it down on the bar. As she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "Look stay or don’t stay, but don’t expect me to run after you." Fucking typical. Paul downed the last of his drink before setting it on the bar and making a beeline for Carolyn.

Crossing her arms, she bit her lip watching him cross the room. Heading straight over to Carolyn and two other professors, he stuck his hand out, greeting them. Anna watched as she took his hand eagerly, gazing up into his eyes. He stared back down at her, breaking out in a smile before greeting the others. As she continued to observe from afar, she noticed that Carolyn’s eyes never left Paul. She watched him intently with a look in her eyes that Anna recognized immediately. It was the same way in which she herself looked at him. Love.She's in love with him. She couldn’t watch anymore. Glancing anxiously around the room, she headed to the stairs, slowly making her way up them. Reaching the top, she wandered aimlessly before coming to a door, slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she was happy to find an empty study. Quietly shutting the door behind her, she crossed the room, making her way to the telephone that sat on the desk. She took a seat before dialing the number she’d had in her head all day. She began to smile as she held the phone tight against her ear. She imagined his soft voice uttering her name as it sounded through the other end of the line. Anna. It warmed her from the inside out as she pictured him at home, waiting to hear her voice as anxiously as she waited to hear his. However, the phone continued to ring with no answer. She continued to wait, her hope diminishing with each consecutive ring. Slowing tearing the phone away from her ear, she placed it back on the receiver before buying her head in hands. She sat there for a moment, in the peace and quiet trying her hardest to silence the deafening thoughts that were invading her mind. Eventually she found her way back downstairs, heading once more to the bar for another drink. "Anna? Is that you? Wow, it’s been a long time! How are you?" Picking up her drink, Anna turned to find an old friend from her undergraduate years standing beside her. "Carrie! It’s good to see you again. How are things?" She asked, embracing her former colleague. Carrie eventually pulled away, bringing her left hand up to her face. "I got engaged!" She squealed before taking a sip of her drink. Anna smiled, taking Carrie’s hand in hers, inspecting the diamond. "It’s beautiful, really. Have you set a date yet?" She shook her head, glancing at her ring. "Not yet. But hopefully within the year. As silly as it sounds, I just want to be married already!" "No," Anna replied longingly. "It’s not silly." She felt herself drift out of body as Carrie droned on about how things were since the last time they’d spoke. When Anna first met Paul, she remembered imagining her wedding day. She was naive, foolish to have gotten the cart so far ahead of the horse. She had been twenty years old, and was already wishing herself to be the bride of the first man who ever really took an affection to her.

But she’d felt something, something strong enough to imagine spending the rest of her days by his side. A simple dress, a small ceremony, a beautiful exchange of vows. That was all she wanted, something beautiful, easy. Fast forward three years, how was she to know how things would unfold? Would I still marry him if he were to propose today? "What about you? You have anyone special?" Carrie’s voice brought Anna back down to the ground. "Huh? Oh - No. No one special." She replied, shaking her head. "You will. Someone will stumble upon you, and - poof - nothing will be the same afterward. You’ll get swept away, and life will be so good to you. I can just see it now." She smiled, stroking her arm softly. Anna gave her a half-smile.  Carrie. The eternal dreamer. Hopeful optimist. Anna admired her for that, so much so that she began to feel guilty for not keeping in touch through the last few years.  But then she remembered how much easier it was go it alone these days. "God, it’s so good to see you, Anna! I had grown so used to your phone calls, every week just so we could catch up, keep each other sane through those crazy terms, and then one day they just stopped. And I never heard from you again. It was like you disappeared or something." Carrie gushed, embracing her once more. "I’m – I’m still here." She whispered, hugging her friend back, holding back the tears that threatened to form. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed having a friend to confide in. Carrie had been the closest thing to a confidant when she first moved to the city. "I’m sorry, Carrie. Really." She murmured, slowly pulling away. "It’s okay. I understand. Life gets in the way sometimes, things slip through the cracks." Carrie smiled. As Anna took a small sip of wine, she noticed Paul entering the main hall. Carolyn strode in close behind, her wide, blue eyes darting around the room as her hands busied themselves anxiously fixing her tangled curls. Paul was nursing another scotch and soda as the two quickly made their separate ways. She happily flounced her way to a small group of students while Paul turned to speak with Angela. Anna felt a hard blow to her stomach as her mind expertly pieced together where exactly they’d just been. His haphazardly buttoned shirt, the mussed hair. Anna knew. She couldn’t think straight, struggling to process Carrie’s words, as her pulse began to quicken.

All she could see was his hands on her, his lips on hers, as she gripped him tightly. Her piercing blue orbs never losing sight of his brown ones while his lips familiarized themselves with every inch of her body. Their gasps sounding in perfect harmony. Their bodies loosely intertwined. Anna couldn’t stop them, stop it. Glancing back at her friend, she excused herself. "It was so good to see you, but I really should be heading out now. I’m sorry." Carrie reached out, resting her hand on Anna’s forearm. "Let’s keep in touch, okay?" "Of course. I’ll call you." Anna reassured her before heading straight out of the main hall. Leaving Carrie at the bar, she felt bile rise in her throat. She reached the bathroom before shutting it behind her and dropping to her knees.  She dry heaved into the toilet bowl a few times before falling back against the bathroom wall. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in her hands. Fucking asshole. Right in front of my face. At least have the decency to do it when I’m not around. She heard a soft rap on the bathroom door before an urgent voice called out from the other side. "Anna. Open up. I know you’re in there." She quickly stood up, flushing the toilet. "Just give me a minute. I’ll be out in a second." A moment later, Paul stepped inside before locking the door behind him. "Told you if you didn’t control yourself you’d end up here." He said smugly, glancing over at her as she stood with her back to him at the bathroom sink. Something made her look up at the mirror and right into his eyes. Their deep shade of brown appeared almost black as they gazed back at her. Their depth photographed permanently in her brain. She whipped around, gripping the counter tightly. "Me? Control myself? You’ve got to be kidding me." She spat, her eyes narrowing in his direction. "Yeah, you’re clearly out of control, Anna. Listen to yourself. You need to go home. I said I didn’t want to have to look after you when you’re like this, and now you’ve ruined my night." He crossed the room to her, grabbing her arm. "You’re leaving. Let’s go." Anna forcefully shook herself from his grip. "I’m not drunk. I’ve had two glasses of wine tonight. I’m fine. I can’t say the same for you." He crossed his arms. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I’ve barely had anything to drink tonight. I don’t know what you’re insinuating Anna, but you better cut it out." She stood up straight, meeting his cold dark gaze. "Carolyn." Anna watched as his body slowly grew tense and rigid. She knew she was treading on thin ice, but she couldn’t let it go.

"What?" He sputtered. "Carolyn. Your student." She repeated, her fixed gaze now burning a hole through him. "What about her, Anna?" He asked, slowly stepping toward her, his face mere inches from hers. "Go on." He sneered, taunting her. She thought she would be sick again. He knows. Oh, God. He knows that I know. Swallowing thickly, she stammered, "She - she came by the office today. Seemed pretty desperate to see you." Weak. Weak. Weak. You can’t do anything right, can you? "And?" He pressed, his eyes as sharp as glass. He wanted her to say it. Say what she knew in her heart to be true. But she couldn’t. Try as hard as she might, the words just wouldn’t leave her mouth. "I - I saw the way, the way you were looking at her tonight." She began, her voice growing stronger with each second. Say it. "You’ve been saying that I’m the one who needs to control myself, but it’s you." She pushed him away from her. Say it, Anna. "I know what you’ve done - what you’ve been doing. And you had the audacity to do it to me while we were out together?" Her voice grew louder and more shrill as she barreled on. "After you made love to me, you - you go and - " Paul’s fist struck her face forcefully as she fell back into the bathroom counter. "Shut up. You hear me? Shut the hell up." He hissed at her. She grew limp in his grasp as he shook her violently. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You’re drunk and you’re absolutely out of control. How dare you try and accuse me of things when all I’ve ever been is faithful to you. I don’t know if the same can be said about you." He spat, gripping her arms tightly. "You’re full of shit, Paul. And you know it." She gasped loudly, wrenching herself from his grip, holding one hand over her injured eye. "Y – you’re a fucking liar." She began to weep silently as Paul loomed over her. "Carolyn. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Much prettier than me. I - I bet she’s real nice in bed too - does she know how to satisfy you? Tend to your every need? ‘Cause clearly I just don’t cut it anymore."

He slapped her. And then he slapped her again. "Shut your fucking mouth, Anna. I’m warning you right now. I’m not about to lose this job, my tenure over a lying little slut like you." He threatened as someone knocked upon the bathroom door. “Give me a second, please." Paul called out before turning back to Anna who was now cowering, her face in her hands. "We’re leaving. Now." He yanked her up before wrenching the door open and stepping out. Luckily whoever had been waiting outside had given up and went in search of a vacant bathroom. The hallway was empty as he ushered her out before pushing her in the direction of the foyer. "Get your coat and wait for me here. I’ll be right back. And don’t fucking move." He ordered quietly before heading back into the main hall. Anna quickly put her coat on before stepping outside, careful not to let anyone notice her. She spared no second as she allowed her feet to carry her away from the house as she headed in the direction of the station. Glancing at her watch, it was quarter to ten. She had thirty minutes to make it there before the next train would depart. She arrived with ten minutes to spare, quickly purchasing a ticket to Pangbourne.  She didn’t care how angry Paul would be when he discovered she’d left. She’d had enough for one night. She just wanted to see him. Hear his voice. Feel his touch. She craved it, every ounce of her being was dying to be with him. She could practically count the minutes until she was to his front door. So she waited, impatient as ever as the train barreled down the tracks, making its way to him. She closed her eyes and focused on the lull of the train as she began to calm down. Her eye was throbbing immensely, but she was able to block it out as she began to recite one of her favorite poems, line by line, in her head. ‘When I see myself it is still as I was back then, beside the well, staring into the hollowed gourd half filled with water, where the dark braid grazing the left shoulder was recorded though the face was featureless of which they did not say She has the look of one who seeks some greater and destroying passion:’ The ride felt three times as long to reach the station in Pangbourne. Keeping her head down, she walked briskly through the terminals before reaching the front. Stepping out, she glanced at her watch once more, quarter after eleven. She eventually hailed a cab, praying he would still be awake by the time she arrived.

Paying the driver, Anna stepped out of the car and practically sprinted to his front step. She waited until the car pulled away from the curb to turn to the door. Frantically she knocked on the door before beginning to pace silently across the top step. A minute passed with no answer, so she knocked again. Come on, come on, come on."Please be up, please, please be up." She whispered urgently, glancing up at the darkened windows in the upstairs bedroom. Desperate, she felt her breath hitch in her throat as tears stung her eyes. The cold wind was blowing hard as she panicked out on the front step. She couldn’t go home, but she certainly couldn’t stay out here all night. There’s got to be a spare. The thought popped into her head only moments before she began carefully overturning the few potted plants that encircled his front stoop. With no luck, she gave up before lifting the small mat in front of the door. There it was, a small brass key nestled underneath. She scooped it up, glancing over her shoulder. Carefully, she slipped the key into the lock and let herself into the home. It was cold, bitterly cold inside. He’s not here. She slipped the key back under the mat before locking the door once more behind her. She took the stairs two at a time as she unconsciously made her way straight to his bedroom. She kept the lights off as she slipped her coat off, letting it fall to the floor. Throwing open his closet doors, she pulled out a thick, oversized sweater before tossing it onto the bed. She made her way to his dresser drawers, pulling a pair of socks out. Kicking her shoes off, she then slipped her dress over her head before tossing it into the heap with her coat. Picking the sweater up, she slipped it on over her head before pulling the socks on. She scrambled into his bed, pulling the blankets tight around herself as she tried to get warm. Her eye was beginning to swell already, and her face was stinging from Paul’s hand. She replayed the scene over and over in her mind as she squeezed her eyes shut. "You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about..." But I do, Paul. I do.

She felt foolish for saying anything at all. She knew it wasn’t going to end well, but she had no idea it would be this bad. Before she knew it, the words had left her mouth and she couldn’t take them back. She hesitantly raised a hand to her left eye, letting her fingers lightly graze over the slowly bruising socket. She burst into tears as the pain throbbed behind her eyelids. The area was already swelling a great deal. She gasped loudly into the pillow, helplessly crying out. Stupid, stupid girl. When will you ever learn? You will never win. Gripping the blankets tight around her, she continued to break down, letting the sound of her muffled cries lull her to sleep.

- "Shit, would you look at the time? It’s already after one!" Bonzo barked from across the bar. Jimmy looked down at his watch before finishing off the rest of his drink. "Yeah, I should probably head out. We’ve got two meetings in the morning. Can you believe the album launches in a week? It’s already fucking February! Where does the time go?" "I dunno. But as soon as you find out, let me know. I’m looking to get some of it back, you know?" He laughed, downing his last shot of whiskey. Jimmy paid his tab before placing a cigarette between his lips. "You wanna crash at my place or are you good to go home?" He pushed the empty shot glass away from him before standing up. "I’m good. Pat’s probably still waiting up for me anyway." He paid his tab before following Jimmy out of the bar. "See you tomorrow, take care of yourself." Jimmy said, blowing out a stream of smoke. Bonzo’s face was cast in an orange glow as he lit a cigarette. "You too." Jimmy watched Bonzo amble down the street before he hailed a cab. He gave the driver his address before leaning back in the seat, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he had arrived home safe and sound. The wind was whistling loudly through the trees as he stepped out of the car. He pulled his coat tightly against him as he slipped his key into the front door.

He hung his coat up on the rack by the door before heading to the thermostat. He switched the heat on before rubbing his hands together for warmth. He heard the telltale click of the furnace turning on as he slowly climbed the stairs. He noticed his bedroom door was slightly ajar when he made it the top of the stairs. He carefully reached his room, slowly pushing the door open. Anna. He spotted her clothes in a pile by the bed before he noticed her petite frame bundled up in his blankets. He smiled, taking the sight of her in. This was something he’d wanted without even realizing it. He wanted to come home to her. He carefully shut the door behind him before slipping his shoes off. He pulled his shirt up and over his head before fumbling with his belt. Stepping out of his jeans, he slowly slipped into bed beside her. As he sidled up next to her, Anna came to, flinching violently as Jimmy’s hand rested gently on her arm. She began to cry, holding her hands over face, turning away from him. "Hey! Hey, it’s just me. It’s okay - Anna, it’s okay." He coaxed her, moving back to give her some space. Her body continued to wrack with silent sobs as she cowered away from him. "Its okay, it’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe." He said gently, his eyes flooded in concern. What did he do to her? He knew this was Paul’s doing. He couldn’t see her face as her back was still turned to him, but Jimmy was fearing the worst. After a few minutes, Anna finally turned to face him, slowly removing her hands from her tear-stained face. She opened her eyes, staring into his deep emerald ones, her lip trembling. He drew in a deep breath when he took her in. Her swollen eye was turning black and blue. He thought he was going to be sick. "Paul did this to you?" He asked, trying his best to remain calm. Her eyes welled with tears as she let out the tiniest of nods. "I’m gonna kill him. Really. That sick bastard." He spat, feeling his blood boil in anger. He was close to losing it. Anna’s eyes widened in fear as she reached out and grabbed him. "N - no! Jim, don’t. Please, d – don’t do anything. It will only make things worse." She pleaded to him, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I’m begging you, please don’t." He held her hand in his. "What am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do?" "Just - just be here, with me. Please. I need you. All day, all I wanted was to see you, hear your voice. You have no idea h - how much I needed you." She murmured, sniffling.

"Anna, I - I can’t just let this go. This is really bad." He tried, his hands grasping hers. "I don’t need you to save me, Jim. I don’t need to be fixed." She stiffened, her eyes growing cold. Her walls crumbled as quickly as they were put up. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears began to fall once more. She sobbed silently before continuing. “I just – can’t you just be here for me? Just – just tell me you’re gonna be here when I wake up, okay?” "I will. I’ll be right here. I’m not going any where.” He murmured. “It’s just – how could someone –“ He was cut off by her soft voice. "Jim, it's okay. It was an accident. Accidents happen. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me." As she gazed up into his eyes, he thought he would be sick. She was so willing to leave it all behind her, let it go like it never even happened. He was at a loss of what to do. This was no fucking accident. She turned onto her other side, so her back was to him. He slowly sidled up next to her, carefully draping his arm over her protectively. Anna grabbed his hand immediately, slowly pushing it away from her. "N - Not yet. I can’t. I’m just not there yet. Please don't be mad." Backing away, Jimmy gave her some space before pulling the blankets loosely around the both of them. "Of course I’m not mad." If anything, he felt sorry for her, sorry that due to Paul’s abusive tendencies she struggled with handling the simplest forms of intimacy. He was saddened by how fragile Paul had made her. They both lay there completely silent for awhile as the minutes passed, to the point where he had figured she had eventually fallen back to sleep. However, his mind was too preoccupied to even bother with trying to catch any sleep. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was her. It was becoming all too much. The sound of her soft voice brought him back from the edge of his thoughts. "I’m, I’m in love with you, Jim." She murmured, her voice barely audible. "You don’t have to reciprocate, or even say anything at all, I just - I really needed to say it. Out loud. I’m hopelessly falling for you, and I don’t know what I’m gonna do." Jimmy closed his eyes, sending his thoughts away. He could smell the remnants of her perfume as it lingered around him. He was in love with her too. Burdened by how much he’d grown to care for her. She’d grown to become a part of him, a part that filled in so many of his shortcomings. Quite simply, she held him together.

So why couldn’t he get the words out? There they were, bouncing around his head all day, making appearances whenever he heard her name or saw her face, but never once did they pass his lips, no matter how desperately he wanted to utter them.

Anna remained completely still and silent in the moments that passed as Jimmy lay beside her. Furrowing his brows, he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them once more. I really don’t deserve her, do I?

He opened his mouth to speak before closing it. He’d never been one for putting himself out there, to be susceptible or vulnerable. It simply wasn’t in his nature to open himself up like that. But I’m trying, Goddamnit, I’m trying. He knew she needed him to, before it was too late.

#srry this took for-fucking-ever lmao #i figured i'd do a double for yall #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fan fiction #tomorrow never knows

[theliterateape]

The Adventures of Aborted Andy | Episode I: Meeting Your Maker

By David Himmel

HE TOOK AIM FROM HIS ROOFTOP PERCH. The tripod steady on the rake, he breathed in measured breaths. A gentle gust of wind. He delicately adjusted his scope to account for the shift. Not that it was a hard shot. Andy was only ninety-five yards out. The morning sun was at his back, which was a double bonus. No glare for him and a blind for those looking to see where the shot may have come from. Andy couldn’t have asked for a better mark at a better location.

Maria’s shift at Turnip, Atlanta’s hottest new vegetarian restaurant, started at ten o’clock. She preferred the lunch shift. The hour of prep work before opening was her own little therapy session. Polishing the silverware, rolling the napkins, setting up the soup and salad stations, brewing the coffee… it gave her time to think without having to think about it. Nothing specific, just a chance to be alone and quiet with whatever thoughts were in her head that day. Working the lunch shift meant she could be home in the evenings for her kids, Miguel and Rosa. The money wasn’t bad. A lot of business meetings occurred on her shift. It turned out that vegetarians prefer their tofu, kale, and sprouts with alcohol.

The Planned Parenthood Andy had lined up in his sight was just a few blocks from Turnip. It was a convenient way to take care of an inconvenience. Her appointment was at nine sharp. Fifteen to twenty minutes in and out then off to work. Andy checked his Luminex Evo Navy Seal Blackout watch. 8:56 a.m. He looked at the building through his binoculars to see Maria rounding the corner. He followed her into the building with the scope’s crosshairs covering her head. He adjusted his position and scope once more. Then he waited, breathing those measured breaths just like he’d been taught.

As Maria exited, she looked upwards, perhaps toward God, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Andy clicked the safety off with his thumb and took one last slow breath as he wrapped his finger around the trigger. He squeezed. Maria opened her eyes. Andy thought she looked sad as the rifle’s muzzle flashed in his scope. Maria’s head jerked back as the bullet pierced through her shattering the glass doors of the Planned Parenthood behind her with blood, gray matter, skull fragments, and a twisted, hot piece of lead. She dropped to her knees then slumped over with her bleeding head resting peacefully on the curb.

Andy disassembled his weapon with lighting speed. He packed it away in the black backpack made specifically for a weapon of this sort. He bolted to the roof access door as fast as his little, chubby legs would carry him. He made his way through the condo/office building stairwell without being noticed just as he had done on his way up. Andy was good at his job. And for a nine-month-old baby, he was really good at it.

✶ 

THERE’S A PLACE FOR THE UNBORN DEAD. One that exists in the heavens complete with the best parts of a Black Ops training facility and a McDonald’s indoor play area. It’s where the babies—fetuses—aborted by their mothers might find themselves. Unaware of who they are or where they came from, these fetuses are collected and turned into weapons of revenge. They were born into an afterlife of service to a vengeful being operating in the darkest shadows far off the radars of Heaven and Hell. Black Ops for Babies with one mission: Provide balance to life on Earth. A life for a life. One moment the fetus is alive, warm and unaware, in its mother’s womb and the next it is standing in the presence of a magnificent dark lord literally on new legs that would have grown had Mommy Dearest not terminated that opportunity. The baby is taught to hunt, kill, and hide in plain site while on Earth executing its mark. And when vengeance is served, the young, undead assassin returns to the void the magnificent dark lord calls home.

✶

 ANDY WOKE FROM HIS NAP in his Pack ’n Play filled with pacifiers and Baby Einstein gadgets against siding made of flaming mesh. He reached for the bottle in the corner by his head and took a long drink. It was time for another mission. That was Andy’s existence: Mission —> nap —> snack —> mission.

He was sent by the shadow-cloaked demon who collected the souls of the aborted babies to Peoria, Illinois. It was a beautiful day in Detweiller Park. Larissa was enjoying an iced coffee from Starbucks and a book in the sun. She had finally gotten around to reading The Da Vinci Code. She felt self-conscious reading it in public like that. But she was a distracted college student when the book was all the rage a decade-and-a-half ago. These were her early thirties. These were her best days.

She loved her job as a social worker helping the elderly and the poor find work, homes, solace in their lives built on disadvantage. She was house hunting with her boyfriend of six years, Freddy. They were finally having serious talks about marriage and kids. Larissa was enjoying every moment of every day. She was free. She was untethered. She was happy. And she knew she deserved it. Her childhood and teenage years and twenties were hard. A drunk mom, an absent dad, a GED she barely passed, a collegiate life that left her with debt and a short rap sheet for minor crimes like public drunkenness and shoplifting hair conditioner from a CVS. A sunny day in the park with a book that was good enough to keep her turning the pages but not good enough to warrant all the hype it received more than a decade ago.

She felt hungry and considered packing up and grabbing some Chipotle. But she and Freddy had big dinner plans. Today was their meet-iversary and Freddy was surprising her with a romantic dinner somewhere. Larissa was sure he was going to cook for her, which would be disappointing if she didn’t have an affinity for a handsome, overweight, and kind coder trying his damndest to be both Chef Gordon Ramsay and Adonis. So she sacrificed her hunger and focused on Dan Brown’s Illuminati conspiracy.

 Andy toddled through the woods. He found a fallen tree about one hundred and twenty yards away from the clearing where Larissa was enjoying her day. He unpacked his rifle, assembled it and, without realizing it, wet his diaper. But because Andy was a specter of sorts and a tool of an off-the-grid demon, the diaper remained dry. Diaper rash was the assassin’s greatest foe, which gave Andy and his cohorts an advantage. He used his binoculars to confirm his mark. Larissa. He set the binoculars down and took aim with his rifle. He breathed in measured breaths. He considered the wind and the humidity. He adjusted his scope. He aligned the sight hairs on Larissa’s face. This would be easy.

 As he clicked off the safety and wrapped his finger around the trigger, he paused. He recognized her.

 What was this? A feeling of… uncertainty? This was unfamiliar to him. He was a baby. A baby with a gun but a baby who for the first time felt remorse. He looked up from the scope. Setting the rifle down, he reached for the binoculars. He looked closer at Larissa. She was beautiful. Her jet black hair was curled naturally in the humidity and it bounced gracefully against the top of her shoulders with each turn of the page or sip of iced coffee. It reflected the sun at times blinding his view. Her bright green eyes were focused on the book but exuded a kindness and calm he’d never known since… since he was in utero.

“Fuck you, Mommy,” Andy said in the most adorable baby talk ever.

Andy was an aborted baby. His soul scooped up by a demon and taught to murder. He knew nothing else until this moment. The moment he made one hundred and twenty yard contact with his mother who had aborted him a little more than a decade ago. He took time watching Larissa through the binoculars. She read, he watched. She sipped iced coffee, he watched. She let the late spring sunshine toast her naturally golden skin to a gentle pink. He watched

After some time, Andy surveyed the rest of the park. Young women sunbathing; empty nesters walking; people jogging; an elderly European immigrant in a Speedo doing yoga; twentysomething guys throwing frisbees; a boy and his dad tossing a baseball back and forth; dogs chasing sticks and tennis balls. The park was rich with life. To Andy, it was beautiful. And he realized that he wanted to live. He wanted to get sunburned in May killing time in a park. He wanted to have a dog. He wanted to sit with his mother.

He picked the rifle up again, took aim and clicked off the safety. Because this was his life. A non-life. An unlife. The life of a slave. Larissa was enjoying her life because Andy didn’t have one. She, above all the others he had killed, needed to pay for her crime—her sin. He breathed in measured breaths and let his finger embrace the trigger

“Fuck you, Mommy,” Andy said in the most adorable baby talk ever.

But he couldn’t do it. She was his mommy. He couldn’t kill her. She had a life to live. Who was he to decide her mortality? And with that, his little baby brain was overwhelmed with knowledge of how Larissa agonized over the decision to abort Andy. How she got pregnant from a man she loved but never loved her. Was it rape? How her body struggled to keep Andy healthy as he struggled to grow inside of her. How she knew that she was too young and troubled and poor and irresponsible to raise him. How even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have done so because she and Andy were rejecting each other. If she hadn’t aborted him, nature would have.

Andy was done with letting outside forces determine his fate. And he’d be damned if he’d let those same forces determine Larissa’s fate. She was right to terminate the pregnancy. In those woods at Detweiller Park Andy understood everything. And with that knowledge he decided that he was going to give his mother the one thing that she never could give him: the chance to live.

The demon was not happy with this. But like his mother, Larissa, it was a choice with consequences Andy would have to face. And he was fine with that.

Story image used without permission from Christopher Haden Art.

#Abortion #Pro-choice #Pro-life #Satire #Humor #Dark Humor #David Himmel Fiction #David Himmel Author

[asher-blackwood]

Into The Light chapter 5

The smell of old books, herbs, and citrus oil fills his nose as he wakes. It seams he dozed of in a large leather arm chair made soft and comfortable with age. He yawns and stretches the small through falling off his shoulders. The room he finds himself in is warm, cozy, and familiar to him some how. The walls are lined with book cases but they are all closed and locked. The may trinkets and paintings in the room are all slightly out of focus, and no matter how many times he rubs his eyes this does not change. After a few moments a light chuckle reaches his ears and he is very surprised to find an elderly wizard sitting in the chair across from him. "Hello there William. It's nice to finally be able to meet you."  Bill blinks, this man wasn't there a moment ago and yet it's as though he has always been there. "Who are you ?" He asks in a calm voice that just made the older man smile. " That is both simple and complicated, but I will do my best to answer your question." He nods body tense with anticipation. He's not sure why but for the first time in a long while it feels as though he's moving forward.    

 The air smells sweet like flowers, mint and honey with just a tuck of rain. Draco rubs his eye as he sits up in the large bed he finds himself in. To his left large windows stand open bringing in the lovely smell that woke him. A gentle laugh fills the space like music and he turns toward the sound. To his right is a stunning woman siting on a small cushioned stool working on what looks like embroidery. Feeling his eyes on her she looks up and smiles. "So  you are awake at last." He gives a small nod, trying to remember who this woman is and how he knows her.  The woman at his bedside has a regal air, her long blood red hair is braided back and he could swear it ended in purple just like his. He hears he laugh again and looks in to he silver eye rimmed with long blank lashes. " You must be wondering what is going on are you not?" He looks at his hands, " May I ask a few questions then?"  She smiles and give her ascent. "Who are you, first of all? Second how do you know me, and third where are we?"  She gave him an amused smile, " I'm not sure you would believe me if I told you, but I will do my best."  She sighs now looking sad. The look makes Draco's heart ache, what was going on, he wonders. But before he can ponder it further the woman starts to speak. " Do you believe in reincarnation?" He looks at her not sure how to answer. He hadn't really thought about it be for. " It's alright if you don't know Draco this isn't a test." She smiles and continues, " I ask because there are many with in the magical community who, by either curse or fate, are the reincarnation of someone else. You are one such person." Draco just stairs at the woman in complete disbelief. This sort of thing happens to heroes and such. Not people who spent most of there live lying to themselves. She seam to know what he was thinking as she raps him in a gentle hug. "You are more then you know. I promise this isn't some joke or mistake. I know after everything it's hard but this is real ok." She releases him from the hug, turning her back to put away her needle work so he can wipe his eyes unseen. " Now then to answer your query from before. I have been called many name but the first one was Gwenfar and you were once me and we have been many other till we became you. And no I'm the only one who will talk to you like this."  She motions for Draco to get out of bed and to sit on the stool while pulling out brushes, combs, and other bits and bobs. She begins to brush his long hair as she continues. " Our collective knowledge and power is a part of you and has always been, but this doesn't change who you are now only opens more doors. So don't worry. As your body changes and you come into your full power things will become more clear. You will awaken to you former memories and your magical heritage will grant you many new powers, but there will be drawbacks as well." She begins to braid his hair in a beautiful but every complicated way. Draco takes a breathe and says as calmly as he can, "I know Gwenfar means king maker or rather granter of kingship. If that's true then would you be..." She giggles and it's a joyous sound and nods. "Yes young one once we were called Guinevere  soul bound and queen to Arthur Pendragon High king of all Brittanya. But the really story is not what you think but in time you will remember."  She pause as though listening to some unheard sound. "It seams to be time. Good luck my other self." As her words get softer a light fills the room and Draco Malfoy opens his eyes to his room in France, birds singing into his window.  What a strange dream to have...he thought climbing out of bed. He suddenly stops dead  in front of his dressing mirror and sees his hair still in its beautiful but complicated braid.

 Bill just looks at the old man like he's gone mad. "So you're telling me that I was you, once upon a time."  The old man just smiles sipping his tea. " Yes William that is what I'm telling you." He crosses his arms waiting for his companion to say more. When finally he ask the question that had most been on his mind. " Well then who did I used to be then?" The smile that brakes across the aged wizards face is blinding. "Well William once you where me, as I've said, and I am Merlin. And you will help The King bring a new golden age to our world." He stairs at the smug looking old man, he wants to argue but something in him knows that it's true. So he does what he always does. " What must I do?" Merlin smiles, "You just need to be patient and don't fight the changes. You have always had this power and knowledge in you. But now you will be gaining access to it till eventually it/I will just be apart of you." Bill runs his hands through his hair, "Alright I will do my best." Merlin's voice fades as he say, " I know, good luck my other self." The room fades into nothingness as he wakes to find morning has come.

 Harry sits in a chair by Bills bed nothing anyone tells him makes the boy feel any better. He is convenient that he some how caused Bill's collapse and so he sits waiting to make sure he's ok. The sun has just filled the room with light when Bills sits up stretching. "Bill, are you ok. I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you." Harry looks like he's about to cry when Bill smiles and ruffles his hair. "I'm alright I promise, you didn't do anything. I'm ok." Harry rubs at his eyes smiling, "I'm so glad." Bill grins as Harry runs out to get someone. So It is Harry. These thing always seam to happen to him. He sighs getting up and dressing. By the time the Harry, Remus, and his mother arrive he's cleaned up, dresses and is back in bed.

 The next day most of the occupants of number 12 are out. Bill took the day off because of his collapse yesterday so he, Remus and Sirius are eating a late breakfast when a paper plain comes flying into the room. Sirius grabs it out of the air and reads it. "When need to get up stairs." He says in a gruff, worried voice. When they arrive it's to an extremely frustrated Harry who can't seam to get his glamor to hold.

 "What in Merlin's name is going on with this charm?"  Sirius exclaims after another fifteen minutes of trying to get it to hold to no avail. Another half hour past before finally the three men had to admit defeat. Harry sighs, "I suppose I will just have to speak with Dumbledore as I am then."  The others turn looking at the teen. "What do you mean cub?" Remus' voice held worry but Harry stood tall. " I can't let this go Moony. He lied to me, hid things from me, Merlin and Morgan Dad, it's like I was being raised for slotter." Harry's cheeks are flush, his eyes tearful. The three men hug the fifteen year old. They all realize that, to Harry, Dumbledore betrayed his trust and this boy doesn't trust easily. So in the end they all agree to take him to see the Headmaster.

 The castle seams strange with out it's normal inhabitants bustling about. Their footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor and still they met no one. As they reach their destination Harry begins thinking of the different candies the Headmaster enjoys. After five minutes of guessing the grumpy old gargoyle finally trudges out of the way at acid pops. Harry made a face, "Yuck! How can he eat those." " Never mind that pup, come on." Sirius says and moves up the winding staircase. When they reach the top muffled voices and groans of pain can be hear through the door. The older men drew their wands and pushing Harry behind them, then open the door.

 The scene that met their eyes was terrible. Dumbledore sits ridged in his chair pain on his face as Snape was doing quick concentrated counter cures work on the Headmaster's extended right hand. Remus moves forward at once and ask if he can help, Sirius goes to get pain potions for when they finish, and Bill stands with a now nervous Harry. Many hours later with Remus's help the cures was stopped, but couldn't be removed. Sirius made Albus drink a pain potion and once it had fully taken affect demanded to know what was going on and what the deal with Snape was. The others agree Harry watching his professor grow more agitated by the moment. " That is enough Black the Headmaster needs his rest and you all are here with out  an appointment or warning. Why should he answer any of you questions?" The tone more then anything made Harry act, Snape sounded just like Percy. Like he was dealing with a child that had done something bad. When in fact the adults has simply been angry to get found out to be manipulative wankers. Pulling on everything he had learned to control his temper and act as the Lord he is, Harry squares his should and says in a loud but calm voice. "That is quite enough. I am here to speak to the Headmaster on personal matter and we have given assistance in a dangers and delicate situation. If  Professor Dumbledore would like we can stay in town and speak with him later. However I can't leave with out the assurances that we will indeed talk."  Harry was blushing now and he new it but he held firm even when Snape spoke up. " And what gives you the right to dictate orders here Potter." Remus steps in as he sees his cub is trying to hold in his temper . " That's Lord Potter-Black, Professor Snape and as such Harry can demand this of the Headmaster if he wishes." Snape paled as he looks between Potter and Dumbledore. "Very well, but you all can stay in the castle no need for town, but for now I need rest," the old man says.  They all excited the office with out another word.

 The next day finds them in Dumbledore office once more, drinking a bit of tea before they begin. " Well Headmaster, it has come to our attention that you may have been keeping things from both Harry and us in regards to information concerning his life or rather his future." Remus says all this calmly while holding Sirius's hand. The other man sat tensely beside his partner trying not to rage at everyone in the room. Harry's watching the older men waiting to see if he will have help or not. Bill is sitting with a bemused smile on his face though no one knows why and Severus is tense with his arms crossed. Dumbledore seams at ease if not a bit stiff. "Well I will not deny that I have done so. But it was only to protect him not harm." Harry leaps to his feet staring at Dumbledore, incensed. The old man was taking his choices away again. Repeatedly letting him walk into danger with out all the information. He could have died, he could have gotten others hurt. Cedric did die because this man chose what has best on his own. Harry clenches his fist trying to rain in his temper to no avail. " You new, all this time...and.. AND DIDN'T THINK TO TELL ME. I AM NOT A CHILD. THE PEOPLE AROUND ME DIE BECAUSE I'M KEPT IN THE DARK. CEDRIC MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE, HERMIONE AND RON, HELL MOST OF MY FRIENDS AND CLASS MATES MIGHT HAVE HAD A MORE NORMAL TIME AT SCHOOL. SO MANY THINGS WOULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT IF YOU HAD THOUGHT TO JUST OPEN YOUR MOUTH. BUT NO DUMBLEDORE ALWAYS KNOWS BEST. WELL GUESS WHAT YOU DON'T "ALWAYS KNOW WHAT'S BEST." Harry's  voice echos through the room, the force of his magic making the walls shake. But even Snape could tell he was trying to hold on to it, trying not to harm anyone. They all jump when they hear his first sod as Harry finally brakes down. His fathers run to hi side Bill not far behind. The two professors look on in guilt and sorrow. This young boy weeps for the many loses in his life and all the things he can't fix. Dumbledore sighs as tears role down his aged face. He walks around his desk toward the small group, bending down he raps his arms around them all and apologizes over and over.  

  After things have calm down, Harry realizes he may not always like how The Headmaster does things but in a very real way he is family. For him Dumbledore is the crazy grandfather who just love's pulling you into trouble, but always has a reason for it. If he's being honest Harry is grateful to have so many people care about him. Pulling out of the hug and sitting once more Dumbledore explains about the Voldemort prophecy.

  Albus couldn't believe how much young Harry has grown, but he is glad. He's not sure he would have ever been ready to tell the boy of the hardship that awaits him. Now they are all sitting and talking about it and Albus feels more at peace with it all. He still hasn't told him some things but he really doesn't want to add more burdens to already heavily laden  shoulders. Besides Sevres has already promised to take on this particular problem. He sighs as they all talk till finally Remus ask,"So Professor Dumbledore why do you think it has to be Harry that ends him?"  The boy has always been sharp. He thinks with a small chuckle."I believe that Voldemort left a piece of himself behind the night he try to kill young Lord Potter, and that it subsequently latched on to the nearest living thing. That being Harry of course. In doing so gave our young man a connection that would have corrupted many but has not claimed him. I think a small piece of his soul is bound to your scare Harry. I haven't figured out away to safely remove it nor have I come up with a way to destroy Voldemort with out it. I'm so sorry dear boy, I feel as though I have failed you in this regard." The tears role slowly down his face as all the guilt and regrets came back. Not just about Harry but so many times when he thought his choice was the best he could make. Though now looking back on it all there would be so many things he would do differently if he could. Now the boy he had come to care for like his own, looking at him willing to forgive if he only opens up. The old man sighs, And yet there are still things I must keep from him. I hope he can forgive me in the end. Whipping his eyes he looks at them all and smiles.

 Harry sat for what felt like hours listening to his dad and his professor argue like children, while his Father, Headmaster, and surrogate older brother try and calm things down. The problem was half the time they would try drawing the other three into the fight. Harry didn't have to worry about being pulled into the fight mostly because it had a lot to do with him.  That bit kind of tweaked Harry the wrong way. He's sitting right here and they are talking about him like he wasn't there or didn't understand them, like his aunt and uncle used to do. Harry shook himself, Sirius is trying to help and who knows things might change for the better or get a lot worse. Remus seam to know what he was thinks and stood up. " Now really you two this is getting...." He begins but is cut off by Sirius growling, "How do we even know his condition isn't your fault Snivele. We have know idea..." "How dare you," shrieks Professor Snape," I refuse to sit hear and be accused of dark magic when your own godson looks like that!" He says coldly pointing at Harry. This is the moment Dumbledore chooses to shift the conversation. "That is a fair point my boy. You do look rather different, though still like you. Would you mind in lighting this old man as to your situation. I may even be able to help." The teen nods, anything to stop them fighting. So he explains about the blood adoption and how that's seams to have trigger a creature inheritance of some kind but they don't know which one. In his explanation of things he leaves out that stuff at the bank and second prophecy. He's not really feeling up to sharing all of it right now. Then turns to the Headmaster," So what happened to your hand and all that."  Dumbledore laughs and it's a joys sound. " You, my boy, will give this world a turn. Very well then." He pulls out his wand and gives it a small wave, a small box comes to his summons and lands in his good hand. Everyone watches as he opens it up and shows then a chunky old fashioned ring with a cracked black stone in it. On the stone was a strange symbol carved into it's surface. Harry had seen it some where before but couldn't remember where. The boy is pulled from his thoughts when Dumbledore speaks. "This ring was one of the other horcruxes that Voldemort made. It once held a cures but no longer. Now it's just a ring. We can add it to the list of destroyed and work on finding the rest." Dumbledore hands the box to Harry with a smile, " I think you will find this ring belongs to your family Harry or rather it belongs to a small branch of the family you are head of. There for I believe it should go to you." The young man takes it with and odd look on his face but shakes his head and thanks the Headmaster. " Now then my dear boy you are wondering about you blood inheritance, yes. Well if you wish the Bank can perform a blood analysis incantation to tell you the creature and many other impotent things. But if you wish we can also do it here." Harry looks at his dads hungry to know more about what was going on but not sure how much he wants to share. But depending on the creature he may have to tell the Dumbledore anyway so he isn't sure what to do. "Either way is fine but it will get filed with the bank ministry and school regardless. "Remiss says with a sigh." Though not all the information you can learn will be sent to all of these places normally, you are the head of two families so they want to be careful." Harry's mouth runs dry and he suddenly can't speak. If I find out now then the ministry will find out because the information in my records will change. But it will change on my birthday anyways so is it better to be informed or wait it out. He shakes his head, "Alright let do this." Nodding Dumbledore looks to Snape, "If you will give me a hand with this Severus?"  Padfoot jumped in, "Why him? Why not me or Remus?" The Headmaster sighs rubbing his temples. "Because, Sirius, I know Severus has preformed this before and knows what it intails. Can you say the same." Sighing Sirius steps back and let's the potions master get to work.

 The parchment lay on the desk a slight purple shimmer to it . To it's right was a wicked long pin that seems to be made of copper and bone with a black pearl set into the end. The Headmaster directs Harry to pick it up and stab the tip of his ring finger. Harry does as instructed the drops of blood falling on parchment. The parchment shein glitters from purple to green as the blood soaks into the page replaced by thin red letters. The blank sheet fills slowly with every eye on it no one even daring to breathe. At last the parchment stilled and they all move to read it.

Lord Hadrian James Potter-Black                                                                       Son to Lord  James and Lady Lilly Potter                                                          Blood adopted son of Lord Sirius Black and Master Remus Lupin                       Heir to the House of Potter                                                                                     Heir to the House of Peverell                                                                            Heir to the House of Pendragon                                                                          Heir/Head, by blood adoption, of the House of Black                                              4th Prince by blood of the Unseelie Court                                                             Blood heir to the Pendragon Throne by family and soul                                         Soul Bonded to the Heir of the Cornwall line                                                           Blood alliances from the ancient and Noble wizarding families of Britannia, ancient and noble families of the seelie and unseelie courts of Britannia, and finally the ancient and noble families of the knights of the round table.                   By right of fealty those ancient houses without heirs or who have broken their oaths, all properties and  holdings immediately fall back to Then Pendragon heir by the ancient  Blood oaths signed.

  Everyone one in the room sat in stunned silence. For Harry's part he looks like he's going to scream. Fate just hates me. He thinks,banging his head on the desk repeatedly.  What ever power out there that thought fucking with my life was a good idea... Well they can jog off, blood wankers. Harry kept his head down he knew there must be talking going on around him but in that moment he didn't care. Half the stuff on the stupid parchment made no since and the rest just hurt his head. Well my other self if you hadn't hit our head on the desk so many times it wouldn't hurt now.  Harry's head shot up from the desk looking around. You won't find me out there, the voice says calmly. The others are now looking at him with confusion and concern. Now young one just calm down, the older male voice spoke again. You, your..., Harry stumbles over his thoughts trying not to panic. Yes young Hadrian, I'm Arthur your former self. Then the poor over stressed teen then drops into a dead faint.

  Remus sat next to Harry in the hospital wing Sirius next to him. Their boy had passed out hours ago but Poppy says he'll be fine. Sirius himself only fell asleep an hour ago, but Remus just couldn't manage it. Sirius was so worried and none of them knew what to do about that stupid paper. So Bill, with Dumbledore's promission went to the library to find everything he could and bring it up. For Snape's part he told the Headmaster he may have some books that could help and left to retrieve them. Though he's not come back, as far as Remus knew. Poppy comes in to check on Harry and helps move Sirius to an empty bed telling the former professor to get some sleep.

 The next morning Harry still hasn't woken up, leaving the adults to worry. "We need to have as much information for him as we can get. You know what he's like. He'll want to know everything he can." Snape makes an exasperated huffing noise and Sirius glares," What? Do you have something you want to add?" Snape just glairs at him, " At this point I'm not even sure we are talking about the same boy. Potter has always been a lazy no account in my classes and..." Remus cut him off with a growl,"That is because you bully him and any student not in your house Snape and don't even try to denying it. I've seen you at it." Moony stairs daggers at Snape but Bill slams a book on  the table."That is quite enough out of all of you." He says looking at Sirius who was about to jump into the fight. "Harry needs us to be our best and you lot are acting like children. So either you clear the air right now or get out because I've work to do." He then takes his seat and begins writing again. The other look down sheepishly as the Headmaster walks in. "I see that Mr. Weasley's famous temper has shown its self."  Three of the men look up at the chuckling Headmaster as he makes his way to the table.

 Harry felt warm sunlight on his face. The wind sends a cool breeze across his skin as he begins to stir. He sits up slowly the smell of fresh cut grass and summer heat filling his nose. "How are you feeling?" A familiar voice says to his right. Blinking he looks around for the speaker.  He realizes three things very quickly, one he some how got out side, two these aren't the school grounds, and three there is a man sitting next to him. Harry immediately leaps into action moving back and reaching for his wand. Then to his horror he realizes it's not there. "What have you done with my wand ?" He shouts at the man still sitting on the ground. "And where am I ?" The man just chuckles bringing a glare to Harry's face. But now that he's looking at the man he has to admit he looks good. Honey blond hair hanging in loose curls down his back, broad shoulders and well built from what he could tell. Though the clothes were a bit old fashioned, his tunic hung loosely around him but the pants and boots, that seam to be made of dragon hide, are well fitted hugging his hips and legs well. Harry shook him self, Know is not the time, he thought. The man just smiles, " I'm not going to hurt you Hadrian please sit, we need to talk."

 Mean while Bill has finally gotten the others to behave with the help of Dumbledore. At this point they have a good number of books for Harry to ready, but he's not sure what will really be useful. He knows that Harry will need the magical law and history books. No one can really get a good understanding about it from Bins. He has to read the books on the Fey no question there. What Bill is dreading bringing up to the others are the record they will have to get from the Ministry. He knows Fudge will do all he can to not only make it hard but as damning and public as he can. They all know Harry will hate that. Everything does seams to happen to him. Bills sighs rubbing his eyes. At least know  he could put his capacity for obscure knowledge to use. Just as he was about to settle in to take notes a dove patronus come swooping in. " Harry is awake !" It cries before vanishing  they all hurry back to the hospital wing, even Snape.

 Harry sat up feeling dazed, had that really just happened? Well he does feel a lot better then he has in a long while. Even with all the craziness his mind is calm and the creeping doubts are quiet. For the first time in his live everything feels like it's going to really be okay. Then the door swings open with a bang as his Dads and Proffers come rushing in. Madam Pomphrey  comes bustling out of her office in the same a moment to poke and prod her patient. The normalcy of it all make Harry Laugh out loud and the sound is bright and warm. His parents hug him, Dumbledore smiles, Snape huffs, and for a moment everything seams okay.

 Severus Snape sits in his office strumming his fingers on his desk. It wasn't possible was it. Had the boy been faking his lack of understanding, was his attitude towards the Potions Master part of a mask. He shook his head. If someone had asked me even a week ago he would have said no, that the boy was just like his father. All arrogance and bluster. But the boy he had glimpsed, when he was unaware of him, was all together different . Running his hands through his hair he makes his choice. He gets to his feet and makes his way to the hospital wing. Stealing his resolve Severus opens the door quietly the sound of voice reaching his ears. " Do you understand This part Harry?" The Professor stops listening. " No I get that bit Bill but what I'm more concerned about is this. Some of these ingredients we use all the time in class."   He hears a heavey sigh, "There is know way Snape will change the recipe just for me." Severus hears movement then the oldest Weasley boy speaks. "I'm sure The headmaster..." "No!" The potter boy brakes in, " I don't need him fighting battles for me. I'm sure I can  find the right substitutions for them and even if i don't Snape will be happier if I fail.  And anyway as long as I score well on my OWLS it's fine."  Another sigh and more movement tells him someone is about to come around the corner. He doesn't hear the last of what is said but runs in to the Weasley boy out side the hospital wing. They nod as he walks inside and Bill leaves.

Harry sits on the hospital bed surrounded by books notes and crumpled bits of paper. His hair looks like he's run his hand through it many times and he has a quill behind his ear. The boy has ink stains on his fingers, muttering something about having to change how many times to stir his cauldron counter clockwise. The old Potions Master was so forcefully reminded of Lilly in that moment he doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. But he must have made some kind of noise as the boy looks up. The look of shock on his face says more then anything he had not exacted to see Snape. Severus sighs, " Mr. Potter , would you mind closing your mouth. We have things to discuss."

The two sit in a tense silence as the house elf sets up tea and bows out of the room. Taking his cup Severus glances at the boy on the hospital bed next to him. Then much to the older man's surprise he speaks first. " What is it that you wanted to talk about Professor?" Snape puts his cup down, with out taking a sip. "To be frank Mr. Potter I believe you and I need to clear the air and... and hopefully start over. I know that you have been hiding your true nature as I have, but I don't think that would be in your best  interests. I also believe that if even half of what was on that parchment was true then you will need all the help you can get." Harry nods listening to every world. " With the Headmaster's health as it is we can not afford to keep hating each other. So I want to get to know who you are and not who your father was. That beginning said  I will first like to apologies for my behavior."  The teen looks at him in disbelief but nods. " The I'm sorry too, and if we are going to do this then can we use memories. Harder to lye that way." The Professor look taken aback at first but then gives him a cunning smile. " Very well Mr. Potter as you wish." After asking the Headmaster to use the pensive the two spend hours watching and talking about the things they see. Though neither of them show the other everything they do share enough. " Though we can't change our behavior to mush in public...." Harry holds up his hand, " I understand Professor." And with that Harry goes back to the hospital wing leave Snape smiling quietly behind him.

 Bill sits in the only quiet room left in the house as teenagers run around trying to find all their things for school. He chuckles a bit taking a sip of tea.A few days ago if you had told him things would feel this normal again he wouldn't have believed you. Now it is the last day before the young ones all depart for school and he can't help feel both wistful and nervous. The reason for the nerves was obvious, there had been a fight. With all the chaos going on Harry hadn't really kept Ron, Hermione or anyone, but those who had been with him, in the loop. Now with glamour refusing to work, Harry had to tell them. Needless to say it wasn't fun and Bill knew for a fact he left stuff out. Though personally  he thought Harry had been right to do so. Ron would get jealous, Mione would worry about things they couldn't change and his mother was already haveing kittens about what he had sad. But after a couple of days it all got sorted and every one calmed down.

   Harry seams at easy about it all at last  though Bill, more then most, knows how good he is at hiding what is going on in his head. Regardless his sibling and Hermione seam determand to help. He can only hope that all the work Harry is putting in the help of his friends will get him through the year with out to much trouble. But this is Harry and trouble always seam to find him. That is one of the big reasons Bill told him they need to find a Lawyer for him. Harry had agreed so he plans to ask at the Bank if they have any on retainer for clients. If not there are a few wizarding law firms in Britain they can look at. Since Harry is an adult in the eyes of the law they are able to get around a lot of trouble they would have had other wise. He is hopeful they will find someone good enough to help deal with Fudge. Who is as predicted is making things difficult. Right know he is trying to pressure the Profit into righting stories about Lord Potter-Black's mixed blood. So far the bank's reminder to the paper about how much of it Harry owns has kept them at bay. Though it will only work for so long. As soon as Witch Weekly catches wind of it or one of the other rags, the Profit will be able to print what they have. If we have a Lawyer step in to check it before it goes to print we can at least tell more of the truth. He sighs, the records still have to be gotten from the Ministry and the Bank for Harry to go through and half a dozen other things. He's only fifteen, but there is much harder things waiting for him in the future. Bill gets up and heads down stairs to join everyone for dinner on lats time before the school year begins.

 The smell of warm grass and rain fill his nose as he starts to stir. Then the sound of wind through trees and a waterfall sing through the air as sunlight warms his face. Sitting up slowly with a long stretch and a yawn Hadrian finds himself in a clearing deep in the forest. The waterfall and small lake are as blue as the sky and the summer sun feel great on his face. He looks around feeling relaxed for the first time in a long while when he hears foot steps drawing nearer. Suddenly he feels a pair of hands over his eyes and he smiles. "I thought you might not becoming ," he says reaching up to pull the new comer around and into his arms. " I wouldn't miss seeing you." His companion say in a rich alto voice. The two begin laughing together as they sit cuddle on the grass. Hadrian tries to hold on to the features of his companion but they slip away like a fog. "Are you going to tell me who you are this time?" He feels them smile on the skin of his neck. "Only if you are going to tell me the same."  Hadrian sighs, they had figured out weeks ago that what ever magic that is at play here wouldn't let they reveal  who they are. At least id won't right now. "I can think of other things we can do to pass the time." His companion says with a purr. Hadrian flips them stair at the few features the magic has unveiled. The person below him has pale golden hair bleeding into a rich sunset array of colors. Their eyes are like pools of silver and moon light with long lashes like black lace. He feels sure he would drown in them if he looks to long. Then he leans in and captures the ever shifting lips in a siring kiss. The kiss deepens as his partner mouth opens to him. When they at last come up for air they are both laughing breathlessly. " I'm heading back to school in the morning. What about you?" The other nods, "Yes, I will be going back as well. Who knows we might even go to the same one." Hadrian nods smiling at the thought. "It would be nice to finally see you in the waking world."  He hugs them tightly feeling there arms rap around him. "It's time my dear." He shakes his head kissing them again. "I don't want to leave you!" He sighs sadly, " We'll see each other soon but for now fair well." Harry sits up in bed shaking tears threatening to spill from his eyes as weeks of dreams come back to him. Weeks of getting to know the wonderful person he had to leave behind again. Something deep inside him aches with loneliness as he climes out of bed heading to the wash room. The phoenix soul mark moves over his heart trying to comfort him. But he has no time, before long the rest of the house it moving and he makes his way down stairs.

The drive to the station is lively with every one in the back of Remus's station wagon. Bill sat if front while Remus drives and the twins, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and himself were sitting in the expanded back seat. The traffic moves along at a descent pace but it takes almost fifteen minutes to find a parking spot. Now, with trolleys  loaded the group heads in to Kings Cross with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waiting for them. Making their way through the crowds Harry could swear he felt someone watching him, shrugging it off he goes through the barrier with the others.

 Harry steps out onto the platform and is greeted by the flash of cameras. The nose of the is overwhelming as he realizes that there are reporters everywhere. Once they spot Harry however it's like a feeding frenzy. Questions are shouted at him left and right as they try making their way across to the train. Lupin pulls Harry behind him as one report tries to grab the young lord. "GRRRRRRRR, don't touch my son." Moony's eyes going amber for a moment as he grawls at the man. "This isn't working Dad," Bill says to Mr. Weasley. "We need  to call the Aurors."  Arthur nods sending off a patronus, moving himself to shield Harry and the others. As the adults move Harry and his friends towards the train he is able to pick out some of what the reporters are shouting. "Can you tell us about your new look Lord Potter?"  "Is it true you're the Lord to more then one House?" "Is it true you're claiming the return of he who must not be named?" " What about the reports that you are unstable?" At this last query a loud boom thunders through the platform. Kingsley Shakelbolt a well dress dark skinned wizard looks around ordering the group of six Aurors with him to round up the press. Next to him stands a tan woman with chocolate brown hair and fitted black business robes. Her sharp light brown eyes watching the crowd till the fall on him. Whispering something to Kingsley she walks over to their group. "Hello  Young Lord and greetings from Mythrin and Wilks Magical Law firm. The Bank has informed us that you wish to retain our services as your family has done for generation. I am Ms. Tamrin, and am here as your lawyer, if you like." Harry looks at Remus who nods. Harry turns back to her, "Thank you for coming is there anything you can do here?" He gestures towards the press and the chaos they're causing. She gives a wicked grin, "Oh yes Lord Potter there most certainly is."  

As Harry and the others board the train Auror Shakelbolt and Ms. Tamrin deal with the press. He has never been so glad for the adults in his life. They all hug their families goodbye and watch as other students clime on to the train and for a moment Harry swears he smells warm grass and rain.    

[thesnhuup]

Pop Picks – May 24, 2018

May 24, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I’ve always liked Alycia Keys and admired her social activism, but I am hooked on her last album Here. This feels like an album finally commensurate with her anger, activism, hope, and grit. More R&B and Hip Hop than is typical for her, I think this album moves into an echelon inhabited by a Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On or Beyonce’s Formation. Social activism and outrage rarely make great novels, but they often fuel great popular music. Here is a terrific example.

What I’m reading:

Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad may be close to a flawless novel. Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer, it chronicles the lives of two runaway slaves, Cora and Caeser, as they try to escape the hell of plantation life in Georgia.  It is an often searing novel and Cora is one of the great heroes of American literature. I would make this mandatory reading in every high school in America, especially in light of the absurd revisionist narratives of “happy and well cared for” slaves. This is a genuinely great novel, one of the best I’ve read, the magical realism and conflating of time periods lifts it to another realm of social commentary, relevance, and a blazing indictment of America’s Original Sin, for which we remain unabsolved.

What I’m watching:

I thought I knew about The Pentagon Papers, but The Post, a real-life political thriller from Steven Spielberg taught me a lot, features some of our greatest actors, and is so timely given the assault on our democratic institutions and with a presidency out of control. It is a reminder that a free and fearless press is a powerful part of our democracy, always among the first targets of despots everywhere. The story revolves around the legendary Post owner and D.C. doyenne, Katharine Graham. I had the opportunity to see her son, Don Graham, right after he saw the film, and he raved about Meryl Streep’s portrayal of his mother. Liked it a lot more than I expected.

Archive

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan.  Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news. 

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

  November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

  November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

  September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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[healing-hurts]

Becoming Aware of Mental Health Care

Google led me here:

https://www.nami.org/Find-Support/Diverse-Communities/African-American-Mental-Health

To here:

https://www.metrocareservices.org/mfc

To finally here:

https://www.metrocareservices.org/our-services/adult/medical-services/rapid-assessment-prevention-(rap-team) -This post is about my upbringing and mentally unpacking some bullshit- 

I grew up in a household that was divided. My mom is a musician, single mom, black, lesbian and we stayed in my grandparents house. They have been married for about over 40 years. Principal within my school district and Military Drill Sargent who tutored throughout my Elementary and Middle School in the same district. 

Single child. Book worm, latched on hard to Playstation and games. As well as a lot of other ‘not normal for a black girl things.’ Harry Potter when it came out, the Merlin Series, The Subtle Knife Series, Anime, Dragon Ball, Pokemon. I fell in love with the Viola and singing harmonies. Lord of the Rings ruined me for accents and beautiful haired men and women. STAR. WARS. <3 Legend of Zorro (unnf) I was different. No where near the sterotypical American black family of America. I was brought up well in a predominately good school district. Oddly enough, this in itself made me into a black girl that “didn’t act black/like black things. Whitest black kid.” Self Identity

In that house I grew up seeing a very fucked up balance relationship for money. My mom was happy as a musician, still is and is living her life the best she can. But we were also living paycheck to paycheck. When she would have a gig I would ask for 3 things. Was there  free food, a pool table or drinks offered for her performing. If there was 2 of the 3 I would go with her. Sitting at one of the booths or tables, I would read a book or color while she would perform on stage at bars or night clubs. I would help her set up or tear down, helped to sell her cds. Financial issues

It was fun for me and a different lifestyle. I learned very quickly how to socialize with the adults and learned street smarts/common sense. I was well spoken and well read for my age. At times, they would confuse my mother for me. (Dark clubs/venues) From leather bikers to professional lgbtqia mainly female, a good dash of male and gender fluid. Due to drinking, some of them would hug me or give me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m the daughter, that’s my mom.” They would be embarrassed/apologetic and laugh it off politely. I took it in stride and told my mom whenever it would occur. Around this time, I was 6 - 15. Sexual orientation and association

Grandparents were well off. We lived in a suburban neighborhood. Over the time I grew up there, grandfather bought at least 5 cars with some assistance. 2 story house. They would travel whenever they could, which was a lot. Either for a day to a weekend up to a week or 2 out of state/country. I grew up nearly alone in that house. I was 15-21. Isolation and Abandonment 

Elementary, Middle and High school were within walking distance of that house. I would walk it majority of the time once school was out. Romance novels were abundant in that house as well as the full leather hardback dictionary and Thesaurus. I learned very quickly how to utilize those, broadening my vocabulary and learning things I probably should have discovered later in development. And then my grandmother got a desktop with internet access. I was already learning about floppy disks and cds to computer games in middle school. Having access to AOL chat rooms and sources to anything really changed my thinking and searching habits. Sexual orientation and questioning

The schools were manly Caucasian with a healthy dose of Mexican, other cultures and a decent amount of African American kids from all over. I mainly befriended the Outcasts. Goth kids, Theater, Creative Arts. Those interested in music or games, things that I liked. I can nearly count on 2 hands the amount of other black kids that liked the things that I like. I know that we are out there, but finding each other was hard back then. It has gotten a lot easier nowadays. I did find friends that have lasted for about goodness, 12 years now and going.

I also read voraciously. Walking down the halls with a book in hand or eating lunch one handed while I read. Books where my shelter and my safety blanket. I was still picked on for everything about me. Size, color, hair. Of course I’d tell my family about it. “Small minds do small things,” my mom would tell me. “They don’t know better, kids are just mean and cruel sometimes. Pay them no mind.” Grandparents would say the same. But walking home with those thoughts from each school tore me up mentally.  -Fat. Blackie. Weirdo. Book. Worm. Gay. Stuck up, Snob, Book worm. She’s so (insert insult here) she’ll never have friends. The list goes on. Suicidal Tendencies and attempts

I would do odd things as a kid. Walk on the balls of my feet, sleep with a box fan on towards my face for sensory comfort. Eerie accuracy at recalling lines or quotes from movies, shows, books, games. Mimicking people/accents. Heavy comforter, laying near pillows as much as possible. I’d find pretty rocks or pieces of wood and rub them along my hands and fingertips, bite my lip a lot and pick at my nails. Scratch at my body and be ashamed at how large I was. Talk out loud to the tv just to hear a voice in the house or around me. Turn on lights to make the room feel more ‘full’. Pull my hair or rub my forehead if I became distressed. Bite my thumb/wrist. Isolate in my room with a blanket over my head or rub my face into something soft. Rock side to side to music or sing/hum to myself. These things I would do well away from my family cause I never saw them doing something like this. Surely something must have been wrong with me cause I was doing them for YEARS once I moved out of that house.  Words like Autism, Self-Care, Stiming, Depression, Anxiety Disorder, Mental Health, High Functioning Autistic were not really discussed or mentioned. I didn’t really hear about these things until I got into college and that was now, 11ish years ago. Mental Health 

That house was always clean.  Rarely was there a magazine not stacked in it’s rightful place or the closets left open. Visible lines from the vacuum was indicators in the beige rug that I had cleaned. My dresser drawers always had to be closed, clothing put up, desk tidy. Growing up I understood the importance of keeping my space tidy. It got to the point that I was lining up my posters just right or making sure that the bed was always made up. Smooth lines, not ruffled. Like a bed you would see in a hotel. For my grandparents it was not tidy enough.  Growing up in that house there would be days I would come home from school randomly to find the upstairs area vacuumed and my door left ajar. A sure sign that my grandmother or other family member had been in my room and cleaned it to their specifications. They would have gone through all of my drawers, the closet, the bed. And she would indeed find my personal diaries or personal things and leave them ON MY DRESSER. IN PLAIN VIEW. My room was not my room. My privacy was never really my own.

When I was 16-19 I’d ask her as calmly as possible coming home from a stressful day at school, to please stop cleaning my room and going through my things. I am aware of how to clean my own space and am capable of doing so. When you do this, it is causing me a lot of anxiety. “I do it cause I love you and I care,” was her response or my fucking favorite, “my house, my rules.”Personal Boundaries and Privacy Issues, Ptsd

My grandfather is a bragger. Every year for their anniversary he would buy my grandmother a rose for every year that they were married. On that rose he would have the florists tie a $100 around it. He’d bring it home and have it sitting on the dining room table for her to see. For anyone visiting to see. It was his way of showing that he loved and cared for his wife. He aspired for his kids and grandkids to be well off enough to do something akin to this for their partner. 

The flowers were always lovely. When I started to learn the value of money I became awed, and then ashamed, to finally regretting seeing that fucking vase. Some years he would ask me to count the money and dotingly talk about how beautiful and deserving his wife was of these things and more, comparing her to the roses... There I was, counting out thousands of dollars and being terrified to ask them for $5 or $20. I couldn’t ask my mom, she was usually at a gig or working out of town. She scrapped by happily as possible while loving on me the best that she could. While I stayed in that house. Watching my grandmother go on another shopping trip “just for fun or to help her relax.” She had at least 6 closets (part of mine in my room) with clothes that she had bought literally decades ago with the price tags still on them. Shoe boxes still with mint condition heels, sneakers, boots. They changed the patio to another “living room” that held a tv, then more clothes she had bought. At one point there was a circular clothing rack stuffed with clothes. Everything was still neatly put away and organized. But there was still a LOT OF THINGS. One of the worst was having to ask for spending money when I was younger. I’d go ask my grandmother most of the time cause even she understood that my grandfather and I were starting to butt heads. If she didn’t have cash then, she’d tell me to go talk to him. “I know that he can be gruff at times, just nod and bear it.” Nod and bear it... He’d be sitting up in bed watching tv on yet another of his latest flat screen additions for the house. I’d have to stand at the foot of the bed or the door and shyly ask for some money. Usually waaay under the amount I actually needed to go do/get the thing.  “You know...”(sits up more on the bed) “money just seems to burn in your pocket.(gestures to his dresser for me to retrieve his wallet) “You don’t really know how to save money.” (flips open thick wallet to show off a wad of cash) “At church they really need to teach you more about saving and giving 10% to God...” (counts out bills to find right amount) “The Lord/Good Book reminds us that...” (holds more than I asked for in his hand and lectures to me) “How is work/school going? Is your car holding up?” (answer as best as I could while shaking and feeling incredibly guilty for having to ask for assistance again) “Now, I know you asked me for $10 but here’s ($20, $30, $40, way more than I had asked for) “You go treat yourself.” -or...- If I was having car issues with one of the cars that he had given to me... (I tell him about needing a car thing fixed, new tire or key ignition going out) “I’ll help you this time but you need to be able to pay me back at some point. Not now cause you’re a poor college kid and don’t have money. Money is still burning in your pocket huh? Just can’t seem to hold onto it.” 

You’d think that getting more money than I asked for would be a good thing.  This. Fucked. Me. Up. To this DAY I have issues with financial things. He would do this every. Single. Time I needed money help. This gave me such bad anxiety I’d have to go take a few moments to calm down in my room. I couldn’t scream out loud so scream into a pillow or chew the royal fuck out of my inner lip, dig my nails into my arm.  Asking for financial help from friends and partners always fills me with dread. I’ve gone weeks to months suffering due to the fact that I was to scared to ask for help and because of that, at certain times, my phone would be cut off, A/C would be off, food options were extremely limited. Passive Aggressive Financial Control Stress eating happened. Oh boy did it happen. Since I was alone most of the time I’d have to fend for myself until one of the grandparents would come home. They had a large family until my mom dropped me off to live with them and finish my school career. Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches were usually my go to, or whatever was in one of the 2 1/2 freezers. Usually junk food. I didn’t learn how to eat healthy until late high school if that. My weight (still) is playing hell with my body and mind. 

I remember working really hard to get a Ps2 and the setup for DDR Dance Dance Revolution. I wound up loving that game and losing a little weight from it. Since it was still a ‘game’ they didn’t really care for it and would tell me to play it less when they were downstairs watching tv in the main living room. I couldn’t play it in my room cause it was upstairs and lots of jumping. I already was ashamed for being heavy, hearing myself stomp around on a floor that telegraphed my movements 10 fold was not great for my self-confidence. I did softball for a bit, liked that, felt powerful. My mom got me into it when she lived with the grandparents for a while. I do not know why we stopped going. Probably cost to much... Coming to the house during college breaks was not the best. I’d learned through experimentation that I was actually having reactions to breads and flour. I stopped eating gluten things and started to feel immensely better. I’d let them know gently that I could no longer eat Church’s Chicken or things that were coated in bread because they would make me physically ill. “But, I just made all of this for dinner. You can eat a little bit of it.” (no actually, I can’t I will have a bad physical reaction if I do.) This knocked out about...75% of what I could eat over the holidays. They would still forget that I couldn’t eat flour based things even though I’d told them again and again. Voice their opinions about my ‘food choices’ if they took me to dinner with them cause unfortunately, eating healthy cost A LOT. I’d manage with eggs, deli meats, veggies or things that I bought over to share. 

One Thanksgiving I had made a healthy apple pie for dessert. I was so proud to make this and show them that fresh things like this can be filling and good for you with no flour. My mom and I were the only ones to eat it. My family made fun of me for bringing over ‘healthy food for the holiday.’ The rest was thrown away. I never cooked them a thing again. 

My grandmother didn’t help my self-esteem with this. “Have you put on weight? You know, if you keep eating like that, you’re going to get as big as a house. If you lose weight with me, I’ll buy you some new clothes or give you money for each pound you lose. Do at least 10 sit-ups before bed.” Instead of telling me in a more positive manner to help with my weight or provide some research, this was how she would encourage me to get fit. My grandmother would tell me this, when I was 12 up until I moved out, at random times. She’d call and check in on my classes or my job and then “have you lost any weight?” Somehow she would always find a way to put that into the conversation. Every time would make me feel heavier with shame. The heaviest I’ve ever been is 296. I’ve never seen the other side of 240. Health guilt, Body shaming, lowered Self-confidence

This is me finally starting to let go some of this held on aggression towards that House and my Family. It was fucked up. This. Fucked. Me. Up. Mentally. And. Physically. I am still showing symptoms that I have triggers from these and other past experiences. I’m allowed to talk about things like this. I didn’t have the strength or courage to fully, I’m starting to gain strength towards it now.

I am allowed to say this, to talk about it. To let others know that I am just now at the age of 30, learning that I have Anxiety, Mental Health Issues, High Functioning Autistic. That I have body dismorphia, self-esteem and confidence issues. That I still have some things to mentally unpack.  But now that I have resources and a way to vent, now that I am in the happiest living situation ever with understanding Partners and Chosen Family, I can start to heal. Finding that article about Black Mental Health helped and scared me. It’s going to be a tough journey. Healing Hurts. Healing from this is going to fucking suck ass. It will be well worth it overall. I hoped this helped someone out there in the Internet Void. It’s already helping me.

#anxiety and depression #african american mental health #mental health #black mental health #anxiety #depression #ptsd #self care #self esteem issues #self confidence #passive aggressive #weight lose issues #self identity issues #financial struggles #black girl mental health #tumblr therapy #therapy for african americans #mental health awareness for black women